Anne Elisabeth Stengl's Blog, page 15

Influencer Readers!

Dear imps, the time has come! We are looking for influencer readers to read Golden Daughter before its official launch date in November. That means if you are interested in reading this story early, now is your chance!

Influencer readers will receive a PDF file of the book as formatted for print. So on your computer screen it will look like it does in the book with all the pretty artwork, etc.

David Cross is handling all the marketing and publicity work for this project, so do write him a quick email (david.cross@rooglewoodpress.com) if you are interested in being added to the influencer list. The rules are pretty basic! You have to agree to write an Amazon review, and preference will be given to influencers who can/will also write reviews on Barnes & Noble, Goodreads, and personal blogs.

Feel free to share the button and let other reviewers know of this opportunity! I am very excited to be launching this project so soon now. It is my favorite of my finished works, and I hope it will swiftly become a favorite of yours as well.

A Walk Through Our Wedding

Today is the fourth anniversary of my wedding to the one and only Rohan, my darling, funny, handsome beloved. And I rather thought it might be fun to take all of you on a little photographic walk through our wedding, including some of the days leading up to it. Sound like fun? I hope so, because I'm feeling romantically nostalgic today, and there's no stopping me!
Due to all the craziness that is Wisconsin marriage policy, Rohan and I were legally married in North Carolina four weeks before our realwedding. This meant the judge had scarcely declared us “man and wife” before I hopped on a plane and zipped up to Wisconsin for four weeks to prepare the real wedding.  Of course there were dress fittings and the like:

Since the wedding was to be held in my parents’ back yard, I had originally intended to wear a much simpler gown, just a sweet little white sundress. But my father really wanted me to at least go try some real wedding gowns. So I did. This gown was the first one I tried on, and I fell madly in love with it. Still simple enough for an outdoor wedding in my parents’ back garden, but embellished with lots of pretty details.
Soon after this was taken, however . . . I came down with German measles. Which, while not dangerous, was probably the most miserably sick I have ever been! Not only that, but I had worked for months on getting a proper tan to look right in that pure-white gown of mine (not something this nerdy-writer-type ever does!), and now it was all spoiled with blotchy red lattice rash. Bleh!
But thank heaven, both the measles and the rash cleared up two weeks before the actual wedding date. To make me feel better, my handsome man sent me something pretty:
   That’s right, two dozen long-stemmed red roses! I’m looking a little pale and sickly there still, but I’m very happy. Not long now until I’ll see my legal-but-not-really-husband! (Keep those red roses in mind . . . they come back as an important plot point later.)

Things started speeding up around then! The dress arrived, and of course I had to “practice wearing it.” Papa had to practice giving me away too . . .
  Eeeeeee! So close to the big day now! You can still see some of the red patches where the rash was, but it’s mostly cleared up (thank you, Lord!).
And the ladies at my mother’s church gave me a lovely wedding shower.
 Note: the dress I’m wearing there is technically my FIRST wedding dress. It’s the one I wore when Rohan and I went to the courthouse and got legally married.



 And here I am with a lovely young woman who was at that time enjoying a long-distance correspondence with my older brother. Just a correspondence. No, really! They were just friends!
Uh huh. Riiiiiiiight . . .
Anyway, fast forward a couple of weeks to the day before the wedding. Finally! My handsome man and I are reunited just in time for a quick wedding rehearsal and rehearsal dinner. Did I mention that this was an outdoor wedding? Do you want to see what the weather was like the day before? Yeah. Everyone is freezing. Bundled up against the drizzle. And the wet. and the cold.

“No, I’m not cold at all!” I insisted in my little sundress and sandals! Rohan’s sister made me go stick my feet in a hot bath a few minutes after this took place . . . and probably saved me from pneumonia as a result.
 But I didn’t care for the cold or rain! My handsome guy was back with me, and we got to practice our first dance on the deck, and everything was going to be beautiful . . . as long as the weather cleared. (None of you will be surprised to learn that my most consistent nightmare during the four weeks leading up to the wedding was all about thunderstorms and rain etc.)
Anyway, as I said earlier, our wedding was held at my folk’s house up in Wisconsin. A big beautiful log house on a lake. I loved being able to get married right out of my home! But there was also quite a lot of set-up to be done. So following the rehearsal, after Rohan was sent back to his hotel to catch a few hours of sleep, I, my mother, my cousin, my aunt, my former roommate, and my totally-just-friends-with-your-brother friend set to work getting the house ready for company! Here we are:

We decided that we all looked like a lipstick palette together in our clashing shades of red and pink. Oh, and yes. I am totally wearing pajamas in that picture. Another advantage to getting married from your parent’s home! Set-up is very casual.
I got up sooooooper early the next morning to have coffee with my father, as is our early-birds-of-the-family tradition. Then I hurried down to try to get my hair and makeup done on my own, before my two bridesmaids arrived. I thought if I could do it myself, maybe they wouldn’t feel like they had to . . . but I ended up needing help after all, so I shouldn't have bothered. Here I am having my hair styled by Rohan's sister, Rochelle.


See my pretty purity ring there? I actually kept losing (or breaking) my purity rings through the years, so that is purity ring number four, I think. Ah well. I suppose it’s the thought that counts.
Then of course we had to rush out onto the deck and get a few pictures taken of the overall look! I decided to have these taken without my veil so that the details would show.
I love my pretty flower crown! I always thought that if I did get married, I’d wear an off-shoulder wedding gown and flowers in my hair.

  Here you can see my pretty wedding ring! Rohan designed it and had it made for me in Sri Lanka, which is his home country. The stone is an Alexandrite, which is mined in Sri Lanka. It’s very beautiful, set in a silver leaf pattern—delicate and lovely!
One of these days I’ll have to write and tell you the story of our engagement as well. Heheh. It’s probably not the most romantic engagement story on the planet . . . but I would be willing to bet it’s the funniest! Yeah. One of these days . . . 
Here you can see my necklace, which was my grandmother’s (father’s mother). My grandfather gave it to her for a wedding gift, so they were both very pleased that I wore it (and the matching earrings) for my wedding. Something borrowed and blue (though Grandma insists that it does notcount as old!).
My bouquet was the sweetest-smelling thing you ever did encounter. And it was heavy as a brick. Seriously, I could have clubbed someone to death with it! (And almost did. But more on that later . . . ) I didn’t have specific colors for my wedding, simply wanted as many colors done as classically as possible. The flowers were mostly roses and stock. While stock doesn’t have the most romantic name in the world, it is the most heavenly-smelling flower ever! So I thought my bouquet—both for beauty and potential lethality—was perfect. 

See those pretty little shoes? Guess where I got them. You never will, so I'll tell you: Wal-Mart! I could not find shoes that I wanted (needed flats for the grass, you know), so I finally just purchased $10 ballet flats at Wal-Mart. When I told the tailor who was fitting my dress of this, she offered to add matching lace to the shoes so that they would go with my dress. And all she wanted for payment was a signed copy of Heartless (which had just released a month or two earlier). I was so pleased and blessed. And the shoes turned out adorable!

Meanwhile, as I had my hair styled and pictures taken and all those other things to which brides are subjected . . . my handsome fiancé brewed tea. 
Yes, that’s what he’s doing there—brewing a sample of the tea we would later serve at the wedding. His mother had just come over from Sri Lanka, and she brought tea leaves with her from the mountain tea region out there. The strongest and most amazing tea ever! (Rohan brought a gift of it to my father as the “bride price.” LOL. Papa doesn’t believe in dowries; he thinks he should get something after all the work he put into me! He and Rohan agreed that fresh Sri Lankan tea was a good trade for me. Um . . . thanks?)

Here are my folks, patiently awaiting the tea Rohan was brewing:

And my father and Rohan sit, discussing how very long it takes for girls to get ready for simple things like weddings . . .
Do notice Rohan’s quite wonderful get-up for this event! He wore an afternoon-grey suit with a beautiful silver cravat. We were going for a My Fair Lady Ascot races sort of look, and I think Rohan carries it of admirably. (Also, let it be known that the cravat was his idea.) 
Around that time it was discovered that my beautiful dress was lacking a hook and eye in the back! Thank heaven, my best-friend was on hand, ready with needle and thread to save the day!

Here I am being sewn into my dress. Still smiling though!
Rohan and I decided that we would not wait until the ceremony to see each other all dressed up. We wanted to take a bunch of pictures together well ahead of time so that after the ceremony we could mingle and enjoy our friends and family. So we had a private moment, just the two of us, for him to see me in my gown. He was quite delighted with the look! Still says he thinks it's the most beautiful wedding dress he's ever seen (though he might be a little biased . . . he's pretty head-over-heels for the girl who wore it).
Then we went out into the yard, still pretty early in the morning, to have our pictures taken. Here are some of my favorites!





Then we moved on to other locations and took MORE pictures together! It was Motorcycle Weekend in my hometown, and some motorcyclists saw us and asked us to come pose on their bikes. My dress was a little too tight for me to straddle a motorcycle, so I just sort of propped on the end there.
Rohan’s saying: “So, can we get one of these?” I’m laughing: “Not on your life!”
This is a discussion we continue to have to this day . . .
Our photographer spotted this cute little hideaway bench and had us pose on it too:
“Kiss each other!” she told us.
And we tried. We really did! But we were at just such an angle that we could NOT reach!
Oh well. It was a worthy effort. 
Then it was time to head back to the house and part ways until the ceremony. While we’d been away, everyone else had been hard at work completing the set-up and preparation, not to mention greeting guests as they arrived! I slipped out of my dress and flower crown and had some help from my bridesmaids re-fixing both hair and makeup.

Rochelle tidied up my hair while I visited with my namesake, Annie . . . who wasn’t born yet but who was very present nonetheless!
Then it was time to get back into the wedding clothes and  . . . wait for our pastor. Who thought the wedding was at 4:00. Which it wasn’t. It was supposed to be at 2:00.
Whoops.
Sometimes doing things low-key can be a little bit accident prone. Still, I wouldn’t trade it for anything!
While waiting, we took some more fun pictures.
Heheh. My train got a little tangled up there! But now you can see all the pretty colors of my wedding. Again, I didn’t pick a specific color scheme but told my bridesmaids simply to find pretty dresses in summery colors. This picture is a perfect depiction of what I’d hoped for! My cousin Nicole (the one who looks like me and is wearing teal) was my “bridal attendant”—not an official bridesmaid, but a help-me-with-that-long-train and help-carry-this-brutally-heavy-bouquet-maid. My mother is in the coral, Rochelle (Rohan’s sister) in the green, and Erin (my best friend and “sister”) is in the yellow . . . with baby Annie.

I love this picture of Erin looking tearful and happy! Rochelle did her hair, and I think she looks sooooo pretty here.

Pastor Steve did make it eventually, and we were able to start the ceremony only a little late! My former roommate Charity and Erin’s husband Daniel provided the music for us. Charity played Mussorgsky’s “The Great Gate” for the processional (Rohan’s pick).
Erin went out first (with baby Annie!) 
Then came Rochelle, looking lovely.
There’s my Peter. He was only fourteen then! Now he’s eighteen and off to college. Sigh.

   And Jimmy, my middle brother.

Sadly my big brother Tom couldn’t come due to being off on deployment at the time (he’s a rescue pilot). But he found a special way of contributing of which I will tell you soon.
Again, we didn’t do things very much like a “normal” wedding. So I didn’t have bridesmaids on one side while Rohan had groomsmen on the other. Instead, Erin was my maid of honor, and my youngest brother stood beside her on my side. And Rochelle was Rohan’s “best man,” and my brother Jimmy stood beside her on his side.

