Quaraun was very disturbed. Greatly troubled, by what he saw. And what BeaLuna and the rest of the villagers could not see. What he smelt verses what they could smell.

The others saw a gingerbread house. Quaraun saw the ruined remains of an ancient castle, long ago destroyed, and rebuilt out of bones.

Piles of crumbling ash grey stones, were littered around the edges.

All around the decadent dwelling, BeaLuna and the others saw trees exuding with lollipops. Quaraun saw monstrous dead oak trees, heavy laden with poison apricots. Dripping red with oozing blood. These were definitely not large plants enclosed in bark and shedding leaves. These were monsters in disguise.

The trees were not trees, but Fae beasts with brick red eyes and sharp white fangs.

All around the ruins, grew dead roses and bramble vines, thick with thorns, also oozing blood.

The chocolate stones were the heads and skulls of hundreds of dead Elves, their eyes gouged out.

Every bit of the house dripped in fresh blood.

The bone structure was lashed together with entrails.

A purplish black miasma mist hovered like a thick, dense, impenetrable, fog all around the evil place.

Quaraun knew immediately that the mist was toxic and had drugged the others.

Powerful dark ceremonial magic was controlling this strange place that had appeared at the edge of their village.

He looked back into the village.

The mist was wafting low along the streets, drifting into shops and houses.

Everyone was infected.

Quaraun reached out to pick an apricot from the nearest tree.

A chill swept through him as he touched the frozen fruit.

Liches.

The tree was a Lich.

“He’s not a candy maker. He’s Necromancer,” Quaraun muttered under his breath. He reached out to touch one of the bloody apricots. “Apricots don’t grow on oak trees... or bleed Elf blood.”

Quaraun quickly withdrew his hand from the bloody apricot.

It was cold.

Colder than cold.

Chilled, cool, crisp, frosty, cold.

Bitter, bleak, inhospitable, cold of death.

Death.

That’s what this was.

So much death.

Impenetrable doom.

Grim, dark, cold, deadly, airless death.

Dejected, depressed, deliberate, penetrating, glacial, cold.

Acrimonious, desolate, resentful, hostile, bleakness of the afterlife.

Afterlife. Immortality. Eternity. Undeath.

That’s what this breathed of.

So much death.

Impervious dread.

Death.

Bereavement of cessation.

Grisly, deep, bleak, bloody, stifling death.

Dim, fuzzy, dark, destructive, brutal death.

Cruel, cloudy, cold, destructive, smothering death.

Ghastly ominous, brusque, corpse-like, unstirring death.

Gruesome, sinister, inhospitable, deadly, oppressive death.

Horrid, heavy, desolate, dreary, murderous, suffocating death.

Death hung heavy in the air.

Liches.

Cold, icy, death.

The icy void of death wafted from the gingerbread house..

Ice crystals grew up from the dirt below his feet.

“It’s a Lich’s frost. There’s a Lich here.”

BeaLuna was still yapping happily about scrumptious gingerbread and tasty candy. She loved gingerbread and candy.

Several young Elflings from the village gathered around the gingerbread house, breaking pieces off of it and eating it. Blood dribbled from their smiling mouths as they gobbled down what to them looked like wonderful whipped cream cheese frosting.

Quaraun felt sick.

He tried very hard not to faint.

Or vomit. He could taste it in the back of his throat.

He silently told himself he must not faint.

He could see the reality behind the illusion.

He knew that what they were eating was not gingerbread.

It was not the soft, moist, decedent, chewy, ooey, gooey goodness of warm, fragrant, heavy homemade spice cake that they were all convinced it was.

He knew that powerful dark magic was entrancing the villagers.

“Faeries,” Quaraun whispered to himself. This time out loud.

“What?” BeaLuna asked.

“Faeries.”

“Where?”

“Here!” Quaraun pointed to the horrific bloody building, but all BeaLuna saw was gingerbread. Like the others, she too had already eaten a piece of the house and was caught up in the spell.

“It’s an illusion. You’re all drugged by Fae food.”

