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Why are these magical beings here? What should be done? Is that axe sharp? Can Pixies be given aspirin?
Arty with his friends — and spying jerks, and questionable strangers with long names — follow the clues and try to find out, even as things turn dark and dangerous.
The mythical beings are taking sides. The Gwyllion, that legendary Old Woman of the Mountains, has a sinister plan, turning the neighborhood into a fantasy battleground. One that awaits young heroes.
Read an Excerpt
Some can picture the battle in their mind’s eye, or in others’ eyes, or by using magic to help them see. For the rest, I can tell them what I know.
The Old Woman of the Mountains, a Gwyllion of great and strange powers, made herself stronger by taking one of each kind of fairy: to start a new kingdom in heaven, to steal the ancient place of rest, and to make new creatures and rule over all them and their world. And then, perhaps, ours.
More folktale legends joined the war, and on both sides. Some came to rescue their friends from the foul Gwyllion and her armies of Wights, Trolls, and dark spirits.
All who fight have their own special energies and enchanted abilities; some humans believe in them, most do not. But that does not always matter.
Now the battle rages, using nature, and the earth, and the sky.
In and out of the fight, many struggle to find their way back to Eastward Manor, knowing it as the path home. Some captives that can escape the Old Woman seek and find children and hide. This is a strange occurrence, the strangest of the whole story, for me. The fairies’ connection to these young people, all friends, can only be guessed, and is personal, so should not be guessed.
All the rest, of the living fairy creatures, struggle in the War. The dead only the earth can help.
To conquer the Gwyllion, I will use the spells, and counter-spells, and the ancient symbols that secretly kept the story alive for hundreds of years, waiting for this part of the tale. They complete a mystical alchemy of words and magic. I am here, I was born to be here, to help the armies of folkies, as Arty and Emma and the adopted human children call them: the Spriggans and the Dwarves and the Elves, with any birds and trees who have taken sides.
It was those human children that the Gwyllion did not count on. When Arty sent the counters-spell out to his friends of friends, as he says, the words were read, and spoken out loud, and contemplated. And passed to others, to friends, and to friends of friends, along and along. That is turning the tide—help unlooked for!
And Ted doesn’t know it yet, but our side has a dragon. My dragon.
About the Author: Professor Welkin Westicotter Marplot, of Coillemuir, Scotland, is a collector of esoteric tales of global wisdom and curator of ancient manuscripts. He is a recluse and, as he claims, has been collecting and collating adventure and fantasy stories for over a century.
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