There I am with Papa! The sun was so BLINDING just as we came through the door, I seriously couldn’t see for quite a number of paces. (Maybe it was just the blinding quality of Rohan’s love radiating at me? Maybe . . .)


There’s my handsome guy, watching me approach! You can see his mother, Mama Astrid, standing behind him there. She wore a gorgeous gold and black saree to the wedding and looked amazing!  And here we all are, just on the verge of Papa officially “giving me away.”
Now comes the important part that I want all of you unmarried women to REMEMBER. Seriously. This is vital. Take notes right now. Let me show you . . . Do you see what is happening there? In this picture? Do you? I’ll tell you what it is!
I handed my bouquet and my handkerchief off to my maid of honor. My beautiful antique handkerchief which I had carried down the aisle for a reason. That reason is that weddings are emotional. And emotional people like me are very likely to cry. And when you cry, you need something to wipe—not your eyes. No. Tears are romantic. Everyone likes a dainty tear trailing down your cheek. 
You need it to wipe your nose! 
There is absolutely nothing romantic about a runny nose on a bride, particularly not when she’s gone all traditional and worn her veil through the service and therefore can’t do anything about it.
Thankfully, during the prayer I was able to signal Rohan to pass me his handkerchief, which worked out all right. But do remember this, unmarried women all—when you hand off your bouquet, hold onto your handkerchief! Because you’re likely to want it. 
Speaking of tears, here’s a shot of Erin crying.
 And here’s a nice parallel shot of Jimmy crying. It’s all about balance, people. Despite the absolutely horrendous weather of the day before, our actual wedding day turned out divinely beautiful.
Don’t you love those scattered flower petals? I don’t know whose idea that was (maybe it was mine?), but I think it’s so lovely! Take a moment to admire my dainty veil, another gift my father insisted on giving me. (I had planned to just make something, but he wanted me to have the very best. I’m a spoiled girl!)

We sang the hymn “O Father All Creating” for our wedding song. Charity provided the accompaniment, and it was a special moment for all of us.
Then it was time to exchange vows and rings. Here you see Rohan getting my wedding ring from his sister:

And here you see me giving Rohan his ring . . . along with my life and love.
And a kiss to seal the marriage!
Hey! I like you and we’re married! (Again, you’ll see that we were very classic with the veil and him lifting it at the end of the ceremony to kiss me. I’ve always loved that symbol.) Happy man and wife!  I tried to go CHARGING down the aisle afterwards, but Rohan managed to slow me down to a more elegant pace. Our recessional was Edvard Grieg’s “Wedding Day.”  I used to play this piece back in high school, and I always said that if I did get married, I would want it played at my wedding. Erin’s husband Daniel did a wonderful job performing it! 

We went immediately from the recessional up to the balcony above the guests to dance our official First Dance as a married couple! We chose the beautiful waltz from My Fair Lady as our dance tune (again, in keeping with the My Fair Lady style of our wedding.)


  That long train of mine was appropriately swoopy for a romantically swoopy song! Rohan is a wonderful dancer, and he taught me a thing or two before the wedding so I wouldn’t trip and break my pride.

After that it was all fun and games and cheesecake for the rest of the day! My mother and I worked hard for several days previous making cheesecakes of many flavors for the occasion, and “really, I’m just friends with your brother” Kristen made a decadent chocolate one as well! She also blessed us by decorating the cheesecakes with flowers and chocolate shavings and arranged the tables for the reception.



Isn’t it gorgeous??? I love my mother’s lace table cloth. Oh, and do you recognize those red flower petals? They come back into the story yet again later on . . .
We took family pictures, naturally. Here I am with Rohan’s family:  And here we are with my family:
Yeah, we’re not a very serious bunch. (My poor father looks like, “I don’t know these people!”)
There was lots more dancing. I danced with Peter . . . we pretended we knew what we were doing.
I danced with my father, who was rather shy about it. But he promised that he would do a Father-Daughter dance with me as long as I picked a Very Slow Waltz. So here we are, dancing to this Very Slow Waltz . . . which Erin played for us quite a lot slower than this recording! And I danced many, many dances with my lovely new husband!
Here we are dancing and singing “The Rainbow Connection” to each other. Which is also a waltz, in case you didn’t know! Charity played this one for us. We had quite a number of classically trained pianists at this wedding, so we were not lacking for great live music.
A bunch of my dear friends from college days road-tripped up to Wisconsin to be there for my wedding! Kristine (my talented freshman roommate), Melanie (a wonderful woman, wife, mother, and musician, who remains forever in our hearts), Hannah (the most gifted young artist I have ever met), Laura (a brilliant literary mind and wit!), Elizabeth (a poet-biologist), and Esther (multi-linguist extraordinaire!).
We all enjoyed family time. Here’s Rohan and his beautiful sister, toasting his new marriage!  
Here are my happy parents: I really love the dress my mother found for my wedding. It's a perfect color and style on her! My father looks so dashing in the tux too. I am not skilled at picking out clothing, but I tried to find a tux for the guys that went with Rohan's without matching it, per se. (Rohan was the star, after all.) I think my father and brothers all looked very handsome!
Rohan’s father made it for the ceremony . . . and I met him for the first time right after  the service!
My Aunt Paula and new mother-in-law, Astrid. Both teachers, so they hit it off right away!  Don't you just love Mama-Astrid's saree? She looked so elegant.
We had an afternoon tea for our reception, and ladies from my parents’ church pooled their teacup collections in with my mother’s to make certain we had plenty! Kristen and her sister Megan worked hard all day as tea and cheesecake servers, keeping the slices rotating, the kettles boiling, and the teacups washing. And not a single teacup was broken! They were amazing.  One of my favorites of all my mother's teacups featured in the wedding! Sadly I never got a taste of the tea and barely any of the cheesecakes! Some kind soul handed me a teacup at one point, but every time I lifted it to my mouth to sip, someone would ask me a question, and I'd start talking again! Rohan at one point told me to open my mouth and popped a forkful of cheesecake in. But that was all I got of that! But a few years later, Kristen remade her chocolate one for us, so I got to sample it then. And either Rohan or I makes the raspberry-white-chocolate cheesecake every year for our anniversary.
One of the most special moments of the day came when my father called everyone inside. He spoke of those who could not be present, including Erin’s brother, Matthew, who was serving with honor and courage overseas in Afghanistan at the time. And, of course, my own big brother, Tom. But Tom did not want to let the marriage of his little sister go by without being part of it . . . so he filmed and sent us a beautiful toast! (Which arrived the day of the wedding . . . talk about timing!)
 Rohan listened very carefully as Tom warned him how much I dislikehaving toothpaste squirted into my hair. (Thanks for reminding me of that special moment, brother dear!) But really, it was a wonderful toast, and I'm so glad we have it on DVD. Thinking of Tom's sweet words never fails to bring tears to my eyes.
It was a perfect moment. Made perhaps a little more perfect by the obviousdelight in Kristen’s voice and face when she running downstairs earlier in the day to tell me Tom’s DVD had arrived on time. (Yeah. She was totally just friends with him. Totally.)
So do you remember that club-like bouquet of mine? Well I did have to toss it eventually, didn’t I?  And what better place to toss from than the balcony??
All the lovely single ladies gathered below . . .
I tossed, and . . . you’ll never guess who caught it!
 That’s right! Kristen-who’s-just-friends-with-my-brother. According to witnesses (I had my back turned at the time!) it sailed over the heads of everyone else and landed directly in her arms as though aimed for her. Well, I know I didn't aim it . . . but perhaps some angel with a sense of humor helped it along a little.

We got a picture together, and I took a moment to whisper to her that, “just friends” or not, I hoped she would marry my big brother someday. I got my wish-come-true not very long after! (And I’m so glad my bouquet didn’t break her skull as it came hurtling straight toward her from above . . .) 
Someone was so happy about the bouquet toss, she had a little meltdown moment! I think Kristen was touched. If Erin—the surrogate sister of the Stengl family—was that happy, she was going to fit in just fine!

It really was all good!  Rohan wore fencing cufflinks in honor of how we met. (At fencing class, for those of you who don’t know the story.)  Yeah, we make each other laugh a lot!
Then it was time for us to leave. I changed into my beautiful get-away dress (a sky-blue saree, a gift from Mama Astrid), and everyone else gathered outside and grabbed big handfuls of . . . that’s right! Red rose petals. (I told you those would come back into the story! Rohan’s gift from a week earlier came in very handy.
 And there we go! Off into the wonderful adventure of married life together!
I hope you enjoyed this little tour of our wedding. My best friend calls it the "Fairy Tale Princess" wedding because of the setting, the style . . . not to mention the woodland animals who came out to watch it. (Seriously, a chipmunk came and sat on her husband's foot.) I don't think that day could have been more perfect.

Though honestly, it could have thunderstormed in buckets, and I would have still been happy, because my sweet husband was now REALLY my husband, and there is no man in the world so darling as he.

Third Annual Fan Fiction Contest: The Winners

Dear imps, we have now spent two full weeks reading and enjoying the many excellent submissions sent in for the Goldstone Wood Fan Fiction Contest. There were lots of wonderful choices, both long and short, demonstrating a wide range of imagination, creativity, and writing talent. But the votes are in, and our winners are selected!

In Third Place we have: Tears of a Thrush by Natasha Roxby.


In Second Place we have: Into Goldstone Wood by Beckah.


And our FIRST PLACE Winner of this year's contest is . . . .

Eternal by Hannah Williams!


Congratulations to the three of you, and an extra big congratulations to Hannah for her first place victory! Please email me within the next two days with your mailing addresses so I can get your prizes on their way to you.

Many thanks for all of your fantastic submissions, dear imps! You blew me away with your talent yet again. We will see you next summer as we continue this Goldstone Wood tradition. And don't forget to leave your congrats in the comments for the winners.
Be sure to stop back by this blog on Thursday. I've got an extra special post going up then which I am looking forward to sharing with all of you . . .

CREN CRU'S MONOLOGUE: Meredith Burton

We feel him but do not know him. We hear him but cannot understand. Blindly, we grope, searching, searching. We always find something, but that something vanishes despite our attempts to keep it close.She was so lovely, our mother and queen. Great Meadhbh, who held us in the hollow of her hand, mining our rich, ochre clay like precious rubies. To our essence, she mingled that of her cohorts, and we drank, partaking of their sorrow, imbibing their lives. You who hear us, know that we act out of desperation, that we seek what we no longer have. Have you not also sought? Do you not understand?Ah! Once again, we hear him, a voice that cries out for us to understand. This voice seems to say he will give us what we seek. But, our queen’s voice haunts us, and the voices of those we can help clamor for attention. You who are listening, do you, likewise, hear many voices? What voices do you heed?The minds we inhabit struggle against us, of course, their valiant efforts amusing. They cannot escape us, and, truthfully, they do not desire to do so. With little effort, we can exert control. Yet, there is one mind that is more stubborn than most. The red wolf within this mind is rather irksome, but the struggle is a welcome challenge. We cripple the wolf and listen to the anguished howl of desolation. Soon, we will find what we seek, and the one we have disabled will help us. If we were capable, we would laugh at this irony.The bronze Circle is complete, but there is a complication. A king comes. But, what a king! So very different from what we expected, so utterly unkinglike. Can we truly be expected to take this monarch seriously?What is this? He asks us to relinquish our hold? Lunacy! Have we sought so long only to leave this land? The idiocy! You who hear us, would you so easily relinquish that which you had struggled so long to obtain? Do not insult our intelligence! Do not lie!Running! Groping! Feeling blindly about. Behind us, the paltry king pursues. We will kill him, and his blood will flow like—Ah! What is this? The wolf stirs, the red wolf whom we— NO!We hear him, and we see him, a bird and a hound. The wolf! She is—All is fading away. You who hear us, know that we only wanted what was no longer ours. We sought what he always sought to give.Home.

