The Secrets of Mara and The Indelible Ink

THE SECRETS OF MARA
AND THE INDELIBLE INK
by
Mason Torrey
 
Chapter 1 – Dark Pages
In every aspect of life, nothing goes anywhere but forward. Well so we are lead to believe, but Mara thought about this concept while watching the water rushing down the river below her. She was in her secret place, a small hollow in the cliff face on the edge of a deep gorge. Her mother would be horrified if she knew Mara was there.
Mara’s mother was old fashioned in her way of thinking; old fashioned and religious. For a child growing up in a small country town with nothing much to do, this is not good. Mara wasn’t allowed to do anything fun because most fun things are sins according to her mother. Television was barely on in her house because most of the children’s programs were evil. Mara wasn’t allowed to play with the children who lived across the sheep paddock out the back because they might influence her with bad behavior.
Mara was used to this kind of thinking and though she thought it was normal, since she never got to see how other families behaved, she still had her own subtle way of defying her mother. Such as having a secret place right on the side of the gorge to which her mother made her promise never to go anywhere near.
Her secret place was her sanctuary. It was a place of solitary refuge where Mara was safe from life itself. Life, to Mara, was her enemy. Nothing good ever happens to Mara and if she could destroy life, she would. Her bitterness toward her herself and everyone around her has been growing since the day she first became aware of her existence and still it grows.
In her secret place, Mara has turned it into a cozy, homely little dwelling. There is a mattress made of an old duvet on top of straw she took from the hay barn next door and a small table made from some old particle board which Mara found in a junk pile nearby. There are some pictures hanging on the wall even, hanging by some long iron nails driven into the soft sandstone rock in which the cave formation was formed. On the table is an old chipped vase in which Mara places wildflowers which she picks from the side of the road leading past her home. There is also some paper held fast by a stone paperweight and on the floor beside the table is an old baked bean can with pens and pencils.
Mara wanted to be a writer. She believed that something bad enough might happen to her one day that she could write about and become a famous author. But right now, in her eyes, her life is just a dull, boring existence which no one would ever care about. Nothing she does interests anyone. She can’t make friends and even if someone does show a little interest in her, she wouldn’t be allowed to associate with them because her mother wouldn’t allow it. And Mara has never achieved anything worth mentioning in the twelve years she has existed. She is, as her mind perceives, just a plain, uninteresting little girl who the world would never miss if she vanished. But this never got her down because she was used to being who she was. And she had something that no one else seemed to have. She had the ability to shut out life in this world, and become part of a fantasy where there were great adventures in which she would be the hero and creatures only found in fiction. Mara would lie back on her bed in the secret place and close her eyes then drift off into another place where she was so important that the world needed her. And with her was her imaginary friend, Polo. He was a massive saber tooth tiger and the fiercest of all beasts. He was one and a half times the length of the Amur tiger, the largest cat on the planet. Polo was gentle as a pussycat to his friend, Mara, but a violent death machine to anyone who dares cross their path.
Mara and Polo went on their adventures regularly and even though Polo was Mara’s imagination, he had a personality and will all of his own. He would sometimes do things that Mara strictly instructed him not to do resulting in tension between them. One time Mara told him to stay where he was while she crept up to a sleeping tyrannosaurus rex in order to set a bomb underneath him, but Polo charged the dinosaur instead and ripped out its throat in one swift bite with his powerful saber-toothed jaws. Mara was so angry that she didn’t actually speak with him for a number of days, just as her mother regularly stopped speaking to Mara whenever Mara wasn’t as perfect as her mother wanted her to be.
So as Mara sat there watching the water far below her, she realized something. The water was flowing downward and would eventually end up in the ocean. But is it flowing forward? What if gravity is pulling it in the opposite direction the water wants to actually go? Then wouldn’t it be flowing backward? Is everything going forward, or is the world going backwards?
This struck Mara as a novel idea because almost everything Mara has had to do was not what she actually wanted. Was she really moving forward like everyone wanted her to believe, or was she on a painful slide back to a place far away from where her dreams longed for her to be? What if she doesn't want to go to be a caregiver like her mother told her she would one day be? What if she doesn't want to go absolutely nowhere in life and be a nobody like her teachers always said she would be? Not all her teachers said this though. There was one teacher who really made Mara feel loved. This teacher's name was Mrs. Smith. She spent a lot of time with Mara teaching her things that would eventually prepare Mara for the trials ahead. Neither of them knew this, of course, but the love Mrs. Smith had for Mara was enough to enrich Mara with some of the most fundamental, yet important keys to moving forward, and moving forward is exactly what Mara longs so earnestly to do.
Mara reached under her mattress and pulled out her diary which could almost be described as her best friend. She told her diary everything about herself and all she ever did. Mara called it her book of secrets, but she only ever talked about it to Polo. She didn't tell him everything though. There were things in this book of secrets that not even imaginary friends were allowed to know. Some of Mara's secrets were so shameful to herself, that once she had written them, she would draw a skull at the bottom corner of the page so she would know not to read that page whenever she felt like reading back through the pages. Little girls and boys are often misunderstood, or more accurately, underestimated in their innocence and understanding and the truth is, they are quite capable of acquiring the darkest of the most shameful secrets never to be talked about for the rest of their lives no matter how anonymous the occasion may be. An interesting fact about Mara's diary is that many of the pages with the skulls, which Mara called dark pages for they never saw light once they were written, contained the same content. Yet Mara kept on recording her moments of shame creating more dark pages. There were some days when she was going through harder times than usual that she would create four dark pages in a row, each page containing one days worth of entries, and every entry was the same. But no matter how much Mara hated her dark pages, she couldn't destroy them. She felt her life would in some uncanny way be incomplete without them. So she marked them off with the skulls and avoided them yet at the same time held on to them.
Mara began to write in her diary. This was to be one of the dark pages. She wrote of her humiliating day at school where she wet herself in front of her class. She hadn't been to the toilet during afternoon break, so she knew she would get in trouble from her teacher if she asked to go to the bathroom. She held on to it even though it was becoming very painful. Right at the end of the day when the teacher was informing the class on their homework assignments, she couldn't hold it any longer. In what felt like relief combined with utter disgrace, she felt the warm trickle flow down her legs, into her shoes and out onto the carpet, creating an expanding dark patch around her feet. In panic along with a surreal hope of hiding it, she grabbed at her crotch which only caused it to soak the whole front of her dress. The teacher saw at once what was happening but unfortunately, so did Mara's classmates. The whole classroom erupted into a defining roar of laughter, mockery and chants. The teacher's efforts to subdue the children were hopeless and she spread her hands in subordination while approaching poor Mara. The trembling young girl looked so beaten and trodden into the ground and her face was contorted with an indescribable pain which Mrs. Smith could only associate with a prisoner of war watching his friends being tortured right in front of him knowing he'd be next. Mara's heart was beating so rapidly that she could feel her chest edge toward pain and her face was so red her veins felt as though they would rupture through her temple. Mrs. Smith was full of pity and gently told Mara to go into the teacher's lunch room and wait for her. Mara awkwardly started to walk and could feel her feet glugging in her shoes. The pressure of everything finally reached breaking point and released in the form of a loud wail as the tears which were scratching at the door broke through and flooded her face like she had just walked in from a rainstorm.
When Mrs. Smith finally came to the lunchroom, Mara was standing in the middle of the room almost choking on the deep guttural sobs which were welling up from deep within her broken little heart. Mrs. Smith handed Mara a towel and a dress which she took from the lost and found bin for her to change into. Even though her teacher said nothing for fear of causing Mara to feel even more embarrassed, Mara felt she had to justify what had just happened and started to laboriously explain in between her uncontrollable sobs. When she started speaking, Mara instantly realized what a pathetic it would sound if she told the truth about needing to go to the toilet. She knew her teacher would think she was such a baby for wetting herself like that when she's big enough to go to the toilet. So Mara made up a story of how she felt a sharp pain in her abdomen and momentarily lost control of her bladder, causing her to release its contents onto the carpet. Mrs. Smith just reassured Mara that it is no problem and everyone goes through that experience at some stage in their lives. Mara nodded, but she didn't believe it.
