Keith G. Alderman

The Return Journey

Chapter 18

There’s a thing terrible about leaving a journey unfinished; the feelings of guilt, worry, doubt, and anger pile on. But they do not pile in a structured order with rhyme or reason. Certainly, the onset of joy arrives with them; the joy of relief, the joy of rest, the joy of laziness. And this rhythm is bizarre and unorthodox; viz., one moment you are happy that it’s all over, and the next, sad that you must depart. The sadness can ebb and flow for days, weeks, and sometimes years; and no matter how much you try to explain why you yet feel sorrow after such lengthy times, you can’t really make anyone understand, because deep down, you don’t realize yourself why the pain is still present. 

You failed when you were supposed to succeed; nothing improved when you were the one to fix it. That’s the horrid thing about failure; it creeps up into the joints of a person and festers. And it’s only by the hatred of failure that little boys and girls learn to keep pushing and keep fighting, to never give up, until they succeed. This was one of those moments for the Dolor children and Aaron. They put their lives in harm’s way, their faith in the supernatural, and stepped into a forest of endless possibilities and dangers; only to be let down at every turn until finally walking away, frustrated and beaten. To suggest that the journey out of the Enchanted Forest was gloomy is an understatement. 

None of them wanted to leave, but dusk was upon them, the sky growing bleak, and they’d no other ideas of what to do. For the first hour of their walk, they kept waiting to bump into the Ghost of David Crockett and discover he was just on the other side of the hill; a little delayed and ready to help. But he never showed up, and they never found relief. 

The fleeting hope flurried up inside of them again when they thought they had smelled lavender on the wind or the light caught the blue ridge just right; but gradually the thoughts grew dim and less and less often, until they started to doubt he ever existed at all. Balaam and Starlight were real enough; but their magic had lost its luster, the wonder dimmed in their mopey silence. It took every hope inside to muster up a faith that what they did somehow mattered and would make a difference; yet with every step, they further comprehended how the birds kept chirping, the deer kept bounding, and the sun kept falling no matter what they did or did not do on the earth.

The return-journey is always less remarkable. The trees do not dazzle. The animals are common, now. Time moves slower and the path travels quicker. It was just over two hours of walking and the children saw Fool’s Pass on the horizon. Great pillared canyons cut through the mountain in what once was a river run; the river had dried up centuries ago and flowed again underground to form Uktena’s Lair. Now, poplar trees and rhododendron lined a foot path through the canyon. The children remembered that deep under their feet was the deadly sea-serpent, waiting for someone to stumble upon it.

On the far side, the children followed the path south-southwest up the slippery slope where Herbert nearly fell; it seemed a lifetime ago. Here, the journey grew so painful and exhaustive that Herbert and Esther’s feeble legs could take them no further; they resorted to riding on Balaam’s back, who was gracious enough to have them. 

Marian and Aaron kept with the Donkey while they followed a hovering eagle over the ridge-line and down the descent unto Weeper’s Run. The need for food became so strong that the children ached and wondered if they had ever eaten before; the idea of crawling into bed with a cheeseburger and chocolate cookies was always in their imagination. 

Night fell on the mountain and they crossed Pascal’s Bridge under the gleam of the moonlight bouncing off the water. Esther remembered her first conversation with the creepy Mr. Dauer and shuddered; Herbert smiled as he recalled Pascal’s antics. “He talked funny,” he muttered under his breath. 

The cold came upon them quickly, and all four huddled as close to Balaam’s furry coat as they could muster until the belabored ascent of their final mountain tested their mettle and warmed their bodies. At the top of the climb, Esther caught a frail glimpse of the strange clay markings highlighted against the white rock face over Weeper’s Run; she never would have noticed them now had she not seen them in the bright morning light. 

On the mountain’s far side, the group hobbled down the steep descent southwest in sleepy dismay, wishing every moment to be curled up in bed and far from mountains and trees, yet careful not to slip on the damp muddy slope. Every few moments, they recognized another peculiar rock or leaf and thought they neared the end; only to find yet another familiar formation and be reminded again they had a long way to travel still. 

Thus, the very end of a return-journey is ofttimes the longest and most irritable. Bugs are a nuisance; rocks are painful; the wind is cold; sweat drips off your nose, and your knees ache. Eventually, they heard the sound of Long Creek, and knew they were finally close to the end (or beginning, depending on how you looked at it); but even still the creek did not come from the shadows until several minutes down a slippery, jagged slope, winding from shoulder to shelf to shoulder.

Finally, they found Long Creek; its dribbling water meandered south to meet Little Tennessee River. Water smacked under their feet, and Balaam halted at its middle. 

“I think it’s time I left you children,” said he. 

“What?” Marian asked. 

“No,” Herbert said.

It hadn’t occurred to any, until just then, that Balaam wouldn’t be able to come home with them. He was his own Animal and belonged to the forest.

“I’ll take you down the creek to the hill.” Another mile and they came to the path before the final hill of the gate. “I appreciate the opportunity to walk with you children. Fine group you are indeed,” said Balaam. “Though I’m sure you are happy to be rid of me anyway.” He smirked.

