Chapter 7:
The Festival Of A Thousand Lights
Dawn lifted over Crafteria in ribbons of copper and gold. The map in Boxy’s satchel gave a gentle purr and nudged a new path into view, curling through fields of fallen leaves towards a valley that glittered as if someone had spilled the stars.
Pete tilted his wooden head. The dents from last month’s adventure were still there. He held up a sign: PLEASE NO MORE COFFINS.
Gluebert sniffed the morning air. “A festival. Finally. After ghosts, bats, and unsolicited headbutts, I deserve cake.”
“Let’s hope it is not haunted cake,” said Boxy, smiling.
They followed the shining trail. As the sun rose, lanterns bobbed between oak branches. Stalls lined the path. The air smelled of cinnamon and woodsmoke. A silk banner drifted overhead: WELCOME TO THE FESTIVAL OF A THOUSAND LIGHTS.
A tiny hedgehog waddled out from a leaf pile, yarn wrapped round its middle like a scarf. “We keep the ground warm for the Festival,” it squeaked. “The more leaves we wear, the cosier it gets.”
Boxy tied a loop of golden yarn. “Comfy?”
The hedgehog did a happy twirl and scattered sparks that stuck to the path like glowing confetti.
“Even their wildlife decorates better than I do,” said Gluebert.
The path split between trees dressed in curled paper leaves. Each curl shimmered and whispered. Pete tugged one. It unfurled, floated, then coiled itself neatly again. He raised a sign: SORRY TREE. The tree shivered and sprinkled down a few more curls in what might have been a huff.
They reached the heart of the valley just as the Lantern Parade began. Children carried tasselled paper lanterns that glowed blue, green and amber. The band was a set of wooden frogs with tiny drums. Every beat came with a proud ribbit.
Boxy frowned. High above, the floating lanterns were not only rising. They were gathering into a spiral. He had seen that spiral before, faintly scratched into the corner of the map.
Pete’s sign popped up: THAT LOOKS FAMILIAR.
Before Boxy could answer, the lanterns flared. For a heartbeat, the world turned white.
When the light softened, the festival looked the same, almost. Now each lantern shone with a little figure of light inside. Some were dancers. Some were birds. One waved at Boxy and did a cartwheel.
From the largest lantern came a calm voice. “Welcome, travellers. The Festival keeps the dark away. This year the lights fade too soon.”
“We can help,” said Boxy. “We are on a quest.”
“Then rekindle the three Great Lights before midnight,” said the voice. “The valley will glow again.”
Gluebert sighed. “Always three. Never two. Never four.”
They set off at once.
First Light: the Gonk’s Beard
Leaf-bearded gonks with floppy hats hurried about, patting their faces. The leaves were dull.
“What happened?” asked Boxy.
“The wind stole our glow,” a gonk sniffled.
Pete held up a sign: DO NOT CRY IN YOUR BEARD.
“I can fix a glow deficiency,” said Gluebert. He tapped a hat. A puff of glitter whoofed out and settled over everyone. The leaves began to shine, each catching light like a tiny mirror.
“That is one,” said Boxy.
Gluebert sneezed and sparkled. “And one wizard permanently festive.”
Second Light: the Clay Tree
They climbed a hill with a single great tree. Its trunk was smooth like clay. Its bright tissue leaves lay crumpled at its roots.
“It needs life,” said Boxy, pressing his hand to the trunk.
Pete raised a sign: TRY A HUG.
Gluebert groaned. “Collective arboreal affection. Fine.”
They wrapped their arms around the trunk. Warmth spread through the clay. Leaves lifted, one by one, and settled back on the branches, glowing like embers. The whole hill hummed with quiet orange light.
“That makes two,” said Boxy.
Third Light: the Sky Rockets
Night gathered over the lake. Children were building colourful paper rockets, but every one flopped with a sad plop into the water.
“No thrust,” said Gluebert, peering into a rocket. “Tragic.”
“Maybe they need more than fire,” said Boxy. “Maybe they need a spark of hope.”
Pete’s sign read: OR A BIGGER WHOOSH.
“Let us try both,” said Boxy.
They placed gentle paper diyas inside each rocket. The little flames winked and purred. “Ready?” asked Boxy.
Gluebert lifted his staff. “Ignitio Optimismo.”
The rockets leapt skyward. Whoosh. Ribbons of colour streamed behind them. The lake mirrored a sky full of blooms.
The spiral symbol returned, but this time it warmed rather than startled. Lanterns drifted into a soft dance. Music rose. Laughter rolled across the water.
The great lantern’s voice returned. “The Festival of a Thousand Lights burns bright once more. Thank you.”
Tiny sparks fell like warm snow and settled on the map in Boxy’s hands. The parchment shimmered and pointed north. Beyond the valley, flakes drifted over distant hills. Frosted forests sparkled under the moon.
Gluebert rubbed his hands. “Oh good. My beard will freeze.”
Pete raised a sign: NEED COAT.
Boxy smiled. “The lights have shown the way. Come on.”
They followed the glowing path. Behind them the last rocket bloomed, and the falling sparks turned to snow. Ahead, the next land glimmered: candy-striped trees, little bells that chimed themselves, rooftops dusted with icing sugar.
The Festival dimmed behind them, but a new kind of wonder waited in the snow.