Free The Woodcutter by Kate Danley; © Lolloj / Fotolia Page B

Wood. He felt the Kingdom end and the Duchy begin the moment he stepped foot across the border. The colors were duller and the shadows were without mystery. It was a land without magic.
     
    It was the Kingdom of the Pure Ordinary.
     
    The lowlands were no place for wheat fields and corn. The saturated peat rotted the roots of any plant besides the tall grasses and rice paddies. The natural iron that filled the bogs repelled any magic that tried to take hold.
     
    Which is why he was started when he first saw the butterfly.
     
    Its wings were beating slowly in the mud. It was made of gold and encrusted with jewels. The Woodcutter bent down and lifted it from the mire, brushing off the filth as best he could. The butterfly rested for a moment and then took off, limping through the air towards the Woods.
     
    The Woodcutter wiped his hands upon his trousers and watched it as it flew away.
     
    The bejeweled butterfly was far from its home. It was far from the boundary of the Twelve Kingdoms and deep in the Kingdom of the Ordinary for a butterfly.
     
    It was not unheard of, but odd.
     
    The Woodcutter turned back to the road, but the hollow wind made him uncomfortable and he did not like to be without the counsel of the trees.
     
     
     
    Hours later, he saw before him a low rising hill, which seated a stone city where the Duke of Plainness made his home.
     
    The Woodcutter walked through the gates to look for a place to spend the night.
     
    The city was bustling. A full cart of hay rumbled down the narrow street, making its way to market. The Woodcutter fell in behind, allowing the ox to part the crowds and lead him to the center of the city. As the buildings opened up to the central square, the Woodcutter stepped aside to view the area.
     
    He stopped.
     
    Every booth was filled with spinning wheels and hay. Every merchant had pushed aside his regular wares to make room.
     
    The Woodcutter walked between the towers of spindles as people eagerly toted away the machines. He walked past a doctor hawking, “An elixir! An elixir to mend your twisted bones!” and past large bales people used to fill their carts.
     
    He would have expected such behavior in the Twelve Kingdoms, but not in the other world, not in the Kingdom of the Ordinary.
     
    A water fountain was surrounded by a group of young ladies who gaped at something in the water and giggled.
     
    The Woodcutter gently pushed his way to the front.
     
    At the edge of the fountain sat a large frog.
     
    The frog regarded the Woodcutter and the Woodcutter regarded the frog.
     
    And then the frog croaked, “Give me a kiss and I will turn into a prince.”
     
    But the Woodcutter would not be fooled.
     
    A girl with a straw colored plait that hung down her back looked at the Woodcutter, “He says that, but no matter how many times I kiss him, he stays a frog.”
     
    The frog gave the Woodcutter a wink.
     
    The Woodcutter said to the girls as he turned to walk away, “The frog lies.”
     
    The Woodcutter made his way directly towards the nearest village pub. There was at least one place in every town where information flowed freely, and in the Duchy of Plainness, it came beneath a wooden sign bearing a red fox.
     
    The villagers were speaking loudly as he entered. One angrily spat, “Do you believe such madness…”
     
    The Woodcutter walked past and settled himself at a table nearby.
     
    A tavern keeper in a dirty gray smock came over and placed a meal and a drink before the Woodcutter. The Woodcutter placed two wooden coins upon the table. The tavern keeper eyed them warily, but deposited them in a purse around his waist. As the he moved to leave, the Woodcutter caught his sleeve. The tavern keeper glared at the Woodcutter, but did not walk away.
     
    “I am a stranger to this land,” the Woodcutter said. “And I have seen some strange things today. Tell me, what causes the people here to buy spinning wheels and bales of hay?”
     
    The tavern keeper