“Oh, Balaam!” Marian cried. 

Herbert and Esther dismounted from his back and the four children wrapped their arms around the Donkey and kissed him a thousand times. “Hee-haw,” Balaam whispered, and a tear ran down his long face. 

“We will never forget you, Balaam,” Marian said.

“You saved my life,” said Esther. 

“You saved all of us,” added Marian. “You will always be our hero.” 

“I’m going to name my kid after you, Balaam.” Herbert smiled and squeezed his neck one last time. 

“Thank afor bean our friend,” Aaron said and wiped his face, trying his best not to show his tears in the moonlight. “I sory for a-callin’ ye’n stoopid.” 

“You are forgiven. And I’ll never forget you, children,” said Balaam. “Well,” he straightened his back. “Better time than never to get started going nowhere.” 

“Will we ever see you again?” Esther asked. 

“I’m not sure,” Balaam replied. “But I suppose it has to happen if I really think about it.”

The children smiled and watched the Donkey disappear up the creek and into the forest. Once the trees stopped rustling and bending, and they knew he was far out of sight, they continued on their own way, slowly over the final hill and caught by a new wave of adrenaline for their beds and clean clothes. The moonlight disappeared behind the tall trees and they gathered close together. All was quiet, the trees were still, and nothing stirred. Fear would have gotten a hold of them if not for a familiar voice they heard in the darkness far behind and up the far hill. “Ugh, I always hated crossing mud,” came Balaam’s voice, and it made the children giggle.

“A-most theres,” said Aaron. “Sees that there piece a-soapstone—that the piece I’s a-pointed at on the ways in.” 

***

When the forest-gate spread before them, and they stepped from the lush, green trees to open, fresh-cut grass, they had the odd sensation of stepping onto foreign land. For a half second, they thought houses were an absurdity and asphalt roads preposterous. But the wave of “normal” poured over them like a cup of lukewarm water; it felt nice to be home, safe to be back, but abhorrently uneventful. 

They gathered under the tulip poplar and to their surprise a tree-house floor was braced up at the first branch, eight feet in the air. “I don’t remember that being there this morning,” Marian said, pointing. 

Slam! 

The back-porch door had opened and slapped shut, though it didn’t close properly because the latch was broken. Mrs. Dolor was standing in front of it, furious. 

Starlight woke from the sound and blasted away into the night; it would have broken Herbert’s heart to not say goodbye under normal circumstances. But instead, he couldn’t look away from the stern, violent glare in his mother’s eye. 

Aaron hollered his goodbye and ran to his bicycle perched on the nearest side of the house. He took off before any of the Dolor children said a word. The Dolors couldn’t take their eyes off their mother for their own safety.

“Where have you been!” She hollered in the sort of way adults do when they don’t want an answer, but just want you to know they are mad. “You’ve been gone all day…without a word! Oh my goodness! All of you! Filthy! Where have you been…Look at all your cuts and scrapes! Ugh! I’ve been worried sick and calling every place I could think of! Get inside!” She was quite upset, but her anger had more to do with fear than fury. She calmed down a bit once all three of her children were safe inside their home. 

“Where did you go?” Mrs. Dolor asked again. All three children were bathed, dressed in pajamas, and sitting in the kitchen with her. Marian was seated on top of the table being examined by her mother, who ran iodine and cotton swabs over every cut and slice the trees, rocks, and Spearfinger had given her. (Of course, the children didn’t tell her anything about the hag or sea-serpent because that would only get them in more trouble.)

“We were playing in the woods behind our house,” Marian said.

Mrs. Dolor muttered something while applying another dab to Marian’s elbow.

Marian cringed. “I’m sorry, Mom. We lost track of time.” 

“Who was that boy?” 

“His name is Aaron,” Herbert butt-in. “He goes to school with us.” 

“Aaron,” she repeated to herself, like she wanted to memorize it. “Is he a good boy?” 

Marian, Esther and Herbert looked at each other, unsure for a moment how to answer. 

“Yeah,” Marian said. “He’s our friend.” 

“Well,” Mrs. Dolor said, “I’m glad you are making friends.” She poured a sizable amount of iodine down Marian’s leg, who clenched her teeth and winced. “You know your father was home all day,” said Mrs. Dolor, wiping it away. “He wanted to spend the day playing with you.” 

“Oh,” Marian said.

“He spent the entire day starting a tree-house for you out back.” Mrs. Dolor had that look in her eye that all mothers know how to give. It’s that glance that makes you feel their disappointment even though they don’t have to say a word.

“I’m sorry,” the children said.

“Don’t say ‘sorry’ to me,” replied Mrs. Dolor.

Giant Obstacles

Chapter 17

The Lake was the first sound they had heard from the other side of the sugar-berry; but they weren’t incorrect in their estimation of it sounding like someone was swimming. And this, too, was from where the booming thunderous earthquakes had come. 

They were the pounding, stolid footsteps of a forty-five-foot-tall man who presently sat upright in the clover field, leaning one elbow on the top of a bent weeping-willow and dipping his free hand into the lake. Suddenly, the children realized the oblong-shaped pickle-puddles they had seen on their trip from the river were the sunken footprints of the giant. 