“You’re talking crazy Quaraun.”

“Think about it. It’s gingerbread. It fell out of the sky. It’s impossible. You can’t build a real house out of gingerbread.”

“Quaraun, I hate to disagree with you, but there it is. Big as life. A real live gingerbread house.”

“When did it get here?”

“A few weeks ago.”

“Weeks? You said a few days ago before.”

“It just showed up one night. Kind of just fell out of the sky and landed here. Not long after you arrived, actually. In fact, the next day I think.”

“And you don’t think that’s strange?”

“No. Why should I?”

“Houses don’t fall out of the sky.”

“Well, we did think it a little strange, at first, but I don’t know. It kind of grows on you.”

“But it’s not real.”

“No?” It was not BeaLuna who answered. “Is not no real, eh? Pray do tell me how me house is no be real,” asked a heavily accented Scottish voice behind him. “How does one tell iffy house be real or no, eh?”

“I’m a Wizard,” Quaraun said, not looking to see who had spoken. He was too busy staring at the impossible cake dwelling, trying to determine what type of Faerie could cause such a potent spell that it had overtaken everyone in the village.

“No mony Wizards be able to see dat which can no be detected, taste dat which can no perceive, feels dat which has no t’ing to touch, sniffs dat which smell not as it is, what hears t’ings can no be heard, eh? Not even der great and powerful Wizards can do what is ya does. How does de pretty pink jelly brain Elf do it?”

“I have the gift of Faerie Sight...that’s not a real gingerbread house, it’s a Faerie glimm...”

“Yis be de Moon Elf’s powerful Wizard, eh?”

“Yes,” Quaraun continued, staring at the house, and still not looking at its owner. “I’m the only Wizard around here. Wizardry is illegal in these parts. Finderu made laws to ban it.”

“Did he now?”

“Yes. Too many Moon Elves going off on greed infested, power trips and getting into Dark Arts and Blood Magic, so now no Moon Elf may use magic at all. Safer that way, he says.”

“Says who?”

“Finderu the Masked. He created The Guild of Wizardry. If you’re not a Guild member, they’ll hang you or behead you or both. Terribly regulated. Exceedingly coordinated. Dreadfully dominated.”

“Does ye be Guild member?”

“I am. But their meetings are boring. They talk about thing I don’t understand.”

“What does ya no understanding?”

“Mathematics. Science. Equations. Star charts. Planetary movements. Religion. Philosophy. Theology. They write up rules ad vote on laws. It’s all dreadfully dull and boring. I can’t understand how to use numbers. I don’t the meanings of half the stuff they say. The whole thing confuses me. Gives me time to embroider while they argue. I only go to look at their hair.”

“Look at hair? What for ya do dat?”

“I like long hair. The Wizards all have long hair.”

“Yis seem to has lost yars.”

“Yes.”

Quaraun nervously fluttered his fingers through his short hair. He wanted to cry. He’d been crying most of the morning.

Quaraun felt naked without his long hair. He had not cut it since he was born.

Never.

Not once.

Not ever.

Quaraun began trembling. The current lack of his hair was extremely upsetting for him.

Had BeaLuna not brought Quaraun to see the gingerbread house, he’d likely be in the tower slicing his wrists, right now. A common pastime for Quaraun, when he could not brush his hair.

Quaraun had a developed a dangerous habit of self harm since his arrival in the Moon Elf village. Quaraun’s mind was already a frail thing, but now depression sunk in on top of the original mental deficits.

Quaraun was not smart, and he was painfully aware of this. The other Moon Elves took great delight in rubbing this fact in his face. Since his return to Ivujivik, what little self esteem he possessed, had plummeted. He was teased, beaten, bullied, and belittled daily, hourly, nightly, at every turn by every Elf. But most especially by his father.

“My father cut it off. I’m not happy about it.” Quaraun chocked back the tears as he said this. He had even greater trouble chocking back the desire to strangle his father to death. Rage burned in Quaraun’s heart, over his father’s chopping off his lovely mega long silvery hair.