  

VOTING: If you would like to vote on this or any of the other fan fiction submissions, email your top three titles to me at aestengl@gmail.com. Voting is for fans of the Goldstone Wood series only.

A CALL TO LOVE: Chloe Wicker

   The Wood waited, a patient and dangerous predator. It watched a path open slowly, leading further into its embrace. It knew this Path. It knew that it could not touch whatever or whoever walked this path. So it simply watched as a pert figure came into view.   The cat wore a cocky grin as he strutted through the Between.   Many other paths beckoned him to leave the safety of his own. But he steadily ignored them, as do all familiar with the wiles of the Between.    Eanrin didn’t even try to keep up a charade of cheerfulness. Why conceal his humiliation? Who would the Wood tell? Imraldera knew. The Prince knew. And if the Wood did tell anyone else, who would care? He allowed the smile to drain from his face and self pity began to take over.    So rarely did the cat let his façade of smugness slip that when the Wood saw him without it It was astonished. Absorbed in his own thoughts, Eanrin did not notice the soft murmur that swept through the trees.    His Path now wove through some live oaks. Those majestic trees, though just as dangerous as the other trees in the Wood, were much wiser. Eanrin thought that the Wood could tell no one else-at least, no one that mattered. The oaks knew better.    Eanrin began to mutter to himself.    “I shouldn’t have told her. I should’ve kept it to myself. Then everything could have gone on just as it did before.”    Could it have though? After all a fellow can only hide his feelings so long. She was too keen not to catch on eventually. Or was she? After all, if a century was not sufficient to expose his love, would five or six do it? Would she have realized how he cared for her, had he not told her?     Eanrin growled and kicked a tree root. What was it he had told that Smallman?   “One conversation! One simple, honest, true conversation and all your questions would be answered, all your problems solved! Really, man, is it that so difficult? Then you’d be free to fall into each other’s arms and live your Happily Ever After. Why make it so complicated?”   But love was complicated! Especially if your lady didn’t love you. Dragon’s teeth, he couldn’t even try to make her love him. Imraldera knew him too well. Everyone else (except the Prince…and, maybe, Bebo) saw the Bard of Rudiobus. Imraldera saw Eanrin. The cat, the man, and the songster. She saw his virtues and his faults. She saw Eanrin, and he had hoped she could love Eanrin. A vain hope.     Eanrin stopped walking. He sat down, began to clean his fur and talk loudly to no one in particular.   “What is chap to do? Let’s see, how does this go in stories? Gallant knight loves beautiful girl, girl says ‘sorry, the feeling isn’t mutual’. Gallant though broken hearted knight sadly leaves beautiful girl and…and…dragon’s teeth, what does he do?”   Eanrin cocked his head to one side and squinted. Then he remembered.    “He tries to forget her”, Eanrin said, extending and retracting his claws. “And I must try to forget my love for Imraldera. I will serve my Prince loyally and I will only think of her as a fellow knight.”   With this he got up and continued along his path. The trees around him grew still and quiet.Usually, the trees would be taunting or gossiping or both. As Eanrin began to look around for anything that would provoke such behavior he caught sight of a small path on his right. Strangely enough, it led through the trees tops. What sort of faerie walked this path? A bird of some kind?   Eanrin’s eyes follow the small path and suddenly he froze. About five paces in front of him that path crossed his own.    There was a soft rustling of leaves, and a small form leapt from a tree branch and landed in front of Eanrin.   “Well met, bard.”*****   Imraldera sat at her desk, copying some of Eanrin’s poetry.   “Can’t that fool cat write anything sensible?” she muttered. She glanced at a pile of neatly stacked parchment on her desk. She’d started to chronicle the story of Shadow Hand but having played such a small part in it could not recollect it all.    Exasperated with Eanrin’s poetry, Imraldera threw it aside and grabbed the stack of parchment. She decided she would write as much as possible and Eanrin could help fill in the rest when he came back.    Imraldera realized that she’d been taking his return for granted. It could be years or decades, if ever, before she would see him again. She missed him dreadfully. Eanrin had always been there when she needed him. If she was writing well and didn’t want to lose her inspiration she could ask him to do the gate rounds. He would complain, but he would do it. If she hit a writer’s block, he would saunter into the room and talk nonsense while she pretended to be miffed at the interruption, but was really grateful for a break.   Now Imraldera had to guard the gates by herself. When she wasn’t doing that she was writing, writing, writing, with no welcome distractions. Nidawi’s children were helpful, of course, but not like Eanrin.   Imraldera dropped her head in her hands and sighed. Though she never would have admitted it, she really needed Eanrin. It was going to be very difficult to adjust to life without him.*****   Eanrin stared at the figure in front of him. It was a squirrel. With fur of silky black and vibrant eyes of a very dark blue, it was a bit frightening, even to Faerie Eanrin.   “Who are you and what are you doing on my Path?” Eanrin demanded.   The fey creature laughed. “That is not the way one ought to address a stranger. I confess I had hoped for rather better manners from the bard of Rudiobus.”   Eanrin took his man form and swept his hat from his head in an elegant bow. “I am Eanrin, Bard of Rudiobus, and Knight of the Farthestshore.”    “I know.”   “Well, since you seem to know a bit about me already, may I repeat my question with more gallantry? Who are you and what are you doing on my Path?”   The squirrel lifted itself up on its hind paws and shook its head. Instead of the squirrel, there now stood before Eanrin a beautiful, powerful Faerie. She was about an inch shorter than he, with straight midnight hair that fell to her waist, and rich, creamy skin. She wore a long tunic the color of her eyes with a matching pair of calf length trousers.   “I am on your path because, for the moment, our paths are the same.”   “And your name?”   “You may call me Laurlin.”   “Well, then, my lady Laurlin, may I ask how you know me? I can’t recall having seen you before.”    Ignoring his question, Laurlin began to stare at him intently. This unnerved Eanrin and he walked past her to continue his Path. But his Path stopped where his crossed Laurlin’s.    “And my Path ends where it crosses yours”, said Laurlin, as if responding to his thoughts.   Eanrin turned to find that her penetrating eyes still rested on him. “Why are you looking at me like that? Don’t you know that it’s rude to stare?”   “Forgive me. You seemed sad. I was trying to figure out why.”   Eanrin suddenly realized why she made him feel so uncomfortable. When she looked at him it was like she was reading a book; like his whole life was laid bare for her to see.   “Not your whole life. I can only see what you show me.”   “What?” Eanrin started.    Laurlin smiled. “Your thoughts are as clear to me as those of mortals are to you.”   Eanrin narrowed his eyes at her. “How can that be?”   She shrugged. “I was given the gift of keen discernment. All Knights of the Farthestshore have some sort of gift, but they must look for it. My mother has a similar gift, though she is much wiser.”   With that Laurlin sat down and drew a large bottle out of a satchel she wore over her left shoulder.   “What are you doing?”   She took the lid off the bottle and poured some of its contents into a small glass. “When two people’s paths cross it is not by accident. It is so that one or both of them that may learn something and follow their Path with more wisdom than before. Our paths will not lead us on unless the reason for which they stopped is fulfilled.” She pulled another glass from her satchel and filled it also. “I thought we might as well have something to drink while we try to figure out what that reason is.”   Eanrin looked at the glass she held out to him. Strangely enough, he didn’t suspect her of attempting to poison him or turn him into anything unnatural. Normally, he would have grown suspicious at his lack of suspicion . But as he looked at her and the cup she offered him, he found that he neither distrusted her nor distrusted his trust. He gingerly took the glass from her hand and took a small sip. It was thick and smooth, a soft pink that reminded one of early dawn. It tasted slightly sweet with an undertone that was like the smell of a meadow tossed by a crisp autumn breeze. It was so pure, so gentle, so real; and it reminded Eanrin of nothing so much as Imraldera.    Eanrin ground his teeth and set down the cup on a rock. Imraldera was the last person he wanted to think about right now.  “It won’t help, you know.”   Eanrin looked up at his companion. “What won’t help?”   “Trying to forget her. The harder you try the harder it will become. If she never comes to love you in return you will do one of three things. Either you will come to hate her for breaking your heart, or you will despair and spend the rest of your immortal life dying from the inside out.”   “And what’s my third option?”   Laurlin’s eyes glazed over and she was silent for a while. When she finally replied Eanrin did not feel as if she spoke to him at all.   “You will love her anyway. You will be the fellow knight whom she can rely on. You will be the friend she can confide in. You will love silently, faithfully, and eternally. Should you be granted the opportunity, you will die for her.”   Now Eanrin was silent.    Laurlin came out of her reverie and looked sharply at him. “Do you think that you could die for her? Do you think that you love her enough to walk the path of Death for her? You have seen Death. Would you face it again to save her? Or would you turn back?”   She grabbed his hand. “Look, Eanrin, and I will show you how to love.”   He looked into her deep blue eyes and into the past.*****   “Etanun! Akilun!”   Akilun turned to see Laurlin and another Faerie behind him. “Akilun, what has happened? Your call was urgent but unclear.”    “Laurlin, Klyre. I am glad you are here.”   Klyre echoed his companion’s query. “Akilun, what has happened?”   Akilun sighed and motioned for them to follow him.    They were in a rolling northern country of the mortal world, near one of the Houses of Light. They walked to the crest of the hill they were on and looked down to where the House of Lights should have been. But all that was left was a pile of ash and ruble.    “Dragon,” Laurlin breathed. “A dragon did this.”   “Yes. Etanun is determined to find the monster and kill it. But I need someone to help me rebuild this House in the meantime. That is why I sent the message. We need to rebuild it as quickly as possible.”   “We will do whatever we can to assist you,” said Klyre.    “Thank you.”   They started down the hill toward the ruins. Laurlin took a deep breath. “Your message is not the only reason that we came, Akilun. Something disturbing has happened that we wished to discuss with you.”   “What is it?”   “Ytotia.”   “The queen of Etalpalli?”   “Yes. She left Etalpalli about a month ago. No one knows where she went. The Wood told me that she enter the Near World not far from here ten days ago. Have you seen any trace of her?”   Akilun looked thoughtful. “No, I’m afraid not.”   They now stood directly before the burned House.    “Perhaps Etanun will know something,” suggested Klyre. He walked around to the other side of the ruins where Etanun stood.    Laurlin frowned and looked up at Akilun. “I see no trace of evidence to point what direction the dragon might have gone. It most likely flew away.”    “Most likely,” he replied.   “Then how does Etanun know where to look for this dragon?”   “He doesn’t. He intends to search for it anyway though.”   “Where does he mean to start?”   “I don’t know. He’s been rather distant.”   “Why do you think that is?”   Akilun glanced over at Etanun and Klyre who, after exchanging a few words, had become quiet and were staring toward the lightening horizon in silence. “The day before yesterday we were on our way here from farther south. An old farmer met us along the way and told us that the House and the farms surrounding it were decimated. He had gone to visit his grandchildren and returned to find his home a pile of ash. We soon saw for ourselves.” He waved his arm across the blackened countryside.    “Laurlin,” he said softly, “this was where Klara lived.”   “The girl Etanun loved?”   “Yes.”   “I heard the rumors but did not know if they were true.”    “They were true. He has hardly spoken since we got here. But he was determined to begin his search as soon as you arrived.”   Even as he spoke, Etanun shook hands with Klyre and started toward them.    “Laurlin.” Etanun spoke only her name as he squeezed her hand in farewell. “Goodbye, brother,” he said, embracing Akilun. He left without another word.   They watched him until he was a faint speck in the distance. Then they turned and began to repair the damage the dragon had done.    After a few days they had cleared away the debris and were preparing to begin rebuilding. On the afternoon of the sixth day they were working so intently that they did not notice the figure watching them until it spoke.    “Why are you rebuilding the House of lights?”Laurlin turned to see a familiar face. “Ytotia!” Her glad cry was cut short by a roar. She felt herself pushed aside from beneath the sweeping claws of a dragon.   “How dare you call me that? How dare you rebuild the House that I destroyed?”They would have been turn to ash the next second had not the dragon been distracted by a shout from behind.   “Dragon! Fiend! You will feel my wrath!”   The faerie queen turned dragon turned to fight Etanun.   Laurlin raised herself from the ground and turn to find her friends. She instantly dropped to her knees again beside Klyre’s still form. He opened his eyes and smiled as her tears fell upon his face and her hand touched the deep gash in his side.
*****   “He died a few minutes later. He took the poisoned claw that was meant for me.”   Eanrin sat silent for a moment. “So you never knew he loved you until he died for you.”   Laurlin smiled sadly. “I never knew he loved me and I never knew I loved him. But to give your life for someone is the greatest way to show love. Maybe you won’t give your life literally for the one you love but you can still give them your life by making them more important than you and your comfort.”   “Love is a call to come and die, that you might live.”





