Chapter 4 Don’t Die, Got It
Don’t Die, Got It
Sunlight filtered softly through the oddly shaped windows of Tarran’s colorful hut, brushing gently against my eyelids the next morning.
I stretched, momentarily disoriented by my surroundings until memories of yesterday flooded back—Foreverland, night terrors, and a golden-streaked man with a strange purple eye.
The longer I was here, the less I could pass it off as if this was still a dream.
My mind drifted to the man in the bookstore I’d encountered. I’d played our conversation back on repeat, over and over again, as I’d drifted off to sleep last night, and I could only draw one conclusion.
He had known what touching the book would do.
Was the book some sort of sick serial killer trap he set?
Was he up there in the sky, watching my struggles and laughing the entire time?
And how had he bewitched it in the first place?
I’d never thought magic was real, but unless I was having a very terrible medical emergency, this wasn’t a dream.
I pinched myself for good measure, hissing from the pain that didn’t release me from the chaos of my current predicament.
The hut was tiny, and I’d been given space on the couch to sleep while Tarran slept in the small bedroom off to one side.
The Carls had opted for the floor of Tarran’s bedroom and were still steadily snoring away.
Even through the closed door, I could hear them.
Tarran stood by the stove, humming to herself while stirring something fragrant in a worn copper pot.
She glanced over as I sat up, a small, cautious smile spreading across her face.
“Good morning,” she greeted me softly. “Did you manage to rest?”
I rubbed my eyes, yawning dramatically and stretching. “Define rest. Do nightmares of tiny men named Carl count as restful?”
She laughed, a melodic sound that sent an odd flutter through my chest. If I had time to think, I’d be questioning the sanity behind finding a fictitious book character attractive, but that was something to unpack at a later date in therapy.
“Sadly, that’s probably as restful as it gets around here. ”
The door to the bedroom burst open suddenly, revealing the twins—bright eyed, bushy-tailed, and entirely too awake for having just been asleep a few moments ago.
“Morning!” they chimed together, grinning eagerly. Carl-One added, “We’re going to help gather supplies! Big day today.”
Carl-Two nodded rapidly, the movement making his frizzy curls bounce. “You two should explore the village. Lots to see, lots to learn before your quest!”
Tarran glanced nervously at me, fiddling anxiously with the edge of her apron that had seen better days. “It’s probably best we take a look around. If you’re feeling up for it?”
“I suppose I have no choice,” I said dramatically, though the prospect secretly intrigued me. If I was going to be stuck here, I might as well explore. “Lead the way, oh fearless guide.”
Her lips twitched, but she didn’t let a smile bloom.
A few minutes later, and we were stepping outside, greeted by a surprisingly lively scene in contrast to the emptiness of the night before.
In daylight, the village was charmingly chaotic, with shops built into the sides of towering purple trees, flower-lined pathways bustling with people of all shapes and sizes, but no one as unique looking as Tarran.
“What exactly are the Carls?” I asked as we strolled down a path toward a small, open-air market.
“Flisters,” Tarran replied easily, nodding toward another group of similar-looking people enthusiastically arranging baskets of glowing fruit. “Cheerful, loyal, and not particularly good at subtlety. What they lack in intelligence, they more than make up for with heart.”
“I noticed,” I chuckled dryly. “And what about you? You have a unique look to you, something we normally wouldn’t see where I come from.”
She hesitated, glancing away. “I’m the Guide, someone who’s been here longer than most.” She didn’t elaborate, instead changing the subject as she pointed out all the different oddities for sale.
The marketplace was teeming with strange things I’d never seen before: glittering fabrics, oddly shaped vegetables, bottles containing liquids with swirling colors I wasn’t sure really existed.
Tarran guided me expertly through the maze of stalls, gently introducing me to vendors and locals, each interaction revealing bits of insight into this bizarre place.
No one really paid me much mind, besides a small spark of recognition when she said I was from the sky, followed by a skeptical once over.
They’d been through this dance before.
“You’re quite short,” one vendor said to me, a tall, thin man with a handlebar moustache that was greying at the ends.
“Thanks?” I’d responded as Tarran dragged me away, her warm hand sliding into mine to steer us into another direction altogether.
Tarran purchased two large travel bags for us using a pretty pink currency she called a petal. Each pack cost ten petals, and as the day wore on, they’d almost been filled to the brim with travel supplies, Tarran’s coin purse many petals lighter.
“This kingdom we’re visiting first…” I began carefully, inspecting a stack of vividly painted maps. “Who exactly rules it?”
“The Warrior King,” Tarran explained quietly, handing the shopkeeper a few petals in exchange for a small, rolled scroll with Foreverland printed on the edge.
“In the Kingdom of Valor. He is a prideful king—a bit of a barbarian if you ask me. You’ll have to prove your worth in some form of physical contest.”
“Oh great,” I groaned, eyeing my distinctly un-warrior-like physique skeptically.
The vendor had been right: I was short and thin, not a muscle to be had.
My curtain of dark waves had always been my best feature, an overcompensation for my lacking physique.
“Because I definitely scream ‘mighty champion’.”
“You might surprise yourself,” Tarran murmured encouragingly, her gaze softening.
“Any tips?” I asked hopefully, feigning nonchalance despite my nerves. I’d gotten an F in all my gym classes in high school, entirely because I never showed up to class because I hated getting sweaty. If I was going to have to fight, this was going to be over very quickly.
“Be clever. Warriors often underestimate those who use their minds instead of their muscles.”
We moved further into the village center, where children chased each other around fountains spouting water that changed color every few seconds. I’d been chewing on a question that had really been niggling at me, and finally, I spit it out. “Hey Tarran?”
“Yeah?”
“What happens if I die in here?”
A dark cloud passed over her, but her steps never faltered.
She was silent so long, I wasn’t sure she’d answer, but then she said, “Liss, do not be mistaken.
“There is only one way out of Foreverland, and it is through the Door of Ever.” She stopped, turning to look me directly in the eye. “Do not fail.”
She didn’t need to say it. To die in here was to disappear forever.
Silence chased us for what felt like a mile as we moved further into the village. “Why don’t these kingdoms ever cooperate?” I asked as we walked, genuinely curious. “Wouldn’t it help everyone if they just gave us the keys and ended the night terrors?”
Tarran sighed, sadness briefly clouding her eyes. “That is not how it is written. Each king believes he is superior, too proud or stubborn to concede anything to another without merit. This rivalry has fractured Foreverland, leaving it vulnerable to atrocities like the night terrors.”
“So no one’s even tried to unite them?”
“Oh, they’ve tried,” she replied softly, bitterness touching the edge of her voice. “But pride is a powerful thing—almost as powerful as fear.”