From his terrible gaze and powerful stature, the children felt the pressure one feels next to someone of high importance and grandeur—not the sort of importance that comes with fame or wealth; but character and honor. They knew that he was a man of imperial significance and they would have been tempted to worship him, if they hadn’t innately perceived it would’ve insulted him rather than esteemed him. This pressure resulted in the hardest attempt to keep their eyes up and on him, yet ironically, each felt they mustn’t look away; it was as if they had lived underground for all their lives and finally walked into the sunshine, desiring to look upon the sun’s majesty and bask in its healing power, yet with every glance, brought under enormous pain from its sheer velocity. 

The giant man’s skin was dark olive like an elk; his black hair was tied in a twelve-foot-long crimson ponytail behind his shoulders. He wore only a few strips of tanned leather around his waist and biceps; a necklace of enormous colorful rocks, shells, and stones hung across his bare chest. His free arm draped over his bent knee, and his furrowed brow stared at the children and Donkey whom had just arrived. Around him, the wild animals dawdled, and you had the impression that these black-bear never became aggressive and these deer never grew afraid.

The children were lost for a while in the wonder of the man and his lake. They couldn’t believe how difficult, long, arduous, and dangerous the journey had been, yet suddenly felt as if it were short and easy compared to what they had expected. Deep in their thoughts, they hadn’t realized the giant man was asking them something. 

“I’m sorry, sir,” said Marian. “What did you say?”

“Do you know me?” The giant asked again, and Marian felt the hot wind from his breath across the glade.

“I’m sorry, sir,” she replied, “but I don’t think we’ve ever met.” 

Aaron and Herbert snickered and shook their heads in disbelief.

The giant leaned back like he was in deep thought. “Long time ago,” he sighed, “everyone knew Maushop.”

Marian stepped into the glade, and the others followed. As they crossed the tall ryegrass, the giant shifted his weight off the willow and lowered his head to examine the teeny children. 

They felt his immense eyes rolling over each of them; his extended foot stood upright on its heel, in the middle of the field, seven-feet high. When they crossed under its shadow, Marian’s heart rose to her esophagus and she held her breath. Herbert remembered the last time he had smushed an ant and shivered at the thought. He felt a tug on his shirt and looked to see Starlight fluttering next to him. She was very perturbed and buzzing all about. He couldn’t help but imagine how she must look at him. To her, he was the giant. And this enormous man in the field was a skyscraper. And to the giant, Starlight was smaller than a gnat. “What is it, Starlight?” 

The giant’s gaze fell on them like a tower with eyes. Splash! His right arm dumped into the lake, scooped up a handful of water, and splashed his face and ran it through his hair.

“Is that your name? Maushop?” Esther asked, sitting upright on Balaam’s back. 

The giant nodded.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Maushop,” Marian added, and the others haphazardly agreed. 

“I brought the fishes and the whales,” said Maushop. “And gave plenty to the little people. In the morning, they never worried about what they would do by nightfall, because Maushop provided.” 

“Guys,” Herbert whispered. “I don’t think Starlight likes this guy very much.” Noya was bounding all around Herbert in a fitful stir, trying to compose herself but finding it very hard not to get angrier and angrier every second.

“Well, what happened to the little people?” asked Marian. 

Maushop smiled and looked down at her. “What is your name, little princess?” 

“Marian. Marian Dolor.” 

“Dolors,” Maushop said to himself. The giant looked up into the mountain range behind them, and the kids wondered if they displeased him.

He looked back at the children. “If the gate is ever broken,” he said, “I protect that which cannot be destroyed.”

“Do you mean the Fountain?” Esther asked. 

“Atagahi,” muttered Maushop.

Noya was at wit’s end. She could not contain herself any longer and burst away from Herbert’s shoulder. Her wings took her high into the air where she pulsated her red-orange light at the giant and pointed her finger sternly. The children heard the same buzzing cicada-like sound emanating from her that the Rock Faeries had uttered, and they imagined she was saying very choice words in her faerie language. 

It’s been said that giants and fae-folk do not get along very well; something about the faeries’ preternatural love of color, wind and light irritates giants who prefer simple, elemental things like rocks, water, and dirt. Likewise, the fae-folk consider the slow meandering repose of giants as oafish. Nonetheless, giants and fae-folk alike can get along if needed; but what bothered Noya wasn’t brought on by her people’s prejudice, but that this field was once her home, and Maushop’s appearance was what drove her and her kin out of Atagahi.

“Gnats and houseflies,” Maushop swatted his hand at the air in front of him. “Get this thing away from me.”

“Starlight!” Herbert hollered, scared the giant might hurt or even kill her. The giant’s backhand swooped passed the faerie, and its wind blew her toppling head over heels. Her wings caught the air just before she crashed on the ground, and she feverishly retreated to Herbert’s side. 

“Careful!” Herbert hollered, but he didn’t know if he was yelling at the faerie or the giant; either of which made him feel abashed for yelling.