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EANRIN'S FIRST LOVER: Sarah Grace

Dear Queen Bebo,You shall never believe where my travels have taken me to this time. Before I plunge into my tale, I shall explain myself a bit. This story is for you ears only (and perhaps your winsome cousin; if she isn’t napping when this arrives). In my eyes this story is not nearly exciting enough for it to become a song or epic. In fact, it may be somewhat embarrassing. Which is the reason you are to keep it between us, all right?Unless you don’t want to, of course. I ask no special privileges of my queen.Anyway, now that I have that longwinded introductory out of the way, allow me to plunge right into my story. I was walking along one of your Paths, and feeling rather safe because of it. Usually I take whatever Path I please. Adds to the excitement, I feel. Now, I thought that I was heading towards the Lord Who Walks Before Night’s demesne (simply because I’d never been). I’ve heard tell of his demesne, of how hot and dry it is, and naturally that is what I was expecting. You can imagine my surprise when I found myself all of a sudden enveloped in very wet, very deep water.It was all very horrifying, Your Grace. As you well know, water is my least favorite thing. Luckily, (or perhaps, not so luckily –you decide later) the Mherfolk found me. Now that is where things get interesting. The two mermaids were quite beautiful to behold, but as I am not mortal, their charming looks and enchanting voice had no effect on me. Well, nearly no effect. Oh, who am I kidding? It’s embarrassing, Your Grace, but as soon as the first one spoke (she had long, golden hair and the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen –besides your cousin’s baby blues, of course) I fell head over heels in love with both of them. But the other was to be my downfall, as you will soon see. (She had thick, voluminous blue hair and gray eyes and the cutest little nose…)So the two of them brought me to their kingdom. The entire thing had a bubble of air around it, because the Mherfolk need both air and water for survival. The palace was made of shimmering, pale blue crystals, and all the other buildings were made of some other, bluish bricks. And while it pales in comparison to our Ruane Hall, it was quite pretty.Apparently, the blue-haired beauty was the young princess of the kingdom (or so I thought at the time) so she brought me to the castle. It was just as gorgeous on the inside as it was on the outside. But honestly, I hardly noticed my surroundings, because at least ten mermaids all of a sudden entered the room. They began to dry me off, offer me dry clothing, and one (the blue-haired, once again) attempted to take off my clothes for me. Quite interesting, that one was.After I was dried as much as I would allow them to dry me, they all departed, leaving the princess and I alone. I think this part is best described in a dialogue.“Are you married?” she asked.“N-no, fair maiden.”“Splendid. Am I pretty?”“Q-Quite.”“Thank you. You’re pretty too.”“That’s very kind of you, my lady.”“I’m going to kiss you.”“…All right.”And so she did. And quite nicely, might I add. For a very long time. Afterwards, she gave me this stunning smile and held up both of her arms. On each of her thin wrists was a bracelet made of pearls. They couldn’t hope to rival her beauty, but they were nice, all the same. She slipped one off and forced it onto my wrist, but as I was completely stunned by the kiss, I just grinned.Later, I found out that those bracelets were given to each mermaid when they reach marrying age. At their betrothal ceremonies, they were to give one bracelet to their future groom. I suppose that explains what happens next.The golden haired one, who was apparently the blue-haired mermaid’s sister, came back into the room and saw the bracelet on my wrist. What happens next is a blur, Your Grace, and I couldn’t have possibly seen it coming!Three guards entered the room, shouting at me in a different language and shoving me along rather rudely. The blue-haired beauty appeared unalarmed as she clung to my arm, her tantalizing scent clouding my already dazed mind. The guards lead us to the throne room, where we were placed in front of the king. Huh, the king was oddly young, definitely not old enough to be her father, almost young enough to be her…Oh. Oh great hopping dragons. Was the princess married?From what I could gather, her betrothal ceremony was that same night, and she had abandoned her lover to kiss me all night long. The king was very angry indeed, and he threatened to cut off both of my wrists. I thought that was completely ridiculous and didn’t hesitate to say so. I mean, the bracelet was only on one of my wrists, not both! The king threatened to cut out my tongue as well, saying I was being disrespectful. He pried his lively young lover away from my arm, yanked the bracelet off my other arm, and promptly began to give me a rather intense thrashing. Yes, that’s right, Your Grace –black eye and everything. Once I was near unconsciousness, he drew his sword, ready to swing the finishing blow…when someone stepped in the way. My vision was going black, but I did catch a few final words. “You may not harm him, for he is one of mine.”Oddly enough, his voice sounded very familiar…Oh well, that’s the end. I woke up back where I started, in the Wood Between. And while this story is very interesting, it’s much too embarrassing to be told. Anyway, if you’ve actually taken the time to read this far, well, thank you. Tell Gleamdren I said hello.Yours truly,Bard Eanrin, soon-to-be Chief Poet of Rudiobus. PS: Now that I’ve read over what I’ve written, I’d be much obliged if you did not read this to your fair cousin. You know, just in case.




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A DANCE FOR THE BARD EANRIN: Athelas Hale

