Mia's Stand

by David Hartman

  Chapter 2

  Mia Murphy awoke to a hard mattress. As her circumstance slowly dawned on her, she realized that she wasn’t in her own bed. Cold, head pounding, it came to her slowly what had happened, that not only was she not in her own bed, she was also very lost, and lost somewhere very foreign. Sunlight beamed from a small, high window through mildewed damp air into a gloomy place that smelled even worse than the barroom. Dripping water echoed in the distance. The walls of her confinement were thick, black stone that looked slippery from ages of mildew and fungi. A heavy iron door held together with huge rivets with a slot a little lower than eye level forbade her exit. She stood and tried to open it. It wiggled noisily as she shook it, but it refused. She was a prisoner, but why? She didn’t do anything to these…people. She walked two steps to the other end of the cell, for a small cell it was, and considered that even if she could reach the window above, she’d never fit. And who knows what’s on the other side. She almost yelled to get somebody’s attention but stopped short. The only people that she might draw the attention of were the ones that put her here, and she wasn’t looking forward to a reunion with them. She sat on the floor with her back against a wall and her knees hugged to her chest, bit one finger and started to cry. She didn’t like crying. She squinted her eyes against the unwanted tears, then pried them open a few moments later to experience the tiny flashes of light one gets from eye strain.

  No, just one flash of light, but not caused from her eyes being shut. The pinpoint of light flew like a fast firefly, but didn’t flash. She ducked as it circled her head a few times. It bee-lined to the lock of the door and flew right inside the keyhole. She heard the rusty lock grind, kind of like chalk on a chalkboard, which always gave her goose bumps. The door swung open with a grating protest. Out from the keyhole flew the light, just a light, nothing substantial, and hovered a foot or so before her face. It then flew through the open doorway and paused a few feet outside in the cell-lined corridor. Several times it flew in front of her face, then again into the hallway. This may be my only chance for an escape, she thought. Her pulse quickened as she realized that the light was trying to get her to follow it out of the prison.

  She exited the jail cell to the dimly lit hallway. The little light sped to the stairs and stopped in the blink of an eye. Mia looked about for a guard, then limped to the stairs as well as she could, her legs sore from the beating she’d taken the night before. Up the stairs she went after the light, around a corner to a small wooden door that led to the outside. The light encouraged her to follow.

  She stepped into the street, unfamiliar with where she was in relation to where she had been abducted. The little light, visible even in broad daylight, bolted a few tens of yards to the left. Freedom became apparent. Yet she moved cautiously, suspicious of the people-things. She could see down the street in either direction. Nothing. No people-things. The small town seemed deserted. She broke into a limping run and followed the light toward the edge of town.

  The light took her out of the town and down a well-trodden path leading over the rolling hills. After a few minutes of running, the soreness in her legs mostly went away. She continued to follow the light at a good jog. Whatever this peculiar light thing was, it seemed to be on her side. It did, after all, aid in her escape. And how much harm could a pinpoint of light do, anyway? Certainly less than the creep who just last night nailed her on the head with a large bone.

  After a time she slowed to a fast walk. As they passed a wooded area, the light veered off the path and came to a stop. She followed it to where it hovered and stopped to look at it. The light hung there as if waiting.

  “What?” she asked. This is insane, she thought. I’m talking to a flashlight! What is this thing? The light flew in small circles two feet in diameter, then stopped.

  “What is it? What do you want me to do?” It flew three more laps, went straight up into the air a few feet, then at full speed, plunged into the thorny bushes beneath it, rustling the dense foliage. She looked for the light, which had disappeared into the thick undergrowth. It was then she noticed the plants.

  The bushes the light had dive-bombed were covered with huge scarlet berries unlike any she’d ever seen. They were the size of her two thumbs put together! The light reappeared and came straight up from the bushes. Only then did she realize she was famished. And very, very thirsty.

  “Can…can I eat these?” she asked. The light flew up and down in rapid succession as if to say yes, then circled the bushes a few more times. She picked one of the berries and carefully tasted it.

  The flavor that burst into her mouth was unlike anything she’d ever experienced before. She took a big bite of the berry. The indescribable juice of the berry flowed down her throat (inside and out). A warm, strengthening feeling overcame her, and in a few minutes she’d gobbled down a dozen of them. She could actually feel the weariness leave. She ate her fill, the berries making her fresh and strong, thanked the light and tied the front of her T-shirt into a knot in the form of a pouch, then loaded it with a few handfuls of the berries. The light beckoned her to follow, and off they went down the narrow winding path.

