5 Tales Of The Neworld - Written By Stephanie Poppins

Tales of the Neworld is a fantasy series written by English author Stephanie Hudson.

In this episode, we meet the Bogatree - a bitter fellow from the Land of Winter who blackmails the Wendalwitches and creates havoc when he crosses the flying Guinwhats.

Tales of the Neworld are heart-warming short stories set in a natural haven. They are original fantasy stories suitable for all ages. They are also available in novel format.

Transcript

Tales of the New World by S.

D.

Hudson This audiobook is read by the author.

The Bogger Tree Chapter 1 Across the heart of the land of summer,

Wet stone ridge cuts a dark line with the precision of a sharpened knife.

Its smooth overhanging peaks give shelter from the brazen landscape,

And this is just as well.

The Ginwots need shade when making their hard mountain syrup.

It was late morning on Acceptance Day and the small wasp-like folk were working flat out.

Once their finest batch of syrup was decanted into the wild walnut shells,

They would leave to trade with the land of spring.

Then,

When the trade was complete,

Their best batch would be delivered to the meadow.

And as long as they hid the shells while they were away,

Everything would be OK.

They didn't want any far-land thieves getting their clues on those.

At last they were ready to leave.

The summer pilgrim would be there soon and he was always well-armed,

So they needn't worry.

The pilgrim wasn't like the other summer folk.

He had no interest in trading,

Borrowing or stealing.

He lived in the Crystal Sancta and devoted his life to serving the Wise One.

That was all he was interested in.

It was time for the Ginwots to leave.

Any second now the morning shadow would disappear.

Then the sun would melt all their hard work into a dark,

Sugary mess.

They came together in a diamond formation,

Their wings in unison,

Their hum draped across the air like a fine blanket.

And as the ridge pulled back its shoulders to expose the tufts of bright blue heather,

They left for the Land of Spring.

This trade wouldn't take long.

They'd soon be back,

Quick as a wink.

Meanwhile,

Over in the Grand Orb,

The Masters were getting impatient.

Acceptance Day was upon them and they still hadn't heard anything.

Without the final trade done and dusted,

The Pilgrims couldn't begin their journey north.

And without the Pilgrims,

There would be no far land minerals coming to the meadow.

We'll not be any the wiser till those Ginwots get on and do what they're supposed to,

Said Jeremiah.

But they're always the last to trade,

So slow they are,

Added Delilah.

Well,

They had better hurry up,

Said Fortenua.

We have plans to make.

When it's time,

Delilah will hear,

Sure enough,

Soothed Jasper.

She doesn't miss a thing,

Do you,

Delilah?

Delilah smiled at the compliment.

But she was beginning to wonder how much longer the Ginwots would take.

Acceptance Day was a big thing and the meadow folk were getting excited.

There would be a celebration when the Pilgrims arrived and everybody needed that.

It had been a long hard season and the far land minerals would keep them well for many moons to come.

With nutmeg possets from the land of autumn,

Juniper pies from the land of winter,

Parsnip pastries from the land of spring and hard mountain syrup from the land of summer,

It would be lovely.

If only those Ginwots would hurry up.

It's a brave job those Pilgrims do,

A brave job,

I say,

Said Delilah as she thought of the dangers they faced along the way.

The others agreed.

Such a journey was not for the faint-hearted.

The Pilgrims would have to cross many borders and any number of thieves and vagabonds could be waiting for them.

The Masters waited and waited,

But still no word.

Then,

When the giant shadow disappeared from over the roof of the Grand Orb,

Up jumped Delilah.

The hard mountain syrup,

It's gone missing,

Gone missing,

I say.

The Fireflies have just brought the news.

Jasper choked.

The worst thing about feeling certain of something was when it turned out not to be the something he could feel certain of at all.

Be it right or wrong,

He'd been depending on Acceptance Day and now he might not get his syrup after all.

What were things coming to if he couldn't get that?

Is that so?

Said Jeremiah,

Standing up.

Well,

Without it the summer folk be getting no metal magic from us and the metal folk be getting no summer minerals from them.

That ain't good.

We'll have to get the syrup back as soon as we can.

Without that syrup,

Acceptance Day won't be complete.

I'll come,

Announced Jasper,

More than a little excited at the prospect of extra foraging.

But Jeremiah knew Jasper would only slow him down.

Not this time,

My friend.

You and Elila keep an eye on things here.

There ain't gonna be time for that today.

And as Master in Training,

The Truffle Pog had little choice but to heed Jeremiah's words.

Chapter Two Jeremiah caught Fortenua's eye from across the table of Trigon's.

Everyone knew Hard Mountain's syrup was highly priced in the land of winter,

But he didn't want to rub it in.

As Master of Winter,

Fortenua must be sick and tired of hearing it.

Do you want some help?

He offered.

But from what he could see,

The cockatrice was in no mood for charity.

The sparks in her red eyes were brighter than usual and her customary glare was hardened by the black rings encircling them.

Yes,

I think it would be best under the circumstances,

She replied.

Jeremiah stared in disbelief.

