Kendra Kandlestar and the Crack in Kazah

by Lee Edward Födi

  “Never heard of him,” Uncle Griffinskitch muttered.

  “Hmph,” Gayla grunted. “I guess you don’t know everything.”

  Kendra stifled a gasp. She would never dare speak to Uncle Griffinskitch in such a manner. She watched the old Een’s ears turn red (a sure sign that he was angry), but all he said was, “I’m in no mood for your Eenling ways today.”

  “Good thing I’m not an Eenling then,” Gayla retorted.

  “Humph—you might have fooled me,” Uncle Griffinskitch growled.

  Gayla just glared at him. Then, thrusting her spoon into the soup pot, she turned and snatched the narfoo from its peg on the wall.

  That instrument is hers? Kendra thought in amazement.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Uncle Griffinskitch demanded.

  Gayla didn’t answer. Instead, she brushed past him and disappeared out the front door.

  A moment later, the sound of her narfoo could be heard emanating from the front garden. Her tune was a complicated one, layered with rich textures and sounds. To Kendra the song sounded angry and woeful at the same time.

  Uncle Griffinskitch glared after his sister. Then, turning and striding across the kitchen, took a seat at the hearth, right across from Kendra and Oki.

  He still has his favorite chair, Kendra thought. Or I suppose it was his favorite chair and still will be in the future. Oh, it’s all so confusing! She looked up at the cantankerous wizard and flashed him a weak smile.

  “Humph,” he grunted. Then he promptly closed his eyes and began to snore.

  THERE’S NOTHING WORSE than being in an uncomfortable situation in someone else’s house. You can’t just quietly sneak off to your room; really, the best you can do is to just politely excuse yourself and leave. Of course, in a way, Kendra was already at home—she and Oki had no place else to go.

  So instead, Kendra did as she had countless times before: she made dinner for Uncle Griffinskitch. Oki helped her, and when it was ready they called Gayla and the crotchety wizard to the table. Uncle Griffinskitch sputtered awake, but Gayla ignored the summons altogether and simply continued playing her narfoo in the front garden. When Kendra suggested she fetch her, Uncle Griffinskitch only humphed. It was the type of humph Kendra knew all too well: it meant leave it be. So it was just Kendra, Oki, and Uncle Griffinskitch at the table and there they sat, without the slightest word between them. Not that they would have heard each other anyway, for Gayla played her narfoo so raucously that Kendra couldn’t hear the slurp of her own soup. She was sure the racket was meant to irk Uncle Griffinskitch, but if he was perturbed, he didn’t show it. Indeed, he barely looked up from his dinner.

  Days of Een, Kendra thought. The uncle I know is merry as the River Wink compared to this curmudgeon.

  After dinner, Uncle Griffinskitch disappeared up the stairs (to his study, Kendra presumed), leaving Kendra and Oki to tidy up.

  It was the first time the two friends had been given a chance to talk in private since their arrival at the house, and they instantly began speaking in hushed whispers.

  “We’ve traveled through time, Kendra,” Oki squealed.

  “I kind of figured it out,” she replied. “It was the Kazah stone—that much is obvious. Remember? Lurk said it took him on a great journey.”

  “Then where is Lurk from?” Oki wondered. “Or should I say when? It gives me the shivers just thinking about it.”

  “I know,” Kendra said. She carried the dinner bowls over to the washtub, which was overflowing with dirty dishes. Someone hasn’t done this job in a while, she thought. She began to pump the water and found her gaze wandering out the window, where she could see Gayla sitting on a large toadstool, a dark and wild figure against the rising moon. She was still playing her narfoo, but her tune had turned solemn and woeful.

  “I can’t believe that’s my mother,” Kendra said after a moment. “She’s not exactly the kindest person I’ve ever met. She called Krimson—well, er . . . my dad—a bore!”

  “I think she just says things like that,” Oki said. “She’s tough on the outside, but on the inside I think she’s all ishymoosha.”

  Kendra raised an eyebrow.

  “It means soft and sentimental,” Oki explained.

  “Maybe you’re right,” Kendra said. Then, after a pause, she added, “Do you think I should tell her who I am? That I’m from the future? That I’m her daughter?”