  The path led between hills bordering majestic mountains, snow capped and rocky. The pine forests became thicker. Soft meadows of low grasses checkered with many wild flowers blanketed the ground forever. Everything was so green! The occasional brook they passed offered a drink for Mia, though once she gagged as the thought occurred to her that some kind of animal might have peed in the water upstream. But the clear, cool water running over pebbly shallow bottoms tasted okay, not like pee.

  Soon dusk made its way across the hills. Mia wondered where she’d spend the night; where she was going; which way was home; what few choices she had; if any of her captors had followed and a hundred other questions that had no answers. The light, whatever it was, was the only friendly thing she’d met so far, so when it made it obvious to her that it wanted her to follow it into a stand of poplars, she followed. There it landed beneath the low boughs of a large, lone pine. She caught on. This is bed tonight. She crawled underneath. The light flew to a nearby branch, landed on it and held still.

  “Where am I?” she asked it. Like it could answer. “Whatever you are, can you talk?” Silence. She addressed the tree. “How about you?” She sized up the trunk for an image of a face, but there was not one to be found. Darkness grew in the surrounding meadow. She was very tired and soon fell into a dreamless sleep.

  She awakened at she knew not which dark, dark wee hour of the morning. A chill had roused her from what was already a light slumber. She was dry despite the rain she could hear, the broad, thick branches at the base of the immense tree an ample shelter. She sat up, shivering. There sat the light on the same branch. It flew off the branch, circled a pile of twigs and sticks a few feet from where she sat that had not been there before she’d fallen asleep. Within the sticks flew the light, circling and weaving at impossible speed until the dried wood caught fire. The tinder flamed warm, welcome heat. Again Mia thanked the light as she nestled near the fire, extending her hands to absorb the warmth. She stared into the flames as her shivering left, amazed at the feat of the little light, and took up a nearby stick to feed the fire. She poked the stick deep into the flame many times but was unable to get it to ignite. She noticed that the sticks already burning were unconsumed by the flame. She stopped, stick in mid air, considering the unharmed bit of wood. Again she stabbed her stick into the burning twigs. No matter what she did, she was unable to get it to catch fire. She soon gave up.

  She didn't know how long she’d sat there before she realized that the rain had stopped. Scant glows of dim light seen through the edge of the low hanging boughs said that dawn was breaking. She crawled out from beneath the tree, stretching as she stood, and breathed in the clean morning air. The light flew past and beckoned Mia to continue in the direction they’d been going. She tiredly followed, working aching muscles. She halted after a few steps, then returned to the tree
to reclaim the forgotten berries, and stuffed them into the stained makeshift pouch of her shirt. Satisfied they were secure, she followed the light.

  The path wound down into a broad sweeping valley of green fields. She saw a herd of animals grazing, but they were too far away to tell what kind of animals they were. She was thinking that if they were cattle or horses there might be a farm near by with a phone she could use. She picked up her pace. The muddy ground dried as the warming sun rose higher. The humid air was thick and muggy, hazy around the streams and clear for miles. Her pants legs were soaked from walking through knee-high grasses that were still wet from the evening’s rain. As she neared the herd animals a fence came in to view, indicating that perhaps a farm might be near. This time, she thought, she’d be more careful about what kind of places she went barging in to. Again she wondered where she was. A sick feeling overcame her. She ate a few of the berries, thinking that they might settle her jittery stomach and that they did, if only a bit.

  By noon the light was leading her down a shady lane lined with evenly spaced matching trees. Birds sang in the trees and the green leaves gently rustled with a slight breeze that would’ve whisked her hair had it not been so dirty. The tree-lined single lane went over a slight hill. Nestled at the end of the lane in a grove of pine trees lay a small cottage. She froze when she spotted it.

  A trail of smoke rose from the chimney of the cottage. An old unpainted wooden fence of round, rough posts supporting crooked round rails ran the perimeter of the overgrown yard. The outside of the cottage was of stone cemented in place with mud, but not sloppy like the buildings she’d seen at the village the day before. The roof was shake shingle, peaked in the middle with four flat sides like a pyramid. Two windows graced the front, adorned with burlap curtains, and the door, held up by over-sized rusty hinges, was of thin wood, crooked boards with a piece broken from the bottom. Weeds had grown between the slats of the opened yard gate indicating that it had not been closed for quite some time. As she came upon the cottage, she paused before the bent gate to look and listen. She neither saw nor heard anyone. The light zipped back and forth, encouraging her toward the cottage. Reluctantly she followed. So far the light hadn’t misguided her. It had actually helped her, had fed her, had kept her warm and dry, and had even rescued her from that filthy prison and a likely grim fate. She decided to trust in the mysterious entity.