After Mara changed into the dry dress her teacher had given her, she bundled her wet belongings into a plastic shopping bag and ran straight to her secret place, trying her hardest to ignore the jeering children she passed along the way. Mara cried most of the way, for this was really too much for a little girl to handle.
Once Mara had finished writing about this humiliating day, she drew the little skull at the bottom of the page, and closed the book. There was nothing at all to learn from this, so Mara thought. It was just another one of those terrible things that always seemed to happen to Mara, causing her to stumble and slide backwards, further and further from her dream of being someone, a woman who as a writer, would change thousands, if not millions, of lives. This day was not by far her darkest secret, but it was one of the most painful.

Chapter 2 – The Plum Tree
Once Mara safely replaced her book of secrets back underneath the mattress, she picked up her plastic bag with soiled belongings and made her way back up to the top of the cliff. Although her mother knew nothing of the day's events, Mara was still apprehensive about going back home, because she could feel the shame radiating from her. She knew her mother would know right away that something was wrong and the questions would be unrelenting.
Eventually, Mara stopped procrastinating and started walking with slow, heavy steps. The walk back home felt long, but not long enough. When Mara finally reached the gate, she stopped and knelt down to cram the shopping bag into her school bag in order to make it easier to slip past her mother without giving anything away. It was quite an effort since her schoolbag was so small and her mother thought it would be a waste to buy her a bigger bag when she already has a schoolbag. Mara's mother was very strict on waste, or rather the lack of. She would even make Mara bring home all the cling wrap and greaseproof paper used to wrap her lunch. Her mother would wash the wrappings and hang them out to dry ready to be used to wrap more of Mara's lunches. Her mother would always tell her that it is a sin to waste, so it is the only way about it.
Once Mara had zipped her bag over the tight bulge, she picked it up and continued up the driveway. Her mother was hanging out the laundry on the clothesline which was surrounded by mud. Grasping at the opportunity, Mara slipped through the gate and around the back of the house to avoid being seen. Unfortunately, the phone started ringing and her mother was already at the door when Mara appeared from around the side of the house. She glanced at Mara acknowledging her presence, then kicked off her gumboots before running the rest of the distance to the phone. Mara seized the opportunity to get inside and into her bedroom while her mother was busy gossiping about the neighbours holding hands when they weren't yet married. Mara paced quickly and stiffly into her bedroom closing the door behind her.
Now Mara had a problem. What was she to do with her soiled dress? She couldn't just throw it into the laundry for a number of reasons. The first being that her mother would notice what happened when she picked it up. The less obvious, yet most telling reason, was that Mara had only worn that dress once since it had been washed last, and that would be a waste to wash it after only being worn a single time. Her mother would make her wear her clothes three or four times before she was allowed to throw them in the laundry. On many occasions when Mara thought a dress had been worn often enough, her mother would come charging into her room and throw the dress at her saying it had only been worn twice and doesn't look dirty. Mara thought of washing it herself secretly when her mother wasn't around, but that wasn't a common occurrence so it could be weeks before she had a chance to do that. It was also not an option to wash it in front of her mother because Mara never did any washing.
Mara was pondering these options for some time now and she didn't realize her mother had finished her conversation on the phone. Without knocking, for her mother never knocked first, her mother burst through the door to ask why she wasn't home straight after school finished and more to the point, why she was wearing someone else's dress. Her suspicion was that Mara had stopped at the neighbour's house to play for a while which was against her mother's wishes. Mara was a terrible lier and this is why her response was silly and fragmented. She told her mother that she had to stay after school to finish some homework but then realised what she had said made no sense because she could do her homework at home. Her mother became angry thinking Mara had been on detention and demanded what she had done to deserve that. Mara changed her story saying she didn't stay that long and stopped on the way home to pick some flowers for her mother but some nasty children took them off her. She nearly said the children threw mud at her which made her dress dirty and had to borrow another clean one from another girl, but then that would cause her mother to ask for the dirty dress.
Her excuses were getting worse and her mother interrupted telling her to stop lying. The suspicion was growing tremendously and there was no way out of this now. So in on final effort, Mara burst out crying and wailed that she didn't know why she was late, determined to keep the knowledge of her secret place from her mother.
Then Mara's heart sank, because her mother went silent and promptly left the bedroom. Mara knew what was going to happen. Through her blurred vision she looked out the window and saw her mother walking to the plum tree with a pair of pruners in her hand. Mara started wailing harder and harder thinking desperately what she could do to prevent what was about to happen. She threw her bag onto the floor, not caring at all about what was in it anymore and paced the room crying hysterically.
Her mother entered, still not saying anything, wielding a long, whip like switch she had cut from the plum tree. It was covered in small blunt barbs and knots where the smaller twigs had been removed. Mara was desperate. She tried to speak through her uncontrollable wailing, but there were no words to say. Her mother told her to take off her dress and get on the bed. Mara was reluctant, because she had nothing on underneath. Her mother repeated herself in a calm voice which was frighteningly sadistic in Mara's experiences. She removed her dress, pretending to struggle with it in an effort to stall for time. When she had taken it off, her mother turned her focus to the fact that Mara was now completely naked and this brought on a whole new suspicion. She thought she understood completely now what Mara had been doing and who with. Needless to say, Mara knew this is what her mother was thinking and once again, started trying to blurt out excuses, but to no avail.
She slowly climbed onto the bed and before she even lay down the switch was making contact with her thighs. Over and over the barbed instrument of torture came down on Mara contacting not only her thighs, but random areas all over her body. Mara screamed as she was being whipped, but her mother kept going. After countless lashes, her mother told her to stop crying as she continued to whip her helpless daughter. Mara tried but couldn't help crying out every time she was struck. Her mother continued to tell her to stop crying as she landed more blows. Mara knew if she didn't stop crying, her mother would only continue this abuse. But keeping silent while in this amount of excruciating pain was almost impossible.
Mara grabbed hold of her pillow like it was a knight who had just saved her from a mighty dragon and forcefully buried her face into it. Mara couldn't breathe, but that was her intention. She screamed silent screams into her pillow, writhing around on the bed in torturous pain which felt like a thousand knives and wasps working their way into her flesh.
Satisfied that Mara had been purged from her sinful nature, her mother left the room and went back to the washing as though nothing had happened. Mara knew her mother would never come back and talk about it or say she loved her. What just happened had happened and that was all there was to it. No reconciliation will ever follow these unthinkable acts of child abuse. Mara started crying and crying. The pain was throbbing heavily against her welted body as Polo came and sat by her side, purring at her and tenderly licking her wounds. She looked in the mirror and saw a little girl with life of misery and hatefulness caused by one tiny mistake, a mistake which is all part of simply being a child, and then followed by a great misunderstanding. And being misunderstood is what Mara is best at. The worst thing about everything that had just happened is that it is going to happen again in the coming weeks.
At this point, Mara looked deeply into her own pretty brown eyes seeing the agony within them and Polo looked up at her as if knowing what she was presently thinking. She looked at him and nodded, then shook her head in a moment of disbelief and apprehension of her thoughts, but then nodded again, this time more intently. Polo rested his head against her waist in reassurance that he was here with her forever to protect her and keep her moving on when she came up against the things which exert every effort to hinder and cripple her. This was a moment of surrealism. It was like a dream where she decided to do something impossible or unthinkable, but did it anyway with a subconscious realization that if it fails, she would awake and be safe at home once again. But she wasn't safe at all in respect to what happened in the minutes beforehand. She knew what she was thinking was wrong, but to whom? Is it possible that the wrong way might be the only way? Would that make it right? These questions and theories lead to more complicated questions and what she wanted to believe as sound answers. She even thought that maybe if this fails, she would awake to find everything normal once again, or as normal as it gets for Mara.
As Mara stood there fathoming this new pool of confusing thoughts, her heart started beating harder and faster while her stomach churned a nauseating feeling in her abdomen. She was coming closer to making her final decision, and her body struggled in defiance, seeming to know before she did, what she was going to do. Lost in this feeling of complete abandonment of all senses, Polo spoke up.
“Mara, you need to just do it,” came his advice, “you need to go ahead and you will figure out how to manage your problems as they come.”
