Marguerite was a foolish young girl. She went about her formal lessons with sketch pads full of daydreams always within her reach. The answers, never. Mind you, she got answers right, but their meanings would allude her and set her off on a romp.

She cared nothing for what others thought. How they felt, though, was a matter of intense interest. Did they feel blue or green or red, or did they feel circular, square, wave-like, or, her favorite, triangular.

Triangular like her. Mom, Dad, Marguerite. Joined and yet apart, with points.

Today she had been doing geometry lessons when she feel sleep by the sea. She woke up in a waterfall. Or rather in the rather loud, damp recessed cave behind one.

From the falling waters whispered the story of the surrounding lands, though it was drowned out, from Marguerite’s ears, by the roaring of its waters. The whisperings told of two lands bordering the Land of Mystery, if they could really be called borders for Mystery was constantly but subtly shifting.

One was the Land of Surety. A king oversaw it, an old tottering man who was sure science discovered all that could be known. So resigned was he to this very responsible position that he refused to hold court or welcome Journeyers and instead issued edicts. They were delivered by the Stone Giants to Surety’s human inhabitants, who led productive lives along the shores of the Sea of Meaning, in well-appointed territories divided up according to what peaked their edict-inspired curiosity.

The other land bordering Mystery was the Land of Faithful. It was ruled over by a half-Fairy Queen who liked to bemoan her bad luck. Her court of fervent Fairies were committed to tending her spirit. They flicked in and out like fireflies, reporting to her constantly of the inspired rituals and celebrations among Faithful’s human inhabitants. It pleased her well enough. And like the human inhabitants of Surety, those of Faithful lived along the shores of the Sea of Meaning, divided into territories according to their cheer-inspiring beliefs.

The two leaders did not live in elegant capital cities surrounded by their subjects. Rather each was encamped with their court and guards in the wilds near Mystery. Each was treasured and comfortable but more often than not a distant memory to their subjects in the territories. Humans inhabited the territories of Faithful and Surety as well as the areas in between. Those who wandered among and between the territories were called Journeyers. Those who crossed from Surety to Faithful, or vice versa, were the stuff of legends.

A river ran between Faithful and Surety. Known as the great Wellorientia, it flowed with the waters of pure understanding. Stories from times far past told of its headwaters originating at the doubly mysterious Source within the Land of Mystery. At a glance, its ample rushing waters flowed between the banks, steep with time, that divided the Lands of Surety and Faithful, from the edge of the Land of Mystery to the Sea of Meanings.

The lands shared a border with each other that ran the course of the River Wellorientia. A single bridge crossed the river (and lands) very near where the river emerged from the Land of Mystery in a tumbling waterfall. It was the same waterfall Marguerite currently found herself considering. Tales of the Bridge of Wonders promised open relations between Faithful and Surety, though no one alive could remember such times.

Each ruler was bound through divine rights by a covenant that was struck seven generations earlier. They must keep watch over the Bridge of Wonders for the appearance of the sign. The rulers, their courts and deputies had difficult assignments though. For one, the Land of Mystery was quite dull — for all intents and purposes lifeless, obscure, still. Its air of anticipation and surprise, which used to prickle their scalps, only fueled lazy daydreams.

No one was watching the waterfall so they missed when Marguerite emerged from it. Knowing not why, she headed up the slope to her right, which led into Faithful. A fog seemed to follow her, for which she was grateful. This place did not feel entirely friendly from her current perspective. Three hundred years earlier the river’s banks became inhabited by troublesome trolls. The worst of all of them lived right under the bridge. They had brute strength, yes, but also paranormal powers they used to disorient any brave soul who sought to enter the waters of pure understanding, any traveler who dared take a boat up it from the Harbor of Wishes, or anyone who dared step onto the Bridge of Wonders.

Finally, lightning storms regularly raged. Without explanation, storms originated from the direction of Mystery and tracked the path of Wellorientia. Thick clouds heralded any storm’s approach. They lingered sometimes over the region of the bridge on their way to the Harbor of Wishes. Other times, they diverted some way down the river toward one of the territories — sometimes Surety, sometimes Faithful. The only thread that united the two lands was anticipation of the sign. The sign would mean that Mystery would be lifted. With this, it seemed the storms might well cease and the trolls cease their vigilant mission to terrorize the land between Surety and Faithful. With Wellorientia once again a usable waterway -- and extension of the Sea of Meanings — the lands would be ripe for a renaissance. After so many years of waiting for a river that was, for all intents and purposes, under siege, all hope now rested on the sign.

Each ruler felt privately the whole arrangement was some kind of curse and that Mystery itself might well overtake the whole endeavor. They never said so to their courts or to the occasional emissaries they sent or received. They preferred being in their flawed rulerships in the wilds to being banished for heresy or locked up for madness. The constant vigilance and fruitless lookouts for the sign at the Bridge of Wonders had come to fill the rulers’ deputies with deep doubt, dipping frequently into despair.

Marguerite arrived at the court of the half-Fairy Queen where she was received as a Journeyer. As she made her way through the humble, woodland castle, she took notice of all of the artwork along the way. It seemed to be a place of religious, spiritual, and nature-based themes, though without the piety of a church. Like a living museum. She noticed right away and spoke forthrightly of the Queen’s own emotional state. It was not difficult to discern, though few dared to name it. Half-relieved, the Queen asked smugly what her salvation might be. Marguerite answered the first thing she thought of. She hoped for the Queen’s blessing to go to the other side of the bridge. After emerging from behind the waterfall, she had caught a glimpse of it during a brief moment of clear skies, though she did not tell the Queen this. She had learned from a guard that it is called the Bridge of Wonders, that this is the land of Faithful, and that on the other side is Surety.

“The Bridge is impassable. If it’s not disorienting trolls, it’s life-threatening lightning, or worse yet the Fog of Wandering Mystery that drifts this way more often than not these days.” The Queen, once again grief-stricken, looked out of the window rather than at the person she took to be an ordinary Journeyer.

Hoping to stumble her way into more information, Marguerite ventured, “I would not have to cross by way of the Great River.”

“Well then, how would your journey be any different than the others who make trips on behalf of the Land of Faithful and end up lost or abandoning their mission to take up a safe life in one of the territories?” She asked this rhetorically, then added, “It’s no use. Even if you could pass through Faithful undeterred, the Harbor of Wishes is such mess of confusing crosscurrents, which make themselves out to be police, that you couldn't get to Surety's shores.”