  The light stopped short of the door and waited for Mia to catch up. It slammed itself into the wooden boards of the door, full speed, three times in rapid succession, producing loud toks. Without a moment’s hesitation, the light flew through the broken section at the bottom of the door. Mia heard the sound of a bolt being unlatched. The door slowly creaked open.

  The interior of the cottage smelled okay, not like the barroom she’d visited two evenings before. Odors of smoke from the fire tangled with something cooking lifted her nose as she peered about. A small table, two chairs, something similar to a sofa and a bed, of sorts; a fireplace with lots of books strewn about at random on the mantle; a large black cauldron set over the fire; rough board floors with throw rugs that looked more like the burlap curtains. A veritable plethora of miscellaneous items carelessly thrown into corners and haphazardly stacked along the walls. Rocks and figurines and scrolls and hides. More books stacked on the floor. A few cooking pots and pans hung from the ceiling. But she kept her eyes on the old man squatting at the fireplace as he turned.

  He motioned to Mia. “Come on in, young lady! Do come in!” He smiled and pulled the short stem pipe from between his teeth, then brushed his long, gray hair from his weathered face. He did have a certain charm, an honesty that could almost be felt. Mia took a few steps forward, but left the door open just in case. The old man didn’t seem to mind. He motioned for her to have a seat, which she did without taking her eyes from him.

  “I see you’ve met my friend Belemeriath.” He spoke in a strong slightly cracking baritone voice.

  “Bela who?”

  “Belemeriath.” He pointed to the fireplace mantle where the light had flown. There in its place was a little man about four inches tall, dressed from head to toe in green clothes that looked more like plant leaves than cloth. He wore a hat with a slight round flat top that straddled long, pointed ears. Mia’s mouth hung open and her eyes widened. She tried to speak, but nothing came out. Belemeriath waved at her. He was seated cross-legged on the edge of the mantle, arms straight with little hands gripping the edge. Not only was the light really a four-inch tall man, he also had wings!

  “A...a...a...” Mia stammered.

  “Lesser fairy,” Belemeriath said. The little jerk could talk! For the last two days she’d been playing guessing games with him and he’d been faking it! She even asked him if he could talk and he wouldn’t answer!

  “You can talk!”

  “Can’t you? Can’t everybody?" he asked.

  “Why didn’t you talk to me in the...the...” Mia’s anger gave way to amazement. She was talking to a real fairy! She looked at the old man.

  “'Cause Finnegaff wouldn't let me!” Belemeriath rattled off.

  “It seems, Belemeriath, that Mia is a bit taken by your handsome looks and gentlemanly charm! You’ve got a way with the ladies!” The old man winked. Belemeriath beamed.

  “How did you know my name?” Mia asked.

  “I have ways of knowing such things.”

  “This is kinda weird. What kind of ways?”

  The old man shrugged. "Just ways. It is not wise to ask that now.”

  “Not wise?”

  “Trust me."

  "Why should I trust you?"

  "Because that would be wise."

  “What’s your name?”

  “I am called Finnegaff.” He blew a smoke ring.

  “Finnegaff. Hmmm. What’s your last name?”

  He thought a moment. He went to speak, then thought a moment more. “I’ve never changed the one I’ve got. It’s always been Finnegaff. Unless, of course, you mean Finnemath. But that was long ago.”

  “You got a phone around here?” she said

  “A what?”

  “Duh! A phone! You know, ring, ring: hello!” She held her hand to the side of her head with pinkie on mouth and thumb on ear.

  “Phone? No, no, I don’t think so.”

  “Well, maybe you can tell me where I am, then.”

  “You’re in the House of Finnegaff,” Belemeriath said.

  Mia stared at the little fairy for a moment. “Let’s start with the state,” Mia said. “What state is this?”

  “I believe she means Awlland," Finnegaff said to Belemeriath. "You’re in Awlland, west of Sorber Hill.”

  “No, I mean...state. Like Colorado. Or Florida.”

  Finnegaff shook his head. “Never heard of them.”

  Mia jumped to her feet and held her hands palms up, shaking them in disbelief. “What are you smoking in that pipe? You’ve never heard of Colorado?”

  “We need to talk, Miagaff.”

  “Talk?! Look. I just wanna get out of here and,” she puzzled. “What’d you call me?”