So Mara turned to her borrowed dress laying inside out in a heap on the ground and picked it up with shaky hands. She pulled it over her stinging little body then went to her dresser and opened the top draw. She took a fresh pair of underwear and put them on while being careful not to be too rough on her almost bleeding legs. She then took a pair of long knee high socks and pulled them up as high as she could. Mara took a dry pair of shoes from the bottom of the wardrobe and a warm coat from the hanger. She put them on and made for the door, only to stop in realization that she hadn't thought things thought thoroughly enough yet. Polo stood there watching as Mara picked up her schoolbag and hauled out its entire contents onto the floor. She then filled it with different items of clothing she thought she might need and also some grooming necessities like hairbrush and hair ties.
For the second attempt, Mara started for the door, but again she hesitated, this time with a mental image of her father. She was suddenly gripped by another bout of confusion. Her heart started to break as she thought about leaving him behind. Mara loved her father tremendously and she honestly believed he was the kindest and gentlest man on the planet. She loved to watch him as he worked on the small sheep farm in which they lived. She was so proud of her father for the man he was.
Mara started to tremble as tears once again began to choke her and this time it was painful because her throat was beginning to become inflamed from all her crying that day. Mara's father was a simple man who just took life as it comes. Nothing bothered him for the fact that he knew no fear. Not because he was a brave fearless man, but because of his abusive childhood. His father brutalized him and his siblings and regularly beat his mother. Mara's grandfather was a terrible violent alcoholic and one day he beat his third son so badly that he died. This was never proven and his story of his son tripping over and falling on the wheel of a car that he was fixing was accepted as an accurate description of the events that lead to his death. Mara's father never spoke of this except when he wanted to make a light joke of it. This was the only way her father could deal with it was to joke about it as if it were funny. This was far from the truth. It affected him in the most horrible way. He had no emotional link between himself and his daughter. Mara had never seen him cry and had never heard him say the words, I love you. He knew how to laugh at funny jokes but that was as far as his emotion ever reached. His mind was like that of a returned soldier who had been in the bloodiest of battles, seeing pain and death all around him, and returning shell shocked. It was impossible to speak to him about problems she was having in her life or about interesting things she may have learned at school. He had no understanding of politics or business and had no idea how to talk about someone in need. But Mara knew without any doubt that he loved her and he made every effort to show her he did so. Things like stopping to be annoying while she was in the middle of reading or telling her about a dog he owned once and even when he spoke of the old lawnmower he owned back in the late 1970's. This was his way of communicating love and affection to his daughter.
“He is strong and you will see him when things are better,” said Polo as he followed her thoughts. Mara breathed in hard and slowly opened the door just a faction so she could assess the activity, if any, in the house. But Mara could hear nothing. She quickly but lightly ran back to the window to see if her mother was still at the clothesline, but she wasn't there. So Mara exited her room and made her way briskly to the front door, which was the least used door in the house, and made her escape.

Chapter 3 – The Fall
As her house vanished out of sight, Mara stopped to look around wondering what she is to do and where she should go. Then a thought struck her. Should she go to her secret place for what could be the last time? Then Polo mentioned the book of secrets and Mara knew for certain she must go get it in case someone else stumbles upon her secret dwelling. It would be terrible if her dark pages were revealed to the rest of the world.
Mara made her way down the steep path to her secret place and entered, greedily lapping up its aura of familiarity and safety. She put down her schoolbag and made for her mattress which she had been laying on only hours beforehand. She felt for her book of secrets and grasped firmly to its rough bindings which had been worn and dirtied over time. Even though it was in a rugged state, it fitted so naturally in her small hands, giving her a sense of being close to her own soul. After all, this book was her soul in the form of pages filled with ink and stained with tears. Mara held it on her lap for a while and gazed at its worn corners and scratched, dirty surface. Maybe this is what her soul really looked like if she could see it. Maybe this was really Mara underneath her long brown hair, pretty brown eyes and the expressions of innocence she has so skillfully crafted and refined over the years in order to keep her mother's judgment at bay.
She placed the book on the mattress then got up to fetch her schoolbag. She would have asked Polo to bring it to her, since he was sitting by the entrance, but an imaginary friend is only an imagination no matter how big and powerful he may be. Besides, he was busy keeping guard at the entrance. So Mara picked up her schoolbag, unzipping it at the same time. She emptied all the contents onto the mattress so she could put the book right at the bottom of her belongings to be sure it was safe. Along with the book, Mara grabbed a handful of pens and threw them in too. She decided there were going to be many pages to be written in time to come.
With that thought, she retrieved the book back out of the schoolbag, picked up a pen and sat back down on the mattress. She opened it up to the last entry which still had blank space beneath it and began to write a very detailed description of her beating. She wrote down everything from the initial confrontation with her mother to walking out of her bedroom door, from the pain of the lashes to the agonizing emotion which constricted around her heart like an anaconda killing its prey. This was by no means a healing process by which she could pour out her feelings onto paper and have the weight lifted off her shoulders. It actually hurt her more to regurgitate the things she wishes to forget, but she had to do it. Something made her relive her worst moments and she couldn't help it. It had to be recorded into her book of secrets. Why, she did not know, but it had to be done. If only she could bring herself to destroy this book and all the pain it represented but she could never do that. It would be like ripping out the part of her that made her Mara.
Though Mara had this undefeated urge to write in her book of secrets, she still could not go back and read the dark pages. It was as if this was her way of locking away her evils and failures and sealing them in a dungeon, never to escape and find her again. Because they were incapacitated, she wouldn't have to stare these hideous beings in the face anymore and be defeated by them. In a sense, this book of secrets gave her control of these ugly monsters. Maybe this was why she had to write in her book. There is no freedom without the initial suffering, so this could be her reason for holding onto these secrets in a place she knows they will stay bound and unable to reach her. A good fighter knows that his greatest advantage is to keep the enemy where he can see him, a tactic which Mara has unknowingly mastered through the creation of her book of secrets.
Once Mara finished writing the last line, she drew that all too common skull at the bottom of the page right next to the one she had drawn earlier, then closed the book. It was common for some pages to have two skulls, sometimes three, at the bottom. She didn't really need to draw them more than once, but drawing the skull was all part of writing a dark page. The skull was actually part of the story and without it, the story would be incomplete.
Mara closed the book and replaced it along with the pen back in the bottom of her bag before piling the rest of her belongings on top. She threw it over her shoulder then started to set off, but at the entrance she stopped, just like she had back at home when she decided to leave. Mara looked at Polo sitting there in his trademark posture of majesty. Her eyes glazed as she stared in a daydream, taking in the vivid golden orange and black coat which sleekly covered his powerful body. His paws were bigger than both her feet side by side and his tail was almost the length of her body. She started to reach out to touch his neck but suddenly realized what she was doing and snapped out of it, causing Polo it instantly disappear. She looked up at the sky and the sun was already hiding behind the hills. It would soon be dark and she wont be able to get very far before she finds herself in complete darkness for the sky was overcast which would prevent any light from the moon.
Mara stepped back inside and sat down. The realization of what she was doing had now come down on her like her secret place had just caved in. She was too young to handle anything more than just being a little girl. Yet she didn't want to go home. She knew her parents would now be calling her and ringing the neighbors demanding that they send her home. If she went home now, especially after everything that had happened that afternoon, she would face an evil which did not even warrant a thought. Her only choice was to sleep here overnight and this scared Mara because she was frightened of the dark. She couldn't bare the thought of sleeping here alone away from the safety of home and at the same time, she couldn't grasp the thought of returning home to face her mother, leaving the safety of her secret place.
Mara decided to stay. Polo was right there again sitting very close to her. Mara needed him to get her mind off the night's claws which she could feel swiping at her only inches away. She started talking to Polo, telling him everything that was going through her mind and then listening as he gave her advice, reassuring her that she made the right decision. Polo flicked his tail as he talked, and Mara knew he only does that when he's not certain whether what he's saying is true or making things up just to comfort her and justify her feelings. This conversation with Polo was working and Mara was soon engrossed in her own thoughts as she spoke and replied. Her internal conversation continued until she finally drifted to sleep.
