The Storie Of Faerie Glade
DOUBLE TROUBLE
Author: Andrew Weaver.
Artistic advisor: Sonja-Marie Peacock.
Original story owned and produced by: Andrew Weaver.
Published by Wilmots 2010 at Smashwords
ISBN: 978-1-902778-09-9
Copyright: Andrew Weaver 2010
On DOUBLE TROUBLE
To talk of something before the story, at this point is a must,
To explain to you in my simple way, why, unlike our world, Faerie Land has no core or crust…..
I had to look back through hundreds of dust laden books, til I found the pages,
Written ten thousand years ago by the very first ruling Mages!
Then translated for me by a Faerie,
One pleasant afternoon, under the big oak tree.
As it happens, the day I had the news,
A privilege, an offer I couldn’t refuse,
It seems that they had chosen me,
For the open minded, a chosen few, to write of Faerie Folk, their stories, and their history.
Though not one spell! Not that the Faerie wouldn’t translate it, or it is secret,
I would just need a four dimensional page on which to fit it.
I say “IT”, because, all spells are part of one,
And when writing about Faerie things, that is just a part of the challenge and the fun.
For everything is so simple in a complicated way,
That’s why everything translates as child like, and on that subject I have no more to say.
It is for the scholars of the future to debate and verbally fight,
About the subjects on which I write.
If a true magician from Middlespace, of ten generations or more, looks up his family tree,
He is likely to find an ancestor interested in alchemy……
Alchemists have tried forever and always failed, that’s the case,
To make purest gold from almost worthless lead base,
Though, if it is spun, it seems, it is easy to do,
The “Spinner” just knew, what to spin between the atoms as “glue”,
In the grooves of Magickally engineered bevels,
That interrupted the orbit of some electrons, on sub-atomic levels.
Then the nature of the base metal is changed,
As just an occasional electron, through the medium of the “Glue”, is exchanged.
But this can never be open to greed and abuse,
For only one being ever knew how exactly this method to use,
The secret of the thread,
Was buried deep in her head.
The same thread that was used to make the very finest, strongest wire.
When “The Builders”, to make a paradise did aspire,
Each was made to a precise length,
For measured strength,
Then, interdimensionally calculated by Magickal equation,
The distance between five points, exactly, with one another in relation,
Sadly now, this architectural alliance,
That fashioned Faerie Land with their science,
Does no longer exist,
They have disappeared into time, into the shadows and the mist.
Into the murky depths of the past,
And of their kind, it seems, the spinner and the weaver, were the last.
Though as a persistent rumour has it, after their project was completed,
The group split, because of an argument that got over heated,
Each half went their own way, except the weaver and spinner, who ended up as husband and wife,
And came to live in the land they helped create, for the rest of their life.
So there are five fine golden Magick threads, holding the disc that is Faerie Land in place,
The most important is still tied to the spinning wheel, in Otherspace,
The other four are buried deep at the bottom of the Magick sea,
The last and finest, as I said, is just tied to the wheel you see,
Now if the wheel were to turn just once, rotate,
It would spin the bobbin, move the silver one pound weight,
Or if it were cut………It would be total disaster,
For this thread really is Faerie Lands master,
For in the void between Middle, Nether and Otherspace,
This is the one that is part of the Magick woven connecting lace,
That keeps the dimensions tied together,
Without it, Faerie Land in between would be lost forever.
DOUBLE TROUBLE
Imagine if you can,
Somewhere, in a faraway land…..
It is a very dark, very stormy night,
Even the bats have stayed home in fright,
Thunder is booming…..Lightning is flashing,
A three headed dog is trembling, shaking,
Then…Skating on the floor,
As he rounds the corner, running an through open door,
To hide in safety under the chair,
Standing up on his back now, is all his hair,
The big clock in the hall, midnight chiming,
The dog not liking any of this at all, is loudly whining.
Ever since the Faerie War,
He has not ventured outside the front door,
The “Twitch” too has been in hiding for nearly a year,
Slippery Jim making three, all hiding out there in fear.
All three know they were lucky, the war to survive,
As far as they know, not one bad wizard is still alive,
But now, the witch has her courage regained,
After, for a year, from evil Magick she has refrained.
On the marsh….A wolf’s howl echoing around,
Cold damp mist, seeming alive, creeping slowly along the ground.
She’s stirring the great pot,
After many months now, it’s getting hotter than hot,
A very strange brew indeed……
Only a few more very rare ingredients does she need,