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Chapter One

-A Girl In Majestica-

By all accounts, King Alfred is a wise and warm hearted man who loves his people very much. By his side, through all things thick and thin, is his loving wife, Queen Claire. Together, they have transformed their small village into one of the largest, wealthiest, and most peaceful kingdoms in all the known lands. They call it Majestica, and because the king and queen well remember their humble beginnings, they are frequently seen socializing with all their devoted citizens.

     Majestica is hidden in the middle of a vast forest where certain trees, called ticklers, grow so wonderfully tall that even on bright, sunny days it is no easy task to see the very tops. The soil supporting the ticklers’ massive, bulging roots is the darkest brown imaginable, almost black, like chocolate cake, and it is so rich that it produces the plumpest food to be found anywhere. Majestica’s grapes are the size of plums; plums the size of apples; apples the size of grapefruit; grapefruit the size of turnips; and turnips the size of watermelons. The watermelons often reach fifty pounds and are so filled with juice, they cause a proper soaking when carelessly sliced. Not to be outdone, the average pumpkin is much, much larger with the very largest on record measuring in at exactly four thousand pounds. It took a team of seven maidens to scoop out the innards to make the pies (all three hundred of them), and you can be certain each pie turned out sweeter than honey.

     Speaking of honey, it should be noted that the Majestican bumblers haven’t any stingers for they are never angry. The flowers grow so thick that walking through them is like wading through water.  So it goes that the nectar from these blossoms flows continuously, thereby preventing any competition and aggression amongst the bees, who, if you look closely enough, go about their business with the happiest smiles you have ever seen.

     Majestica’s clear and cool streams are all over-stuffed with cheeky trout who jump and wink when they do not want to be caught. Countless birds sing in the trees, and all manner of wildlife fills the forests.  Yes, to be sure, Majestica is as beautiful as can be described: a place still free from the dark Fear that has taken root in so many other kingdoms.

      Now, the keepers of Majestica are none other than the Knights Triumphant and, not unlike the bumblers, these knights have no need to carry swords. Violence and war is not yet known to Majestica. Instead, the knights are renowned for their wisdom and great feats of strength. They can run like deer, pull wagons like horses, and swim like fish.  More importantly, they care deeply for their fellow human beings, and this is why they were selected by King Alfred himself. Whenever confronted with hostility from neighbouring kingdoms, the Knights Triumphant make peace through negotiation alone.

     They wear the finest and lightest armour for decorative purposes only, and wave glorious red and white flags. You’ll see them at their best during the many festivals, or while performing for local charities. They are always smiling, always generous, and always impressing the rosy ladies – even girls like eleven-year-old Molly Withers who pretends she is not yet interested in princes.

     At first blush, Molly appears average in every way, but past the hustle and bustle of Town Centre, through all the nearby forests, and beyond the outer reaches of Majestica, Molly is known quite well in very private and very powerful circles. From softly spoken whispers to dark debates, the word is spreading – Molly Withers knows the Magic of the Universe!

     Only thing, Molly doesn’t believe she knows any magic. Nor is she aware of how special she is. Instead, Molly mostly seeks solitude, playing and singing in the woods and open fields that surround her very small home. She also chases the fairies knowing that she may never catch one, as it is true no mortal in the history of mortals has ever been able to catch one. Sure there are stories of people catching other fairies in other magical kingdoms, but no fairies are as quick and clever as the Pinkleton Dimple fairies of Majestica.  These fairies, with their baby’s breath dresses, deep dimples, and rosy little cheeks, can disappear and then reappear quicker than a blink. Some Majesticans claim to have seen the same fairy in two spots at the same time!

     Despite their sometimes arrogant nature, Molly can’t help but love the Pinkletons’ perfect little wings. Most of the time, their wings are that certain shade of green which can only be seen in the spring when leaves are first coming into bloom. But, if the fairies happen to cross the path of a female Unicorn, or if they happen to hear a pleasant song, their wings turn a golden hue. They can’t help but turn: like someone’s cheeks turning red when embarrassed. To see a fairy, all you need do is walk among the flowers where they snooze their days away. Or you could just use your ears, for although they certainly are tiny creatures, their snores rival the roar of any hungry lion.

