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MAP OF CENTRAL GONDWANALAND

He vacated the palace gracefully, knowing it would become a grand center for the new government. He promised his people that he would look out for their well-being as an interim governor until an election could be held to name the province’s legal governor. What had been West Centralia was now the Nordlandt’s Centralian Province. Owltufts would seek statehood by meeting the conditions set out in the constitution. He had changed the course of history, and there was no undoing it.

The complete text was broadcast over the network, which connected the known countries of Inchoate. West Centralia and all its lands and peoples were now made part of Nordlandt. The long train had brought soldiers and weapons that were moved to the southwestern frontier. When a courier brought Fugal an officially sealed copy, there was a cover letter indicating that any attack of any portion of West Centralia would be considered as a state of war with Nordlandt. People throughout the capital city, Gaingull, claimed they could hear Fugal’s shriek of rage.



CHAPTER 2
JOHN NARROWPATH

He awoke from a terrible dream and found himself in the middle of a field covered with stubble. The stubble had pierced his hands and face, and he was bleeding. A bell somewhere far away solemnly toned the hour: one, two, three. Dawn was still to the distant east, rushing toward him.

As he tried to pick himself up, he realized the field was covered in light snow, even the ground under him. This indicated he had landed here recently, or the snow beneath would have melted, and his back would be covered with it. It was so hard to concentrate. His mind was swirling in a clockwise fashion; so, he concluded, he must be in the southern hemisphere. How did he get here? He rolled over more stubble and sat up. Why was he so tired and disoriented? Next to him was a hat. It must be his, so he put it on. It fit and warmed his ringing ears. As he put on the hat, however, he felt his hair. It had grown long. He felt his face; he had a great mustache and a long beard! But he had shaved this morning. Or had he?

He rested a few moments and tried to stand. No, down he went, on his face again in the stubble. Once again, he sat and brushed the snow from his jacket and pants. He melted some snow in his mouth and swallowed. It felt good as the coolness slid down his throat, seeking his stomach. He repeated the process several times until his thirst was quenched. By now, the ringing was much fainter; and his mind was slowing down, coming to rest as it should between and just behind his eyes.

He stood and waited for his body to complete its wake-up call. To his left was a wooded glen. Where was the Mystic Carousel? He decided to shield himself behind the brush in the glen until he figured things out.

Jackalopes

In the days that followed, he had seen workers going to and from the fields, speaking in a language he barely understood. Many of the words were familiar, but the pronunciations were different. He watched animals bury nuts and seeds. He dug them up and ate what he could, washing them down with melted snow. He approached a village carefully.

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