“Ugly bright lights and nasty buzzing,” Maushop said to himself. “I miss the ocean.”

“The ocean?” Esther asked. “Is that where you are from?” 

“Why ain’tcha head on back they?” Aaron smirked. “We-all can lak after the Founta’n.”

“Maushop lived far away from here, long ago,” said the giant. “I had a wife in the cold places by the ocean. And no—you cannot protect the Lake. Only the artifact can protect it.” 

Esther leaned forward on Balaam’s back. She winced when her ankle hit the Donkey’s side. “Where is your wife now?” She asked, clenching her teeth in pain.

“You are in pain, little one,” said Maushop. “Come near to the waters and let them heal you.” 

Esther hesitated. Up to this point, all they had wanted to do was reach the fountain on the word of David Crockett; but now, as she had the opportunity to step forward, she was reminded by the long terrible warnings Balaam had told them on their way through the Dead Valley. 

She had images pop in her head of ghouls and spirits grabbing her ankle like the Spearfinger, and pulling her into the water, and filling her body with a bogey to haunt her family for the rest of her life. 

What if whatever happened to all those Animals that left their homes and never saw their families again happened to her? What if it wasn’t a healing-lake at all, but instead a river like the Lethe, that would make her forget all her loved ones and send her to Hell? 

But when she looked up and about; noticing the hopping rabbits, tumbling bear-cubs, and elegant does, her frightful thoughts began to disappear. How could something bad have so much beauty and joy wrapped around it? Esther slid off of Balaam’s back and hobbled on her foot toward the lake. The others, either from the look on Maushop’s face or something in the air, knew they were forbidden to help her unless the giant invited them to do so. 

It was a terrifying thing to approach a giant, but Esther found the courage to do it in his sudden kind and gentle face. It took her several quiet minutes, and painful winces, to make it to the water’s edge. But as soon as her toe dipped under the water, and the powerful relief ran up her veins, she shoved the whole foot in, up to her calf. Her skin turned glossy and sleek, as if bathed in oil, and a scent filled the air like violets and shepherd’s purse. 

“Oh!” Esther said.

“What’s is it?” Aaron hollered, concerned.

“It feels so cool—I mean, pleasant,” said she. 

After only a moment, Esther’s leg felt better than it ever had. She pulled the foot from the water; the wound had vanished. It’s one thing to believe in miracles and another to see one happen. Even as the purple veins wiped away like smeared paint and the wound closed right in front of her like a clam shutting its mouth, she had no idea what to do or think. 

She and the others rejoiced at the sight. Maushop smiled with them, yet in a serious, sovereign manner. Esther ran to her siblings and hugged both of them, Aaron, and especially Balaam around his fluffy neck for carrying her so far. She laid down in the grassy field, laughing and twisting her leg, and had a hard time concentrating on anything else for much of their time with Maushop. 

After a few minutes of being caught in disbelief and realizing fully the power of this Lake, the children realized they didn’t know what do next, now that they had found the Fountain of Youth. They shuffled their feet awkwardly in the blowing grass and asked each other what they thought, while the giant quietly studied them. 

“Why’d Crockett tell us a-come here to shet the gap, onliest find this here big-big giant?” Aaron whispered, letting a bit of his derision seep out. He looked at the giant man and felt his sobering stare wash over him again; he straightened his back and bowed his head.

“Balaam,” said Marian. “Do you know anything?”

“Marian,” replied Balaam. “I wish I knew more, but I only know what I’ve been given. David Crockett ordered me to walk with you. I never knew why.” 

“He didn’t tell you what we were doing?” Herbert asked. 

“Only that it mattered,” Balaam responded. “And I suppose that was good enough for me. But now that we are in Atagahi, I have many questions that have always befuddled me. One being, why are all these Animals here! I always heard it was a dead place. Mr. Maushop!” Here, he looked at the Giant. “Who are all of these Animals?” 

“These that you see are those whom found Atagahi and would not leave it,” said Maushop. “They came to the Lake at the end of their life, and now worry of losing its power. They would rather wait here for the call to cross Atagahi; and thus, they avoid the call to return from it.”

“I heard nothing was across Atagahi,” replied Balaam. “What do you say is across it, then?”

“The Next Page,” replied Maushop. “These Animals do not yet fully understand that once one finds the Lake, the power of the Lake does not remain here. It goes forward with the Animal that returns to the place it came from. But they are not evil in this misunderstanding; only foolish. Even still, it is not such a bad thing to be foolish in paradise.”

“Maushop,” said Marian, finding her confidence behind Balaam’s questions. “We’ve come to find the Fountain of Youth. David Crockett sent us. He told us that we could close the gate if we came here.”

“I know, Dolor children,” he replied. “But I only move for the one who controls the Army of Bones.” The children glanced at one another, confused. “Maybe that’s you one day, but it’s not you today.”

“The Army of Bones? Balaam, do you know what that is?” 

“Not a clue,” he replied.