     As much as Molly loves spending time running through the forest, so too does she love curling up with one of her books under her favourite tree. And what a tree this is. The trunk is thick, thick, thick and to walk all the way around would take you a full minute. Now a minute is not a long time compared to so many things, but how many trees do you know that would take a minute to walk around? Compared in height to the ticklers, though, it is quite a bit shorter, shaped much like a mushroom, and surrounded by a soft, springy bed of very special clovers. Each clover has four and a half leaves, you see, which make them perfect to wish by.

     Often alone, it is here Molly comes to read stories of dragons and knights, wolves and grandmothers, and genies and their magical lamps. She imagines these characters come alive for her, and if she isn’t careful to close her books quickly, they will leap off the page and escape into the forest. Molly also imagines that her tree is a gateway leading to a world of leprechauns where voices echoing from deep within its stump speak of rainbows, hidden treasures, and fat pots of gold.

     Her favourite stories, though, are fairytales that end with princes falling in love with simple country girls and then marrying them as the entire kingdom cheers with joy. Of course these are her      favourites because she so longs to have someone take her away from her poor, dull life, and tell her that there is real magic left in the world. It’s not that the simple spells of the Pinkletons aren’t appreciated, but Molly wants to see and feel something so magical that it would change her life forever, something that would give her all that she could ever want. Something as wonderful as the Golden Tree of Truth.

     Molly has read several books on the Golden Tree, but she’s always been left with more questions than answers. Whether it is fact or fiction remains to be seen, and where in the world this tale first began, no one knows for sure. But according to legend, this Tree, with its delicate golden leaves, has the ability to answer any question imaginable. One popular version of the tale alludes to the famed wizard, Engelbert the Great, who used his unparalleled wizardry to devise a magical seed. One cloudless night, or so the story goes, he planted this seed where no one would ever think to look. Supposedly, the trunk and branches grew on the very spot, but it did not produce a solitary bud for a full three years. It is rumoured, however, that three years to the day after it first sprouted, Engelbert the Great returned to the Tree and discovered it was full of golden leaves. He was so delighted that he cast upon it another spell to protect it: should anyone happen to find the Tree and steal even one of those golden leaves, it would shrivel up and die. 

     Now, whoever took the leaves would be rich, but the secrets of the Universe would be lost forever. Molly knew very well what she would do if she were to find such a Tree. What was a bit of knowledge compared to a lifetime of riches? Yes, Molly spent many a day poring over old cobwebbed books in the town’s library hoping to come across a clue that would tell her if the Tree really existed, and if it did exist, then where?

     After one such excursion to the library, Molly was collecting cabbage grass for dinner from Stankwater Swamp, and as was often the case, the ever annoying Charlie Gregg was in attendance. Charlie was a little older than Molly. He was scruffy, with chestnut brown hair, blue eyes, and a scattering of freckles on his cheeks which he did not like because he felt it made him look like a boy. But a boy he was, and as boys are wont to do, Charlie enjoyed teasing girls. One of his favourite victims, of course, was Molly Withers.

     Being long overdue back home and desperate to finish her chores, Molly was more agitated than usual when Charlie began to inflict his torments. She wished she could make him go away with a little spell of her own.

     ‘Frickity frumpity frog, be gone you mangy dog!’

     Charlie did not disappear as Molly did not know any real spells, but he did look comical now covered in some cabbage grass Molly had launched at him. Charlie calmly removed the wet leaves from his head, as though he was quite used to Molly throwing things at him. He then reached into his pocket, retrieved two familiar flint stones, and struck them together. Spark! Neither Molly nor Charlie nor the barking bulldog frogs noticed that a something was watching them from behind a fallen tree.