Mara didn't know how long she had been sleeping when she awoke shivering with cold. She sat up quickly wondering if she had been dreaming, but feeling her mattress consisting of straw covered with a duvet confirmed that everything had really happened and she was sleeping in her secret place. Mara was instantly fearful of her surroundings for it was pitch black and all she could hear was the river far below her and the rustling of trees. She slowly rolled to the edge of the mattress so she could wrap the duvet around her, moving with utmost caution so not to let the darkness know she was there. Then she pulled the duvet over her head which always made her feel safe in the dark. It made her feel like nothing could see her nor reach her beneath this barrier of cloth. It was much warmer in here and once again she closed her eyes and fell asleep.
Mara dreamed she was as school once again, back in the situation of wetting herself. The only difference was that her teacher was her mother. As she stood there reliving the humiliation, she noticed all the children were not laughing at her, but standing there silent and holding sticks. With a smile on her face, Mara's mother told them to start beating her and give her something to wet her pants for. Mara edged back toward the wall, desperate to get away from these children and as she did so, she tripped over the edge of the carpet which had come away from the floor. Mara fell backward and landed heavily, not having time to throw back her hands to brace herself. She let out a loud cry of pain then refocused her attention on the children who were slowly moving toward her, still not making any sound. Mara started making a noise that was halfway between crying and groaning. The children then began to call her horrible names like Pee Pee, Dirty Mara and Bed Wetter. The children were now standing over her and her mother then demanded that they make her really suffer so she would realize what she's done. The first boy spat on her face then everyone, including her mother, roared with laughter and they all had turns spitting on her. As the first boy started to swing his stick, she awoke.
For the second time, Mara was laying there awake and cold. Her duvet was lying beside her because she kicked it off while struggling in her sleep. Her heart was beating and her eyes were watering. Mara started to sob as she reached for the duvet and covered herself up again. The dream seemed so real and she could almost feel the effects from actually being there. Then Mara's attention was suddenly focused somewhere else. With a feeling of utter frustration, she put her hand down to her crotch and confirmed what was already obvious. She had wet herself again. It had soaked through the clean dress which she was sleeping in and all through the duvet and straw upon which she was sleeping. Her sobs turned to cries of anger toward herself. She told herself how stupid she was and kept asking herself repeatedly why she always did this.
Mara got up completely forgetting about the dark, and felt around for her bag. It was close to her mattress since the last thing she did before she went to sleep the first time was pack her things in it. Mara opened it and felt around trying to remember what she had put in it. She felt her coat and pulled it out as well as a pair of underwear, but she then realized that she hadn't packed any more dresses to wear. How could she have been so stupid not to think of that, she thought to herself. The cold wind was stinging at her wet body and she removed her clothes at once while her shivering was almost overcoming her movement. She dried herself with the dry part of the duvet and put on the underwear and coat which made her a lot warmer than being in the direct sting of the rushing air around her.
Mara knew what she needed to do now and she also knew she had no other choice. She couldn't go anywhere dressed the way she was, so she must get back home while it's still dark to get some more clothes before her parents woke up. Leaving everything where it was, she started feeling her way to the entrance of her secret place. Mara knew the steep path that lead up to the top of the cliff very well after many months of using it. She was so used to it that it didn't even seem steep to her anymore. So getting back up there in complete darkness didn't bother her in the slightest. The only thing on her mind was finding the spare key which she never needed to use and getting in the house without making any noise.
Mara stepped outside, straining her eyes as hard as she could in an attempt to see. There was a very slight glow from the sky where the moon struggled to break through the clouds which were covering the night like a thick blanket. Mara could make out the familiar shape of a crooked tree. This is the tree she used as an anchor to stop her momentum from carrying her too far down the steep slope. As Mara started to shuffle toward it, a sudden gust of wind slammed against her, causing her to fumble in a moment's panic. She flailed her arms in order to grab onto something steady. One arm found a small branch so she took hold of it, but it snapped off the tree. With no time to think, she dropped it and walked hurriedly toward the crooked tree, grabbing onto it to steady her. She was shaking violently as the adrenaline was released into her system. She gripped the tree with all the strength her small hands could offer her. Her legs started to numb as the wind steadily worked its chill deeper and deeper into her flesh and weakness began to set in because the combination of the involuntary shivering with cold and shaking from the adrenaline overload was exhausting the muscle tissue in her lower body. Mara felt as though she had just run a quarter mile sprint and she now wanted to go sit down again in her secret place. Mara made up her mind that she didn’t want to continue. Her need for a clean dress didn’t justify this effort. She decided to go back to her secret place and wait until morning. Then she could figure out an easier option.
So Mara turned around to face the entrance of her secret place. She slowly stepped forward, being sure to have one foot firmly on the ground before lifting the other. She had only moved a few steps when she realized it was a straight flat path to the entrance. Knowing this, Mara picked up her pace forgetting about the branch she broke off a tree and dropped on the ground right in front of her. As Mara walked, her left foot skimmed right over the top of the branch, but her left caught the stick and she tumbled forward. Mara hit the ground skinning both of her knees with her ear catching a branch on the way down. She hurt her wrist, maybe breaking it, which is what made her cry out in pain. With a combination of panic and deliria, Mara instantly tried to stand up. Moving her foot to steady herself, she stepped over the edge of the vertical drop.
The fall lasted only a moment as terror overcame her. She landed on the rock with sheer force. She heard her skull crumple as she felt a sharp pain that engulfed her whole being, but only for a fraction of a second. Everything went black and she could not feel a thing. She was a still consciousness that existed without senses. Then there was nothing.

Chapter 4 – Strangers
The darkness was very strange. It was almost as though it wasn’t dark, but there was no light. Mara was conscious and aware of herself after what felt like no time at all since she fell to her death. But she didn’t believe she died, neither did she believe she fell. The only logical explanation would be another nightmare.
Mara tried to strain her eyes to see, but the action was absent. She should have been frightened that the thought registered in her consciousness without causing an effect, but being frightened only came as a thought. She put her hand to her eyes, but like her eyes, there was nothing to move. Mara was a conscious self awareness with no senses. She had no sight or hearing, no sense of taste or smell, no sense of touch or any kind of physical feeling. There was no sense of orientation to confirm which way was up. It was like nothing she’d ever experienced. Mara wanted to cry out. She tried saying something, but nothing happened. There was no way to describe this feeling because there was no feeling. She was just a state of being and nothing more.
As Mara’s consciousness existed in this surreal blankness, she thought back to a dream months before. She dreamt she was sitting at a table in a restaurant. Her hand was broken but without pain. She remembers being asked by her mother why she wasn’t eating and replied that her hand is broken. Then she held it up to show her mother and twisted a broken finger to prove it. Even though it didn’t hurt, it frightened Mara. She didn’t want to be there and definitely didn’t like the idea of a broken hand. Mara told herself she was sleeping and would wake up. So she did. Keeping this in mind, Mara told herself she is going to wake up because this is a dream she doesn’t want to be in. With that simple thought, Mara awoke.
The wind was blowing steadily into the secret place as Mara sat up struggling to collect her thoughts. When she realized where she was, the first thing she did was feel for any dampness in her clothes. She sighed with relief as she savored the dry clothes she was wearing.
As it started to become light, Mara sat there thinking. She thought about the dreams she had that night. She wondered if they meant anything or if they were just her unsettled mind regurgitating what went on the day before. That reminded her of what she had decided to do and why she was here. It was a choice she had made and she needed to make it work. This meant getting up and moving. Mara collected her bag which was still tightly packed with her belongings and exited the secret place.
What Mara saw next was unbelievable. As her head ascended above ground level, she almost fell back down the bank with conjecture. That land in which she grew up and knew so well was no longer there. Everywhere she looked, all she could see was an unfamiliar terrain blanketed with all kinds of flora, similar to that she had seen in a book about the Amazon rainforest. The trees were tall and there were a mass of vines everywhere. The sounds were incredible. She could feel the presence of a thousand eyes examining her. She was aware of creatures lurking behind the safety of the great ferns rising from the ground.
