Episode 4

He tried desperately not to fall, but only ended up turning so his over balance sent him into what should have been the decorated wall.

It was the strangest feeling. You know how it is to see what you are going to fall on or run in to. I mean, you may not be able to stop before you hit it but you already know, that split second before, how it is likely to feel.

Jett's muscles recoiled, preparing to shoulder the wall. His head tucked instinctively down, shoulders hunched to protect it. And to be honest, he closed his eyes. Only, there was no thunk, no wall, no nothing - only wind.

Jett opened his eyes and then closed them quickly. He shook his head. After all, what he thought he saw when he had opened them could not really be.

Well, that's what he thought until he opened them again.

Below him was the patchwork of tilled fields and small villages. He sailed through the sky as if he were looking out the window of a plane. It was an odd feeling - seeing things from this altitude, feeling the cold air rushing over him, and nothing supporting him as he moved.

The wind surged in his ears but there was another sound - a soft woosh - from above. He looked and found that he was carefully supported in the great talons of an enormous bird. From all Jett could see, it was an eagle. Its feathers were a combination of black, brown, and other earthly colours which, once touched by the sun, blushed a golden red.

Jett couldn’t help but admire the animal. Powerful and yet he held Jett so delicately.

As Jett looked up at the bird, it turned its great head to peer at him with onyx orbs. The bird vocalised a high pitch squeal that drilled through Jett’s head and un-weaved as, ‘Small falling one, who came from the sun, welcome.’

Jett was shaken. His voice wobbly, he yelled to the bird, ‘Did you just say ‘welcome’?’

Now, it’s not possible for a bird to smile – they lack lips after all – but there was amusement in his eyes. ‘Small falling one, who came from the sun, you have much to learn.’

And with that, he circled and dove down towards the no longer painted, but solid rock castle in Jett’s mural.

Landing with this large bird was nothing like landing in a plane. There was no preparation, no flight attendant asking for seat backs and tray tables to be in their up and locked positions. No seatbelt checks. All that happened was a shifting from two claws to one and the dipped angle down below the height of castle wall and then the deceleration swoop up to alight on the wall.

Jett could see the muscles correcting as the huge eagle perched one legged. Then Jett was placed on the deck before them. There was no captain to welcome him to … this place. There was no time, date, nor temperature of this location. No, this was not a normal flight.

Jett wasn’t sure what to do, but it did become obvious soon after his landing.

‘Good evening,’ and indeed the sun was now hanging over the distant mountains to the west, ‘Would you please come with us?’

Jett looked that them, a group of five men. Each was dressed alike – chainmail, surcoats emblazed with a white horse rearing over a purple and green field (the field, or background, looked like someone had drawn a line from the upper right corner to the lower left and above the line was purple, below green and the horse looked left). Jett knew this device. He saw it every time he looked at his wall. It was on the pennants flying above the knights and the castle. There could be no question now as to where he was. He had somehow, though sorcery maybe, fallen through his wall and into the land of Nay.

The man Jett assumed to be the leader of the group, extended his arm, hand flat, to point the direction he wished Jett to go. Jett compliantly stepped out to that direction, uncertain what else to do. After all, what is the correct procedure for following a group of strangers into someplace you don’t know? Normally, he should run the other way, find a police officer, scream so that other adults could help him – but this case…was unique.

As they walked four of the men took the points (one in front, one behind, one to the left and one to the right…the man who was ‘captain’ stood beside Jett).
They walked across the roof in the dying light of the sun and into a darkened doorway. Jett knew that in the real world he would be in a very dangerous situation. But here, it felt more like a story in his books…that maybe he was just reading a good story, one where he felt like he was actually there.

The hall was narrow and the ceiling low making it tight and claustrophobic. At the end was a set of spiral stairs, where they all had to go single file it was so narrow. The stairs opened onto a cavernous room. It had high ceilings which had candle holders supported by circular hoists; there were torches and tapestries on the walls. Two fireplaces with blazing fires set to ward off the chill took residence on the walls of the north and south as Jett guessed. There were windows of sorts but they were more like arrow slits in the wall than something to look out and admire the view. Jett believed that even on a sunny day in midafternoon, the room would still be as dark and dank, with its clouds of wispy smoke, as it was now.

There were people dressed in like clothing who bustled around several long tables at one side of the room, while the other side of the room held two impressive wooden chairs and only a handful of people. It was in this direction that he was taken.

As he got closer and could see better in the dim light, he was able to tell who the men before him surely were – if only by the wealth and cut of their clothing. This was the king and his advisors.

Jett swallowed hard.

As they approached the man he took to be the king, the men who had escorted him bowed. He did his best to keep up with them. The guard captain walked to the king and whispered something.

The king waved the others away and locked gazes with Jett.

‘Come son, stand and tell me your name.’

Every fantasy of the kingly voice fled from Jett’s mind. This man didn’t have a booming, deep, hard voice. Instead his tenor voice was warm, softly spoken and kindly, albeit with an edge of authority.