     The words, “once upon a time,” have been used many times over the history of storytellers. Now I, a storyteller of another world, pick them up and put them to use again.    Listen to my story, set Once Upon a Time—whether my story happened in the past, will happen in the future, or shall never happen, who can say? Regardless of time, regardless of where it occurred, I have been sent here to tell it to you, with the hope that you will listen.      The Path led him to a world he did not recognize.    If he were any other, this would have been no notable event, but as this man was no other than Eanrin, cat-man and faerie, Chief Bard of Rudiobus and more well-traveled than any hundred men, it brought cause to pause and puzzle over the strange event.   It was not that he had merely never been there; he knew many worlds, even those he had never set foot in. This world, he had no knowledge of, and the only familiar scent that reached him screamed “mortality,” though the world was not one of the time-bound lands as he knew them.    The Path of the Lumil Eliasul never failed, though—that much, he had learned the hard way, and of this he reminded himself through clenched teeth after he turned to see the Path closed behind him, blocking his return to the Wood.   The sun beat down on his scarlet cap. Mentally throwing an irritated glare toward the sky—a glare that he could not deliver without his eyes—he sat, quite suddenly a cat as he drew his tail around his feet and started to groom one paw.    The ground beneath him lay bare, cracked and dusty, as though the weather had wanted the land to become a desert, but the ground disagreed and cracked instead of becoming sand.      Humming an irritated tune under his breath, Eanrin rose, stretching and waving his tail. He had been going to the Haven.    “Not a very friendly land, is it? Ah, well,” he said, rising into the shape of a man again and clapping once. “Might as well go exploring. Who knows? Maybe there’s a monster to slay, a princess to rescue. Not that I’m interested in the princess, but a monster mightn’t be a bad adventure to liven up the day.”    Another possibility was that he could anger the resident Faerie of the Demesne. But then, what was a bit of danger? Any danger would be a fool to think it could deter Sir Eanrin. Whistling a cheery tune through his teeth, Eanrin turned his face to the sun and strode forward, swinging his arms as though he hadn’t a care in the world.    As though he wasn’t upset that he had not made it to his destination.    The faint scent of people nearby touched him and he paused, cocking his head to the side and using his ears to give himself an indication of what he would be walking towards. Metal clicked on the hard dirt; mattocks, judging by the sound of it. Farmers.    Drawing his best smile out of the mental pocket he kept it in, Eanrin bounded forward, listening as the distance decreased. The air sat as still as the ground beneath his feet, giving him no further indication of the people by smell, but they sounded harmless.    Having no eyes for several hundred years did wonders for a cat’s ears.   A child’s voice split the hot air. “O Gleamdren fair, I love thee true.”   Eanrin skidded to a stop, two conflicted thoughts simultaneously entering into his minds. The child sung his song; obviously, the people must be, at the very least, given the benefit of a doubt.    But dragon’s teeth, who taught that child to sing?   Ignoring how his hair rose beneath his cap, Eanrin recovered his smile and strode toward the people.    “Be the moon waxed full or new.”Five people at least sang now, grating against Eanrin’s ears with the tune they had assigned to the words. The words were his, but the way they sang them sounded more like they were attempting to awaken a dead animal.     Bristling, he moved forward until he stood less than fifteen feet away, dropping the smile altogether. How could they do that to his song?     “In all my—”    “Mama—!” The child who had started the song gasped. “Mama, look!”     The sound of the metal on the ground ceased and murmuring took its place.    “Mama,” the child said again, as though it would help get his point across.      Yes, they had mangled the song, but at least they stopped. And they did sing his song, so surely it could not hurt to be civil to them, mortals though they clearly were. Eanrin slid his most dashing smile onto his face and swept his cap off, though he immediately regretted it when the sun beat down on him more fiercely than before. Sweeping a bow, he stood and cocked his head to the side. “Sir Eanrin, Bard of Rudiobus at your service.”     He replaced his cap.     He smelled no hostility from them, but they continued standing as silent as a graveyard. The wind refused to bring anything but the barest of scents to him, but he did not smell even a hint of fear.    The child who spoke before finally approached, stopping a full five feet away, his voice hushed. “Are you really Bard Eanrin?”    The bard cocked his head to the side and dropped into the form of a cat, looking up at the boy.    “Ooh,” the boy breathed.    The wind blew toward him.                The cat froze at the smell—what was that? Surely that could not be the people. Indeed, they smelled of dust and dry earth as he had expected them to, but that smell was very nearly buried beneath the smell of too many mortals living too close together with too little cleanliness and too much death.    Even Eanrin faltered when he inhaled, and he had not faltered like that for many years.    “Yes, well,” the cat said, doing his best not to clear his throat—a very man-like gesture that would be for a cat, “be a good chap and just direct me to the nearest exit, will you?”     Won’t you follow me?    The sound of the thrush covered him, hiding even his exclamation of, “Iubdan’s beard. You don’t expect me to stay here, do you?”    The silence carried the answer clearer than a shout could.    Surely the Prince must have made a mistake.    Not that he truly believed the thought, but for a second the idiotic misconception made him feel better. All he had wanted to do was make his way to the Haven. Surely, the Prince did not want him to stay here!    Someone stepped forward and Eanrin stood, regaining his man shape.    “Sir,” a woman said, her voice cracking. “Your visit is a blessing to us. The Lumil Eliasul—he sent you? Oh, bless him, for we are undeserving of your presence.”    “Actually,” he said, “I was just passing through, and do have some important places to be. Be a good girl and show me the way to the way back to the Wood, will you?”    Won’t you trust me?     Eanrin growled low in his throat.    Won’t you trust me? The thrush sang, more insistently.    Sliding back, away from the two people a half-step, the cat-man tried his best to look tolerably thrilled to be there, withholding his grumbling for some other time. “On second thought, ‘tis a pleasure to visit your interesting land. The halls of Rudiobus are scarcely more fascinating than this.”    The woman paused for a moment, her blank silence clearly portraying confusion. “…You’ll stay?”           “Of course,” the bard said lightly, even as he allowed the sarcasm to creep into his thoughts. There’s nowhere I’d rather be.    Ten people stepped forward at once and Eanrin did his best to hide his grimace.    Mortals. Surely, there were no people more miserable than they. How the Prince loved them so much never ceased to amaze Eanrin, though after the Prince had expressed such love for them, he tried to put on a more charitable attitude.    An attitude, however small, that was sorely challenged when fifteen people who smelled of sewage pressed toward him, thirty hands touching his hands, feet, face, and practically every other conceivable part of his body.    He pasted a smile onto his face and stood like a statue for a full three heartbeats. Sliding away from them, he somehow managed to keep the smile’s glue working as the woman spoke again.    “Can we feed you?”    Absolutely not, he wanted to say, but before the words reached his lips, the wood thrush trilled in the distance.    Though the event did not give him the impression of being one he would enjoy, Eanrin smiled his best charm-anyone-within-a-mile smile to mask his thoughts. “If you wish it, fair lady, let it be so.”    Of course they would want to serve him, he consoled himself. Was he not Sir Eanrin, a Knight of Farthestshore as well as the greatest poet to ever live, Bard of Rudiobus?    Shaking free of the hands that wanted to lead him, Eanrin stepped after the woman, following her as she made her way across the dusty landscape and toward the setting sun. A pause, then the rest of the people followed.     After several long moments without speaking, the ground became smooth beneath his feet, and beneath him he heard several people—small, by the sound of their steps—took up impromptu dancing behind him as they followed.     He knew they had entered the village as soon as they stepped into it, and though he was in his man form, he lips formed the sound that immediately came to his mind: “Mreoowwl.”   Even in the dry land, mildew grew on what seemed to be houses hastily constructed out of mud, straw, and rotting wood. The air was foul from uncleanliness, to the point where it stung his nose and throat when he inhaled. Cows bawled and children shouted, running to their parents as the adults and few children that had initially met with Eanrin walked into the cluster of houses. Six or seven small people gathered in a half-circle around Eanrin, but he ignored all of the activity.    Prince, he said mentally, sure that the Prince of Farthestshore heard his words, why do they live like this?    He had seen worse—of course he had! Had not he, Sir Eanrin, battled faerie beasts, monsters in hundreds of demesnes and worlds?     Somehow, though he tried to tell himself otherwise, this seemed different. Where before, it had been the stuff of ballads and songs befitting of his poetic genius, there was no glory in this.     In the background, people were talking; three or so children were shouting, and someone had started singing again. They sounded oddly like the people of Rudiobus. Their voices were coarser, dirtier, and hoarser, but they sounded as happy as the merry folk.    Happier, maybe.  It made no sense. Pushing the apparent inconsistency away, he clapped and turned toward the children, forcing a smile onto his face.    To his left, a little girl broke out in giggles, as though he was the funniest thing in the world. “I like you,” she declared, her voice that of someone no older than three years as mortals counted years.   He swept a bow in her direction. “You do me honor!” The words sounded as hollow as words could manage to sound, even to his ears.   She giggled again, reaching out a hand and catching his, holding it tightly. His smile faltered as her cool hand that felt as thin as paper touched his, but he quickly renewed it, murmuring a soft, “Dragon’s teeth,” under his breath that belied his happy expression.    Two of the children stepped forward, while another inched backwards, clearly in awe of the brilliance of Bard Eanrin.      “You’ve seen him?” The boy who had first spoken to Eanrin said, ruining the mood with his eager voice tinted with longing. “You’ve seen the Lumil Eliasul—Eshkhan?”    “Of course,” Eanrin said cheerily, sitting on the ground. The girl holding his hand sat next to him, releasing his hand.    He let out a relieved breath, drawing both hands onto his lap.     “He’s so good to us,” the boy murmured. “Someday, I want to see him, and thank him, because he’s so good. But he must know that I’m thankful, and he must be so busy…”     So good to them? Dragon’s teeth, these people were practically living a nightmare! The boy sounded so glad of their dust and decay.    “I’m sure…” Eanrin stopped abruptly and took a breath, re-coating his words with bright enthusiasm. “My good Prince would always be glad to see you.”    Mentally, he winced. The tone came out all wrong; not nearly as carefree as it was supposed to be.    “You think?” The boy said breathlessly.    The cat-man took a breath, widening his smile in spite of how it wished to diminish as he smelled smoke on the air from a fire that clearly did not use wood as fuel. “I know,” he said, raising his head.     “He’s amazing,” the boy said decisively.    “Reichan,” the woman said from several steps away. The same area as the fire, Eanrin noted. “Reichan, bring this to Sir Eanrin please.”    “Oh,” the boy lurched to his feet and was there and back in a moment, shoving a bowl made of wood into Eanrin’s hands.     Eanrin accepted it, but set it aside, the thought of eating whatever its contents might be making his stomach churn. What would these people eat, anyway?    The girl touched his hand again. “I’m Leehi,” she said. “I like the name Eanrin. I’m glad the Lumil Eliasul brought you here.”    Eanrin exhaled quickly, sudden irritation making him stiffen. They used the name of the Lumil Eliasul so casually, as though it was of no worth.    Someone clapped three times, and the children surrounding him turned toward the sound. Eanrin cocked his head to the side, listening.    Dead silence filled the village, though he smelled no new person. The signal must be one the people knew.   Leehi withdrew her hand, crossing her legs as the other children did so nearly in synchronization.      “Eshkhan,” a man said, his voice one that Eanrin did not recognize. “We beg you to hear our words, Lord, and we thank you that we know you do. Bring us peace and help us to not walk in the darkness. Thank you for your love, and that we don’t ever have to doubt it, and thank you that no one died today. Please, be with our children as we go through another day tomorrow, and let them learn to love and serve you, let them not fear death. Thank you that you gifted us with death and life, and let us know how to praise you with both. I can’t express—I don’t know how to say just how much we love you. Thank you, Lumil Eliasul. Thank you, thank you, Lord.”    Eanrin cocked his head to the side, quickly calculating how many times the man had used the words, “Thank you.”    Seven times. Forehead wrinkling, Eanrin straightened. That made no sense.     Leehi touched his hand again. “It’s all right,” she said. “Don’t be sad.”     Eanrin turned toward her though he could not see her, his forehead smoothing. “I’m not sad.”    “Sir Eanrin,” the man said, his voice deep and enthusiastic, “will you join us in dancing?”    Dance? Here? With these people? The cat-man laughed even as he felt his heart skip a beat. He could not do that. He did not even understand how they felt the need to dance; how could he dance with them? “I could not take myself away from the food your good woman gave me.”    “You do me honor, good sir,” the woman murmured, though Eanrin thought he heard a tinge of disappointment in her voice. These people were no fools. “If ever you want to join us, please. We will save a place for you.”   Eanrin smiled, but could not bring himself to further comment. The children surrounding him all scrambled to their feet, dashing across the cluster of structures and into the larger area at the center of it. All but, he noticed a second later, one.    Leehi remained, one hand on his.    Letting out a half-irritated mreowl, Eanrin changed into a cat, curling up by her side. His fur felt filthy, but it was nothing a good cleaning wouldn’t be able to fix.    Leehi giggled, running her hand up and down his back and then nestling against him.    Where the rest of the people stood, two or three people started clapping in rhythm, others joining in as their feet started to pound on the ground. They danced in a circle, moving slowly at first, then gaining speed.    “With all my soul, his praise I give,”the men sang.    “Hallelu, Lumil Eliasul!”The women sang back.    “I will praise my Prince with all my life.”    “Hallelu, Lumil Eliasul!”    “I sing his songs as long as I live.”     Eanrin bristled, the hair on his neck rising. These people knew nothing about singing.    “Don’t you like to dance?” Leehi said.    “Rmmph,” Eanrin said, rubbing her hand with his head.      She giggled, squirming away from him. “You’re a silly kitty.”    He sat up as a man. “I am Sir Eanrin of Farthestshore. ‘Silly kitty’ is not a good description.”     She giggled again. “I don’t care. I think you’re silly, anyway.”     Eanrin turned and leaned against the same doorpost she leaned against. She laughed often; more often than most people that he knew, even the Merry Folk.    Strange that she was so happy, when she lived here.    “When I put my trust in men.     Trusted them to cure my strife.”   Both men and women sang now; their voices, blended together, did not sound quite as bad as they did separate.     “My foot fell near the dragon’s den.”    “Are you sad?”    Eanrin did not move, though if he had been a cat, his ears would have tilted back ever so slightly. Why didn’t she just go away? He did not feel like talking to the perplexing girl any more than he felt like being in her perplexing village in the whole dragon-fired perplexing world. “Why aren’t you dancing?”    “I can’t dance. My legs aren’t that strong.”    Eanrin halted, confused by the abrupt, simple way she said the words. “You would be the sad one, then,” he said, pushing a smile onto his face as though he verbally sparred with Captain Glomar again.    “No,” Leehi said, “I’m happy.”    “But blessed is he who calls the name,”     “Hallelu Lumil Eliasul!”     “For when I called his name, he came.”    Eanrin straightened, getting to his feet. The music was too irritating, strengthening the headache that the intensity of the smells had produced. He did not like the people, did not like the area, and definitely did not like the fact that his path led him nowhere but to the very spot he stood. The people abruptly stopped clapping, but their feet pounding out a rhythm on the earth informed him that they still danced.     “Hallelu...”    “To the blind, he gives true sight.”   “Hallelu…”    “In the dark, he shines live light.”    “Hallelu…”    “To the tired, he gives rest.”    “Hallelu…”     “To the hungry, he gives food that’s best.”    Leehi’s hand felt so thin. How could they say the Prince gave them food, when he could smell how badly they lived, and feel how malnourished their children were?    “Hallelu…”    “To the stranger he gives a home.”    Leehi stood, grasping his hand. “Will you dance?”    Eanrin stopped, unsure of how to react and at the same time wanting to answer in no uncertain terms. These people—they had nothing. What had they to dance about?     What had he to dance about, when experiencing this?         The voices of both men and women joined together, swelling into a rising sound that covered the village. “Hallelu, Lumil Eliasul!”  Hallelu Lumil Eliasul. Praise to the Lumil Eliasul.     Leehi said she was happy. The boy said the Prince was good to them. Eanrin felt his head spin and he raised his hands, massaging his temples. This made no sense.    Even he, who had so much more than they, did not feel the happiness they seemed to have.    “I don’t think,” Eanrin said finally, haltingly, “I don’t think I know how.”    Though he wished he could change his meaning, he knew that what he really meant was, Please, explain to me what this means!    She lifted her arms toward him, and he bent, lifting her into his arms as he would a kitten. She was bone-thin, her whole body as small and fragile as her hand. “Yes you do,” she said. “You’re Sir Eanrin. You’ve seen the Lumil Eliasul. You know how. You know how to praise him. You know how to dance, because you know how good he is.”    “My heart goes to him,”     “Hallelu, Lumil Eliasul!”    “That He should be glad,”     “Hallelu, Lumil Eliasul!”    “He who makes my love cup brim.”     “Please?” Leehi said. “Please, dance?”    Eanrin paused for a long moment, listening to the people sing their song of praise, and then, wrapping one arm around her, walked toward the people. They split to make room for him and then closed around him again in a circle, throwing their arms around his shoulder. Cradling Leehi with one arm, Eanrin put his other around the man to his left, and though his feet faltered, they soon found the rhythm of the people he had not at first understood, and he danced with them.    “Hallelu, Lumil Eliasul!”   