“Why him do dat?”

“He said I’m supposed to be his son, not his daughter. He also says Wizards are evil and I’m not allowed to be one. I’m just waiting for him to drop dead so I can go back to living my own life as I choose.”

“Ah. How be it ya come to live with Di’Jinn, then?”

“My uncle. The King. He sent me there. My mother wanted me to be a Wizard. So he hired a Di’Jinn to come here and train me...”

“De King did?”

“Yes. But my father killed her...” Quaraun’s voice seethed with rage as he thought of the day his mother died. The more he thought of his father, the more he wanted to kill him. Quaraun’s fists clenched.

“Who him kill? Ya mother or de priest?”

“My mother. The priest was a Thullid. And was going to kill me and the Di’Jinn priest as well. So the King sent me away with the priest and he took me back to his temple in Persia. I grew up in Persia with the Di’Jinn. I’m kind of having trouble getting along with the Moon Elves. I was taught how to live like an Elf. I spent most of my time with Humans when not with Thullids. The Thullids raised me. But they lived in a heavily populated area between several large Human cities. I get along with Humans better than Elves. I’ve only been back here a few weeks and I’ve not been getting along well with them. They are very strict here. They like conformity. Individual expression is not well looked up. I’m radical and free spirited according to most every one in the village.”

“What ya doing here wid Elves than?”

“The King is old and ill. They think he’ll die in a few more years, and so they decided it was time for me to learn how to be an Elf, before he he dies.”

“What King dying to do wid ya?”

“I’m heir to the throne.”

“Is ya not the younger brother’s son?”

“Yes. But the King has no sons. So, I’m next in line.”

“So yi’ll be King soon?”

“Yes. But I don’t want to be. I don’t like it here. It’s cold. And they won’t let me wear pink and they cut my hair and I’m not allowed to be a wizard and embroidery is sinful...”

“Embroidery is sinful?”

“Yes. It’s not allowed. Only abstract designs. Swirls. Paisley. I sew designs from life on dresses. Birds. Hearts. JellyFish...”

“JellyFish?”

“Yes.”

“Why JellyFish?”

“I like JellyFish. They are my favourite animals. So beautiful. And pink. Lovely tentacles, that look like long hair flowing behind them as they swim. I miss having tentacles. It’s why I have ling hair. It’s like having tentacles again. I hate that he cut my hair. I miss swimming with them.”

“Swimming wid dem?”

“Yes.”

“Wid de Pink JellyFish?”

“Yes.”

“Dey no from dis planet. From planet much far away.”

“I know. I miss them. The planet is gone. It was destroyed. Our sun blew up and took the planet with it. I’m the last one.”

“De last Pink JellyFish.”

“Yes. I’m trapped in this Elf. I don’t mind being him. Not if I can wear pink and grow my hair long to flow in the wind, like swimming in the ocean.”

“Ya miss being free, outside of ya host.”

“Yes.”

“I see.”

“Why ya go to Guild meetings iffy ya no allowed to do magic?”

“The King let’s me be a Wizard. Finderu says I’m the only Moon Elf allowed to be a Wizard.”

“Why?”

“My father’s the younger brother of the King. It’s the only reason they allow it with me. It’s the only thing I’m good at.”

“Magic?”

“Yes.”

“Magic, only t’ing yis good at, eh?”

“Yes.”

“Be dat ya own lack of self-confidence talking or is it dey bully ya to t’inks dat?”

“Both.”

“Ah! Is ya not de one what weave de silk und blow de glass?”

“I am, but they don’t allow it here.”

“No?”

“I weave Thullid silk.”

“So?”

“It’s pink.”

“Und dis problem, aye?”

“Yes. In case you hadn’t noticed, pink clothes are forbidden around here.”

“Aye. I had noticed ya were no wearing ya pretty petal pink frocks today. Never seen ya in de bleary blue before.”

“Blue is the only colour anyone is allowed to wear.”

“De Gnome, she no wear blue.”