“I don’t understand,”

“I does,” interjected Aaron. “Dagnabit! It mean this here whole stoopid trip—Esther bean begouged, Herbie about fells off a cliff, big ol’ sea-snakes, weaked cankered haints, and ashy faeries!—it were all pointless!”

Maushop’s eyes flared. “Do not despise the day of small things,” he boomed. “It is the Lord’s pleasure to see the work begin. And the little people will begin that work.” His eyes drifted heavenward in a sigh of sorrow. “My little people that are no more.” 

“Maushop,” said Marian curiously. “What happened to them?”

“The Wendigo killed them,” he replied short and stern. “And my wife…” His voice trailed. He looked at the lake and submerged his hand under it again, taking a deep breath and restraining his anger; water billowed into the grassy lawn like a rapid. His other hand, forming a fist, raised into the air and fell to the earth beside them, violently; the forest shook, trees rattled, and the birds nearby took to the air, squawking and fleeing. He raised his hand from the earth, leaving behind a crater of rock and dirt. “I’m sorry,” he apologized and quiet sadness rolled over his eyes. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.” 

 “Dog me, we-all used to booger’s trine to keel us-alls by now,” Aaron sneered. 

“Maushop,” Marian said, “I’m sorry about your wife—”

“Her name was Squannit,” said he.

“Squannit,” Marian repeated. “I’m sorry about Squannit.” 

Maushop sighed.

“Hey,” Aaron interjected again. “We-all ‘llowed to sip from that there Fountain of Youth—er—Lake Atagahi or everwhat, and live forevers?” His cocksure attitude generated an angry reproach from Marian. “Whut?” He shrugged.

Maushop smirked at the boy. “Only those in death may enter the Lake.” 

“Don’t that take the rag off the bush!” Sneered Aaron. “‘magine gettin’ ta Fountain of Youth, and not a-able to does nothin’ abouten it. We-all finds summen no abody else ever has, and we-all can’t even a-drink from it.” 

“Everyone wants eternity,” Maushop said, “But they don’t want to die to receive it.” He raised his submerged hand from the water; a waterfall dumped from his palm and hairy arm. He was pointing. 

Across the field was a mysterious rock formation. The group crossed the clover and blowing ryegrass to find a cairn of soapstone; a monument, clearly very old. Wind and rain had sapped the edges round. Herbert imagined even a simple nudge would collapse it. 

At its center, a large flat stone revealed the outline of an eight-point star. Noya fluttered down to the shape and ran her little hands through its ridges and crevice. It seemed as though someone had ripped something from the stone much more recently, leaving the mark. Above the carved shape was the remains of a nearly-eroded inscription: “Leave your regrets here to regain life there.” 

“What is it?” Esther asked.

“That is the grave of David Crockett,” Maushop called from the other end of the field, and a raven cawed from the tree line. “From it came the artifact. He who controls the artifact, controls the Army of Bones.”

“What does this all this mean?” Herbert asked.

“It means we failed,” said Marian harshly, and the others looked shocked that she was suddenly so despondent. She herself was a little taken aback by her deflated outburst. But all along the conversation with Maushop was a growing sense of failure and regret inside of her; she knew that she had made mistakes on the journey and seeing the glorious giant man seemed to remind her of it every moment. 

“Whatever we did, we did it wrong. Maybe it’s because of the cave and Spearfinger. If we went the right way, maybe we would have found the artifact. Or maybe someone got here before us. But all I know is that nothing is happening. David Crockett isn’t here, Maushop won’t help, and whatever this artifact is—sigh—I don’t know.” She dropped her head.

Balaam nudged her with his head. “You have done more in your little life than others will before they are old and die. You have nothing to be ashamed of. Not everything works out how we wished, but at least we tried. And that is something not everyone can say they did.” 

Marian smiled and hugged him, and Balaam felt tears on his mane. 

A Rest on the Bank

Chapter 16

The group exited Merry Hollow somewhere southeast of where they first had entered; the forest continued in a crooked line southward, but Balaam wanted to avoid it at all cost, driving the kids along the hot, grassy downs instead. On the soft, heathery downs, and under the protective watch of Balaam, the children welcomed its warm embrace. Over the rolling downs, across knee-high fescue, crownbeard and sage; chickadees and warblers zipped on the wind; mockingbirds flit from the high grass; a rafter of turkey surveyed the hillside; and fourteen white-tail chased through the hilly dock. 

Balaam told the children the Cherokee legends about Uktena, the serpent who fills men with honor upon his defeat; Spearfinger, who lures children away into the night; Tsul ‘Kalu, who searched for a bride to share his power; the Nunnehi who lived long ago, and how Weegan and the Nunnehibroke apart when the fate of the world was at stake. 

As they went, the uneven ground tripped them often, but they welcomed the sensation of tumbling into sweet buttercup and clover; so much so that they started falling on purpose. This was the sweet part of the journey that all five remembered fondly. They chased each other and spun in circles, laughing at the glory of the mountain, dancing with the insects, cooing with the birds, and racing after rabbits; they found their mirth hidden in the downs. 