Fortenua was not usually one to accept help,

Let alone admit defeat.

But it seemed she really had had enough this time.

Huh,

I never could read you,

Could I?

He said.

Then,

Eager to lighten the mood,

He joked.

Well,

It's an ill wind that blows no good,

And the land of winter be breezy at the best of times.

His impish smile was wasted on Fortenua,

Though.

When all was said and done,

The land of winter was still her land,

Even if its troublesome folk and their misdeeds did follow her around like a bad smell.

We will travel to the land of summer and speak with the Ginwots first,

She said matter-of-factly.

If we leave it any longer,

The time for pilgrims will have passed and the produce spent.

Jeremiah was more than happy to hear it.

The heat would bring an extra shine to his large black nose.

It wasn't the same for Fortenua,

Of course.

She hated the heat.

But the job must be done.

So before she had time to change her mind,

She was up and away.

Being land folk,

Jeremiah would just have to make his own way there.

Chapter Three It was hot,

Hotter than hot,

And Fortenua was getting impatient.

The Ginwots were sleeping in a circle formation at the base of Whetstone Ridge as they always did when they were in trouble.

It was impossible to get through to them,

But she had waited long enough.

Jeremiah or no Jeremiah,

She needed answers,

And fast.

Wake up,

I tell you,

She snapped.

And sensing the presence of winter energy,

The wasp-like folk did just that.

But not before stinging her repeatedly all over.

Enough,

Shouted Jeremiah,

Arriving just in time.

He watched in despair as a cluster of Fortenua's copper feathers fell to the ground beneath her.

You OK?

He asked,

Impressed at her fortitude.

But Fortenua was not in the mood.

Look at their wings,

She pointed.

Jeremiah looked,

But he could see nothing.

There,

She insisted,

There is blue dye underneath the Ginwots' wings.

And what in the far lands be the significance of that?

Hmm,

Replied Fortenua,

Clicking her beak impatiently.

I forgot,

You are a lot less experienced than I,

Jeremiah,

Being so much younger.

Jeremiah listened carefully as the cockatrice told him the secret story of the Wendel witches and how they had stolen the syrup many years before.

Unbeknownst to them,

The Ginwots had used a magic dye that turned all thieves electric blue.

It had taken many moons and much cauldron work for the Wendel witches to get that out of their fur.

And when at last they came out of hiding,

They swore they would never be stupid enough to try such a thing again.

It will not be the witches this time,

Fortenua concluded,

But it will be easier for us to find the culprit now as they will be staying.

Jeremiah sighed,

A long frustrated sigh.

But it'll be like searching for a needle in a haystack.

How can we possibly be checking every one of the Wendel folk before the sun sets?

We will start with the witches and go from there,

Said Fortenua.

They are bound to have heard something as they are the only ones who know how to get rid of the dye.

She rose vertically to leave,

And Jeremiah followed her,

The sun now well and truly behind him.

It was cold outside,

And Jeremiah was struggling.

Being sensitive to everything that touched his fur or skin meant the land of winter was a real challenge.

He had to hold it together,

Though.

The last thing he wanted to do was blow their cover.

It looks like they're cooking up something,

He whispered,

Peeping over the windowsill of the Wendel witches' house.

And he was right.

The witches were shredding clumps of blue heather into a big copper pot.

Soak it,

Soak it,

Stir and poke it.

No more blue,

Not for you,

They chanted as they danced around and around.

It is the heather from Whetstone Ridge,

Fortenua confirmed.

That means they must know who the culprit is.

But before the masters could burst in and put a stop to it,

The bogger tree,

That foul-smelling wretch of a creature,

Appeared from behind some distant rocks.

Surprise,

Surprise,

Whispered Jeremiah as the villain shuffled his way up the path.

I might have known he was the thief.

It's just as well the pog's not here.

That bogger tree be smelling so bad,

Jasper'd only end up being sick and given the game away.

They watched in silence as the haggard creature waited by the front door.

He looked ridiculous.

The deep folds in his leathery skin were saturated in blue and the line of bristly fur along his arched back was stained too.

Well,

Well,

You didn't waste your time,

Sister Witch squeaked as she flung the door open.

Come in,

Come in.

But she was careful to keep her distance.

Sister Witch was scared of the bogger tree,

As were all the witches.

The bogger tree,

However,

Was in no mood for small talk.

Please be seated,

Be seated,

I say,

Insisted another witch,

And removing her favourite cushion from a far chair,

She beckoned to him as the rest of the witches parted ways.

But the bogger tree had no intention of being placed in the corner.

Is it ready?

He hissed in a scratchy voice.

The witches glanced at each other in dismay.

Well,

It really was very,

Very short notice,

Wasn't it?

Said Sister Witch,

And considering we had to travel all the way to the land of.

.

.

You said it will be ready,

And this will be gone,

The bogger tree interrupted.

That's the only reason I listen to your sob stories.

The Wendell witches must be in his debt,

Jeremiah whispered to Fortenua.

That's all there is to it.

He's got something they are wanting,

And they being his debt,

Sure as eggs is eggs.

