fighting.”
“Forest of Forgetfulness? I don’t seem to have run across that in my lessons,” said Douglas.
“It’s one of the oldest forests of Faerie that were planted in the Very Beginning,” said the tiny fly, solemnly. “You’ve never heard anything about them because no one who goes into one, uninvited, can remember being there when he comes out. If he comes out, that is.”
“Is there a way to go through and not lose your memory?” Marbleheart asked.
“Oh, yes, it’s very simple! Go and politely ask permission to enter, and it’s almost always given.”
“And if we don’t?” asked Marbleheart with morbid curiosity.
“You’ll forget you ever were here, along with most of everything else you really care to remember.”
“The danger is very great, you see,” Douglas explained to his companion. “You might forget how to swim or that you like to eat.”
“That’s terrible! Who do we ask permission of, friend Firefly?”
“At the near edge of the forest, on this side of the river, stands a hollow Sentinel Oak, a dozen yards apart from all the others. It’s extremely old, and inside lives a family of Woodland Elves who serve Faerie as wardens. Knock at the opening and when the Elf warden answers, politely ask him to obtain for you permission to pass through the Forest of Forgetfulness. Faeries are real sticklers for protocol.”
“Thank you, Firefly,” said Douglas. “Can we offer you anything to eat or drink? How can we repay your enlightenment?”
“Nothing, thank you, I’ve dined and was on my way to a fire dance rehearsal when I heard your call. Thank you just the same. It’s been a pleasure. Glad I could shed some light.”
“We won’t keep you, then,” said Douglas, and they watched his tiny green tail light weave off between the dark trunks of the trees.
“Handy, traveling with a Wizard,” commented Marbleheart as he snuggled down to sleep against Douglas’s hip.
“Handy is what Wizards are all about,” yawned the Journeyman. “G’night, Otter!”
But the Otter was already asleep.
Douglas found the ancient, wildly twisted Sentinel Oak a few dozen steps beyond their campsite. He knocked against the bark beside a hole at shoulder height.
An Elf, eight inches tall, dressed in brown mouse-skin breeches, a red felt jerkin, and wearing a floppy green cloth cap that came down over his ears, appeared at once. There was a pale green poplar leaf tucked as a napkin under his chin, and he clutched a fork in one hand and a knife in the other.
“Sorry to interrupt your fast breaking, Watch Elf,” said Douglas, bowing. “Good morning, however!”
“As good as you care to make it,” replied the watchman, politely. “What can I do for you while my griddle cakes are cooling?”
“Simply that my companion and I beg permission to pass through this forest by way of the river.”
The Elf swallowed the mouthful of pancake stuck on his fork and waved his knife at them while he chewed.
“I’ll have to check with the Guardians,” he said, swallowing at last “With all these here Witches and Warlocks coming along the river, they’re getting especially strict. ‘Twill take an hour or so.”
“There’s no hurry. Tell the Faerie Guardians I am Douglas Brightglade, Journeyman Pyromancer, student of Flarman Flowerstalk of Wizards’ High. They will have heard of him.”
“Even I’ve heard of the Fire Wizard,” said the Elf, visibly impressed. “And of you, too, Douglas Brightglade.”
“Word does seem to get around,” mused Douglas. “But I suppose the doings of the Faerie Queen are as interesting to ordinary fairies as the doings of Thornwood Duke and Prince Bryarmote are to their own peoples.”
“Precisely,” agreed the Watch Elf with a nod. “I’ll ride at once to Faerie Hill in the forest.”
“Oh, please! Finish your breakfast first,” Douglas urged him. “I can wait an hour or two.”
“Absolutely not!” cried the Elf, pulling his leaf napkin
“Forest of Forgetfulness? I don’t seem to have run across that in my lessons,” said Douglas.
“It’s one of the oldest forests of Faerie that were planted in the Very Beginning,” said the tiny fly, solemnly. “You’ve never heard anything about them because no one who goes into one, uninvited, can remember being there when he comes out. If he comes out, that is.”
“Is there a way to go through and not lose your memory?” Marbleheart asked.
“Oh, yes, it’s very simple! Go and politely ask permission to enter, and it’s almost always given.”
“And if we don’t?” asked Marbleheart with morbid curiosity.
“You’ll forget you ever were here, along with most of everything else you really care to remember.”
“The danger is very great, you see,” Douglas explained to his companion. “You might forget how to swim or that you like to eat.”
“That’s terrible! Who do we ask permission of, friend Firefly?”
“At the near edge of the forest, on this side of the river, stands a hollow Sentinel Oak, a dozen yards apart from all the others. It’s extremely old, and inside lives a family of Woodland Elves who serve Faerie as wardens. Knock at the opening and when the Elf warden answers, politely ask him to obtain for you permission to pass through the Forest of Forgetfulness. Faeries are real sticklers for protocol.”
“Thank you, Firefly,” said Douglas. “Can we offer you anything to eat or drink? How can we repay your enlightenment?”
“Nothing, thank you, I’ve dined and was on my way to a fire dance rehearsal when I heard your call. Thank you just the same. It’s been a pleasure. Glad I could shed some light.”
“We won’t keep you, then,” said Douglas, and they watched his tiny green tail light weave off between the dark trunks of the trees.
“Handy, traveling with a Wizard,” commented Marbleheart as he snuggled down to sleep against Douglas’s hip.
“Handy is what Wizards are all about,” yawned the Journeyman. “G’night, Otter!”
But the Otter was already asleep.
Douglas found the ancient, wildly twisted Sentinel Oak a few dozen steps beyond their campsite. He knocked against the bark beside a hole at shoulder height.
An Elf, eight inches tall, dressed in brown mouse-skin breeches, a red felt jerkin, and wearing a floppy green cloth cap that came down over his ears, appeared at once. There was a pale green poplar leaf tucked as a napkin under his chin, and he clutched a fork in one hand and a knife in the other.
“Sorry to interrupt your fast breaking, Watch Elf,” said Douglas, bowing. “Good morning, however!”
“As good as you care to make it,” replied the watchman, politely. “What can I do for you while my griddle cakes are cooling?”
“Simply that my companion and I beg permission to pass through this forest by way of the river.”
The Elf swallowed the mouthful of pancake stuck on his fork and waved his knife at them while he chewed.
“I’ll have to check with the Guardians,” he said, swallowing at last “With all these here Witches and Warlocks coming along the river, they’re getting especially strict. ‘Twill take an hour or so.”
“There’s no hurry. Tell the Faerie Guardians I am Douglas Brightglade, Journeyman Pyromancer, student of Flarman Flowerstalk of Wizards’ High. They will have heard of him.”
“Even I’ve heard of the Fire Wizard,” said the Elf, visibly impressed. “And of you, too, Douglas Brightglade.”
“Word does seem to get around,” mused Douglas. “But I suppose the doings of the Faerie Queen are as interesting to ordinary fairies as the doings of Thornwood Duke and Prince Bryarmote are to their own peoples.”
“Precisely,” agreed the Watch Elf with a nod. “I’ll ride at once to Faerie Hill in the forest.”
“Oh, please! Finish your breakfast first,” Douglas urged him. “I can wait an hour or two.”
“Absolutely not!” cried the Elf, pulling his leaf napkin
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