Presently, the parallel forest turned southeastward and they saw a large body of water on the horizon. As they crested a large hill, they saw the water went on for a considerable distance southward. West of them, they made out the small indentation of Fool’s Pass between the mountains and recognized where they would have been if they had listened to Balaam at the cave entrance. 

Balaam turned them southeast toward the southern tip of the lake. After an hour, they fell upon her; a broad, river basin, three miles across at it widest. Before them, and running the southern breadth, a meadow sprouted big, juicy yellow marigolds up to the water’s edge and into the first few inches of its chilly, clear water, before subsiding under small loose pebbles. The water was still as ice and clear as glass; a stone could be seen falling to her center at one-hundred-fifty feet below; sunshine bounced off its mirror-edge and lit the grassy downs on yellow-golden fire. At the southern most tip of the lake, the basin narrowed into a thin rushing river. It was here that Balaam guided them.

The river mouth was only a few feet across, but before attempting the crossing, the party stopped at the lake’s edge; much to their delight. The three helped Esther off of Balaam’s back and placed her in the shallows on a pebbled bank. She carefully removed the tourniquet and let the water clean out the wound. The cold water stung, but its wonderful, chilly embrace numbed the pain. 

The rest of the party, disgusting and stained by the hot hollow and hag’s fight, waded out into a deeper part of the lake and submerged themselves, scrubbing and shuffling about to get the clean water in every nook and cranny. Its icy touch soothed their faces, arms, legs, and aching feet; they floated on their backs and laughed at the sky. 

With the right sunlight on the lake, the eye could see underwater for hundreds of feet in every direction, even to its cavernous bottom. Bluegills and bream skirted through bladderworts and pondweed. Rainbow trout and brookies hovered, nearly motionless, along the river outlet, sifting rocks and waiting for an insect to hit the water. Fat bass and cats surveyed the roots and algae for easy prey. Common snapping turtles and sliders skated the current like fighter pilots, spinning and turning on a dime. One hundred geese dive-bombed into the water, snatching up bream, and daintily drifting along the bay, while mallards patrolled the bank for minnows and shiners.

Esther leaned forward in the shallow water and stuck her face into the world below; the yellow marigolds stretched far and wide into the water and surrounded her hands and face in bright yellow beauty. She plucked one wading underneath the water and brought it to the surface. The thing smelled extraordinary, like she was in a nursery surrounded by thousands of flowers.

After a long bath, Herbert squatted on the bank, between a grove of cattails and arrowheads, where he had let his faerie-friend rest. She was awake now, dusting off her delicate, translucent wings. Herbert sat on a large stone and held out his palm for her to climb onto. She shimmered in the sunlight, unfolding and stretching her wings in its hot rays, before fluttering them like a dragonfly. The pocket hadn’t been the most comfortable place to rest, but it did the job.

“My name is Herbert,” he said.

The green faerie Noya wasn’t able to speak for humans to hear, but she seemed to understand him fine. She bowed and smiled at him. 

“We’ve traveled far while you rested,” said Herbert. “We aren’t anywhere near the cave now. Do you have a home or family waiting for you?”

The faerie frowned and shook her head; she spread her delicate arms wide over her, making a big oval. Then she tapped her toe and wagged her finger like a schoolteacher. She outstretched her palms and shrugged. 

“Well, until you find them, you can stay with me,” Herbert offered. “I’ll look after you since you looked after us.” 

The green faerie smiled and fluttered to his shoulder. Unbeknownst to Herbert, Laurel’s are the sweetest, albeit mischievous, of the fae-folk; and they will stop at nothing to make sure young people are safe and protected. So, staying with the Dolor party was ideal for her. She nudged her wavy, red hair between the crook in his neck and leaned against him. The two dallied in the sunshine, watching Balaam swim, Marian play in the pebbles, Esther laying in the marigolds, and Aaron searching for salamanders. Herbert told Noya all about their hope to find Atagahi and their journey so far; how the storm had almost swept him off the mountain pass; Spearfinger almost kidnapped Esther in Merry-Hollow; and the Uktena’s cave that she had saved them from. She smiled and loved every moment of the little boy’s retelling.

“Starlight,” Herbert said. “I’ll call you Starlight.” 

The faerie smiled and closed her eyes, content.

Like a beehive’s symphony, a buzzing and whirring sound slowly stirred from a murmur to a dreary drone across the lake. The bathing group heard the soft vibration on the wind and looked about for the cause, but it wasn’t until Esther noticed the black floating specks over the water that they realized the sound was coming from them. 

Noya was instantly alert, recognizing the sound. She dropped off Herbert’s shoulder and feverishly began collecting sticks, mud, and slices of hay from the earth. In a frantic few seconds, she had concocted a make-shift bow out of the items and an arrow was on the string with an arrowhead tip made from a small slice of slate. 

She flew to Herbert’s shoulder and from there, aimed the bow outward, ready and ferocious. He was impressed and confused by her actions. As she twisted her body back and forth, he saw what she was aiming at. 