  He stood. His presence grew with the action, commanding authority. “Your name is Miagaff here. Please sit back down.” He pointed with the stem of his pipe to the chair. She sat. He took his seat.

  “You are special, Mia. You don't know it yet, but you are. I sent Belemeriath to find you when I heard you arrive and learned that you almost got yourself eaten. It’s fortunate that Belemeriath found you during the day. Trolls can't go out into the sunlight. It'll kill 'em. What were you doing in the troll settlement of Broch, anyway?”

  “Trolls? They were going to eat me?”

  “It’s what trolls do best,” Belemeriath chided. “Of course, you’d be just an appetizer.”

  “Belemeriath, that’s enough.”

  “This talking tree told me to go there,” she confessed.

  “That’s Tree! That’s Tree!” exclaimed the fairy. He jumped into rapid flight and hovered />
  inches in front of Mia’s face. "Never, ever listen to what Tree says. He...”

  “Belemeriath!” Finnegaff said. “Please!” Belemeriath took his place on the mantle. “Tree has been there for hundreds of years. He gets bored and plays practical jokes.”

  “Practical jokes? I almost got killed!”

  “Wow!” Belemeriath said, again taking flight. This time he hovered in front of Finnegaff’s face. “Tree never fools anyone! Everyone knows that Tree is a prankster! Why, I’ll bet he’s gloating even now! Why, I bet...” Finnegaff tried to bat him away, but the fairy easily dodged his flailing.

  “Belemeriath! Please let me. This is important.” Belemeriath took his seat on the mantle, grinning widely.

  Despite how weird it all was, Mia felt strangely safe. “Okay, okay!” Mia stood up. “You’re a fairy,” she pointed at Belemeriath.

  “Lesser fairy,” he said.

  “Let me guess. You’re a wizard, right?” she said. He certainly looked the part.

  “Well, yes, but we’re getting ahead of ourselves here, I think,” Finnegaff said.

  Mia again rose to her feet. “I suppose there’s dragons and elves, too!”

  The old man muttered something. “Well, yes. We’ll get to that. Now, please sit down. Tea?” he asked. He took a simple porcelain teapot from the table and poured a bit of steaming tea into a delicate cup. The teapot hadn’t been there a moment ago. Or the cup he handed her. “It’s very good. I mix it myself.”

  She took the cup, examined it, and sipped the most perfect tea she’d ever tasted.

  “Now, let’s see. Where were we? Oh, yes! Dragons!” Finnegaff exclaimed.

  “No!” Belemeriath ripped into flight, again in Finnegaff’s face. “No! You were gonna tell her about why she’s Miagaff and about the dark sorceress and....”

  “SIT!” Finnegaff commanded. Belemeriath took his place on the fireplace mantle, stifling a laugh with his hand to his mouth. “Miagaff, you are a very special person. There has been a task assigned you and it’s my duty to see you through it.”

  “What task?” she asked.

  Belemeriath took flight to Mia, and this time, he put Finnegaff to his back. “You gotta take the Book of Life to the caretakers in....” Finnegaff didn’t miss. He hit the fairy, but not too hard, like a tennis ball, and sent him flying across the room. Mia gasped. He corrected his flight before he hit anything, turned somersaults in mid air and held his hand on his mouth, laughing.

  “You’re just an imp!” Finnegaff laughed.

  “All fairies are imps!” He flew happily about in figure eight’s.

  “Could you fetch us tarrowroot?” asked Finnegaff. “Our guest could surely use a leaf or two!”

  “Oh! Oh! Tarrowroot! Yes, yes I will!” The fairy made a bee-line for the unopened window. He hit the glass with a loud thunk and fell to the sill. Finnegaff picked him up in the palm of his hand.

  “Don’t eat it all! Bring back some for us!” Finnegaff said.

  “Okay! Be right back!” Belemeriath flew this time through the break in the door. He was gone in a flash.

  “Tarrowroot is a favorite of the fairies, but they can only have it if a human asks for it first,” Finnegaff said. “And the nearest tarrowroot's thirty leagues away!” He laughed at himself.

  “Why do they like tarrowroot so much?” Mia asked.

  “It has the same effect on them that alcohol does on us.”

  “Really. I don’t know if I want to be here when he gets back.”

  “It makes him quiet, if you can imagine that. Besides, he’ll be gone a while.”

  “He’s out of control.”

  “He means well. And often does well. And he’s one of the few lesser fairies I can tolerate.”

  “They get worse?”