Mara stood there agape for quite some time. She couldn’t believe anything her senses were telling her. It was like she had just stepped into a movie, only there was no way out. She looked back to where her secret place was hidden and surveyed the deep gorge below it. Everything was just as it always has been. Everything, that is, but the world around her. It was the feeling of an uncanny sense of belonging which drew Mara from her half hidden posture just below the edge of the bank. She stood up, took a quick look around her, and then walked straight into the thick forest.
The sounds that surrounded her were daunting. She could hear insects scratching in the undergrowth and strange birds chattering high up in the canopy. There were movements of great size among the trees. Mara could see what looked like penguins ducking in and out of an old hollow tree trunk. Beside her was an insect hanging from a strand of spider’s silk. But this couldn’t have been an insect, because insects have six legs. This creature had only one whip like appendage connected at the narrow end of its teardrop shaped body. Mara’s curiosity got the best of her, and she put her finger out to touch it, but it climbed up that silk thread so fast she didn’t see where it went to.
Maybe it was the overwhelming sight of a rainforest in her backyard, or maybe because there was so much to take in, but Mara didn’t notice the creature that was creeping up behind her. When she did hear its legs disturbing the forest floor, it was too late. She barely had time to spin around to see what it was when it sprayed her with sticky fluid. It was a strange fluid that worked itself into a stringy substance the more she struggled. In no time at all, she was laying there helpless in this sticky straightjacket. She started screaming as this large creature, slightly larger than herself, approached her and picked her up via the hook on his tail. The scorpion like creature carried her in the same manner that a crane carries its cargo. She hung from its tail and dangled right above its head. Mara couldn’t tell which way its eyes were focused, but she knew it would be looking at her. She felt that it would be studying which parts to eat first.
In a short while, it arrived at a great hole in the ground. Without warning, it dropped her right into the hole. Luckily, she landed on a pile of silk wool. She had never seen so much of it before. It was as though all the spider in the world came here to spin their webs and threw them in a heap. There was nothing else down there. Mara was the only living thing in the hole which meant the giant scorpion had only just made it. What it was for, she didn’t know, but she couldn’t help but think about spiders wrapping up their prey to save for later. Mara couldn’t keep quiet. She was half crying and half whimpering.
After quite some time, she heard a shuffle ground level. She looked up and there was the giant scorpion. It stood absolutely motionless for a minute or two, then started twitching again, scampering around the hole. Then it stopped and lowered its tail down to Mara. She struggled to get out of its way, but to no effect. It hooked up her sticky straightjacket just as before and lifted her out of the hole. As she dangled there above the entrance, she saw the most terrifying sight she had ever encountered. This creature had the mouth of a sea creature she’d seen in a book. It had opposable jaws within jaws all decorated with myriads of teeth. The outer mouth and inner mouth both opened up as it brought her closer. She screamed so loud that it echoed throughout the forest disturbing all kinds of wildlife there.
Just as the creature was about to take its first bite, Mara heard a loud roar and before she could look, a mighty great paw swiped the creatures tail and tore it clean off. Mara dropped straight back down into the hole. She heard some shrieks as Polo tore the scorpion apart. The creature’s tail was wriggling beside her before it eventually slowed down and finally stopped dead.
Through a tear ridden face, Mara peered up to the entrance of the hole she was trapped in, and Polo’s familiar head appeared right above her. A smile of delight and relief shone from Mara’s face as she sobbed in the wake of her nerves. Polo wasn’t looking so happy though. He was trying to devise a plan to get her out of the hole, but the answer was slow in coming.
“Polo!” cried Mara as she watched him stare back at her, “you saved me!”
“No, I only prolonged your death for now,” came his reply with a hint of sarcasm. He doesn’t like being told what he already knows, nor did he like not finding a solution to this problem.
“Throw a vine down for me to climb up,” suggested Mara. Polo could see why that wouldn’t work.
“And how do you think you’re going to hold onto it with no hands?” Mara sighed at herself for coming up with such a stupid idea. Right at that moment, Polo had a better idea. He leaped into the hole and landed almost over the top of Mara, but he braced himself with his strong legs. Then with his claws and teeth, he tore at the sticky network of gluey fibers surrounding Mara. Once she was free, he told her to stand on his head. She did so and he stood on his hind legs like a begging dog, leaning against the wall of the hole. He was just tall enough for Mara to scurry over the edge and onto the solid ground above. Then it was just a matter of Polo leaping out of the hole. He did this with ease as his hind legs possessed an incredible amount of power. With one leap, he was standing next to Mara all ready to go.
“I must be dreaming. I’m sure I’m dreaming now. Because you are so real,” said Mara as she felt Polo’s thick fur.
“But that’s just the thing,” replied Polo, “this is all so real. It’s too real to be a dream.”
“I guess you’re right,” agreed Mara, “that scorpion was sure real. I want to go home.”
“Then let’s go,” Polo said without hesitation. So they set off together to find home.
 
Chapter 5 – The Septicorn
Polo was padding along at a steady pace with Mara dragging her feet alongside him. He could tell she was exhausted, but he wanted them to get as far as they could before dark. Then Mara stumbled on a small stone and nearly dived face first into the gravel, but Polo ducked underneath her to cushion her fall. Mara had nodded off to sleep. She now woke up in such haste that she did not know what was going on for a few moments. She found herself gripping onto the fur around Polo’s neck with him staring her directly in the eye. His beautiful golden green eyes were like precious stones inset into a lifelike statue of a tiger. But he wasn’t just lifelike. He was very much as real as Mara’s own body.
“What are you doing?” Mara cried out accusingly as she came to her senses.
Polo narrowed his eyes and moved his head closer. His nose almost touched Mara’s.
“You fell asleep and would have disfigured your face on the gravel if I hadn’t have ducked down under you.”
“I’m sorry, Polo,” Mara said as she relaxed her grasp and sat back wonderingly. “Should we find a place to sleep? It will be dark soon and I’m so tired. Shall we, Polo?”
“Let’s move on a little longer. There will be somewhere better to sleep, I’m sure.”
Mara spied her surroundings taking in the thought behind what Polo had just said. The ground was dusty and stony and growing everywhere was a strange kind of thorn bush. It was covered in long evil spikes but its vividly blue flowers were so attractive. Needless to say they looked so inviting to a little girl such as Mara. She walked up to one of them to pick a flower. What happened next was bizarre. She reached out to pick a flower, but just as her hand almost touched it, all the flowers closed up and withdrew back into the bush. Just as quickly, the vine like structure of the branches contracted like a complex tourniquet, revealing a dense mass of thorns. It reminded Mara of a hedgehog and she thought it was quite amusing. She ran to the next one and touched a flower. It soon became a game, seeing how many flowers she could touch before the bushes engaged their defenses.
Polo was becoming bored with this childish game even though he found those bushes interesting. He called out to her, “Mara, it’s getting dark and we need a place to sleep.”
“Ok one more,” she replied as she plunged her hand onto a flower hoping to be quick enough to pick it from the bush. This time the joke was on her. Inside each flower was a little bulblike structure around which the petals close up. On that bulb are more spikes and each spike is barbed and hollow like a hypodermic needle. This plant is a carnivorous predator, waiting on its prey and striking only when its victim is sure of its routine behavior. Mara was sure she knew exactly what it was capable of until it held onto her hand.
Mara let out a cry of pain to begin with, and then started yelling out in panic. It held on tight to her hand with the ball of barbs she was clutching and the spikes surround her hand. She was sure it was trying to swallow her whole, but that was the poison it was slowly injecting into her bloodstream. It’s a combination of a narcotic drug which the bush uses to stop the victim from struggling, and an anti clotting agent to keep the blood flowing freely. Then it very slowly absorbs the blood for as long as the victim stays alive before dropping the dead corpse. In no time at all, the entire corpse is consumed by the vultures which are continuously circling anything that moves.
As Mara desperately cried out, Polo paced around the bush in fury and frustration, for he couldn’t see what to do. He couldn’t pull her away, because something obviously held on to her well enough to do damage if she were torn away. And he couldn’t just attack the bush because he would be injured by those barbs and maybe poisoned judging by the fact that it was obviously a carnivorous plant. He started roaring at the bush in desperation as Mara’s cries became weak and laborious.