“BeaLuna? She doesn’t live here. Visits from Kuujjuaraapik, the next town over, sort of. It’s South of here. By the Great Whale River. Near where the Cree set camp.”

“What for Flower Gnome doth way up here where dair be no blooms grow?”

“I don’t know. Her family lives up here.”

“I’m an Orchid Gnome,” BeaLuna said between mouthfuls of saltwater taffy. “Squaw Flowers are everywhere up here. Only part of the world they grow in. Lady Slipper Orchids are nearing extinction. It’s our job to make them not go extinct. They are one of the few flowers that can grow up here in the Arctic Tundra. It is very rare. We help them grow.”

“Ah! Pussy Flowers.”

“What?”

“Pink pussies, growing on a delicate green cock stem.”

“You’re vulgar, aren’t you?”

“Always. Ya like me house?”

“There is no house, it’s nothing but...”

Quaraun turned to see a strange looking half-Elf standing incredibly uncomfortably close to him.

Dreadfully close.

Too close.

Much too close.

He had no sense of the concept of personal space whatsoever.

It was very un-Elf-like of him.

Had the creature been a little taller, they would have hit noses.

The incredible closeness with which the creature had come to him, without his realizing he was there, caught Quaraun off guard.

No one was able to get close to him.

No, except for King Gwallmaiic, back there on the road to Ivujivik... that night... Quaraun shivered. He longed to be back on the road that night.

Back in the tent.

Back in King Gwallmaiic’s arms.

Back in King Gwallmaiic’s bed.

He needed King Gwallmaiic.

He wanted King Gwallmaiic.

Quaraun shook himself out of his lustful thoughts for the evil Faerie King. He needed to clear his head of his lust for the Phooka. Stay in the here and now of the mysterious gingerbread house. And it’s owner who was standing uncomfortably too close to him.

He picked up on anyone entering his personal space, before they could get within several feet of him.

A feeling of dread ran through Quaraun, as he realized, only an extremely powerful Wizard could have broken through his barrier undetected like this.

Quaraun took several steps back. He stared at the creature, trying to see through its glimmer spell, but the magic around the creature was too strong, and Quaraun saw partly what the creature wanted him to see and partly what he really was.

What Quaraun saw looked like a pure white albino Moon Elf, with massive frizzy clouds of snow white Afro dreadlocks, small thin black almond-shaped eyes with no colour and no whites, several dozen rows of long pointy piranha-like fangs protruding over his lips, and fearsome razor sharp gleaming black eagle talons 4 inches long on the tip of every finger. He was dressed in a long chocolate brown velvet cassock with tiny red buttons resembling red hot candies, down the front, and white piped trim around the edges. He looked like a tiny snow monster wearing a gingerbread man costume.

“Who are you?”

“BoomFuzzy. Candy maker. Pastry Chef. I cook Elves.”

“You mean you cook for Elves?”

“No. I cook Elves. Elves is delicious. Lovely served with gingerbread stuffing.”

“It’s worse then Faeries.”

“We does be worse den Fae? What be?” BoomFuzzy asked.

“You’re a trickster.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“What make ya says it?”

“I can sense it.”

“Can ya now?”

“I know you.”

“Aye. Better than most.”

“Why are you here?”

“If wishes were horses we’d’ll ride.”

“What?”

“Ye wished for horny horse.”

“No I didn’t.”

“Aye, ya did. For here We does be.”

“I did not wish for you.”

“Yis a Di’Jinn. Granting wishes be what ya do.”

“When did I wish for you?”

“Not more den wee lil hour ago. Ye wished for someone to take yar wee lil problem away. And mere seconds ago, ye were wishing to be in me bed, back on the road to Ivujivik.”

“Did you make a wish, Quaraun?” BeaLuna asked.

“I...”

“You’re a Di’Jinn, you know better than to go around wishing for stuff. You make wishes happen, but with consequences.”

Quaraun ignored the Gnome and addressed the candy making Necromancer.

“I didn’t wish for you.”

“A wish once granted can’na be undoed,” BoomFuzzy warned.

