Wot, Nott, Kakuri and the HU BA HOU, chapter one

The Magic Begins……

This is the story of two old friends

Who are brought to a world that’s facing its end

A fair land of magic and splendour about

A place ruled by reason and rhyme without doubt

These two allies, called Wot and Nott

Are in a Race Against Time, and trying to stop

Miafra ‘The Evil’who is stealing the land

Removing the seasons, free will and all time

Which they must restore to their original place

And save the land of Onisha in this life and death race

A quest and a mission ensues from thereon

As they battle the forces of darkness anon

It’s not always plain sailing for this unusual duo

And accidents do happen as they rush to and fro

Sadness and laughter follows them closely behind

As they are helped by the stunning Kakuri, so kind

The Orlu, a race so small and so fast

Help them at times with glorious repasts

Speeding so fast at a furious rate

Along with strange creatures created with haste

Join in with these most unlikely heroes

As they fight their way through and battle their foes

Using rhymes that are mystic and carefully thought out

Trying to succeed in their quest, leaving no doubts

Can they achieve it and return back to Earth once again

Contented and happy with the job that’s been done?

Follow them on in this tale of intrigue

To see if their exploits fail or succeed…

 

 

We were not boy wizards, vampire’s assistants or even living skeletons, we were

normal everyday people living normal everyday lives, with no inkling of the tremendous

events that were about to unfold.

 

Our adventure began with the arrival of a peculiarly small Christmas card, which sent us

hurtling to the land of Onisha. Umahia, the Grand Mystic, wanted our help. He needed

our help in defeating Miafra who had stolen his powers, the seasons, free will and all

time. Umahia told us we had powers, powers that up to that moment we had no inkling

we possessed, which might, just might defeat this evil man…

 

We had no idea that we were going to be attacked by Protectors atop Hound-Horses,

fight a statue hell-bent on killing us, be betrayed in our sleep, and be forced to fight a

dangerous beast called a Dragonsaur. No, we had no idea at all. And if we had, we might

not have chosen to heed Umahia’s call, leaving Onisha and the Earth open to untold

dangers…

 

 

The Stunning Kakuri

 

Prologue

Rioghbhardan and Fikri

 

Hello, my name is Nott and my best friend is called Wot. We have been friends as far back as we

can remember; we live on the same street, went to the same school, and indeed shared most all

our childhood experiences together, we are, and always have been, the very best of friends. Even

as adults we still spend most of our free time together, and could never see it being any other

way.

My real name is actually Fikri, and Wot’s is Rioghbhardan, but neither of us liked these given

names, and from an early age we played together for hours on end trying to think up new ones.

But despite spending so much time in this preoccupation we found it difficult to pick new ones,

alternative names that felt more suited to. So we begrudgingly accepted the ones that we had,

and it stayed that way until one summer’s afternoon when we were again playing, trying to pick

new ones, and we got a bit giddy. Acting the cod, singing in unison, we said, “What’s in a name?

I do not know! It’s not our aim to go on so, trying to find what’s best or not – what must be

resolved, or not.” With those words we stopped dead in our tracks, and Rioghbhardan cried,

“That’s it! From now on those will be our names – What and Not!”

I immediately agreed, though I changed the spelling slightly, proclaiming, “From now on we are

going to be known as WOT and NOTT, and that’s that.” And little did we realise these names were

to remain with us for the rest of our lives.

As we grew older we didn’t drift apart as so many childhood friends tend to do, if anything we

actually grew closer. This does not mean that we always got on well. All to often, with our little

differences raising their ugly heads, we appear more akin to enemies than friends. You see, Wot

is a laid-back type of individual, who cannot be rushed into a quicker rate of knots than he is

comfortable with – he gets the job done, but on his terms. This can, and all too often does, drive

me bonkers, because I have a quick mind with an uncanny ability (or so I am told) to work things

out. I want to get things done as soon as possible and cannot understand why anyone would have

any other way of doing things. This difference in our personalities has always ensured that life is

far from dull for either of us.

 

Wot is a larger than life individual whose favourite colours are earthy browns and greens, and his

clothes definitely reflect this taste; he always wears flared, cord trousers, whether they are in

fashion or not, and a casual, polo neck shirt. Despite prematurely greying, Wot’s short-cropped

hair compliments rather than takes away from his appearance, but a series of loose wrinkles

running horizontally across the back of his head, quite unique to him, have to be seen at close

hand, to appreciate their uniqueness.

I am just over half Wot’s height, of a thin build, with jet black hair and moustache. My preferred

items of apparel are a blue suit, crisp white shirt, black tie and my old trilby hat that I would never

be seen anywhere without.

…We were two friends living normal, everyday lives with no inkling of the tremendous

events that were about to engulf us...

 

 

The quick-witted Nott

 

 

Chapter One

 

A Knock on the Door

24th December.

Sitting comfortably in his favourite armchair, in front of a roaring log fire, Wot was looking forward

to a relaxing evening at home, watching all of his favourite Christmas television programmes. He

had already opened the present he had bought himself – a really warm and comfy pair of

Christmas slippers. They were decorated in all sorts of wonderfully festive scenes and motifs.

Before turning on the TV Wot slipped a little book from out of his shirt pocket, and opened it. It

was in this that he partook of his favourite pastime - writing poetry. He loved writing his poems. He

received so much pleasure when writing them, and he never suffered from writers’ block, which

others can on occasion be so callously inflicted with. When he took pen to paper, with the words

flowing freely, he was in another world. Some of his poems were long, and others so short they

were finished almost as soon as they had begun. He wrote happy ones that made him laugh sad

ones that made him cry and every other conceivable type in between.