Polo hadn’t even seen it coming when it charged at the bush, uprooting it from the ground and throwing it down. Mara regained her alertness a little as the barbs tore through her flesh and inflicted adrenaline inducing pain into her arm. She screamed louder this time, for her wrist was completely bloody and her coping mechanism was failing. This creature took no notice of her. It started charging at the bush, crushing the bush between its thorny head and the stony ground. He repeated this action over and over and slowly the bush started to loosen up revealing Mara’s wounded hand and forearm.
Polo didn’t know what to make of any of this and his instinct was to leap at the creature. But it bucked him off like a horse and continued its action. Polo leapt again, but again the creature threw him off as though it was ignoring him. Polo began to realize this creature may actually be helping Mara. He studied its form, making out something like a horse, but its tail obviously contained an internal structure similar to his own rather than consist of a length of lifeless hair. On the creature’s head, which was shaped vaguely like a horse’s head, but also imitated that of a cow, were seven horns. Two protruded from above the ears like that of an ox, three protruded from the front and two more from its upper jaw. They were more like tusks and were similar to Polo’s saber teeth, but pointed slightly outward rather than straight down.
Once Mara had come free of the savage bush, she clutched her hand and cried in pain as she tossed and turned on the ground like a restless sleeper. Polo was standing over her trying to get a good look at her hand, willing to lick her wound, but Mara insisted he not touch it. The horned horse drew closer cautiously, aware that he seemed a threat to them, and quietly spoke.
“You need to make haste and take the girl to the Putrid Oasis.” He was talking to Polo. “I can lead you to it and it’s not far from here, but you must hurry. That wound will not heal and the girl will surely die if she isn’t cleansed of the felthorn venom.”
Polo wanted to ask questions, but he knew he had to trust this creature. It had saved Mara from the felthorn, now he is willing to save her from death. Polo grabbed her dress with his teeth and flung her onto his back. She cried out harder as her shredded hand was tossed about. The horned horse started galloping and Polo followed. Mara whimpered endlessly as they dashed along the road. Finally they turned off the road and toward a gathering of dead threes which surrounded a green sludgy looking pool.
No sooner had Polo stopped, the horned horse hooked Mara’s dress in his tusks and dragged her to the water. She protested, banging the side of his head with her good hand, but he didn’t intend on throwing her in. Instead he put her at the edge and told her to put her hand in the water. She did so but pulled it straight out with a squeal of pain. It obviously really hurt and Polo could see that, but with prompting from the horned horse, he crouched over Mara and forced her hand into the water. Under his tremendous weight, she was helpless. Polo hated watching her scream like this, but he did what he needed to do.
Eventually the horned horse nodded his head and Polo let poor Mara go. The first thing she did once she stood up was grab a handful of mud and throw it at Polo telling him she hated him. In sheer rage, she threw more and more handfuls then stormed off in a tantrum.
“Sick of you, is she?” mused the horned horse.
“Sick of life,” replied Polo, “and sick of herself.” Polo slumped to the ground as if he were fed up with everything also. “Why is it that the more you try and do good, the more pain we have to go though?”
“Do you know who I am?” asked the horned horse. “Aren’t you even going to ask? I did save the girl’s life, and here you are feeling sorry for yourself.”
Polo continued to stare at the ground with his chin resting on his great paws.
“My name is Polo, “He said respectfully with a hint of sarcasm, “who are you?”
“I am Panzarla, the Septicorn governor.”
“A what?” Polo lifted his head and looked at Panzarla with puzzlement.
“A Septicorn. We live around the Three Towers, those rock formations in the west.” Polo turned his head and peered into the distance at the three tall protrusions shimmering in the evening light. They were some distance away, but Polo could tell that they were very large.
“Why did you save Mara?” Polo finally asked Panzarla.
“It is our duty to save the life of the less fortunate.”
“Less fortunate?”
“We are obviously superior to you,” Panzarla informed Polo in such a matter-of-fact tone that Polo’s pride broke through.
“Do you think you can come here with that stupid looking head of yours uprooting felthorn bushes and assume you’re superior? Have you heard of a food chain? If I were hungry right now, you’d be begging me to let you live!” Polo was hungry in fact, but he had a point to make and he didn’t want to spoil it.
“The things you don’t understand are the things that keep you and Mara searching. The truth is that you don’t understand much at all. That is because you don’t want to listen to advice, but rather figure everything out for yourself.” Panzarla then turned and galloped off.
Polo stood up and had a look around for any sign of Mara. She couldn’t have gone too far away for it was almost dark. Then he spotted her over the other side of the murky green pond. She was leaning against the trunk of one of the dead threes there. As he approached her, he could see her hand was still covered in blood and no doubt in pain, but it wasn’t bleeding.
“How is it?” Polo asked ineptly as he lay in front of her in a sphinx like manner. Mara just stared the other way completely ignoring him. She knew how much Polo hated that. But he kept his composure and started to talk to her.
“That creature turned out to be a Septicorn. He’s the Septicorn governor, you know. I don’t know why he was this far away from home, but we were sure lucky he was here.” Mara didn’t move. “He said his name was Panzarla and he reckons he can help us because he’s superior to us. I let him know that I could eat him if I wanted to. He ran away so I think he got the message.” Polo continued conceitedly. Then his mood changed and he propped himself up slightly, leaning to look directly at Mara’s face. “Mara, I had to do it. I had to because I need you as much as you need me.” Mara shifted her eyes to look at Polo. “I did it for me as much as I did it for you. Yes, I suppose that’s being selfish, but I want you.” Mara’s eyes filled with tears, partly because her hand was still throbbing as well as her being tired, but mainly because she knew Polo meant it. He might not have the greatest give to sharing his feelings, but at least he made the effort to do so.
“It hurts,” was all Mara could say in return. She knew she would just cry again if she replied to what Polo said and she knew he was sick of her being a crybaby. They decided to stay right there for the night for they had done enough for one day. Polo shuffled closer to the tree and Mara snuggled into him. Before long, they were both asleep.
The morning came quickly, and Polo was the first to open his eyes. Without moving, he scanned the golden horizon with his eyes. He could see the Three Towers in the distance and he knew something beaconed him and Mara to go there. He didn’t know why, but instinct was his forte.
Polo got up off the ground and stretched his back and legs. Mara opened her eyes and yawned sleepily. Then suddenly she was wide awake with curiosity when she remembered her hand and promptly lifted it so she could look at it closely. To her astonishment, it had healed over to a degree that would have normally taken over a week. Polo smiled half mockingly since it was he who held Mara’s hand in the green sludge against her will.
After walking all morning, they eventually made it to the Three Towers. There were Septicorns everywhere. They looked as though each of them had a task to do. None of them were sitting around doing nothing. Except for Panzarla. Polo was the first to notice him, though he didn’t know it was Panzarla for most of them looked the same. There were differences in the color of their coats and the characteristics of their horns, but to Polo and Mara, they were hard to distinguish from one another.
As Mara and Polo approached Panzarla, they noticed that none of the Septicorns were bothered to look. Being shy and easily intimidated, Mara was fine with it. Polo was a little annoyed though. Even though he’s more of a thinker than a talker who liked to work behind the scenes, he didn’t mind getting his fair share of attention. Panzarla was the first to speak.
“You found me,” he said, stating the obvious. “It seems as though you have now decided that you can trust me. Took a while, mind you, but I guess you’re just skeptical of anyone who wants to help you.” Mara looked at the ground in embarrassment, because she knew this to be true. Then Polo’s pride took shape, not being easily defeated, and tried to justify their behavior.
“You do realize that Mara was in shock at the time, don’t you?” Panzarla nodded in reply and Polo continued, “and I was preoccupied with trying to save Mara. It wasn’t because we didn’t trust you.” Again Panzarla nodded, but only to humor them, because he knew that what he said to them was true.
“Why did you come here?” Panzarla asked, looking at Mara as he spoke.
“We want to know where we are and how we can get back home.” She began telling Panzarla how she had fallen to her death and awoke in her secret place, only to find she was in a different kind of world. She told him of the jungle where Polo saved her from the scorpion and their escape from the scorpion’s lair.
“It seems that you’ve begun to understand your own world,” Panzarla said factually. “You have begun to believe in your purpose.”