“I didn’t wish for you.”

“Quaraun, what did you wish for exactly?” BeaLuna asked.

“Among od’er t’ings him did wish for ye to shut ya wee lil trap.”

“What?”

“Does ya remember what ye wished for, me luscious wee lil Elf?”

Quaraun, stood very silent. He couldn’t remember what he had said.

“What ye exact words were? How ye worded ye wish, dat ye now finds yeself granted wid?”

Quaraun sighed and shook his head. He remembered what he’d wished for and he knew immediately who this was.

“Ah, ya remembers, eh?”

“What?” BeaLuna looked back and forth between Quaraun and the grinning candy maker.

“The soldiers were saying this morning, the Elf Eater of Pepper Valley was seen in the area. I wished they would come here and eat my father and everyone who hurt me.”

“You what?”

“I wasn’t thinking.”

“And that brought a nut with a gingerbread house here?”

“It brought a horny nut wid a gingerbread house here. Him wish were longer more den what him did just said.”

The candy maker picked the apricot Quaraun had touched. Blood poured from its wounded branch. As he ate the fruit, blood gushed from its broken flesh. But only Quaraun saw this. BeaLuna and the other Elves only saw a fluffy tree heavy laden with pink cotton candy leaves and lollipop fruit.

“Are you a chef?”

“Aye. Food is sex. Every one likes sex.”

“I don’t like sex.”

“Every one likes food. When We does make me food, We does want to make people feel like dey just had great sex.”

Quaraun looked beyond the village to the surrounding valley.

It was gone.

The entire valley, the mountains, the green meadows, they were all gone, replaced by vast forests of mega tall pine trees towering hundreds of feet over the village, and stretching out around the valley or miles of every side.

“Ya can sees me Forest of No Return, We does sees, eh? Lovely isn’t it?” BoomFuzzy gestured towards the trees. “No one goes in and no one goes out.”

“It’s a Faerie Forest.”

“Aye. We does take it wid me, wherevers We does go.”

“Horses.”

“What?” BeaLuna looked out at the edge of the valley. It was still as it always was. She saw nothing different. “What are you looking at?”

“A vast herd of little black horses. Thousands of them. They’ve surrounded the entire valley. Evil black, flesh eating Faerie Horse with gleaming silver horns.”

“Unicorns?”

“Phookas. We’ve been surrounded by King Gwallmaiic’s Army. The Elf Eater’s of Pepper Valley. They’re here. They followed me. They followed me all the way from Persia. I saw them in the desert of the Di’Jinn too.”

“You’re always seeing unicorns Quaraun. They aren’t real you know.”

“I didn’t wish for you.”

“Yis very pretty, wish granting Di’Jinn,” the creature said in Quaraun’s jewelled ear, as he once again stepped too close for Quaraun’s comfort. “Ya wished for de Moon Elves to die, ya father to be eaten, and me to finish what We does started on de road back dere, when we meet up wheen days outside of de village. For me pretty lil’ Elf, We does be more den happy to grant ye all t’ree dems wishes.”

Quaraun at 5’6" was the shortest of the male Moon Elves, but the owner of the gingerbread house was several inches shorter than Quaraun, and had to stand on tip-toe to try to talk to Quaraun on an even level.

And he did exactly that, but stepped right up onto Quaraun’s feet, before doing so. The Faerie was dressed like a Wizard, in dark brown chocolate coloured velvet robes, with a cockscomb hat of the same material perched on his head.

At a first glance, BoomFuzzy looked like any other Moon Elf, with his pure white skin and hair that made him blend in with the snow. Until that is, one looked at his eyes.

Moon Elves all had pale icy whitish blue eyes. BoomFuzzy’s black eyes had no whites and no iris, and were like staring into two black bottomless pits.

And his hair.

Moon Elves all had stick straight, silken smooth, silvery white hair. But BoomFuzzy had a wild mess of unbrushed frizzy braids and dreadlocks that were stuck full of bones, feathers, beads, ribbons, and twigs.

