Tied Footsteps

A boy called Wendell, who lives in the 21st century, starts experiencing the most peculiar dreams. He finds his footsteps from two entirely different dimensions tying together and he finds the reason for these dreams occurring becoming clearer and clearer. Soon he realises he has a mission to for fill and a name to clear...

Dedicated to Uncle Mitchy Kay ��


1. Tied Footsteps

Many many many years ago a boy called Wendell had a dream. He was a knight in training and was prince of the kittendom of Derr. However, when he woke up the next morning and googled 'Derr', he figured it didn't nor had existed. Just some make believe place his brain had made up.
The next night he went to sleep he  found himself in Derr again. It was a day of hard training and Wendell learnt more about the kittendom.

He saw the roofs were thatched, so he figured it must be an olden town, but then there were lightbulbs too, so he was really confused. Nevertheless, the next day, he shook the dream out of his mind. This was getting far too weird.

In the evening, Wendell decided to go to sleep a little earlier. Maybe if he went to sleep at a different time, he wouldn't have the reoccurring dreams about Derr. He was very much mistaken. Because he went to sleep at a different place, his dreams took him to a different place in the kittendom that wasn't in the training court. Instead, he found himself inside the palace. He grinned; maybe if he saw paintings on the wall of rulers, he'd be able to work out more about Derr.

He managed to spot one name whilst the Queen bustled him into the dining area. That name was Thomas James. Wendell shook his head. 'I'm not going to get any matches with a name as dull as that,' he thought to himself. Just as the scent of blueberry pie hit him he was brought out of his dream and he woke up with a start.

Wendell couldn't help but google  'Thomas James, Derr' as soon as humanely possible. He got one match, but the kittendom wasn't called Derr, it was called Redd. But he was sure he'd read it right...even so, he put on his karate gear, ready for practise. A whole day of running techniques should hopefully take his mind off this Derr/Redd/Weird dream situation.

Wendell passed out exhausted onto his bed. He weren't all that surprised to be back in Derr/Redd. Once again, he did more knight training, learning how to yield his sword. One trick in particular stood out to him because he swore it was the same trick he'd learnt in karate. It was just using his sword instead of his limbs. 'So these dreams are just interpretations of my life? Okay, I'm not going mad. It's fine, it's cool, I'm not ill.'

The day had consisted of homework and baking. He was eager to get to sleep and to get to work. Sure enough, in Derr/Redd, he had calligraphy practise and he had helped the Queen bake a blueberry pie. He spotted on a teacup a 'D' , so he was right about Derr. Wendell also seemed to be right about his daily activities in the real world linking with his activities in Derr.

When he woke up again, he googled, 'Wendell James, Derr.' He had a match. The link consisted of a story of the disgraced prince, whose  inability to save the kittendom had embarrassed the land of Derr and had led to the rename of 'Redd' to conceal what had happened. But he was good at training in the dream, so what on earth was all this about?


Wendell was desperate to get back to Derr to get more clues, so he snuck into the bathroom, took some sleeping pills, then dropped off to sleep the instant  he hit the mattress. The Queen was at his bedside and had a letter in her hands. “Wendell, this is from your father.” He took the letter and skimmed it. “He wants you to lead the second division into battle in Koon, as the first one is away elsewhere.” This had to be it. The reason he was disgraced.

He didn't know why, but he felt like it was his duty to change things around this time. This had to be the reason he was in this dream: to change what seemed to be his last life's legacy. Wendell didn't know what he'd do differently, but he'd find a way.

Just as he had that thought, he promptly woke up again. He rolled over to check  the time and realised he was late for karate practise. Grabbing his bag containing his karate kit, he raced out the door and out the house.

All through karate, he was out of focus, still thinking about Derr and what he could do. “Link!” hollered the 'Sensei'. She was referring to the moves, but it sure did give him a brainwave. The dreams and real life linked in a lot of ways. If he found other ways they were linked which could be useful for him in the battle , he could transfer the skills.