“What purpose?” Mara asked.
“I don’t know,” continued Panzarla, “but whatever it may be, you have begun to believe it. When you believe in something, when you really believe in it, then you are able to see it as it really is. Before your fall, you were ignorant of yourself. Now, you are able to see everything in your own world the way it truly is.” Mara was fascinated. She looked at Polo and then asked,
“And Polo? Was he real all along?”
“Nothing that warrants any thought is make-believe. Polo was always there, you just didn’t believe it. Now that you believe, he has manifested into being. Polo can confirm this.” All eyes were now on Polo.
“It’s true, Mara. I was there all along, but I never believed you were real until now. You were my imaginary friend that I created out of the need for someone to talk to. I needed someone who understood me and cared about me.”
“That’s what I wanted!” cried out Mara as she listened to him speak out her own thoughts. “You were the only one who ever understood me and cared about me. That’s why I always imagined you were there with me.” Mara pondered for a moment then turned to Panzarla. “What about you? I never imagined you.”
“That’s because there is so much you don’t know about yourself. You see, you found Polo a long time ago. He is part of you.”
“You mean Polo is only my imagination after all?”
“No, he is you.” Mara and Polo looked at each other completely shocked. They were both one. The same person. Yet they are different.
“But how?” asked Polo as the mystery behind everything was growing rather than clearing away.
“You and every other living being have always existed. There was never a time when we didn’t exist. Our beginning, if you had to find one, was when our world was formed from a slice of Wonderholme.” Panzarla knew there would be a myriad of questions, so he paused and waited for silence. Then he continued, “Wonderholme is the world of Wonder, the most superior of beings. He is the beginning of the worlds and he is where all worlds collide.”
“So both Polo and I live in the same world? Who else lives here?”
“No, as I said before, you and Polo are one in the same. You have only one world. And your world has only one consciousness. When you imagined Polo, everything he said to you was your own thinking, was it not?” Then Panzarla turned to Polo, “and whenever Mara spoke to you, everything she said was your own thinking, correct?” They were speechless with this newfound connection between them. Mara felt proud to think she was a mighty saber tooth tiger. She now felt like a fearless predator. Polo then spoke.
“Is there a way to get home? Back to where we know as home?”
“Yes, Polo, there is. But you will need the starloom.”
“What’s a starloom?” asked Mara, “and where can we find it?”
“I can’t help you with that. You will have to see the clockmaker in Tradetown. He will tell you how to get one.”
“But what’s it for?” asked Mara once again.
“The clockmaker will tell you everything you need to know. Just follow that mountain in the horizon. If you keep in line with that and the Three Towers, you will be at Tradetown by nightfall.” With that, Panzarla walked away without so much as even saying goodbye. Mara and Polo looked at each other simultaneously, and they both grinned. They felt their connection so strongly now. This was the beginning of Mara’s self love. This was the beginning of Mara’s destiny.
They started walking in the direction Panzarla told them to. After an hour, Mara stopped and sat down. She was feeling quite tired by this stage. Polo paused to allow her to rest.
“Can you carry me?” Mara asked Polo. He looked surprised to hear such a request.
“You mean you want to ride me? Do you think I’m some kind of animal?” he said in an irritated manner. Mara giggled even though Polo didn’t see anything funny about it.
“Oh I love you,” Mara said as though she was talking to a cuddly little kitten and threw her arms around Polo’s large neck. “It’s funny that you’re me and I’m you, but we still argue all the time.”
“Well you are an annoying side of me,” smiled Polo as he crouched down so Mara could climb onto his back. Then they set off once again, focusing on the mountain in the distance.
“You could run faster, and then we would get there more quickly,” said Mara in a bratty voice. Polo gave a warning growl and continued on at the same pace.
 
Chapter 6 – Clockwork
The door of the clockmaker’s house looked shabby and rarely used. There may have been a back door, but why would his customers go around the back? Did he not have any customers?
She knocked discreetly as if she didn’t want to disturb the clockmaker. Mara and Polo simultaneously leaned closer to the door to listen for movement. There was nothing.
“Knock so he can hear you,” Polo instructed Mara. So she knocked again a little more heavily, then she stood back. This time they heard what sounded like a tool being dropped into a wooden bench as a chair scraped along the floor. Following some uneven footsteps, they heard the sound of a door opening, but it wasn’t the one in front of them. It was the back door. They heard the clockmaker grumble with annoyance when he saw that no one was there. The door closed again and they heard him take up his chair again.
“Shall we knock again?” asked Mara. Polo knew she was too scared to knock again and make the clockmaker angry. Mara loathed confrontation.
“Just nock, or we won’t get to talk to him,” Polo said coherently.
“The back door?”
“Yes, probably better to.” So they went to the back door and Mara knocked again. The clockmaker cursed and abruptly got up and stormed to the back door. When he opened it, Mara stood back a little placing her hand on Polo’s shoulder.
“What?” said the clockmaker indignantly. He looked sternly at Mara, not fazed by the fact there was a large saber tooth tiger next to her.
“I’m really sorry, Sir, but we need to talk to you,” Mara said in a shaky voice. “We were sent here by Panzarla, a Septicorn governor. He said he knew you and you could help us find the starloom. The clockmaker’s stern expression changed at once to unease.
“You had better come inside,” he said as he stepped back and beaconed them in. They stepped through and the clockmaker closed the door behind them. He then left the room and told them to follow.
“Panzarla, you say?”
“Yes, he saved me from a felthorn bush then ran back to his home at the Three Towers. We slept the night at the Putrid Oasis before setting off to find him again.”
“I see,” mused the clockmaker as he stroked his scruffy grey beard in discontent.
“Yes, and when we found him, we asked if he knew how we can get back home again.” Mara proceeded to tell the clockmaker about when she fell off the cliff and how she woke up the next day in a different world. She told him everything right up to how she found the Septicorns and what Panzarla told them about their world.
“Panzarla said we need the starloom, you see, but he didn’t say what for. He said you would be able to tell us and show us where to find it.”
“That isn’t quite correct,” informed the clockmaker. “I can’t show you where to find it.
“You can’t?” said Mara in concern.
“Because there isn’t one, no. I have to make it.” Mara sighed with relief looking at Polo, who stared at the clockmaker with puzzlement.
“I can make it for you, but first I want to know more about Panzarla and his intentions.” Polo and Mara looked at each other trying to figure out what he meant by this. Then Polo spoke up. Though his presence didn’t concern the clockmaker at all, his deep growly voice soon won the clockmakers respect.
“You will have to tell us what you mean, Sir. I found no hidden agenda in anything Panzarla told us. He seemed to me a selfless sort, and I trust my own judgment.”
“Very well, but you must heed to what I’m about to tell you. Your wellbeing depends on it. You can learn a lot from the Septicorns.” He sat in his chair and told the girl and her beastly friend to come close.
“The Septicorns were once the finest navigators in the land. They excelled at surveying the vast continents, producing the most accurate maps we have to date. They lived among us and we accepted them as being part of us, as were we part of them. They continued to provide us with exact locations of mineral mines, wood resources and food of the land and sea. In return, we gave them shelter and nourishment. They were invaluable to us.” He looked down as though he were ashamed of something. Regret filled his eyes and he spoke quietly. “Panzarla was my closest friend. He was my only friend since my dear wife passed away twelve years ago. But I destroyed everything that he and the rest of the Septicorns had here. I invented the starloom which took away our need for the Septicorns. I thought I was helping them, but no one else really cared for them. I soon saw what was really in my people’s hearts. The love of material things. As soon as the Septicorns were not needed, they were sent away.” The clockmaker took a moment to gather his wits, and then continued. “When I realized what I had done, I tried to fix it by destroying the starlooms I had crafted. I didn’t change anything though. I only made my people angry and they have never supported my craftsmanship since.” Mara didn’t quite understand, but she was too proud to ask. Polo spoke up though, because he understood.
“The starloom is a navigational instrument,” he said in verification.
“A very precise navigational instrument,” replied the clockmaker, “it will record and recall any point on the planet to an accuracy as precise as the point on your sharpest claw.”