VOTING: If you would like to vote on this or any of the other fan fiction submissions, email your top three titles to me at aestengl@gmail.com. Voting is for fans of the Goldstone Wood series only.

THE DELICATE MATTER OF MURDER: Clara Diane Thompson

 Ravensdale Estate could have been a castle. Its tower appeared to be some strange, massive vine winding crookedly upwards to pierce the clouds, and the gardens behind the estate overflowed with such perfectly formed roses of the most brilliant scarlet, they were rumored to rival even Arpiar’s. Nestled between two rolling hills, the Beauclarian structure’s dark stone contrasted starkly with the sunlit golden grass that swirled in the evening wind. Above the Estate’s tall towers its namesake bird cawed and spiraled lazily around the turrets, adding a certain eeriness about the otherwise peaceful place.Father Basile Bastien wished with every ounce of his being that the Estate didn’t look quite so terrifying. The black stone seemed to be to be a ghostly mirage appearing in the dusky orange sky. “It’s just an old Estate,” Father Basile muttered shakily to himself, urging his horse closer to the building. “Nothing to be worried about, eh old boy?” The horse whinnied, sounding nearly as nervous as Basile, and inched closer to the looming building. The tall doors to the Estate swung inward, and a young maid appeared before Basile could climb awkwardly off his horse.“Are you Father Basile Bastien?” She asked, looking a bit mad with her wide blue eyes staring out from behind pale hair that romped about her face. Becoming somewhat tangled in his new robes, Basile nodded her way and then swung down off his horse. “I am,” “Iubdan’s beard, you’re young!” The maid swore and then ushered the new priest inside before he could scold her for her language. “They’ll want to see you immediately.”  A hand to his back, she pushed rather than led him down the hallway and into a large room, which Basile guessed was the parlor. “He’s come,” She blurted after practically shoving him into the room. Four pairs of eyes scrutinized the young man. Basile straightened and waited for someone to say something. He smoothed a dark, shiny strand of hair away from his sweaty forehead, and his eyes bounced nervously across the faces of his hosts. A rather robust man sat in a plush armchair by the fire, occasionally adding a haziness to the room with the languid puff of his pipe. Finding the arrival of the priest not amusing in the slightest, he set back to work reading a book that was propped open with his thumb and forefinger. Across the room on the settee, a young woman sat by the dirty parlor window and briefly inspected the newcomer with one swift glance before turning back to her needlepoint. She tossed her hair over one shoulder dismissively. Directly across from her a handsome man sat by the dusty bookcase. He rolled a glass of mulled cider around in his hand. Disheveled hair and clothes lent him a dramatic appearance, and stubble dotted his chiseled jaw; his eyes were embers as he stared at the lovely redhead.  Then—“Welcome, Father Basile. I am Lady Camille. It was I who sent you the letter.”Basile’s eyes were drawn to the lady who had spoken—the lady who was undoubtedly in charge. She sat grandly in the center of the room, her dress pooling outwards from her chair like spilt ink on a rug. Brown hair streaked with grey was pulled loosely away from her face and constructed in an elegant bun at the nape of her neck. She was a strange balance of coldness and warmth. “How do you do?” Basile stammered.Lady Camille smiled a smile that wasn’t too large or too small. “Thank you for coming on such short notice.”Father Basile replied nervously, “Y-yes. Of course. Anything to appease—I mean—please you.” The grand lady raised and eyebrow. “You’re quite young, you know.”He blinked. “Yes,” “This is your first wedding I presume?” She smoothed her skirts nonchalantly. “It is.” Basile cleared his throat nervously and glanced over at the beautiful redhead and the fellow who wouldn’t stop staring at her. He looked back at his hostess. “May I ask who the happy couple is?” His voice squeaked and then cleared his throat. “But of course.” She gestured to the girl who was still solely focused on her needlework. “My daughter, Evelyn, is the bride-to-be. Her fiancé is just upstairs. I’m sure the two of you will meet before the wedding tomorrow.”“Of course…” Basile nodded, trying to think of something to say that would fill   the strained silence. But Lady Camille spoke first. “Denise,” She addressed the wild-eyed maid who had shoved Basile inside the room. “Instead of standing there, eavesdropping like a misbehaved country bumpkin, why don’t you fetch Father Basile’s bags for him?” Turning red, the maid nodded and fled the room, closing the door with a click. “Stupid girl,” Lady Camille muttered to herself, clasping her hands delicately in front of her. She looked back at Basile. “Take a seat, please, Father Basile.” Basile nodded, “Thank you,”  He sat down on the sofa across from the robust man. “We’re all quite thrilled about the wedding.” Lady Camille announced happily. “Aren’t we, my love?” She asked the question loudly addressing the pipe-puffing man by the fire. “Yes, yes, anything you say, my lovely.” He spoke absently around his pipe.Lady Camille frowned. “Oh, dear, I didn’t introduce you to my husband, Lord Gaspard.” “Pleased to meet you, my Lord.” Basile nodded the gentleman’s way. Lord Gaspard only mumbled something smoky and then coughed. Tick. Tick. Tick. The repetitive clock was the only sound in the parlor, but the strings of tension spoke volumes. Basile was tapping his finger along with the clock beat when another noise assaulted the quiet room from above. It sounded almost like someone bounding down the stairs. Then the parlor door was flung open, and a golden haired, scarlet clad man made his entrance. Evelyn’s attention was instantly drawn away from her needlepoint and she tossed it aside. “My darling, what were you doing?” Her voice was bright and sweet, and her red locks bounced gaily as she embraced her intended. “Oh, a little of this and a little of that,” Her fiancé replied. “You know how that goes.” She giggled and her betrothed looked beyond her to the brooding man by the bookcase. “Ah. Fifi Flavius is still with us. How nice.” The dark bookcase man downed the rest of his cider and then growled, “My name is Finley Flavian.” “Sadly, it is,” The golden haired man agreed. “What were those parents of yours thinking? Fifi Flavius is much more effective.” Finley glowered before rising and shattering his glass into the fireplace. With a heated glance towards Evelyn, he exited the room, the door slamming in his wake. Lady Camille spoke, “Really, Eanrin, must you antagonize the boy so? That’s the fifth glass we’ve lost today!” She rebuked her future son-in-law, but an amused smile tugged at her lips. “I shall attempt to control myself, my Lady.” He bowed dramatically. “Oh, is that the priest?” Realizing his mouth had been hanging open, Basile shut it with an audible click. “Hullo,” He stood, nodding in Eanrin’s direction. “Pleased to meet—Achoo!” Eanrin looked offended. “Excuse me,” Basile drew a handkerchief from within his priestly robes and dabbed at his nose. “I don’t know what came over me.”Sniffing, Eanrin said, “Don’t worry, old chap. Perhaps you’re allergic to something.” Basile was about to mention that he wasn’t allergic to anything but cats then the dinner gong sounded.“That’ll be dinner.” Lord Gaspard leapt up with as much spry as a young hound dog and charged out of the room, sniffing out his meal. Eanrin bowed; his bearing was as debonair as a poet from a story book. “After you, my dearest ladies.” He addressed both women and watched smugly as they left together, thrilled with how dashing their favorite man was. Basile moved to follow the women, not wishing to become trapped alone with this unusual man, when Eanrin held out a staying hand. “A moment if you will, Father.” The young priest began sweating again. Good heavens were these robes stifling!“Yes—ah-ah-ah-” The groom pulled out the priest’s kerchief from within his robes and shoved it at him. “Stop doing that,” Eanrin looked affronted.  “It’s terribly annoying.”Basile sniffled. “So sorry.”“Never mind,” Eanrin waved a dismissive hand. “I presume you’re trustworthy being a priest and all?”Surprised and a bit miffed, Basile replied, “Of course I’m trustworthy!”  The silvery voice of Lady Camille floated down the hall. “Gentlemen! Supper is waiting!”“One moment, dear lady!” Eanrin called back with an equally charming tone. He turned back to Basile, his voice taking on a scheming manner. “You might want to keep your wits in close range tonight,” As he exited the room, he gave the priest a fleeting glance over one shoulder. “One never knows what sorts of things might transpire.”                                                                            
 *****The dining room was as gloomy as the rest of Ravensdale Estate, decorated with wilted flowers and raven’s feathers. It was eccentric and horrible, thought Basile as he entered the feathery room along with the rest of the odd company. The priest felt as though he had fallen into some horror story in which he played the victim. Perhaps one day village folk would tell stories about the poor young priest who entered Ravensdale Estate and was never heard from again. His shoulder itched uncomfortably and he turned to see Denise the maid serving the company. Something shifted in the shadows behind her. No—Basile’s nervous mind was only playing tricks on his eyes. He shook his head.“We imported this fish straight from Parumvir!” Lady Camille exclaimed with excitement.Eanrin perked up at this news. “Marvelous!” He pulled his chair back and settled down, thrumming his fingers on the table to some nameless tune in his head. Evelyn caught his eye and they both shared a knowing smirk. To most members of the party that would have appeared to be a lover’s smirk shared between two people that madly adored each other. But it didn’t seem to Basile as being a loving look. That smirk was similar to two naughty children sharing a secret under the noses of their elders. “Do sit, Father. Here,” Lady Camille pulled Basile from his observation and gestured to a seat near her. “Come, sit by me.”  “Thank you,” He settled into his seat and fiddled with the long sleeves of his robe. Denise sidled beside Lady Camille balancing the plate of fish in her hands, and served them, not meeting her mistress’s eyes. It would seem that she was still embarrassed by the reprimand she received earlier. She moved down the table and Basile watched her go…he noticed Lord Gaspard was watching the young girl as well. “Lady Camille,” he began, keeping his eyes on Denise, “Is she a, um, good maid?” His hostess laughed a gentle, tinkling laugh. “Oh, I suppose. The girl is quite reckless at times, but I can never bring myself to get rid of her. She’s quite innocent and...a bit odd. But Denise has potential to be a very good maid.” That same shadow seemed to move again, and Basile gulped. “Does it ever seem to you that there’s something just behind her...in the shadows?” A silly question, he knew. Lady Camille took a dainty bite of fish. “My dear boy, I believe you’re in need of some rest!” She chuckled and Basile attempted to chuckle along with her.But he couldn’t help but feel that there was something terribly, terribly wrong going on in Ravensdale.He remembered Eanrin’s rather strange warning. The priest tried to follow his instructions of keeping his wits in close range by suspecting ulterior motives in every word spoken around the dinner table. Then a thought struck him—how could he be sure that Eanrin wasn’t one to be wary of?“As I was saying, it seems to me this whole ordeal of ‘secret fairies’ is rather ridiculous. Really, why would any Faerie in its right mind come to wreak havoc away from its own realm? And disguised as a human, no less!” Evelyn addressed the whole company while cutting a tiny bite of fish. “Perhaps they do so because they’re board.” Finley materialized out of the shadows, causing Basile to jump. The dark man didn’t startle anyone else, though. He simply pulled back his chair, allowing it to scrape miserably on the wooden floor, and sat down next to Evelyn who refused to spare him a glance.“Fifi, old fellow! So glad you could join us.” Eanrin smirked and dabbed at his lips with his napkin. Finley, anger staining the tips of his ears, attempted to ignore the man across from him. Evelyn gasped and looked around the table. “What if one of us was a Faerie in disguise! Wouldn’t that be thrilling?”“Quite,” Eanrin said while shifting in his chair, a sly smirk spreading across his handsome features. “Eanrin here could very well be one of the Faerie folk,” Finley stated, his eyes shooting daggers towards his rival. “He’s only been here for what, a week now? And he’s already bewitched every single one of you.” His gaze rested on Evelyn, gauging what her response would be to this statement. She only glanced lovingly towards her betrothed. Basile’s eyes twitched between Eanrin and Finley. Was it true that Eanrin had only been at Ravensdale for a week? “He hasn’t bewitched me.” Lord Gaspard grunted from his end of the table before shoving a forkful of his supper into his mouth. Lady Camille smiled. “Don’t be ridiculous, Finley. Eanrin is the cleverest man I’ve ever met, and while he does have an affinity for teasing, he is certainly no Faerie.” She sipped from her goblet with an air of finalization, warning him to drop the topic. Defeated, Finley’s gaze slumped to his lap. Then Lady Camille coughed. Evelyn began another conversation, and Basile attempted to join in, but no one seemed to hear his thoughts. The Lady next to him coughed again.“Are you quite all right?” Basile asked with raised eyebrows, noticing that her neck was turning red. “Yes,” she croaked, not sounding all right in the least. The rest quieted down and looked at Lady Camille in concern. “I say, do you need a pat on the back?” Eanrin offered, leaning forward in his chair.She waved him away, but stopped suddenly, her eyes becoming wide and panic-stricken. One hand clawing at her throat, Lady Camille struggled desperately to breathe. Everyone leapt up from their seats, rushing towards her. Grasping her free hand, Basile asked frantically, “What can I do?” “She can’t speak, idiot!” Finley shoved the priest away and unbuttoned the collar of her dress. Evelyn shouted at Finley, “Do something!” Before Finley could respond, the light in Lady Camille’s eyes faded, and she sagged back limply in her chair. No one dared to breathe.“She’s…dead.” Eanrin announced dully. The shock of what had just transpired was evident on his face. “Finley, what did you do?” Evelyn whispered, inching away from the corpse. “What did you do? You’re a physician! You should have…done something to—to save her!” She distanced herself from her mother’s body and collapsed in her father’s seat at the end of the table, sobbing. Finley Flavian looked even more depressed than normal. “I—” He moved away from Lady Camille as well, rubbing his jaw and looking away. “She’s right. I—I should have...” Then he turned and stormed from the room, escaping Evelyn’s sobs.“She isn’t! She couldn’t possibly be…” Basile jumped, placing his hand over his heart as though the action would slow it down, for he had completely forgotten about quiet Lord Gaspard standing just behind Eanrin, whose jaw was clenched tightly shut for the first time that evening. “My poor, dear wife!” Lord Gaspard moved closer to his wife and knelt, clenching one of her lifeless hands in his own. “What…how did…?” “My Lord, I believe your daughter may need a bit of comforting. Why don’t you see to her?” Eanrin suggested, his grim gaze not leaving Lady Camille’s deceased form. The Lord blinked. “Yes. Of course.” He stood, giving his wife another glance as if to see if she really wasdead, and that this whole evening hadn’t simply been a nightmare. Then Lord Gaspard moved to the end of the room where his daughter sat sniffing between sobs. “Well—” Basile began attempting to fill the horrible silence, but Eanrin interrupted him. “My dear priestly fellow, we have a delicate matter on our hands.”  “Well of course we do,” agreed Basile, irritated, “our hostess just died at the dinner table!” Eanrin put a finger to his lips warning Basile to quiet down. “There is more to this scene than you think, old boy.” He whispered. “What do you mean?” Basile glanced behind himself to make certain Evelyn and Lord Gaspard couldn’t hear. “I mean she’s been murdered.” Eanrin inched closer to Lady Camille and tilted her head back cautiously. “See the rash? If you look closely you can see that it forms the shape of a flower. That is a symptom of the rare and deadly Fittletat blossom. Our dear Lady was poisoned.” The room seemed to tilt and Basile steadied himself by grasping the back of a chair. He had unwillingly arrived at a horrible estate where an equally horrible deed had just taken place. Oh, why did his first assignment have to be so dragon-eaten difficult? “Language, Father.” Eanrin reprimanded as he tapped his chin absent mindedly. Basile blinked. He hadn’t meant to say that out loud. “Well, what do we do?” He asked frantically. “And how do I know you didn’t kill her?” “How do I know you didn’t?” Eanrin turned the tables on the priest. “You were sitting directly beside her; an easy position for anyone to poison her drink.”  “Wha—I couldn’t have possibly…” He stammered.“Don’t worry, I don’t suspect you. However,” Eanrin frowned. “I do suspect someone. We must watch and wait, Father. The killer will be revealed to us in time.”Basile cleared his throat. “I need to get out of this room.” He staggered to the door, tripping over his robes. Eanrin steadied him with a helping hand. “Quite right. One can’t think beside a dead body.” Once the two were alone in the hallway, Basile began thinking with a clear head. Why was he still in Ravensdale? The woman who had requested his visit had just keeled over in the dining room. He doubted a wedding would take place after that little incident.“I’m leaving.” Basile announced and instantly began striding towards the foyer, holding his robes aloft in front of him.   “Half a moment!” Eanrin stepped on Basile’s extensive clothing, lurching the priest to a stop. “Someone here is a murderer,” Eanrin began, “and we’re the only two people who certainly didn’t do it.” He tilted his head and thought better of what he had just said. “Well, I still have my doubts about you, but you can at least be sure that I didn’t do it.”  “I am certain of no such thing,” Basile tugged desperately at his robe that was still under Eanrin’s boot. He huffed. “Come now, old chap! Where’s your taste of adventure? Besides, it’s quite dark outside by now, and you know what they say emerges in these hills when night falls.” Basile stopped struggling and gulped. “The Nightwalker? You mean to tell me it’s real?”He nodded grimly. “I do. Seen it myself, actually. Night before last.” “Oh,” Eanrin released the priest. “But leave if you must. I expect it could let you live...not maul you the way it did those other poor travelers.” Basile shifted. “I suppose I could stay the night…” “Excellent! I’ll meet you in your room when the clock strikes twelve.” Eanrin turned to leave, but the dining room door opened revealing Evelyn and Lord Gaspard, their eyes red and puffy. “No one is to enter that room,” he said. “We’ve laid her down covered her—” He took a deep breath. “I’ll just…inform the servants of what—” Lord Gaspard pinched the bridge of his nose. “—what happened. Everyone…get some rest.” He left the hallway abruptly and walked towards the kitchen, Evelyn slowly trudging upstairs to her bedroom. That was certainly odd, Basile thought. If Eanrin was the girl’s fiancé, she would need some sort of comfort from him, wouldn’t she? But no—they didn’t even spare each other a glance. Quite odd, indeed.“Midnight, remember!” Eanrin whispered urgently in his ear before disappearing upstairs with the rest of the company. Basile followed, darting anxious glances over his shoulder should the murderer suddenly decide spring upon him. His room was across from Eanrin’s, and the priest was surprised at the comfort he felt in knowing this. Soon, all was silent in Ravensdale Estate. Darkness crept throughout the web of hallways, snuffing out the moon’s cool rays of light. Then the clock’s sound of midnight’s arrival woke Basile. Actually, it was the sound of a cry that woke him. The noise sounded desperate, though muffled. “Eanrin?” Basile whispered to the darkness. He received no answer. Standing, he tip-toed to his door and slowly peeked out. No one was there. But where was Eanrin? Then he heard the cry again. And that was when Basile realized that Eanrin’s door was opened ever so slightly.             With no thought for himself, Basile leapt across the hallway, sliding on his socks into the room to find two figures struggling on the bed. One man was straddling the other, forcing a pillow over his victim’s face, smothering him. As Basile prepared to tackle the killer, an orange streak charged past his legs and dived towards the bed, furry, white paws extended menacingly. A scream followed after the orange streak attached itself to the murderer, clawing at the man’s face until he fell off. Finley Flavian sat up in bed tearing the pillow away from his face, and gulped in the air around him. Basile was confused. Then Eanrin was suddenly in the room, too, holding a scratched Lord Gaspard by his collar. “Good work, Basile boy! We’ve found our murderer, and I must say I’m quite surprised.” He sounded pleased with himself. “How did you get in here?” Basile asked, feeling severely uninformed. Eanrin answered, “I ran right past you. Didn’t you witness that thrilling act of heroism? I tell you, tonight will be remembered by all. I’m planning on writing an epic.” “Is this why you wanted to switch rooms with me?” Finley asked, outraged. He struggled with his blankets as he attempted to stand.   “Fiddlesticks,” Eanrin answered. “I simply like your room better than mine. Too much black in here, you see.” He glanced around the room, nose wrinkled. “This little incident took me quite by surprise.” Lord Gaspard struggled. “Let go of me, you pontificating poet!” “Not until you tell me why you killed your wife.” Defeated, Lord Gaspard’s shoulders sagged, and Eanrin released him. “It…she was never supposed to die. Dragon’s teeth, she wasn’t even supposed to be the victim!” “And who was that poor intended soul? Though I’ll wager I can guess who it was.” The Lord gritted his teeth. “You were.” “What’s happened? Is everyone all right?” Evelyn appeared in the door way, pulling her robe close about her shoulders. “I heard commotion and…” She looked around the room and blushed when her eyes settled on bare-chested Finley. Then she saw her father and the bloody scrapes across his face. “Daddy? What happened?” She rushed towards her father. “Evelyn, my darling, it—this was never supposed to happen! The drink wasn’t meant for her!” Lord Gaspard’s eyes were nearly overflowing with tears. She slowly began to grasp what her father was trying to say. “You did this?” Outrage was evident on her face.“He made me! I swear, hemade me! He said he would kill everyone if—if I didn’t murder the Faerie Knight…” His voice broke and he began to sob, covering his face with his hands. “Who made you?” Asked Finley, stepping forward.Lord Gaspard took a sharp breath. “The Nightwalker.”A terrified silence settled over the group. Until—“Ha! Oh, that is rich,” Eanrin chuckled dryly. “There is no ‘Nightwalker’. I started the rumor to explain the sighting of a strange cat-man. Which is me, by the by.”   “You’re a Faerie?” Basile sputtered, his nightcap slipping backwards ever so slightly, giving him the appearance of a little boy who had just awoken from a nightmare.Eanrin glanced his way. “I’m Eanrin of Rudiobus, Knight of Farthestshore and finest of poets; Lord Gaspard here is a murderer claiming to have been threatened by a made-up creature, and the reason I came to Ravensdale in the first place was because Evelyn here felt as though something like this would happen. Pay attention.”  Finley’s eyes widened. “Evelyn?” He looked from Eanrin to the woman he adored.“It’s true,” she said, “I met Eanrin in the village, and he agreed to…oh, Finley, Eanrin and I were never in love. He told me he would discover why I was feeling so…frightened.”“If you’re really a Knight, why would you prod me the way you’ve been doing?” Basile asked Eanrin heatedly.The poet shrugged. “I stoop to such things when I’m bored.” “He’s real, I tell you!” Lord Gaspard exclaimed wildly. “The Nightwalker is as real as you and I, and he’ll kill the lot of us if we don’t give him the Knight!” “Hmph. Well, glad to see you feel so badly about your attempted murder.” Eanrin crossed his arms. Lord Gaspard said something back, and Evelyn and Finley began to argue. Their voices faded away in Basile’s mind as that itching feeling returned between his shoulders. He turned his head slightly to look back at the door. Nothing but darkness waited in the hallway. “You’re lying, Gaspard, admit it!” The company continued their bantering, ignoring the existence of the priest who was slowly inching to the door. “Um,” Basile attempted to interrupt. “I think I just…saw…something…” His voice faded away as he realized no one would listen to him. Who would? He was useless in this house; as useless as an old pet that simply followed his master’s footsteps. So, Basile left Eanrin’s room. Or Finley’s. Whomever it belonged to.  An endless, black corridor stared back at him, daring the priest to step into the deafening silence. Only…the hallway wasn’t completely derived of sound. Basile’s ears perked at a sudden slithering noise of something heavy slipping across the polished wood. Straitening his nightcap, Basile followed it, determined not to talk himself out entering this black hole. He followed the hushed sound, his footsteps silenced by the soft socks on his feet. Making certain his shaking hand was touching the side of the wall, he continued his journey into the bowels of Ravensdale Estate. The swishing sound paused suddenly, and the priest stopped with it, breaking into a cold sweat. Then, as though it decided there was no one following, it resumed its course. Basile could tell the end of the hallway was near, and he paused when the silvery beams of the moon suddenly broke through the stormy midnight clouds and burst into the corridor’s window. The rays lit for a moment a small doorway which led to what Basile presumed to be the servant’s quarters. Movement caught his eye and he stared wide-eyed at what he was following.A tail—a thick, long, gray tail slid heavily around the doorway and disappeared. Basile couldn’t continue. Not after seeing that. Such daring adventures were meant for men like Finley…not a poor, abandoned priest like himself.
Never alone, Basile.Basile stopped and looked around. Had someone just spoken? He glanced over his shoulders in hopes that Eanrin or Finley had shown up to finish tracking whatever was prowling the hallways, but no one was there. No one but a bird with a speckled chest sitting outside the window, blinking curiously at the man in the nightcap. He continued on, wondering how a trip to perform a wedding could turn into his worst nightmare. Peeking around the open door, Basile saw a set of stairs leading downwards into more darkness. Saying a quick prayer, he plunged into more blackness. His feet touched the bottom of the steps, and a faint strip of light alerted him that another door had been opened. Moving closer, Basile slowly peeked inside. It was a small bedroom that he had stumbled upon—a servant’s bedroom, and Denise the maid lay sleeping soundly in her plain bed. Her wild curls tumbled across her round face, casting an angelic glow about her in the soft moonlight. But the lovely scene of the sleeping angel was darkened by the devil standing in the shadows at the foot of her bed.  Basile bit back a strangled cry upon viewing the creature he had followed. It stood taller than any human he had seen, and sported a chest that was filled with stone-like muscles. The creature was the same color as its tale—muddy, dark grey, with tufts of black fur spotting the creatures back and head. It stood like a man, had the form of a man, even, only there was nothing human about it. The creature was a cat. A tall, powerful cat standing like a man and clenching its fists—not paws—as an indecisive human would do. Its thighs were thick as tree trunks, and its feet had the agility and power of a cat’s. Feline ears sat upon the creatures head, and twitched as its strange golden eyes gazed at the sleeping girl. Basile realized that, oddly, the creature wore black breeches that reached down to its ankles. Its tail flopped back and forth thoughtfully. He’s deciding if he’s going to eat her! Thought Basile, horrified, and wondered what he could possibly do against such an opponent. Denise chose that moment to mumble something incoherent, and to nestle further into her blankets, obviously chilled from the cold night air. The creature then reached forward, extending a long arm towards the unsuspecting girl. Its black claws were so extensive, so sharp, they could tear her small body easily apart in one swift movement. Basile’s muscles tensed, preparing to fling himself at it if need be.But the cat-man only grasped her blankets, gently pulling them upwards and tucking them around her shoulders. Basile recoiled as he understood what he was witnessing. The monster, that horrible cat-man, the Nightwalker, had feelings for a simple maid. Basile’s nose tickled. He frantically searched for his kerchief and smothered his nose.The Nightwalker looked up sharply, sensing Basile’s movement, and flattened his ears against his head. A feline growl sounded from his throat, and Denise’s eyes slowly opened. She bolted upright.“You!” She cried, pulling her blankets about her for protection. The Nightwalker looked at her, and then glanced at the door. He hesitated. Then he spoke, his voice deep and rumbling like one thunderous, but strangely soothing purr. “Protect.” He said, thrusting one long claw towards his chest, and then to Denise. “C—c—” It seemed to be struggling as it thought of what to say. “C—ome?” She shook her head, pale curls trembling. “I told you. I don’t need protection.”The Nightwalker huffed, frustrated. Then, he made up his mind, and reached forward, his plans of stealing Denise away evident. Seeing his chance, Basile showed himself. “Denise!” He called, looking ghostly in the moonlight with his white nightcap and gown. Screaming, Denise bolted towards him, and he seized her hand, dragging her upstairs and into the hallway. The Nightwalker howled and followed, bounding upstairs and sliding into the hallway with them. “Help!” Basile didn’t know what else to do but scream as the Nightwalker gained on them. “HELP!”Suddenly the fluffy, orange cat showed itself, charging the Nightwalker valiantly. But the Nightwalker didn’t even glance Eanrin’s way. He dodged him easily and passed Denise, running powerfully towards a different target. Then Basile noticed that Finley, Evelyn, and Lord Gaspard were in the hallway as well, backing away from the creature charging towards them. Before anyone knew what was happening, the Nightwalker had wrapped his large fists around Lord Gaspard’s neck, and held him up from the floor. Basile remembered something then. He recalled Lord Gaspard’s frantic words about the Nightwalker, and how the creature had forced him to attempt to murder Eanrin. And then he remembered the Nightwalker trying to talk to Denise. The creature could barely speak. “Stop!” Basile called out, and for once, everyone listened. Even the Nightwalker turned its head to hear. “I believe the Nightwalker is innocent.” The creature set Lord Gaspard on his feet again upon hearing these words. Eanrin shifted to his human shape. “Whatever do you mean, Basile?” Basile turned nervously to Lord Gaspard. “You really were trying to kill Eanrin, but not because the Nightwalker forced you to. You didn’t want him marrying your daughter, and you were afraid he would discover you foul plans. And what’s more,” he continued, “Killing your wife was part of your plan as well, wasn’t it? She ruled this house—not you.” He paused, allowing this to soak into everyone’s mind. “And you couldn’t force Denise to marry you if your wife was still living, could you?” The shock on Lord Gaspard’s face was evident. He had been discovered, and there was nothing he could do about it. “I knew he was lying,” mumbled Eanrin from behind Basile. Finley shook his head. “But what does…it have to do with this?” He asked, tossing his head the Nightwalker’s direction. “Protect.” The creature gestured Denise’s way again and then looked back at Finley. “He has followed after me ever since I was a child.” Denise said, eyes downcast. “He only just revealed himself to me this past month, telling me I had to leave this place. I was afraid…I didn’t tell anyone.” She shuddered. “But I always felt that he was there.” “I say,” began Eanrin, speaking overly loud to the Nightwalker as though it couldn’t understand him, “Why have you been protecting her?” The creature’s ears twitched. “Deserves…to be.” That was when Lord Gaspard made his move. A dagger suddenly materialized in his hand, and he lunged towards the creature. But the Nightwalker was quicker by far. He dodged the dagger and grasped the Lord’s shoulders, and in one powerful stroke, threw him against the wall. Lord Gaspard collapsed dead in a crumpled heap.  Evelyn let out a sob, the reality of this bizarre evening settling in, and cried into Finley’s shoulder. Eanrin heaved a sigh. “This certainly is a mess, isn’t it?”
                                                *****
No one slept that night. The group stayed huddled in the parlor, save the Nightwalker. He vanished shortly after Lord Gaspard was killed. They immediately sent word for the grave diggers, and were prepared to hold the funerals for Lady Camille and Lord Gaspard that afternoon. Basile packed his bags, realizing he was truly no longer needed, and left Ravensdale Estate, wearing plain breeches and a loose shirt. He felt quite comfortable. He stepped into the cool morning air and breathed deeply.“Leaving? So am I.” He turned at the golden voice of the Faerie Knight, and smiled crookedly. “You’re engagement has been broken, and I supposed that I was no longer needed.” Eanrin walked towards him, brilliant in red, hands in his pockets. “Quite. I’m no longer needed either. We’re a pair.” He sighed dramatically, striding easily along as Basile neared the stables. “Where will you go?” asked Basile, curious. The poet shrugged. “Wherever my Master calls me.” At these words Basile remembered the little bird outside the window, and the soft voice that encouraged him onwards. “Who is your Master?” He asked.“The Prince of Farthestshore.” Eanrin smiled saying his name.The priest nodded. “Then we serve the same Master. Although…” his voice faded.“Although…?” Eanrin urged him on.“Although I’ve lost sight of him these past months. But he hasn’t lost sight of me.” Eanrin nodded, serious for a short while. “He seldom does. Ah! There’s Callypse.” “Who?” Basile asked, looking back at the Estate. The only person he saw was Denise, trimming the hedges around the house. Then he saw a shadow just behind her. He would never have noticed it had Eanrin not brought his attention to it. “The Nightwalker. His real name is Callypse. Had a nice little chat with him last night…cat to cat, you know. He was born of a race of cat-people—entirely different from my own glorious self, mind—who live to protect those most in need. Nice fellow, really. The last of his kind.” “There’s someone for everyone, I suppose.” said Basile thoughtfully. Eanrin stiffened beside him. “I suppose.” The priest looked at the Knight of Farthestshore and saw for the first time who was truly Eanrin of Rudiobus. There was no dash, no sarcasm, and no smug smirk in the real Eanrin’s bearing. The poet appeared vulnerable and in pain. He seemed to be thinking of something…or someone. The moment passed, however, and he brightened yet again. “Well, cheery-bye, old boy! I’m off to new adventures!” He morphed into his cat form and trotted into the golden sunrise. But then Eanrin paused, his plume-like tale twitching thoughtfully. He looked back at Basile. “Care to join me?” The priest, grinning, mounted his horse and followed the cat to whatever quests lay in the bright, sunlit hills ahead.
                                                The End