     ‘You shouldn’t be here, you know,’ said Charlie while making another spark.

     ‘And why is that, Charlie?’ asked Molly standing knee deep in muck, with more muck all over her arms, and some muck on her cheeks as well. ‘You’re not scared, are you?’

     ‘Uh – no,’ Charlie faultered. 

     Whatever was watching them from the cover of the dark woods stepped on a branch and it made a very distinct snap. Charlie looked in the direction of the sound, but saw nothing except the dark rotting trees and a murder of crows shooting to the sky, declaring cawww, cawww, cawww. Almost protectively, Charlie took a few steps closer to Molly who didn’t care if the whole woods came crashing down. She needed to get this done before it was suppertime so her parents would not be mad. She had already spent too much time in the library, and further procrastinated in the swamp chasing the bulldog frogs, and skipping rocks.

     Molly’s parents, William (who was a carpenter) and Annabelle, were loving, but they had no time for Molly’s imagination and her talk of magic and fairytales. Yet, that’s not to say Annabelle had never chased fairies before. She often did as a child. Annabelle had also read under the same tree as Molly, and once claimed that she too heard voices inside that thick trunk. But, somewhere along the way, like so many parents of their generation, Annabelle’s childhood magic was replaced with work and so called maturity.

     ‘Molly, I don’t know why you’re here, anyway. It stinks something awful. Besides, everyone’s by the orchard getting ready,’ said Charlie, hoping to change the subject, and it was a good choice too. Tonight was All Hallows Ball and he knew Molly loved it.

     She loved it almost as much as Christmas. She loved watching the knights and their games of incredible strength. She loved how there were skeletons fashioned out of old dry cornstalks that looked so scary you’d swear they were real. She loved how the Pinkleton Dimple fairies cast spider spells so that the entire apple orchard was covered in magic webs that shot little sparks of colour when you passed through them. She loved the Ball’s singing competition. She loved Grandma Jones’ world famous candy apples which were much larger than grapefruit. She loved the glowing pumpkins and had already carved hers three days prior. The other girls her age, who had not outgrown this grand tradition, carved happy faces, or kitten faces, or, heaven forbid, pony faces, but Molly’s pumpkins were always frightfully ghoulish. Whatever the matter at hand, make it dark, or old, or scary in any way, and Molly would love it.

     The most pleasing part of All Hallows Ball, though, was the outrageous costumes. Molly cherished the idea of having one night a year when she could pretend she was someone else – anyone else for that matter. If she had the means to be whomever she wished, Molly would have dressed up as a fairy princess, for she knew only the daughter of a king or queen could ever be a princess in this world.

     Despite all these wonderful things, though, Molly replied: ‘I am not sure if I am going this year.’

     One eye remained on Charlie, spying his response.

     ‘Too bad. Looks like you are going to miss Priscilla singing,’ said Charlie, still pondering the cause for the snapping in the woods. ‘Everyone knows she has the prettiest voice in all Majestica. Looks like she might win the Majestica music award this year, too.’

     ‘Prissy!’ Molly shouted. She was disgusted with what Charlie had just said. ‘Prissy! Prissy! Prissy? Why she is only…what?’

     ‘First off, her name is Priscilla. She doesn’t like being called Prissy. Secondly, she’s my age, thirteen, which makes her only two years older than you. Everyone is going to be there to see it too. The youngest girl to win – ever!’ said Charlie being sure to emphasize the ‘ever’ because he knew Molly loved to sing, and he knew that Molly wished to win this singing contest just as much as she wished to be a princess. 

     Now there can be no doubt that Priscilla had a fine voice. She always had the best singing instructors to give her lessons and she could afford it because her parents were none other than King Alfred and Queen Claire. Priscilla had the best of everything. Her clothes were all handmade by her very own seamstresses who used only the finest of materials. She owned a prize show pony which won the admiration of all the schoolgirls. She even had her own falconry which daily drew an audience of boys eager to see them feed. Though Priscilla thought handling dead furry critters was disgusting, almost nauseating, she loved attention from boys so much she’d take piles of lifeless mice out to the falconry and throw them straight up in the air for the falcons to catch and devour.

