Somewhere in the world, there is not a Kingdom named Larthanigar. Since there is not a Kingdom thus named, there is not a boy unoriginally named Will, with a rather obscure and curious power, who lives there. Likewise, the other citizens of Larthanigar, with their respective powers, do not exist. The king does not sit on his throne, worrying, and the object of his worry has not actually been stolen, because it never existed in the first place. But, if we were to suppose that Larthanigar were real, and that Will was a boy with a strange power, and that every citizen of Larthanigar had a strange power, not always useful, not always useless, and that Larthanigar did have a king who was in fact, very worried about the book that had been stolen from his royal library; if we suppose all that, which is an awful lot to suppose, then that story would probably not progress anything like this one.

Once upon a time, (since we are supposing this to be a story of kingdoms) there was a boy named William. He more often introduced himself by his middle name, which was Samuel, but people called him Mark. No one knew quite why. Mark lived in a kingdom named Larthanigar, not entirely coincidentally ruled by a man named Larthan. In Larthan’s kingdom, everyone had a power. This was not because it was Larthan’s kingdom, but simply because that had been the case for thousands of years in Larthansdaddyigar, Larthansgrandaddyigar, and Larthansgreatgrandaddyigar, and in many less pronounceable, and coincidentally less important periods before those.

The nature of the power that each Larthanite possessed seemed random at times, for a very predictable reason. They were very random. They had nothing to do with parenthood, and in fact really didn’t seem to have much to do with anything. Larthanigans developed all sorts of powers, and, as history wore on, all 10000 of them were recorded in the HHGG (the Historically Helpful Guide and Glossary). The HHGG was something of a relic, since researchers and children alike studied it to make better use of their power or learn more about someone elses. It gave tips on controlling each individual power, insights as to how the power might be used more powerfully or effectively, current prices that a use of a power could be sold for, and other tips, tricks, and trivia about each power. There were ten thousand and one books in the royal library on powers, the ten thousand individual tomes, and the single tome containing all of the information. The single tome had been crafted early in Larthanigan history, by a man with a power related to cataloguing. The books the man made served to show the reader the book in the library that they were interested in at the moment. Thus, The Historically Helpful Guide and Glossary would become a manual instructing the user on how to best use fireballs if that was the power the user wished to learn about, or on how to summon the best bowl of turkey chili if that happened to be more of the user’s persuasion. Listing the powers out would really take quite a deal of hot air, finger movement, paper, ink, and (yes, I admit it) imagination that I do not have, so you should consider the examples which will later be provided and the examples that have already been provided to help you dream up less than fantastic powers for the less than fantastic people of Larthanigar.

Mark was a farm boy. No, too unoriginal…Mark was the prince of Larthanigar. Nah, too…typical…Mark was a blacksmith’s apprentice. Seems like that one’s been taken recently by a Will…Mark was a boy who churned butter all day every day, with leather thick hands, strong arms, disproportional lower body, and a rather sharp mind. Mark had a love interest, whose name was Jill. She was not important to the story, and, consequently, failed to receive a description. He was a boy of fifteen, and had just become aware of his power, which would continue to develop for years. Mark’s power was…Mark could…Mark could make rabbits out of thin air. More specifically out of warm thin air. He made bunnies and made the air cool simultaneously, which was rather useful in his small agricultural kingdom. Mark should have been glad to have obtained this power. But he was a young boy, and since he reached twelve, Mark had dreamed of incredible strength, or speed, or to be particularly great with women, or the ability to use weapons exceptionally well. Something that would appeal to a teenaged boy. Anything but…bunnies.

On his fifteenth birthday, Mark did not head into the city to read was written about his power. Nor did he go the next day, nor the next. The cows were having a productive spurt, and until it was over, the butter business was good. When there was good work to be had in Mark’s small town, which was not often, only a fool turned it down. After several weeks, the golden age was pronounced over, the cows descended into anarchy, and Mark, as fate would have it, pulled the butter cart to the city, meaning to sell it and take a peek at his book while he was in the city before riding home on the mule the dairyman had instructed him to buy.

As Mark walked into town, he saw more and more signs of panic. People were riding quickly towards home; women he passed looked worried or scared. All men he passed were solemn or wild-eyed, with no mid-ground. A particular man he walked up to informed him that the end was near. Good then, people wouldn’t be worried about spending their money on butter. But still, he wondered what the trouble was about.