This gave Jett the courage to stand straight and offer boldly, ‘Jett.’ Only his name caught in his throat and it squeaked a bit. He wasn’t able to find his voice to continue his name.

The king raised an eyebrow but nodded.

‘And how be it that you have come to my fair lands?’

‘I…I’m not fully sure, Your Majesty,’ he hoped that he had addressed the king properly.

‘And you came from which land?’

Jett didn’t know exactly how to explain where he came from or how he had gotten there.

‘I don’t think that you would know it, Your Majesty. I come from a town called Morning Sun, Ohio,’ Jett said shyly.

‘So, you know that you are called Jett, as in the black stone my lady loves. And you come from the land of Ohio. A land you rightly have said that I would not know. You come from the village of Sun. An interesting name. Is it common in your lands to name your children after the earth and your villages after the stars?’

Jett knew that he dare not correct the king. ‘I suppose that some of the children are name after nature, others are not. As are the towns…named after stuff.’

Again, the king raised an eyebrow.

‘You don’t know how you got here? Do you know how to get home?’

Jett shook his head and felt hope fade. It hit him that he had no idea how to get home and all of a sudden he wished that he was there now. In trouble or not, he wanted his family. The emotions of that thought must have played across his face because the kings next words were meant to make him feel better and the king spoke them as you might speak to a frightened kitten.

‘Well, worry not. We will set our best men onto finding a way back to Ohio and your village there. Until then, Jett will not do as a name. So I will have it be known to call you Jett of Sun.’

Episode 3

Jett jumped up on his bed to get closer to the painted horse. Had this horse always looked this way? The artist had painted him stark black with no white markings. His head was fairly square and his body was slight making him look more like a standardbred trotter than a standard war horse. Jett must have seen this horse before, but not really seen it. The horse was saddled but didn't have the tabards of the other horses. His bridle was just a normal brown leather thing, not the colourful dagged things on the other knightly horses. But the thing that should have made some sort of impression in his brain was that this horse was riderless.

As he examined the horse, he leaned closer to the wall, balancing on the edge of the bed. He was so close now that that he could see each brush mark and he could even see the errant brush bristle caught in the the black tail as it quickly swishes to a new flying stance.

Jett jumped and as he started to fall, world spinning, his bedroom door opened.

Jett landed with a thump in a heap on the floor; his legs caught up in what only minutes before had been his beautifully made bed. His mother stood over him obviously not impressed. His dad stood in the doorway.

'What is this?' his mother yelled. 'I send you to your room and you start jumping on your bed? Have you lost your mind? Did you think this was a joke? Did you miss something? Like that you are in trouble?

'Um. No. I mean yes. I know I'm in trouble but I wasn't jumping on the...' why bother? He wouldn't say anything that would change her mind today.

His dad walked over and offered him a hand up. Jett took it and his dad set him onto his feet.

'So,' his dad said. 'I understand that you and Brathdon had a bit of a disagreement today.'

'It was more than that,' his mother interrupted. 'My nerves can't take it anymore, Stephen. Jett just seems to like to start fights and he seems to enjoy his punishments.'

Jett's dad turned to her and smiled. 'I understand, love. How's about you go down and help Brathdon with his homework. I will take care of this.'

Her face softened and she left Jett's room. Jett knew that she loved him but she just always sided with Brathdon. That's just how it always was.

Once she was gone, Jett's dad straightened the covers on the bed, sat down and patted the spot beside him. Jett joined his dad.

'She's being a bit hard. Isn't she?' he asked.

Jett nodded.

'What happened?'

Jett recounted his side of the story. And at the end, Jett's dad said, 'Okay, I need to go talk to your brother. You can stay here. I'll be back to discuss how we are going to solve this issue.'

Then he left.

It would be a lie to say that Jett wasn't a bit nervous about what was going to happen when his dad came back but, it would also be a lie to say that Jett was so concerned that he had forgotten the painted horse.

So, as soon as his door closed, Jett jumped up onto his bed again.

The horse's tail had swished again because it was wagged towards Jett when he stood there again. But that wasn't the strangest part. You see, the horse's head was now turned and looking at him.

Jett stared at the horse. How was any of this possible?

Jett reached out to the horse, stretching forward. But it wasn't the cool painted wall that Jett's finger's found. Instead, he felt warm fur.

Jett pulled his hand away so quickly - as if he had been burnt - then he fell again.

Episode 2

Jett sat at his table and picked up the black queen’s knight. He rolled it over in his hand.

‘I could run away,’ he thought. ‘Grab my stuff and go.’

He had $24.15 in his piggy bank.  Maybe he could take a bus somewhere…but where would he go?

The knight rolled over again and Jett placed it back on its square.

No, he couldn’t run away.  So, perhaps the wisest course would be to do something to make his parents happy.  Maybe they would think that he was contrite – had learned his lesson – and maybe, just maybe, they wouldn’t punish him as severely.

Jett began to clean his room.  Books, that had once littered the floor, found new homes in his bookcase.  A large net and bug-home which had moments ago perched on the window sill were tucked neatly into the lower storage of his table.  He even managed to begin the struggle of making his bed (an activity  he did so infrequently that the bed resembled more of a jungle than a sleeping place with the sheets and blankets tied into almost unravelling knots) when his mind began to wander.