Over the wide, vibrant lake, the specks of black were slowly taking shape; they were fae-folk like Noya, but very different from her. Their wings were dull, brown and creamy; they wore short, tight grass clothing over their maroon skin; their hair was long, straight and dark and their eyes golden and red. And as they approached, their appearance grew menacing rather than welcoming. The dizzying, dazzling armada swept upward over the bay and circled around the children. In a few seconds each of the Dolor party had six male and female faeries surrounding them, armed with blow-darts and slingshots. 

The bizarre arrangement gave the children an instinctual comical response, seeing such delicate, fine creatures fearsome and armed to the teeth. But their reaction deflated appropriately at the look of these creatures’ eyes; they were not sweet, fine, or delicate—they were warriors and quite angry. 

The foremost fae-folk bade some sort of military salute, but neither the children nor Balaam understood. When they failed to respond, the armada braced themselves in unison and pulled their weapons congruently.

Abruptly, Noya dropped her bow and took to the air above, holding her delicate, green hands up and shining her orange translucent wings brightly. Recognizing Marian as leader of the group, she was waiting respectfully for her to respond to the faeries. But when Marian had failed to understand the Rock Clan’s war-welcome, she knew she must intervene or watch the children be slaughtered. 

Noya, fluttering in the air, bowed her head and twisted her wrist like a French Captain’s parley. By her red hair and rosy cheeks, the Rock faeries recognized her as a Laurel and one they had driven out of their lands only a fortnight ago. The faeries went back in forth in their unknown language above the gaping group. To the children it sounded like cicadas and chickadees singing in the sunshine, but the song came fast, exclamatory, and violent. 

Noya, or Starlight as Herbert called her, seemed to be apologizing for their intrusion and explaining their need to find Atagahi. After only mere seconds of spastic dialogue, the angry maroon-skinned faeries seemed to acquiesce and disarmed their weapons. 

“Yunwi Tsunsdi”, muttered Balaam aside to the children. “They are usually kind like your Laurel friend, here. But not all are so playful, as you can see. Best be moving on.” 

“Where do we go, now?” Marian asked, squeezing her hair free of fresh, clean water. 

“We are going to the Fountain of Youth.” Balaam declared, and caught Marian’s smirk. 

“Is it much longer then?” She asked.

“Time is a hard thing to determine when you are complaining and going the wrong way,” Balaam responded. “And I should know, I have one of you sitting on my back for the rest of the way—and you best be sure whatever direction we go, I’ll be annoyed.” He turned his long face and winked at Esther. “But I think if we have found the fae-folk, then the end should be near.”

“Esther—” Marian began, looking at her sister’s damaged leg, and doubting again the decision to keep moving forward. The cut looked hideous and infected.

“—Marian,” Esther interrupted her sister’s thoughts. “I’m okay. And I forgive you. So forgive yourself, and let’s get going.” 

In all honesty, Esther wasn’t doing too good. After the other three helped back onto the Donkey, she examined her foot; the bleeding had stopped, but the veins on her calf shone through her skin, purple and splayed upward like spiderwebs. It stung when she glanced at it, so she pulled the tourniquet tighter and told herself not to look; nevertheless, her stomach felt weak, and her deep thoughts continued to frighten her. 

Picking up their belongings, the group made for the river crossing. The Rock faeries hovered stationary at the bay until long after the party was out of sight. They found the River Pactolus was much deeper than Weeper’s Run, but not as wide or turbulent. They had the idea of throwing their shoes and Marian’s backpack across the river so as to keep them dry; and as soon as they did, they had the terrible realization that many travelers similarly find themselves in; that now, there was no turning back. They must cross the Pactolus if for no other reason than to rescue their belongings. 

Balaam dropped into the river and it came up to Esther’s waist. The others dove in and came out about twenty-feet south of where they had entered. They traipsed up the rocky bay and found their tossed shoes and effects in the disheveled moss. Pulling dirty socks over wet skin is never pleasant, and they soon discovered makes for a terrible hike. 

On this side of the lake, the meadow was stark and bland; gray and brown. There were few trees and fewer green grass; much of the earth had been torn up and thrown about, revealing dark, red clay and long, thick rows of dirt like unwieldy crops. Esther lay her head on Balaam’s mane and closed her eyes, listening to the cackle of distant woodpeckers and swifts and the buzzing flies under Balaam’s nose. She missed running ahead and finding the next part of the path, but the calm repetition of Balaam’s lifting and dipping back lulled her. It reminded her of riding on her father’s shoulders when she was smaller. He would gallop around the living-room and make her feel like a real cowgirl. She never imagined herself one day riding a Donkey through an enchanted forest. She opened her eyes when she felt Balaam suddenly stop.

The group was still on the bank, yet much farther north of the Pactolus crossing; now, they could only see the thick foresting trees of Merry Hollow on the far side. The group had stopped after noticing the remains of an enormous mudslide smeared across the earth; it traveled through the valley until meeting the tree-line five hundred yards east. From the shoreline, they could see the forest open into a wide path; trees, ripped up by the roots, were left to the sides in broken, smashed rubble, like an upended highway of felled maples, walnuts, and oaks. The path carried on past the horizon; it told them the story of something clearly monstrous coming from the water and ripping the forest to shreds.