  “Much worse. He’s pretty calm compared to most of them.” Finnegaff stirred the contents of

  the cauldron.

  “He was really irritating me.”

  “You should be thankful. If not for Belemeriath, you’d be troll food in about two hours. I've known Belemeriath a long time. He’s a good friend. And a wonderful ally. You’ll like him.”

  “I’ll like him? What makes you think I’m down for hanging with you guys? As soon as I find out where I am, I’m outta here!”

  “What makes me think that?” He moved his chair closer. His deep blue eyes met hers. He leaned one elbow on a knee and held the pipe like a pencil. “Mia, I’m sorry. You have choices, but they've been made for you.” He shook his head. Somehow she knew in her heart that he was right. “You simply have no choice.

  “I know you have a lot of questions and I wish I could answer all of them. To some I know the answers but cannot say; others remain a mystery to me, too.”

  Mia choked back tears. “I want to go home!”

  “I know. How you get there and where there is are unknown to me.” There was a silence. “But I will tell you what I can.”

  She wiped her face on her dirty shirt, which only served to spread the dirt.

  Finnegaff smiled at her smudged face. “First let’s get you cleaned up and get some chow.” He turned to the cauldron over the fire. He picked it up and pushed books aside with it when he set it on the table. It steamed with warm water. Finnegaff wet a rag and handed it to her.

  "Don’t forget to wash behind your ears.”

  Mia smiled. “My Grandma tells me that.”

  “And to her you should listen. Here.” He reached into a wardrobe and removed a few articles of clothing. "These are for you. The clothes you’re wearing are a bit dirty.” He set the clothes on the chair on which he’d been sitting. “I’ll be outside.” And with that, Finnegaff left the room.

  The dark green shirt was smock in style; the baggy light brown pants three-quarter length. Her new green socks, better to be called stockings, matched the shirt and tightly fit her calves to the knees. The soft leather boots were simple, and she liked the look. So well fit were they that it felt as if she wore only socks. Indeed everything was comfortable, fitting loosely, the style Mia preferred anyway, though not these garments in particular.

  While she bathed and dressed, she thought about Finnegaff’s claim to be a wizard. She thought about the tea. There wasn’t a teapot or a cup when she arrived. She looked for the teapot, but it wasn’t where he had set it. She looked all around, but it was gone. She hadn’t hardly taken her eyes from him since the tea was served, hadn’t seen him put it away, yet it was gone. A shiver ran down her spine. Maybe she could ask him to do some magic. She looked out the window at Finnegaff. He stood in the long grass and stared at the clouds with his hands clasped behind his back.

  She tightened down her belt and called for the wizard. “Okay! I’m done!”

  He came back into the little house. Without a single word, he took two bowls from the shelf, reached for a ladle that hung from the ceiling, then dipped into the cauldron of water as he mumbled something Mia couldn't understand. As he dipped, the room filled with the delectable aroma of chicken soup. The ladle brimmed with vegetables floating in a thick, savory broth. Her mouth hung open as her stomach rumbled in anticipation.

  “How’d you do that? Wizard magic?”

  “Well, yes and no,” he said. He had yet to loose his warm smile. “There are two kinds of magic. One magic is for tricksters. Wizardry magic is what we do by employing the Morrahlife Saa.”

  “Wow!” She shook her head. “It’s still magic to me! So, what’s this Saa?”

  “Saa is the power of Morrah that gives to all. All feel it in some ways, yet some, such as I, can learn to utilize it for, well, certain things. Since this soup is from Morran things, it can be formed. One cannot, say, change weather or make someone love you. Those things are not of Saa.”

  "Who's Morrah?" she asked.

  "Not who, but what!" He paused a moment. "We'll get to that. Soup?" He set the steaming bowl down in front of her.

  She regarded the soup in the stone bowl that lay before her. A mo
ment ago it was dirty wash water. And now this old man expected her to eat it.

  “It’s okay. The water that was there has returned to Morrah. The soup is just that. Soup.”

  And a fine soup it was indeed! Mia downed two bowls full without speaking a single word. Finnegaff nursed his in between talking.

  “As you’ve heard, you are in the country of Awlland and have a quest before you in which I am involved. You are special, Mia, as you are not from this world.” She stopped eating and looked at him. “Yes, this is not the world to which you are native. Here Saa is as much a part of us as air is. It is not cheap magic. Cheap magic is the jester who tricks the eye with sleights of coin and card but doesn't know Saa. If he knew Saa he wouldn't do tricks that way." He smiled.