Brethdon deserved an upcommance; but how to get him back without bringing their parents’ ire.  Perhaps he could sneak into his brother’s room and – and what? – Mess up his room?  Take his favourite toy? Or maybe break his favourite toy…that red transformer that Brethdon was always playing with….or maybe he should replace the batteries in Brethdon’s remote control car with the ones from his robot dog (the batteries in the robot dog were almost completely dead).  He could take the four of hearts from the deck of cards that Brethdon used to play solitaire all the time. Or wait!  He could take the best of Brethdon’s trading cards and give them to the kids down the street!  No, that wouldn’t do…Jett’s mind moved to more evil thoughts.  What if he went out to the garage and got some of the grass seed that Dad kept to reseed the grass when needed.  If he put the seed on Brethdon’s carpet and then worked it in and watered it, surely something would grow!  Oh! What about adding ink to the shampoo…no, that could back fire on Jett; after all, he used the same shampoo.  And then it came to him, he could sneak into his parents’ room and take something…something small but something that would be missed – like the small glass hand mirror that used to belong to Mum’s grandma.  Then he could hide it in Brethdon’s room.  Once found, Brethdon would have to be in trouble.

As he milled this over in his mind, a sound hit Jett’s ears and his head flew up like a shot! He examined the area where the sound had come.  Nothing… nothing that would have made that sound; just his toys, books and the painting on the wall of the castle with the knights.  And yet, Jett could have sworn he heard… no, that is stupid.  There is no way that he heard the whinny of a horse!  If he lived in the country, perhaps, but Jett lived in suburbia just like most every other kid in his city.

Then he heard it again.  Only this time the horse made a snorting sound and stomped its hoof.  But there was no horse there to make the sound!

Jett looked harder.  Were there such things as invisible horses?

And that’s when he saw it, or at least he thought that he saw it…one of the painted horses swished its tail!

Episode 1

You know, stories are strange things. They can be unpredictable - that means that they can go places you didn't think that they would go. And sometimes the characters in them can be just as difficult to handle.

I know many stories and some of my best friends are the best sort of characters.

So, should I tell you of one of them?

Are you sure?

You see, he's not always the best sort of boy. Well at least not as far as adults are concerned.

He's an ... adventurer.

I don't mean 'explore the deepest part of Africa' type of adventurer - well at least not yet.

His adventures, up until now, have taken place in his own backyard. Little did he know that that was all about to change.

***

Brathdon's plywood sword struck the dirt where Jett had been only seconds before.

Jett laughed at his older brother. After all, he always thought that he was right. Being older seemed to give him some sort of super human power to be faster, stronger, more balanced and so very much more. At least in his own mind. But in one move, Jett had proven that he could hold his own.

'You brat! You cheated!' Brathdon grumbled. 'You can't move like that. St George slew the dragon. The dragon didn't get away.'

'I don't care. My dragon moved and your St George, the goose, didn't slew me!' Jett knew that he shouldn't call Brathdon names, but he didn't care if he got hit. Showing his brother that he was able to win too would be worth it. Besides, the plywood sword would have hurt if Brathdon had hit him.

'I am not a goose,' Brathdon roared. Perhaps next time he could be the dragon; he sounded more like one! 'Take it back before I make you take it back,' he threatened Jett with the sword.

Brathdon was working himself up into quite a state. As his voice got louder, their mother came out the back door. As usual it didn't take her long to figure out the events that had led to what was about to be fisticuffs. Unfortunately for Jett, she had come to the wrong conclusion.

'Brathdon! Stop yelling,' she yelled. 'And Jett, leave him alone. How many times do I have to tell you that you are not to start fights?'

'But it wasn't me,' Jett interrupted. He knew that it was stupid to interrupt an adult, especially his mother, but it was all so unfair. After all, 'Brathdon tried to hit me hard with the sword. Look, you can see where it hit the ground and there's a groove!'

Sure enough, you could see a long, deep line in the dirt where the plywood sword had hit.

'I did not, Mum!' Brathdon retaliated. 'he started this. I was St George slaying the dragon. I never tried to hit him. And then he started calling me names.'

Their mother walked over to Brathdon and hugged him; then she turned on Jett.

'Go to your room right now. I will deal out your punishment later.'

If this same thing hadn't happened before, Jett would have been shocked. After all, how was it his fault that the fight had started? He was the one nearly hit and he only called his brother a goose. By all that was right and fair, he should be getting the cuddles and Brathdon should be headed to his room.

But as we all know: things are not always fair. And so, Jett headed inside.

***

Jett's room was, like him, special. The walls had an English countryside painted in detail on them. They even boasted a high, five-towered castle and an army of knights crossing the drawbridge. He had spent many hours imagining the adventures he would have if he could join them.

Jett's room also held a number of games and toys that you might find in any young boy's room. But his favorite was his stone, handcrafted chess set. He also had a large collection of books. All he needed to do now was find something to do and wait for his parents to come talk to him.