Mark approached the city cautiously; people might not be afraid to spend their money, but they wouldn’t be afraid to steal either if the guards were otherwise occupied. Mark stepped from the dirt road to the cobblestone path, pulling the cart with him. He had sat in the marketplace for half an hour with only six of the hundred pounds of butter sold when a very cliché, unoriginal, mysterious old man walked up, and said in a cliché, mysterious, raspy old voice “I would like to buy ten pounds of butter please.” Mark sold the man ten pounds of butter and continued waiting.

After an hour with no buyers, a nondescript woman walked up, a widow by the necklace she wore. She too, wanted butter, but only seven pounds. This type of suspicious activity continued until something quite normal to this type of story happened. Someone informed Mark that the HHGG had been stolen, the rest of the royal library had been burned, and Mark was, for no particularly well explained reason, asked to see the king. The butter he had remaining was paid for, and Mark left on foot to go see King Larthan.

Mark walked into the castle, and it was surprising how little security the place had. He literally walked into the king’s bedroom, sat down on the king’s bed, and began to read “Ruling for Less than Spectacular People”, a popular title among royalty at the time, even though the consumer base was a bit small.

Within a couple of minutes, the king walked into the room, and sat down on the bed next to Mark, with “Castle” magazine in his hand, which was a similarly well done piece with a similarly rather small consumer base. After several minutes of pretending to read, the king spoke.

“Mark”, the king said an authoritative voice, “I have become aware of the wishes of a certain being whose power in our world is immense, and whose will I feel I must follow.”

“A god?” Interrupted Mark, who, although he was not a farm boy, was still common.

“Well…actually Mark, since you ask…A narrator.”

“Oh…” Mark clearly did not understand

“That’s not important right now. What is important boy, is that my life is in terrible danger. This being, this narrator, will kill me and level my kingdom if I do not send you to retrieve the stolen tome, and alone. While he says alone, he means that you must bring only an animal and possibly a close friend with you. The man talks in riddles I sw…” The king’s words faded out as he dropped into thought.

“Sir?” Mark prodded the king out of his thoughts after several minutes of patient waiting.

The king looked up with a start, decided he was in no immediate danger, remembered Mark, and kept talking. “The man talks in riddles, as I said. No idea why he would want a bloke who pulls bunnies out of thin air. You must gather a pet, a close friend, and provisions for the three of you for the week, and then set out for the kingdom of Gersan, to the west. There in the enemy’s land, you will find the stolen book.”

“Really?” Asked Mark excitedly.

“No”, exclaimed the king, laughing hysterically.

“Oh.” Mark looked at his feet sadly. “Then why was I called?…”

“Just kidding boy! You really are going to Gersan. Here’s money to buy your provisions. You’ll receive your pay when you get back with the book. Your employer will be paid out of my wallet for the butter money, and you can keep what you have on you for yourself.”

“I’m so confused.” Mark sighed deeply.

“So are the readers boy, so are the readers!” the king yelled jollily before putting Mark outside his door and ringing for a secretary.

Mark was joined by the secretary shortly, who informed Mark that she was required to scribe his story in less than six pages, and as such, he had better make the rest of his journey as boring and short as possible. Mark asked what the hell that meant, but the secretary only walked with him and helped him purchase provisions, then sent him on his way, giving him a day to come back. The next day, Mark returned with his best friend Joe, who was average, and his dog Spot, a plain white sheepdog, with no spots.

Mark was sent on his way with very few adjectives or other details. Then mark had a very boring journey with no obstacles, as the secretary had suggested. When he found the book, it was in a pawn shop, and he was allowed to pay the equivalent of ten dollars for it, in order to further hurry along the story. On the return trip, Mark realized that the narrator needed a couple more lines before the wrap up, consequently understanding what the secretary and king had been talking about, and promptly lost the book in the river(Joe’s power was waterproofing things, which he had already done to the book). Spot jumped in the river and saved the book heroically. Then they returned home without further event.

When Mark returned home, he returned the book to the king and collected his reward. Then he stretched the margins of the pages because he had used up too much space throwing the book in the river. After he walked out of the castle, he saw Jill, walking towards him, arms outstretched, hoping to congratulate him. Elated, Mark walked towards her, and was immediately run over by an ambulance cart going very swiftly through the street to help someone with a small puncture wound. Oh the irony.

In conclusion, look both ways before you cross the street.