The Tree of Mindala (Wunderwood Book 1)

Prologue

Approximately 40 years ago...

"Truman," a soft voice called. Startled, he whipped his head from side to side. Seeing no one, he scanned the perimeter of the gleaming Pond. Nothing. He got up from the water's edge where he'd stopped, weary and parched, to quench his thirst. The thick blades of grass sprang back up as though he had never been sitting there at all.

He swayed a little as he got his bearings. His body was still tingling, but not as much as it had after his first sip of the cool, glittering water. He brought his hand up to his forehead, shielding his eyes from the bright midday sun. He squinted to see better through the thick, brilliant green foliage around him. He peered at the humongous blooms growing wildly all around the Pond, their heavy fragrance on the gentle breeze. Their colors were so vibrant, so dazzling, and so unfamiliar, he had no words to describe them. But their beauty was a stark contrast to the places he'd traveled through to get to the Pond.

He shuddered, remembering the strange, black bolts of lightning splitting the gray sky and shrouding the landscape in momentary darkness. Dead leaves and pale, crumpled flower petals had swirled on the barren ground, crackling under his feet. The trees were naked and brittle, bending with the slightest wind. If anyone else had been in the sparse, withered forest, he surely would have heard them, if not seen them. No, he was certain he'd been alone. Though, he would have welcomed the company of someone who could explain how he'd gotten here, where exactly here was, and why he'd felt such an urgency, like a giant invisible hand, prodding him to continue down an unseen path. A path which had ultimately brought him to this Pond's edge.

"Truman..."

He spun around but still he saw no one, and nothing moved in the knee-high grass nor in the gigantic flowers.

"Here," the bell-like, feminine voice chimed. At that moment, a ripple in the otherwise calm surface of the Pond caught his eye. "I'm here." Again the Pond twinkled as little waves undulated in time with the voice. He took a small, hesitant step closer to the water. "That's right, come closer," the voice beckoned softly.

"Who are you? Where are you?" Truman asked, staring at the water. But all he saw was the reflection of a boy with closely-cropped blond hair and shoulders that had become rather muscular (he couldn't help noticing) since his seventeenth birthday last month.

"My name is not important," the voice replied as little glimmering waves swelled on the surface of the Pond again.

"But how do you know my name?" Truman ventured.

"I've been waiting for you."

Waiting for him? Confused, he asked, "But where am I? I don't even know how I got here. I only know, er, feel  like this is where I'm supposed to be..."

"You must listen carefully to me..." Silence suddenly surrounded him. The Pond became completely still, and not a blade of grass dared stir. A low rumble pulsed beneath the soles of his feet and slowly grew louder. A strong wind kicked up, circling him, the Pond, and all the surrounding trees, their oversized leaves rustling raucously.

As Truman fixed his eyes on the Pond, he realized what was causing the rumbling. A storm was brewing beneath the water's surface. Large swells broke through, hurtling themselves from either side of the Pond and racing toward the center. Truman braced himself for the imminent crash. But instead the waves merged noiselessly with each other, intertwining gracefully, then rising higher and higher toward the sky.

He fell back from the force of the tower of water. He crept further backwards on the heels of his hands and feet until he could get the full view of the sparkling waterspout. He was not the least bit scared. Maybe it was something in the water he'd drunk... He felt an overwhelming sense of well-being when common sense begged him to run the other way. But the sight before him was just too magnificent to be menacing.