  “NO!” Oki squealed. “You can’t do that, Kendra. That would be . . . disastrous!”

  “Why?” Kendra asked.

  “We don’t belong here!” Oki exclaimed, throwing his paws in the air. “Remember when Ratchet was inventing his time boots, the ones that never ended up working? He said you have to be careful with time travel. You can’t go fiddling with the timeline. If you change something in the past it could change the future.”

  “What if it’s a good change?” Kendra countered. “What if we warn Gayla about what’s going to happen? Maybe she won’t run away from Een with my family! Maybe Kiro will never become Trooogul!”

  “Or maybe everything turns out far worse,” Oki argued. “We could all be captured by a witch and transformed into spotted eggs.”

  “I wouldn’t mind that for Burdock,” Kendra said. “I’d crack him.”

  “We don’t know what might happen,” Oki insisted. “If you tell Gayla that you’re her daughter, she probably won’t even believe you! What if she decides to do the opposite of what you tell her is going to happen just to be stubborn? She might never marry your father. You’d never be born! Then what’s going to happen to you? You might just suddenly vanish into thin air!”

  “You’re making my head hurt,” Kendra said, tugging extra hard on a braid.

  “That’s the trouble with time travel,” Oki said. “It’s one big ball of confusion. A real hooglegum.”

  “We have to get Kazah back, Oki,” Kendra said. “It’s the only way we can get back to the right time. Otherwise we’re stuck here.”

  “Well, my parents aren’t born in this time yet,” Oki said thoughtfully, “which means I don’t have sisters here either . . . .”

  “You’re the one who was just fretting about the timeline,” Kendra pointed out.

  “I know, I know,” Oki said. “We have to find the ring.”

  They had been talking so intently that they failed to notice that the music had stopped and now—suddenly—Gayla was standing in the room. She had slipped inside quietly to catch the tail end of their conversation.

  “What are you two dish-diddling dewberries mumbling about now?” Gayla asked, hanging her narfoo back on the wall. “Why do you keep fretting about this ring?”

  Kendra turned to face Gayla, her cheeks burning red. She felt as if she had been caught in the moment of telling a secret—and those of us familiar with Kendra’s past adventures know her feelings about secrets. She had experienced enough problems with them to fill a lifetime. The difference now was that Kendra wanted to tell the truth—but she couldn’t. And so she stammered, “I t-told you already. It’s just important.”

  Gayla glared at her suspiciously. “Why is it important? What aren’t you telling me, Braids?”

  Oki gave a quiet eek and Kendra cast him a frown.

  “Hmph,” Gayla muttered. “You’re a real pair of sneaky snirtles. I tell you what—cough up what’s so special about this ring and I’ll help you find it.”

  “We don’t need your help,” Kendra said quickly.

  “Sure,” Gayla said. “You’re going to find it yourselves, are you? In the Forests of Wretch? You’re just lucky I was there today! Otherwise, you’d both be Goojun snacks.”

  “Eek!” Oki squealed again, clinging to Kendra’s leg. “Oh, don’t think of eggs!”

  “You know, Eeks, you’re a real worry-whisker,” Gayla growled, shaking a fist at the little mouse. “And you’re beginning to get on my nerves.”

  “Leave him alone!” Kendra shouted. “Why do you always have to be so mean?”r />
  “Why do you have to be so annoying?” Gayla demanded. “I didn’t ask you to come here! You dropped on my head, remember?”

  “Then just give me back my ring and we’ll get out of your way,” Kendra said, giving one of her braids a strong tug.

  Gayla took a long, slow step forward. “What did you say?” she demanded, crossing her arms.

  Kendra glared at her.

  “If you want to accuse me of something, just come out and say it,” Gayla uttered.

  Kendra gulped, and tried to collect her courage. “D-did you take it? Did you take my ring?”

  Gayla stared at her straight in the eye. “No,” she said finally, her voice calm and even. And with that, she turned on one heel and stormed up the stairs.

  Kendra realized she had been holding her breath and let out a long exhale. She turned and looked down at Oki. “What now?” she asked, suddenly realizing that a single hot tear was streaming down her cheek. “Do you think she’s lying?”

  “I don’t know,” Oki said quietly. “But if she is, she’s really good at it.”

