Chapter 9

"Of course, mother dear," responded Hvítur when her mother asked her to take the children to explore the royal home. "I'd love to. Come little Anna, and Dieter and Iosif, and not last, you, young man, Petrushka. Let's go meet the denizens of the castle."

The children had a delightful time meeting everyone. There was hestur the horse, köttur the cat, hundur the hound, and fugl the bird. They met Ráðherra the King's minister of getting things done, and Tónlistarmaður the Queen's official court musician. Kokkur ran the kitchen and was in charge of all the food, and Matselja kept lots of helpers scurrying around cleaning and polishing. Showing deep respect, Hvítur introduced them to Her beloved teacher Herra Kennari. Meeting everyone took such a long time! Finally, Hvítur led the way to the dining hall, stopping along the way to say hello to Vörður the guard outside the door.

The kids rejoined the King and Queen for supper, as the server Þjóninn waited upon them and brought them food. Iosif sought permission to ask a question.

"Be forthright, Lad!" demanded the King. "We don't stand on formality here."

"Thank you, Sir," said Iosif, gratefully. "I was wondering, well, it's night outside, and yet here you are living as if it were daytime. Why is that, good Sir?"

The Queen rendered the dictates of the land. "We have very long nights here in our palace of perpetual winter, and days that are too short to accomplish anything. So, we have night at day, and day at night. We like it that way. We think it's more fun."

"Me, too," agreed Anna, making everyone laugh.

When the meal was finished, the children began to feel sad. They knew it was time to go home, but they didn't want to leave their new friends.

Dr. Bronwen, the psychologist, probed a little deeper. "What goes through your mind when you think about writing?"

Clara was an award winning author, having won the Lucid Authors Prize for a short story, but she had only written one book. Finding a publisher for that book had been a lost cause. She had posted the novel on the web at SOL hoping that some publishing house would spot it and make her an offer, but no, so far nothing had happened. She just knew any day her manuscript would be picked up by a top firm, and be catapulted to Number One on the New York Times' best seller list. In the meantime, she felt a relentless push inside of herself to keep writing, but at the same time fears froze her up. She was a writer, but she was a failure, and the dilemma was an iron fist around her neck.

She began, "I, er, I..." and began sputtering and choking. Dr. Bronwen waited her out.

"I feel like I'm going to have a panic attack," she labored to breathe. "I can barely talk."

"Clara, take some deep breaths," Dr. Bronwen instructed her. "Take a minute, then try again to tell me what you are feeling."

Dutifully, although fighting deep resistance, Clara forced herself to relax enough to draw air into her lungs and let it go again. Again she

worked to replenish her oxygen, and again, and slowly she regained the ability to speak.

"There is a heavy weight on my chest, and it feels like someone is grabbing my throat," she managed to tell Dr. Bronwen.

"What were your thoughts immediately before these feelings occurred?" he persisted.

"Well, usually," she got out, after thinking for a bit, "something will trigger an idea for a book, and I start to think about how to make it into a story, and then this foggy void comes up and encroaches and makes my mind blank out." Clara began to pant in fear again.

"Clara," Dr. Bronwen said calmingly, "You know you are perfectly safe here. You're very safe. I won't let anything happen to you."

"Yes, Doctor, I know," she responded.

"Good, good," he reassured her. "Now, I want you to focus on that featureless entity. Just let it be in your mind, it can't hurt you now. Stay back at a distance so it can't cause you pain, and just observe it. Do you notice anything else about it?"