Heartstone

Book 1: Magic and Puns

Love is an adventure, so they say. You know what is also an adventure? Leaving the world you know and entering a new one.

One moment Arwin was racing his car through cattle-filled ranches and fields of golden wheat in his native prairie homeland. The next moment, he was off-road, careening through a bumpy field of tall, blue grass. It was literally blue: vivid, deep, royal blue. And instead of the sound of crushing vegetation, as he rocked and rolled through the blades, the grass made soulful music.

Too stunned by the sudden change to react in time, he didn't see the tree in front of him until it was too late. His car thundered into it and came to an abrupt halt, fender, hood and engine wrapping around the immovable trunk like the car was giving it a big, metal hug. Blue spruce-like branches rattled the hood and roof of the car, each branch thick with blue moss in the shapes of various types of facial hair: French forks, Van Dykes, Xaén Dovéts, hulihees, goatees, ducktails and many more.

From out of a little door, high in the tree's trunk, stormed a tiny man. He was about the size of a squirrel and sported a full, blue beard. He wore 17th-century French aristocratic clothes: padded cobalt tunic and navy tights under a fur-lined cape, the royal-blue fabric embroidered with gold thread. A gold chain and medallion hung around his neck. He rattled off a string of blue language in Arwin's direction, the little man's face blue with the effort. Then he spun on his minuscule heel and vanished back into his abode.

Arwin turned his gaze in all directions, peering out the car windows. He shook his head, bewildered. Musical blue grass? A bluebeard tree with blue beards? A miniature man resembling the fairytale character of Bluebeard? But how could a man be only a handspan tall? What the hell was going on?

He unsnapped the restraining device and climbed out of the car. Dazed, he looked around.

"Where am I?" he wondered aloud.

All around, the scenery had completely changed. Endless prairie had been replaced by a small, blue field surrounded by towering, dense forest. Some trees he recognized while others were completely foreign, like the bluebeard tree. And what he guessed was probably called a sandalwood tree. After all, the leaves were all shaped like sandals. He took a closer look. No, they were sandals, growing out of the branches. How was that even possible? He took a few steps through the knee-high, blue grass. A gust of wind came down out of the sky to tickle the rounded, blue leaves and a mournful wave of notes played through the meadow.

Arwin put his hand on his head. "I've lost my mind," he groaned, checking his scalp for blood. "I must have hit my head. I'm delirious. Hallucinating." He stepped backwards, and his foot landed on something hard. A despondent cry arose from below. Jerking his foot away, he looked down.

It was a bluestone. A rock. Coloured blue. And it appeared to be sad. How a rock could possibly have, let alone communicate, emotions struck Arwin as rather impossible, yet here it was. When he had stepped on it, the rock must have made that sad sound. Then he got it. The rock was feeling blue. That was — literal.

Arwin tried to wrap his head around his current situation.

I was driving along, and everything was normal. Well, until I took that side road and nearly ran into a freaking dragon that caused me to swerve off course. A pink dragon and its baby. As if colour makes the fact that there was a real, live dragon any more exceptional! I swerved so I wouldn't hit them, then went off-road.

Wait. The air. I remember it shimmering for a moment. Some kind of portal?

He took a deep breath and tried to steady his whirling thoughts.

Looking around, it seemed that maybe he wasn't even on Earth anymore. Pink dragons, little blue men, sandals growing on trees: all were impossible. ...right?