Once Wendell was asleep and in Derr, he found himself in the training court. The tutor, Darcy, tutted at his skill. “How will you be prepared enough in a weeks time with only a few techniques? Spare me for saying so, but your father is deluded sending for you.” Wendell waved his sword vertically, then did a forward thrust with it. “That was good. You've been practising.” He was about to explain that it was just a bit similar to karate, but he stopped himself. Then, he had a brainwave.

Wendell woke up, and headed for his karate kit. Inside was a book with various techniques. He took it out, got a pen, and started putting dots against techniques he could do. At first he also put dots next to ones that used arm movement, but he thought he might as well try and use the ones with leg movement also. He was going to try and really go for it, after all.

All day he was practising and enhancing various karate moves. His parents checked on him every hour or so, impressed by his sudden motivation. He usually only  practised for an hour a day. By about eight O'clock, he was exhausted, and fell to sleep instantly. 

He was back at the training court, in the same position he had been last night , before he'd woken up. “I have a few technique ideas, my good master,” Wendell said. “Demonstrate away,” replied Darcy, who although doubtful was prepared to watch. With the all go, Wendell started doing techniques Darcy was astounded by. The good thing? These were only basic karate moves.

Another letter arrived from his father. This one started that he was impressed of how well Darcy had commended Wendell, for he was a harsh critic when it came to wielding a sword. So impressed he sent for him for the crack of dawn, demanding Wendell trained the defence. 

He was glad when he woke up, as he had another day to learn more techniques, ones that were easily taught to others. 

At around six, Wendell was impatient to get back to Derr, so he took some sleeping pills and went up to his room. When he was asleep, he found himself on horseback, and assumed he was on the way to the Koon camp. Sure enough, a few minutes later he found himself at a field where poorly constructed tents were dotted around. A man in a uniform with many medals greeted him with a handshake. “I hear you at very skilled, exceedingly so. I find this very surprising, considering your age.”
Wendell rolled up his sleeves. “Well then, bring the whole second division of defence over here immediately.”
Within a few hours, Wendell had the defence master the slightly advanced karate moves he had converted. Pembert, the man he'd spoken to earlier, looked on in amazement. He wandered over to Wendell with a look of surprise on his face. “You proved me wrong, my good sir. I dare say you exceed your own father in swordsmanship.” Wendell smiled smugly. “I was thinking we could launch an early infiltration. They're ready, you know. You've trained them well.

It only took a nod from Wendell for Pembert to holler orders to defence. It was time.
With the second division behind him, confident and assured, Wendell led the way to Koon. Once they'd arrived at the fields, they saw no defence from the fighters of Koon. There was only a lumpy hill. “They wrote they were on their guard,” Pembert spat. “This must be some sort of trap. Check that hill, all of you. It reeks of suspicion.”

Yielding their swords, Wendell and the division treaded carefully around the hill, peering at it, looking for some sort of  hidden entrance. A young lad poked a rim lightly with his sword, expecting it to be the door they were looking for. Wendell turned around, feeling a heat of some sort. What he wasn't expecting to see was a fire , and to see that the hill has risen.
Everyone leapt back, astounded. The hill was shaking off grass and dirt. 

Half of the defence watched, too stunned to move. This group was led by Pembert. The other group, who were bounding to the pond to fetch water were led by Wendell. Pembert called for them to come back as soon as possible. Quickly, Wendell ordered his half of the defence here and there, and eventually the fire was doused. 


But his eyelids felt heavy and he was transported back to reality. He sighed, took a couple more sleeping pills, then rolled back over, asleep once more.


“But where did the fire come from?” one of the men called.
The lad who had poked the hill pointed at the left hand side of the hill. “Look over there: that's your answer.”
The hill now had identical black patches. An angled line went down the middle, and stopped near the curve on the end of it. The twigs at the top of the hill looked more rounded and thick than they'd first realised. “I don't believe this...” Wendell murmured. There was no way he could take on this , even with his skill and the defence right behind  him.

Pembert stormed over. “Why aren't any of you making an att...” He trailed off when he saw the 'hill'. “It's...it's...”
“A dragon,” Wendell grimaced. “We need a new plan. He knows we are here, he knows our numbers, we can't possibly...”
“Commence attack technique one!”
 Wendell cursed under his breath. Split yourselves! My group, divide to the front and the right hand side of it . Pembert's group, divide to the back and the left hand side of it. Do not taunt, do not talk, just strike on orders.” They all hustled into their respective positions.