  “To answer your question: I don't know how you got here, and I've never been to your home world. I know the creator chose you, but not why it was you he chose or how he did it, just that you're it. I can't say how you can get to your home world because I don't know how. I can say that, because you are not Morran, you can perform certain tasks vital to our existence that none of us can. Here we all feel Saa to one degree or another, and we're all bound by it. But though you can feel Saa, and you still have Saa in you, you don't feel it like a Morran does. Do you understand, dear Miagaff?”

  “Okay. So this place is real. I’m not from here, and because of that, I can do something that no one else can. I can’t get home, and I was picked by God to do whatever it is I’m supposed to do, and you know what it is, right?”

  “Close enough.”

  “So what is it I’m supposed to do?”

  “I can’t say at this time.”

  "That fairy said something about a book."

  "Well, yes he did."

  "So, what about this book?"

  "I can't say."

  “Why?”

  “Because, Miagaff, it’s too soon.”

  "My name’s not Miagaff. It’s Mia.”

  “Well, yes and no.” The old wizard muttered something under his breath. “Mia is, as you put it, your last name.”

  “No. My last name’s Murphy.” Mia finished her second bowl of soup. Finnegaff poured her tea from the teapot, which had made a reappearance. “You knew my name before we even met?’

  “Oh, yes, indeed! I've known your name for years. You'll soon learn how important it is that you get used to being called Miagaff.”

  “Both our last names are Gaff. Are we supposed to be related?”

  “Well, yes and no.” Mia was starting to not like it when he began statements like that. It always ended up being confusing. “Gaff is not a last name. It’s a title.”

  “Like a doctor?”

  “Yes, I suppose so.”

  “What does it mean?”

  “It's the title given to those of us that have the ability to draw on Saa.”

  “Like when you changed the wash water to soup!”

  “Yes. And the tea. And your clothing. Notice it fits perfectly. That's the kinda stuff Saa does.”

  “But you said you’re a wizard! Isn’t that what makes you able to do these things?”

  “You're getting it! They're the same thing.”

  “I’m a wizard?!”

  “Well, yes.” He mumbled something and lit his pipe. With a flame emitted from his pinkie finger.

  She stared at the flame coming from his finger. “So I can catch my fingers on fire. Or change water to soup. Is that what you’re saying?”

  “Yes, if you knew how. However, it's believed that it's not really changing. It's thought that it's more like subtracting one thing and adding another.” He puffed on his pipe. The smell of it was sweet and harsh at the same time.

  “I can’t do that!”

  He smiled, holding a forefinger in the air. “Ah! But you can!”

  “And you’re going to show me how?”

  “No, no. That’s not my task.”

  “What am I supposed to do? Guess?”

  “I have an old and dear friend that has the gift of teaching. She will show you.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “Marigaff. She's not far from here.”

  This can’t be for real! I’m a wizard! She was anxious to try. She began to look around for something on which to attempt the magic.

  “You gotta know Saa before you can do anything with your gift. Marigaff will show you.” He looked at her intensely. “Patience is required of us, dear Miagaff.”

  “Okay. Okay.” Her head swam with all this new information. Change the subject. “So tell me. How is it you speak English?”

  Again he raised a finger to the air. “Ah! This I know! I'm not speaking English. You're speaking the universal language of Awlland, New Elven.”

  “Elven? Does that mean there’s elves here?”

  "Yes. And dwarfs, trolls, as you’ve seen, Centaurs, Mantids, sylphs, dragons, and a host of other intelligent races.”

  “Dragons? Like fire breathing, flying lizards?”

  “Yes, but don't call them lizards. It insults them. You don’t want to upset a dragon.”

  “Cool! I wanna see a dragon sometime!”

  “Yes. Well, perhaps you shall.”

  They talked for quite some time, until late in the evening. Mia was beyond tired. “Where’s Belemeriath?” she asked.

  “Either he got sidetracked or is too intoxicated to fly. Likely both.”

  “So what happens now?”

  “We get some rest. We're outa here at first light.”

  “To go to this farm.” Mia yawned and stretched out on the cot Finnegaff had set up. “Maybe they know how I can get home.”

  “Well, yes. Marigaff does.”

  “She does?!” Mia bolted upright. “Why didn’t you tell me that? She can show me the way home when we get there!”

  “Well yes and no.” Finnegaff blew out one of two candles. “She can show you, but it won’t work. Not yet, anyway.”

  “What do you mean, it won’t work yet?”

  “You’ll have to ask Marigaff that.” The old wizard blew out the second candle