  THERE IS NO FESTIVAL in the world quite like Jamboreen. If you are ever so lucky as to find yourself at this marvelous celebration, I imagine it will be one of the best days of your life. Here you will find Eens dressed in colorful costumes, wearing masks or painted faces, and walking on long stilts, juggling glowing balls or performing tricks. You will taste the grandest treats: Eenberry pie, honey trifles, and roasted acorns glazed with Een sugar. You will hear silly songs, dance to jubilant music, and play the strangest games you can imagine. Indeed, each and every minute will bring a new spectacle, and the revelry will last into the wee hours of the night, until at last you collapse in a heap of happy exhaustion.

  It can be no surprise that Jamboreen was Kendra’s favorite day of the year. On this particular morning, however, she awoke stiff, sore, and sour as a skarm. She was still upset about her fight with Gayla, and to make matters worse, no one had bothered to show her and Oki a bed, so they had spent the night curled up on hard wooden chairs. Needless to say, it had been an uncomfortable sleep.

  “This just might turn out to be the worst Jamboreen ever,” Kendra groaned.

  These words had no sooner left her lips when there came from upstairs the sound of someone singing. The voice was so beautiful and melodic that it caused Kendra’s neck to prickle with goose bumps.

  “Wh-who is that?” Kendra murmured.

  “Definitely not your uncle,” Oki declared.

  It was Gayla, of course. Singing all the way, she danced down the stairs and swept into the kitchen, the perfect picture of a splendid mood. It was if she had completely forgotten the events from the night before. Her hair was now streaked purple and blue, with large bulbs and stars hanging from her braids, and she was wearing a beautiful robe the color of a summer’s night.

  “It’s Jamboreen!” she announced with a trill in her voice.

  Kendra and Oki exchanged looks of bewilderment, but for once, Gayla seemed not to notice. In a whirlwind of activity she ushered them off to separate bathtubs, and the whole while Kendra could hear her singing and dancing about the kitchen. By the time she climbed out of the tub there was a long crimson robe laid out for her—one of Gayla’s old gowns, Kendra assumed, too small for the Teenling. It fit Kendra perfectly; she dressed quickly and wandered back into the kitchen to find little Oki perched on a stool as Gayla joyfully adorned each whisker with a tiny glitter ball. She had already used Eenberry paint to decorate his fur with large blue swirls.

  It was Kendra’s turn next. Gayla streaked her hair with red and green, painted her face with curly designs, and then set about braiding her hair with bobbles and bulbs.

  “It’s fantastic,” Kendra beamed after Gayla had finished and stood her in front of the mirror.

  “Come on,” Gayla urged. “I don’t want to miss anything.”

  “What about Unc—er, I mean your brother? Isn’t he coming?” Kendra asked.

  “Hmph!” Gayla replied as she ushered them out the door. “He’s probably upstairs measuring his whiskers—as if the length of his beard will impress the elders! Don’t worry about him; he’ll show up in his own time.”

  The festival was held in a field on the banks of the River Wink, near the biggest Een town of Faun’s End. During the short walk, Kendra couldn’t help but to dwell on the problem of the missing Kazah stone, but such thoughts instantly evaporated as soon as her nose detected the first sugary smell from the fairgrounds. Soon the sounds of joyful cheers began to reach her ears, and the next thing she knew she was surrounded by crowds of costumed Eens. Here and there an Een would frolic past in a wide-hooped skirt or a bizarre crown-like cap. One old fellow was even wearing a tall stovepipe hat with a bird’s nest on top! Inside the nest was a collection of purple eggs with green spots.

  “Don’t think of eggs!” Kendra joked, nudging Oki.

  Before Oki had a chance to give a retort, they heard a loud squeal of delight. A swarm of excited Eenlings roared past, chasing an enormous ball. This was a bauble ball, and if you have not heard of such a thing then it is perhaps best to describe it as a type of piñata, for it is made of colored paper and contains all sorts of trinkets, toys, and treats. Unlike a piñata, however, a bauble ball is cast with a bouncing spell so it has a life of its own, leaping here and there as it tries to escape the hordes of frantic Eenlings wanting to whack it with their toy wands. With each successful strike the ball lets out a loud bang—like a firecracker—until at last it bursts open to reveal its treasure trove of prizes.