There was also the issue of his piranha-like fangs, and the huge, fearsomely, sharp black eagle talons which tipped each finger.

A Human, a Gnome, or a Dwarf might have mistaken him for an Elf, even other Elves might have passed him off as a half-Elf, but Quaraun was a Wizard.

A powerful Wizard.

And he could sense strong magic around this un-Elf.

Faerie Glamour.

Quaraun could see behind the spell. He knew what the others saw, but he could see the truth.

BoomFuzzy.

No.

Not BoomFuzzy.

BoomFuzzy wasn’t real.

BoomFuzzy was an illusion.

A mask worn by the Faerie King.

This was King Gwallmaiic.

Quaraun was sure of it.

While most Phookas were content to remain in a single form, never changing, King Gwallmaiic, was a shape shifter with many forms, and shifted daily, sometimes hourly changing bodies the way a woman changed dresses. He could and often did look like any one of any race he wanted to be.

In his true form, he was a horse.

A Phooka.

A shape-shifting Kelpie.

An evil, blood-thirsty, brackish water Fae.

An evil black unicorn with a gleaming silver horn.

Quaraun could see this. He could see behind the half-Elf was a black unicorn. Like a holograph he shimmered back and forth between the monster Quaraun had seen on the road, the man whom had raped in the following night, the pony in the desert of the Di’Jinn, and now the albino candy maker.

He was all of them. And Quaraun could see them all. Flickering. Blinking. The body the old shape shifter wore the on the road to Ivujivik, was the one Quaraun recognized from The Guild’s wanted posters. He looked like a dark skinned Human, with a wild mess of black unbrushed frizzy braids and dreadlocks that hung to his waist and were stuck full of bones, feathers, beads, ribbons, and twigs.

In each form, the hair was the same. Even the pony’s mane had been the same. Quaraun stared, mesmerized at the Phooka’s wild hair. Massive, unbrushed frizzy braids and dreadlocks that hung to his waist and were stuck full of bones, feathers, beads, ribbons, and twigs. All marks of Scottish Hoodoo Cloutie Magic.

Such beautiful hair. This Phooka’s hair stopped Quaraun in his tracks and left the Elf unable to think or move or even remember why he had come to see the building at all.

Quaraun with his lustful obsessive fetish for hair, was mesmerized by BoomFuzzy’s glorious, massive, wild, unruly, ropes and cords of thick, woollen locks.

Quaraun suddenly burned with the desire to run his fingers through the Phooka’s hair.

He wanted to brush his own hair.

But Quaraun’s long hair was gone.

Cut off, by a brutal evil man, who declared long hair a sin.

Brutally cut off while royal guards had held him down.

Quaraun ran his fingers through his short chopped off hair.

He cringed at the feel of it.

Quaraun had not cut his hair in 70 years. And now it was gone.

Anger burned in his chest,

Rage filled his mind.

He wanted nothing more than to kill the man whom had done this. Kill the man whom had cut off his long wonderful hair.

Minus his own long hair, Quaraun now lusted dreadfully for BoomFuzzy’s hair. In his heart, he cursed his father and glorified BoomFuzzy.

“BoomFuzzy,” the Moon Elf whispered.

The hair was distinctive. While most Faeries were known to have wild, unbrushed hair, Faeries were very obsessive in sticking to rigid rituals. The career of a Fae could be identified by the style of their hair. Items woven into their braids, told the onlooker what their job was. Even a shape shifter would not style their hair differently when looking like someone else.

A Phooka might change form to look like your mother, but you would be able to tell your mom from the Phooka, by the messy hair. You would wonder why your mom had suddenly taken to styling strange plaits of red ribbons in her hair.

No matter the form he took, King Gwallmaiic always kept his hair, exactly the same. The black unicorn. BoomFuzzy the half-Elf candy maker. The Elf Eater of Pepper Valley. Quaraun had seen all three, and all three had the exact same hair. Even the little black unicorn, his mane and tail had been King Gwallmaiic’s natural hair.