     Priscilla also had her own stable and tack shop, as well as an endless fenced in area where she rode any number of her thoroughbred horses. And, as if all these things were not enough, Priscilla was also blessed with very fine looks. Her long blonde ringlets bounced prettily as she walked and her big blue eyes along with her perfect smile always made the boys fumble their words as if their mouths were stuffed full of marshmallows.

     Molly recalled all this at once in a sudden flood of emotion. She seriously wondered whether or not she would enjoy All Hallows Ball this year. It was not as if she hated Priscilla, but she knew very well that Priscilla would brag endlessly if she were to win, and that might be unbearable.

     ‘I guess I’d win too if I were as rich and as pretty as her,’ Molly uttered more to herself than to Charlie.

     ‘Well, I don’t really care who wins,’ said Charlie. ‘I can’t wait to see the Knights Triumphant competing in their games. Knight MacDonald is going to have a tug-o-war tonight with Brut, the king’s horse! I bet MacDonald wins too! Someday, I’ll win a tug-o-war contest with a horse, and not just any horse, either. I am going to out tug a big hefty Clydesdale and then I’ll be asked by the king to be his number one knight!’

     Charlie made one final spark with his flint stones and then skipped up the path towards home, singing all the way until he and his voice faded in the distance.

     ‘Charlie the Knight Triumphant has won again. Oh yes, what a knight is Charlie. Oh yes, oh yes, oh yes.’

     Molly was not amused. Knight or no knight, Priscilla or no Priscilla, singing contest or no singing contest, she was now very late gathering the cabbage grass and she knew her mother would be worried and her father would be angry. In fact, Molly was so late she presumed she would be punished. What if her parents decided not to let her go to All Hallows Ball? Even if Priscilla was going to win the award, Molly wouldn’t miss this night for the world – not really.

     With two pails of cabbage grass, Molly left Stankwater Swamp behind. She left the lily pads, the bulldog frogs, the dark woods, and the something that retreated into the scummy water as soon as she was out of sight.

     Not long after, Molly burst through the rickety front door of her family’s small home declaring: ‘I’ve got the cabbage grass for the stew, Mom, but I had to fight off Pinkletons to get it home as quickly as I did.’ 

     Molly rushed past her mother who was standing over a washbasin, and poured the greens out onto the counter.

     ‘It was so awful,’ continued Molly. ‘There must have been thirty, no, fifty of them buzzing around my head all at once. Half were pulling at my hair, while the other half were emptying the buckets, and the other half were tying my shoelaces together so I couldn’t chase them. They stole what I first gathered so I—’

     ‘Three halves?’ her mother interjected. ‘Why, that is a terrible amount of fairies, isn’t it? Good thing there wasn’t four halves or you may have not made it to the Ball tonight at all.’

     Annabelle knew Molly was telling a fib.

     ‘You know, Charlie came by while you were out,’ Annabelle continued. ‘I told him you were doing your chores as you ought to be doing and I also told him that you wouldn’t want to be late for supper, as you surely would not want to be late for the Ball considering it comes but once a year.’

     Annabelle couldn’t help, but smirk.

     ‘Funny little fellow, that Charlie,’ Annabelle said. ‘You always tell me you don’t like him whatsoever, and he always seems to seek you out. Perhaps he found you down by Stankwater, did he? Must have been dreadfully awful to fight off all those fairies and Charlie, too. I suppose it’s a blessing you made it back here in one piece.’

     Molly stood there, embarrassed her story was so flawed. Three halves? Honestly. But, she was pleasantly surprised her mother was in good spirits. Perhaps she wasn’t going to be scolded after all. This pleasant thought stayed in her head only briefly, however, as her father came steaming through the front door covered with wood chips.