  “Come on,” Gayla coaxed, skipping forward. “Let’s play some games of our own.”

  The three of them were soon scampering through the grounds, trying their hand at every contest. These included many of Kendra’s favorites, such as “Sneeze Race” (in which you wear wheel-skates and try to sneeze your way across a finish line), “Pickle Toss” (in which you throw a slippery pickle back and forth to your partner as many times as possible) and best of all, the “Boot Bang.” In this one, you have to swing as high as you can on a swing and try to kick off your shoe, aiming for a long trumpet. If you actually succeed in getting your shoe down the trumpet, it spins down a long network of tubes, setting off a series of gears and gadgets until at last a melon ends up dropping—and exploding—on some hapless Een’s head.

  There were many other silly contests too, such as “Sink the Boat” (this involves cramming as many Eens as possible into a boat to see how many could fit in before it sinks), “Ticklefish” (in which you keep your feet in a tub full of Een fish as long as possible without breaking into laughter), and “Snore War” (a game to see who has the loudest snore—though it was usually impossible to award a winner, since everyone—including the judge—was asleep).

  Kendra had the best day in a long while. She laughed until she cried, ate far too many sweets, and by early evening had that tired, happy, and slightly sick feeling one gets after spending the whole day at the carnival. They took a nap on the banks of the river, and when they awoke the meadow was just being cleared for dancing and more revelry. Many Eens were playing instruments—not only the narfoo, but the womboe, the fizzdiddle, and the flumpet too.

  Amidst this happy hullabaloo, the meadow soon crowded with dancers young and old. Oki wandered off to find another Eenberry cupcake, so Kendra contented herself by sitting on a stump next to Gayla, watching the dancers. Before long, a striking woman dressed all in white flashed in front of Kendra.

  She looks familiar, Kendra thought, and then she realized it was none other than Winter Woodsong.

  In her own time, Kendra knew Winter as an ancient woman, well over a hundred years old, for whom the slightest movement seemed to demand the most titanic effort. But now here she was thirty-five years younger and spinning across the meadow lawn as light as a cloud, her long braids waving like streamers in the light of the sinking sun. Kendra was amazed to see her move so sprightly.

  The old woman caught Kendra staring and fr
olicked in her direction. “What now, young sorceress?” she inquired, pausing just in front of Kendra and Gayla. “Have you never seen an old woman dance?”

  “You’re not old,” Kendra said—and she meant it. “You dance beautifully, Mistress Woodsong.”

  “Suck-up,” Gayla muttered.

  Winter looked at Gayla. “Now here is a face that would turn an Unger pale. Why so dour, my dear? Did you eat one of Luna Lightfoot’s pucker-pears?”

  Gayla glowered, and Kendra couldn’t help wondering what had changed her mood. Then she noticed Gayla gazing over Winter’s shoulder, across the field at a Teenling boy. He was dressed in a bright Jamboreen costume, but this was hardly as bright as his shock of red hair. Even from a distance, Kendra could see that the boy’s eyes sparkled with kindness. Her heart took a little leap; for she knew at once that this was Krimson Kandlestar, the man who would one day become her father.

  Winter Woodsong, it seemed, had known all along where Gayla was focusing her attention. She didn’t even bother to turn around, but instead chuckled and said, “I’m sure young Kandlestar would be most pleased to dance with you.”

  “Dance?” Gayla said brusquely. “With that twiddleberry?”

  Then another Een girl sauntered past Krimson, flicking her long blonde hair and giving him a coquettish wave.

  “Ugh,” said Gayla with a derisive snort. “That Miranda Marigold is such a flirt; I ought to sock her.”

  “Now, now; take heart,” Winter chuckled. “There’s more than one way to stir the soup.”

  With that, the impish woman grabbed Gayla and Kendra by the hands and whirled across the lawn, gamboling past the other dancers until they arrived right where Krimson was standing. Kendra watched in amusement as Winter twirled Gayla right into Krimson’s arms—unfortunately, the boy wasn’t expecting it. He fell backwards with Gayla lying on top of him in a heap.

  “Er . . . I’m sorry, Miss Griffinskitch,” Kendra heard Krimson mumble awkwardly. His face had turned the same color as his hair—bright red.