Otherwise,

Why'd they be getting involved with the gimwats again,

After what happened last time?

Jeremiah was right.

On the last full moon,

The Wendell witches had given faulty potions to the bogger tree by mistake.

The bogger tree was so furious,

He'd threatened to report them to the masters for fake trading.

But after turning bright blue,

He agreed not to tell,

If the witches gave him the potion he so desperately needed.

It won't be long,

Said Sister Witch,

In a vain attempt to make the bogger tree feel better.

Just sit down,

And I'll get you a drink.

But the bogger tree was no fool.

He saw her smirk the second she turned her back.

Something funny,

He spat,

His eyes as black as coal.

Not at all,

Sister Witch replied,

Trying her best not to look at his twisted,

Stained whiskers.

The bogger tree scratched at his skin in disgust.

Do it!

Gotta do it!

He muttered to himself.

They're worthless,

I said.

Worthless!

He peered into the cauldron and hissed,

Get me a goblet and let me drink.

I can see it's ready.

It's not!

Sister Witch was adamant,

But the bogger tree refused to accept no for an answer.

I'm not here for your entertainment.

Get me a goblet and get it now,

He snapped,

As he swatted at the flies hovering around his hard nose.

Brushing the fur from the deep scar on her face,

Sister Witch grabbed an old wooden vessel from the side.

She had survived the bogger tree's wrath once before,

But she was not sure she could survive it a second time.

She ladled a glut of the deep blue mulch into it and handed it to the bogger tree,

Who tipped back his head and poured it down his throat.

How long does this thing take?

He snapped,

Dragging the back of his hand across his thin-lipped mouth.

Oh,

It'll be ready soon enough,

Soon enough,

Sister Witch lied.

The bogger tree paced up and down,

Up and down,

As he bared his stained teeth.

Get her!

Get that liar!

He hissed out loud,

Terrifying everyone.

The witches knew the potion wouldn't work.

It just wasn't ready.

And so it continued.

The bogger tree's furrowed brow collected more and more beads of sweat as the witches got more and more scared.

Then all at once,

He lost his temper.

You lied to me!

Liars!

Liars!

Now you'll have to pay!

He ran around smashing everything he could get his ruff and cloves on.

Nothing was left unturned.

Every cup,

Plate and vase lay in pieces,

And it was all but seconds before the curtains,

Tablecloths and cushions lay in a shredded pile too.

Now it was time for Jeremiah to make his move.

Smash!

With a swift boot,

He crushed through the front door and stood in its frame.

Coo-ee!

He yelled,

Blinding the occupants with his bright light energy.

With one flap of their wings,

The Wendell witches disappeared,

But the bogger tree didn't have that luxury.

He scrabbled under a broken table and out of the back door as fast as his four shortened legs could carry him.

But unbeknownst to him,

Fortenua was waiting,

And she wasn't about to let him off that easily.

With the power of Bek-chi,

She screeched,

Placing her middle digits and thumbs together.

Shooting down to him in a mist of sparks and flares,

She bore into his back with her fine red lasers.

Get off me!

Yelled the bogger tree as he kept running,

But this only made Fortenua all the more determined.

Darting side to side,

She chased the blue bandit this way and that,

This way and that,

Until at last,

Smack!

He ran headlong into a nearby tree.

That got you!

She screamed,

And that would have been the end of it.

But this was the land of winter,

And trees in the land of winter don't take kindly to being woken up from a deep sleep.

Disturb me and my slumber,

Would you?

The craggy beast spat,

And using his strongest branch,

He slapped the bogger tree so hard the leather-backed cretin flew all the way to the great beyond with the grace of a saggy sock.

And not a moment too soon,

Jeremiah bellowed,

Before looking back to Fortenua to share the joke.

But Fortenua was not capable of sharing anything.

She was lying in a bed of copper feathers,

Unable to move,

Her beak still,

Her eyes closed.

What is it?

Jeremiah screamed as his pocket watch lit up.

Fortenua,

What is it?

But no reply came.

It was a long time before the bogger tree was seen back in the land of winter.

Being a person who took pride in the discomfort of others,

He found being banished to the great beyond a bitter pill to swallow.

But the master declared he must spend the full moon there until he repented.

So that was how it was to be.

Meanwhile,

Back at the meadow,

Gossip told of how Jeremiah carried Fortenua all the way back from the land of winter without resting for a moment.

I don't know how he did it,

Said some.

He's the strongest in the meadow,

That's for sure,

Said others.

Either way,

Jeremiah was a shocking sight when at last he fell to his knees at the base of the giant.

It took him a while to recover after that.

And Fortenua was not back to her usual self for many suns.

The ginwots had stung her one too many times for any chance of a quick recovery.

So it was left to Delilah and Jasper to watch over the meadow,

And they did a great job of it,

By all accounts.

Then,

One fine day,

A knock came on the door of the winter tunnel.

Delilah opened it with Fortenua's key to see a tiny satin sack all on its own.

It had no note with it,

But it took just one sniff for Jasper to know where it was from.

It seemed the Wendel witches were grateful for the master's intervention.

After all,

The end.

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