With steely glares and clenched teeth they followed Balaam as he turned east and followed the path across the valley; he seemed tense to them and explained that animals usually never crossed the Pactolus unless under extreme conditions. 

They called it the Dead Valley, because only the dying came here as a last resort. Some deer that had been hit with an arrow, or a skunk that had been struck by an automobile, or perhaps a bear that had been shot. And afterward, none came out of the Valleyquite the same. When the children pressed him about it, he explained that those who returned from the Dead Valley wouldn’t look at you the same way anymore; their eyes glinted, they walked slower, and their cheeks always upturned. You’d think it was a nice sight, but how would you feel if you thought your mother or brother was going insane and couldn’t talk to you, look at you, or love you the same way anymore. 

And what’s worse, most of the animals who had returned would eventually leave their dens and hollows, somehow, yet mysteriously, finding one another. Most lived isolated in a sort of coven on the far side of the Southern Marsh. The other Animals created rumors that those who had returned were possessed by a foreign spirit—the spirit of Atagahi—and were no longer the same Animal. 

If you were to ask a friend or relative who had visited Atagahi what it is like across the Dead Valley, they would reply, “What was it like!” And their eyes would shimmer at the sun and you could never get a straight answer out of them. They would start describing colors or wings, but nothing sensical. 

And yet no matter how dangerous, off-putting, or mysterious it all seemed, any animal that was about to face death would gladly take it over the alternative. Those who could make the journey would make their way to the crossing of the Pactolus—and all the other Animals recognized that distinct look in the eye of the dying; they knew they were going to the Dead Valley. Those making the trip would cross the Pactolus and crawl across it to find whatever it was they were hoping for. But no healthy animal would dare cross the Dead Valley without being deemed a fool or a devil.

“I guess that makes me pretty much a fool, then,” said Balaam. “But people have been calling me that all my life. So I may as well cross the Dead Valley and see what all the fuss is about anyway.” Regardless of his mettle, the children saw he was visibly shaken with each of his heavy hoof-steps.

The sun was yawning behind them. It cast a crimson sky that met the pale blue overhead, and a bald eagle hovered a mile and a half above. 

They followed the wet, upturned landscape and noted strange shapes inside of the muddy trail, filled with water. There was a large pickle-shaped puddle, nearly three-feet wide. Just beyond it, there were four four-inch oval-puddles beside a seven-inch oval-puddle. Altogether they gave the impression of a watery, frowning clown with five eyeballs. The shape repeated itself down the trail on the opposite side, and then back again on the initial side. The trail was littered with the oval and oblong pickle-puddles. They seemed familiar to the children, but they could not place where they had seen this strange indentation.

Eventually, the group came upon the tree-line and stopped in its sheer magnificent awe. What they had seen from the shoreline, had not prepared them for the apparent, yet unbelievable, power necessary to open such a highway of trees. 

The forest had been cleared into a glen by an unimaginable, massive force; trees and bushes lay everywhere, uprooted and thrown to the side; wide, round root-balls, four times as high as all of them, lay on their sides, stretching their gangling fingers into the sky. Their trees were felled in the forest with hundreds of others, leaving the woods ravaged. Birds perched in nearby silence, and they were the only living thing in sight, besides the scurrying insect or squirming worm. 

On the children ventured, under the waning sun, gangling arms of red cedar, high creamy glances of trees-of-heaven, and long narrow shadows of poplar. They traveled for nearly an hour through the forest, their path carved out by whatever monstrous thing came before them, until they approached a full-grown sugar-berry that had been pulled from its roots and left in the middle of the glen. 

The group looked it over, trying to find a way around large enough for Esther to cross on Balaam’s back, when they heard a sound like splashing water that shook the ground. If it weren’t for the mild-earthquakes, the children would have thought someone was swimming. 

The group found an opening under a snapped branch laying against a large boulder it had fallen on. Aaron ducked underneath and held the smaller branches out of the way for Balaam and Esther to pass beneath. The rest followed after and gathered on the far side of the sugar-berry. They stood together and immediately held hands, stopping again to stare in awe. 

The mountains billowed in blue, foggy brilliance, rolling down the horizon into green, blundering hills broken up by silver, jagged ridges and white, cascading falls. Here, the forest had naturally cleared into a glade, lined by ash trees, water oaks, and pines, and filled with crimson clover, blowing ryegrass, hopping rabbits, dancing elk and deer, bumbling bears, flitting honeybees, scampering groundhogs, and thousands of waterfowl. 

On the far side of the glade, a freshwater spring boiled into a purple lake. Along its shore were rock statues of men, women, unicorns, pegasi, faeries, piasi, urayuli, bakwas, and pukwudgies. 

At the front, a spout spurt the spring water into a small fountain that dribbled and trickled all over a silver dish and back into the amethyst lake. Sparrows bathed in the sprinkling water and fluttered about, joyfully. The children had found it; there was no denying it. Atagahi, the Fountain of Youth, sparkled before them. Each of them, in their own way, felt wonderful satisfaction for having made the journey. The problem was, they weren’t alone.