“And that’s why you didn’t need the Septicorns anymore!” That was Mara talking, with the intention of proving her intelligence. Then again, the clockmaker spoke.
“All my life I wanted to do something to change the world. I thought if I succeeded, I would become important and respected among everyone. I thought I would be praised and blessed by everyone for doing something that would improve life for all. Instead, it destroyed me.”
Polo didn’t really hear the clockmaker’s last comments. He sensed something wasn’t right and being one to argue, he presented his point.
“If these Septicorns are the elite navigators that you say they are, then why couldn’t they show us where to go? It seems inconsistent that they would send us to find a starloom instead.” Mara was taken aback by this logic. Then she narrowed her eyes and stared at the clockmaker waiting for him to introduce his defense. The clockmaker smiled and his chair creaked as he leaned back ready to tell them something to amaze them.
“Because the Septicorns can only navigate in their own existence,” came his answer. Neither Mara nor Polo knew what to make of this statement.
“What?” said Polo in a dampened tone of astonishment.
“The Septicorns, along with the rest of everything you see in this existence belong to the true world of Mara. This is the reason that we could make use of them. They can only navigate in our own existence. But the Common Existence goes beyond our horizon.” Mara and Polo didn’t understand a word of this. But they continued to listen because they didn’t know what to say. Noticing they looked confused, the clockmaker realized that they didn’t know anything about the concept of their own worlds.
“I’m afraid that the starloom is no good to you. If you don’t understand who you are, then you will be unable to navigate with it.”
“Please, Sir,” pleaded Mara, “please make the starloom for us. We can learn about ourselves and about the worlds that you speak of. But if we don’t have the starloom, we will be stuck here forever!” The clockmaker saw the frightened look of defeat in Mara’s eyes, and he felt compassionate for the young girl.
“Very well then,” said the clockmaker as he stood up from his worktable, “I’ll start it tomorrow. Until then, you need to go away and do something for me in order to help me complete it. You need to think very hard about the one thing that is the most intimate part of you. The thing that represents the very soul of your being. I don’t want a job half done, you hear. You need to come back to me with whatever it is and it must be what I need with no doubt in your mind.” With that, he went to the back door of his house and opened it, waiting for them to leave. Polo was the first to walk out. When Mara was in the doorway, she turned to the clockmaker.
“Why do you need this?” she asked.
“It’s not I who needs it,” he smiled cunningly; “it is you who wishes to return home.” He smiled a gracious smile, and then shut the door.
“I can’t,” said Mara as she turned to Polo. He knew exactly what she meant and he said nothing.
 
Chapter 7 – The Forge
The next morning, Mara and Polo were sitting together at the Tradetown gate. They were discussing what she should do.
“If we are to get back home, you have no choice but to give it to him,” informed Polo.
“I can’t do it!” snapped Mara, irritated with him for bringing up that truth. She felt as though she was trapped in a situation where the only way out would be death. Once again, everything was against her. “Why can’t I have a normal life like everyone else?” she cried to Polo, who was listening sympathetically, “why am I the one who always ends up getting hurt. It’s so unfair! The world hates me, Polo!”
“I don’t hate you, Mara,” Polo said reassuringly, but that didn’t comfort Mara. He knew exactly what she meant and there were no words to comfort her. Then he had an idea. “What if you tore out your dark pages?” Mara perked up at the thought and listened eagerly. “What if you could destroy all of your dark secrets and leave only the good things in your book?”
“I could!” she answered in delight at this novel idea. Mara unzipped her schoolbag and emptied its contents onto the ground. She picked up the book of secrets and opened to the first dark page. She slipped her finger under the corner of the page and gripped it as she began to tear it away. But it wouldn’t tear. She put a little more effort into it, but still no success. Mara then gripped the whole page, crumpling it into her fingers and pulling at it with all her strength. It was no use. She looked at Polo and he knew what her eyes were asking him. He carefully selected that page with his saber teeth and bit down hard. The page folded in between his large teeth without tearing. With his paw, he swiped the book from Mara’s hands and pounced on it, nailing it to the ground with his enormous weight. Polo thrashed his head from left to right like a crocodile killing its prey, but the page held firm. He let the book go and stared in wonder. He didn’t know what to say, so Polo spoke up.
“This book can’t be undone, Mara. I don’t think you can change your past.”
They both sat there in silence while staring at the book in hope of enlightenment. Then Mara picked up the book and threw it at the gatepost giving out a cry of release. She was angry, yet at the same time gilt ridden. She felt that everything was her fault. If she hadn’t done those shameful things, or if she hadn’t allowed pain to enter her life, then they wouldn’t be stuck in this strange world of their own. And inevitably, she wished she hadn’t been born.
Polo wandered over to pick up the book. He brought it back to Mara and asked,
“So what do you want to do, Sweetie?” he asked in the kindest tone he could muster within that deep, growly voice. Mara didn’t reply. She was sitting on the ground hugging her knees, crying into her lap. “I think we should go back to the clockmaker and see if there is another way. I’ve been thinking, and I feel he hasn’t been completely truthful. Some things that he said didn’t make sense. I’m sure there’s another easier way to get back home.” Mara could see sense in that and reluctantly agreed with Polo. So she got up and slowly they wandered back to the clockmakers house.
They went straight to the backdoor this time and Mara knocked loudly. It wasn’t long before the clockmaker opened the door and warmly greeted them. He gestured them to come in and head straight to his workroom. When he sat down, he was about to speak when Mara interrupted.
“I’ve got it, but I’m not sure if I can give it to you.”
“Oh don’t worry, Mara,” assured the clockmaker, “you will get it back. There will be no damage done.” This wasn’t what Mara wanted to know. So she explained herself a little more clearly.
“If I had my own way, I’d let you keep it and destroy it if that were possible. But the truth is that I don’t want you to see it, nor anyone else. You wanted the most intimate part of me; the representation of my soul. Well I have it right here and I’m too afraid to let anyone see it. Polo has never looked at it and I haven’t even looked at it myself.” Mara didn’t mention anything about reading because she didn’t want to give too much away at this stage. She wanted to know more of what the clockmaker actually needed it for.
“That’s most unfortunate then,” said the clockmaker. He then turned back to the clock he was currently working on. Mara looked at Polo and he understood that it was now his turn to present his argument.
“Is the starloom the only option we have?”
“Yes,” confirmed the clockmaker as he kept his head down in concentration.
“So what you want us to believe is that before you invented the starloom, there was no way for anyone to find their way back home. The clockmaker stopped for a moment, staring blankly in thought. Then he placed his tools down in front of him and turned to Polo.
“That is correct,” he said. Polo smiled mockingly at this arrogant clockmaker. He really does think highly of himself. Then the clockmaker continued, “Have you not heard anything Panzarla told you?” Polo frowned in puzzlement. “I was under the impression that he told you about your world, your soul.
“Well yes,” Mara said, “but why would that make a difference?” The clockmaker leaned forward to face Mara. She could see the individual hairs in his beard and the grimy skin of his forehead. Then he spoke quietly and slowly so that Mara could understand exactly what he was saying to her.
“This is your world, your soul, your thoughts and your consciousness. Only you and any other part of your can come here. There never has been another person lost in this world, nor will there ever be. Only you can come here and only you can leave.” They both now understood exactly what the clockmaker was saying. The realization that the clockmaker was yet another part of herself intrigued her. It was no surprise what the clockmaker said next.
“You haven’t learnt to face your own fears and failures. That’s why you keep them locked away in your book of secrets. That’s why you can’t show them to me.”
“How can I face them?” she asked.
“You can either fight it or you can run from it. You aren’t imagining anything now, Mara. You are living it.”
“So if I face my fears, will that delete my dark pages?” The clockmaker laughed at this question as he replied.
“Of course not, Mara, it will only add more good to your book.” Mara was disappointed. She then asked if he knew how she could destroy her secrets.
“I couldn’t help you on that one,” informed the clockmaker. “Go ask the blacksmith on the other side of town if he could burn the pages in his forge.” Mara liked the sound of that and in eagerness to get going, she got up and tugged at Polo to follow.
“Thanks again, Sir,” said Polo politely as he was rushed back out the door. The clockmaker chuckled as he put his head back down to continue with his work.