 

Down through the years in which he had been writing, recording his thoughts and feelings in

verse, he had always known that it was a talent he possessed, a gift that he must never neglect.

So picking up the pen Wot wrote down the following words:.

 

“Christmas Eve so still I know

 

But something’s in the wind

 

There’s a sense of magic about

 

It’s now we need our friends.”

 

 

Those were all the words that came to Wot, and they puzzled him somewhat. What meaning or

relevance they had, if any, eluded his tired mind, but he recorded them dutifully into his little book,

calling his poem ‘Words in the Wind’. He even tried reading it aloud, hoping he might somehow

understand it better that way, but it still made little or no sense to him. Scratching his head in

frustration, he finally gave up and returned the little book to the safety of his shirt pocket.

Returning his attention to the warm fire, Wot relaxed again, listening to the logs crackle and

sparkle up the chimney. It was a perfect start to a perfect Christmas. He felt so content he could

have sat there all night.

 

Suddenly, Wot’s relaxation was rudely interrupted by a loud knocking sound. His first thought, in

his half-sleep, was that he was imagining it. He had not been expecting anyone to be call,

specially at so late an hour, so ignoring the noisy interruption he closed his eyes and once again

relaxed, listening to the crackling logs sparkling up the chimney. But to his utter annoyance

another even louder knock struck the door. “Who on earth can it be?” he asked, yawning, as he

reluctantly pulled himself out from his wonderfully comfortable chair. On approaching the door

Wot’s eyes were magnetically drawn to the coat stand upon which he had placed a peculiar

Christmas card, earlier that day. It was small, very small, and, more surprisingly, it was from his

best friend, Nott. He picked it up remembering how surprised he had been that Nott would have

sent so small a card. Looking at the picture, a wonderful summer scene of a house in the country,

Wot's eyes were drawn into it. He studied it closer…

 

The house had whitewashed walls with weathered, wooden beams that seemed to have been

strategically placed for the maximum visual pleasure of the onlooker. The building was

surrounded by a large cottage-garden in the full bloom of summer. It even had rambling roses

around the door. There was a duck-pond, an arbour, a rustic garden shed and so very much

more, and all enclosed by a white picket fence. It was in all ways a perfect picture of summer, not

your usual Christmas card theme by any stretch of the imagination. Studying it in finer detail Wot

held the card closer. At this point he had completely forgotten to see who was at the door. Wot’s

eyes, drawn further into the picture, suddenly noticed the door to the house in the card; it was big

and sturdy, sporting a large, brass knocker. “They don’t build them like that any more,” he said,

without realising he was actually speaking.

“It’s a bloody good job they don’t,” a voice boomed out in reply.

 

Wot got such a terrible fright from this he dropped the card, and very nearly jumped out of his

brand-new pair of Christmas slippers.

 

“Take it easy, you could have killed me!” boomed the mysterious voice, again.

But where was it coming from? Imagining there was someone hiding, playing a prank on him, Wot

looked all around – everywhere, but he didn’t, he couldn’t see anyone. He was confused, he was

puzzled with no idea as to what he should do next. In fact he wasn’t one hundred percent sure that

he had heard the voice at all. “This might all be in my imagination,” he said, though not very

convincing, as he stood stock-still unable to decide his next move.

“Are you listening to me? Wot, I am speaking to you!” the mysterious voice boomed out again.

Being personally addressed by an, apparently, bodiless voice totally confused poor Wot, and his

mind raced fearing the worst. He wondered, was it a g-g-ghost? Or was he going mad - bonkers?

 

“Pick me up!” the voice shouted.

Pulling himself together, trying to show at least some courage, Wot whispered timidly, “W, where

are you?”

 

“On the floor! At your feet!” the voice replied tersely.

On looking down the only thing Wot could see was the small Christmas card he had dropped, so

he said, “I can’t see you! There’s nothing there!” Then looking along the hallway, again trying to

spot the mysterious person who might be playing the prank, Wot unfortunately still saw no one. “I

can’t see where you are!” he whispered.

Beginning to lose patience the voice shouted, “Wot. I always thought you were a bit slow –

now you have proven it. I AM IN THE CARD. Pick it up! BUT CAREFULLY!”

 

Confused, wondering how anybody could possibly be inside a Christmas card, Wot bent down and

ever so gingerly picked it up. Carefully opening it he half expected to see someone crammed

inside, but he didn’t. No. Except for the short, standard greeting of Happy Christmas there was

absolutely nothing to be seen.

The voice, loosing what little patience it had left, interrupted Wot’s floundering thoughts, shouting,

“LOOK IN THE WINDOW, you berk.”

With those words something clicked in Wot’s bamboozled brain. The voice THAT voice was

starting to sound familiar! Scratching his head, trying to figure out just who it might actually be,

Wot closed the card and once and again looked at the picturet. His eyes, drawn yet again to the

quaint old house and its wonderful leaded windows, suddenly saw something – MOVING! He

thought he saw someone – someone that he recognised! He saw his best friend, Nott, staring out

from one of the small windows, waving frantically in a most agitated manner. This was just too

much for poor Wot, and he passed out, dropping the card onto the floor once again…

 

 

 

The easy-going Wott

 

Chapter Two: Cereal that tastes of Sawdust

 

 

I am the crazy-mad writer of children's stories,

songs, nursery rhymes and much, much more!

 

 

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© Gerrard T Wilson 2008