The attack was launched, and the dragon was attacked by one person on each side. They soon felt out the dragons strategy, and learnt how to avoid it and when to strike.
However, the fire was very hard to avoid, and by the fifth hour of fighting, all the division had minor burns and a quarter of the division had too bad a burns to continue. 
The dragon was getting weary though, which they were all relatively thankful for. They had a brief pause to split the defence evenly around the dragon, but then continued on into the evening.

After another hour, Wendell sent the average members of the defence back to get their burns tended to and to get some rest, whist he kept the other half fighting. Not much needed to be done now.
Less numbers meant that the best techniques had to be used, but Wendell knew the stronger fighters could handle it. He reminded himself to reward them for their resilience. It was a good job he was the prince, as it meant he could do anything he wished to do for them.
Just as Wendell had braced himself for the final slash of the dragon, it turned to Pembert swiftly and suddenly, and breathed fire directly onto him. Pembert wailed in agony, falling onto the floor. Stricken, Wendell stood for a few seconds, wavering what to do.
Then, he hollered for the fighters at the camp to come over with a stretcher. With nothing he could do, he carried Pembert away from the dragon, and got someone to stay with him until the stretcher came. Then, Wendell sprinted back to the dragon. It seemed to have got its energy back, turning towards him and breathing fire at him too. He narrowly avoided being fully burnt, but...


“Wendellllllll, " a voice wailed. It sounded like his mothers. “We've got to get him to the hospital! I knew we shouldn't have let him have a candle so close to his bed! For Gods sake look at his hand!”


He couldn't move his hand, as even the slightest twitch made tears squeeze from his eyes. Only two fighters remained besides himself. “Prince, we've got to get you back to camp!”
“No, I won't stop until this is over. I won't let him defeat us, I can't be disgraced.”
The fighters looked at him in confusion, but turned back to the dragon as time was of the essence. They battled on, and eventually the dragon was back to it's weary state. Wendell did a final swish of his blade, and cut across the dragons throat. It fell down on the floor, dead and defeated.

“We did it,” Wendell muttered quietly. Then, he repeated it louder. “We did it!”
They all roared in ecstasy, dancing over back to the camp. “Pembert, Pembert!” Wendell yelled. Everyone sleepily came out of their tents. “What's going on?” called one of them. Wendell and the other two smiled. “The dragon has been defeated. Awake Pembert, and tell him at dawn we return back to Derr.”


“You're going to be just fine, ” his mother wept. “They said, they said.” 
“It's just a burn to his hand, dear. It could be worse.”
The nurse in the ambulance sat down next to them. “We will reach the hospital by dawn.”


It was now the afternoon at the kittendom of Derr. The main room in the castle was decked with flowers and confetti. The whole royal family and important officials were packed into it. Wendell was kneeling atop of one of the steps. The Queen, his own mother, placed a box into his palms. “The Medal of Thomas: Signifying the highest honour of bravery and skill.” She bent down slightly. “I'm proud of you darling.”
He then stood up and applause rang across the room. All he could hope now was that all of this had been worth it.


Wendell sleepily gazed around the room, which he recognised as a hospital ward. “Wendell!” his mother cried, embracing him tightly. He winced as a sharp pain went up his arm from his hand. “Sorry, sorry.” She pulled back.
“Mother, could you get me something?”
“Of course! A drink? Some food? A slice of cake, maybe?”
His mother frowned. “What do you want then?”
“Can I borrow your phone please?” She was puzzled, but nevertheless she handed it to him. Wendell unlocked it and went onto a search engine. Into the search bar he typed, 'Wendell James, Derr.' He clicked on the page he had looked at before. He smiled as he read,' Wendell the Honourable went down in history in the kittendom of Derr for his outstanding bravery. He renamed it 'Redd' in honour of the four fighters whom had helped back him up, hence the name being backwards.' A wash of tiredness fell over Wendell, and he fell asleep again. He didn't dream of Derr for the first time in weeks. But it meant his work was done, and he knew his name cleared in history.

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