     He was a big, solid man who hadn’t lost any of his youthful strength. When he smiled, everyone around him smiled, but when he was angry, his eyes lost their brown warmth and turned a filthy red. This was a man you would not cross for any amount of leprechaun’s gold. He would sputter and curse the most awful things when mad, and still he had one of the warmest hearts in a man. It was obvious he too had lost the youthful magic he once took for granted.

     Like so many others, William came to believe the only way to prosper was to work hard all the time. He also came to believe that not everyone could be wealthy and not everyone could do what he or she wanted and not everyone was meant to lead and that most were doomed to a life of servitude. After telling himself these things over and over and over again, he had come to believe that life is supposed to be this way. All those cloudy thoughts came thundering through the door with William and he was not remotely happy, standing there wheezing and coughing.

     ‘Fancy that. Molly has finally returned with the cabbage grass after only five short hours. By the time they are cleaned, and by the time we eat, and by the time we have cleared away from supper, and by the time we have brought in wood from outside, and by the time we have fed the chickens and cleaned their coops and by the time we sweep, and by the time—’

     ‘And by the time she does all that,’ Annabelle interrupted, ‘Molly will have missed the Ball.’ 

     Annabelle was nervous to cut him off like that, but she took a quick breath and continued.

     ‘Now, I can think of no better punishment than to make her go to the Ball straight away and have her applaud that young Priscilla as she wins the Majestica Music Award,’ said Annabelle hoping to trick William into allowing her to go, but he wasn’t a fool. He stammered a bit more, stomping around the kitchen, muttering mild profanity to himself.

     ‘And when it is all over,’ Annabelle pressed, ‘she can clean the orchard with Miss Sullivan and ask to bring home some leftovers.’

     Now this brought a slight smile to William’s face. He relished the thought of free food, but moreso, he wanted Molly to learn the importance of hard work. She needed a role model; someone who could show Molly how to have a better life than he had growing up. Maybe Gabrielle Sullivan was just the person to do this. Even though there were several bizarre rumours that Gabrielle sought the company of witches; even though some said she was not a mortal at all, but a spirit; even though she had an uncanny way of predicting the weather; and even though no one knew where she had disappeared to for seven years after retiring, there was no denying she was a very wise and well respected teacher. Perhaps Gabrielle would take Molly under her wing, and teach her the value of schooling and hard work.

     William turned to face Molly who still hadn’t said a peep since he entered the house.

     ‘You be sure to find Miss Sullivan and you listen to everything she has to say. Be sure to help her clean the orchard, and don’t forget to ask to bring home anything you think we can use,’ he said to Molly whose head had withdrawn inside her body like a scared turtle.

     William then retrieved his pipe from his dusty trousers and returned to his wood shop outside.

     Molly turned to her mother and saw that Annabelle’s subtle smile had already passed. It was not replaced by anger, but rather a tiny bit of sadness. It was the sadness that crept in every time she got a headache, and yes, Annabelle received more than her fair share of headaches.  Molly felt guilty knowing that her mother always seemed to get a headache when things in the house were stressful, and Molly believed that things were mostly stressful because of the way she misbehaved.

     Annabelle reached into her apron and retrieved a ten cent piece which she offered to Molly.

     ‘Now, you take this and enjoy yourself,’ said Annabelle handing it to Molly. ‘I know it’s not much, but it will at least buy you a candy apple.’

     Molly took the coin reluctantly knowing her parents did not have any extra money. She also knew that a ten cent piece would not be enough to buy a candy apple as candy apples have been at least twenty-five cents for no less than three years.  But, she wouldn’t tell her mother this – not to save the world.

     ‘Sorry I was late, Mom. Can I really go?’

     Annabelle smiled and Molly was off lickety split to get washed and changed for the night. One full year had passed and it was time, once again, to experience the splendour of All Hallows Ball, apples or no apples.