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A FROGGISH FATE: Sarah Taleweaver

Life as a frog, Gervais had quickly decided, had to be the most boring existence there was.            He certainly hadn’t expected to end up here after the widow refused him, not that he’d really had any particular expectations about what had become of him. He’d just known that he’d have to find another way to repay his debts besides marriage to a rich woman. After that, one thing had led to another- as things often do- and he’d found himself here, a frog in a swamp ruled by a snake that also seemed to be a woman. Where he’d once occupied his time with hunts, travel, and court life, now he was limited to planning what he’d say once he found a women to kiss him out of his frogginess. Not that there was much point even in that. No one, man or woman, ever came here.            They probably knew better.            A commotion of splashing and voices some way off contradicted Gervais’s thought. He hopped into the water and swam towards the sound. Maybe he had a chance! Maybe he could get help from this person, assuming the serpent didn’t get whoever it was first.            Then he saw the newcomer and all his hopes disappeared faster than his money had. He knew this man. The golden hair, the handsome face, the scarlet clothes- he couldn’t forget those. But, oddly, this man had bright golden eyes, while the knight Gervais remembered had worn scarlet patches.            The man called out, confirming Gervais’s fears. “Oi! ChuMana, m’dear! Are you about, then?”            There could be no mistaking that golden voice. Gervais sank deeper into the water. Maybe he could avoid the knight’s notice and slip out while the serpent was distracted. As quietly as he could, he continued swimming toward the two pillars marking the swamp’s exit.            The serpent, ChuMana, arrived.            Gervais froze as he felt her ripples in the water. Half his mind screeched for him to swim as fast as he could in the other direction. The other half remembered his plan, his hopes of escape. The serpent reared up out of the water suddenly-            In front of the knight, scaring him into letting out a “meeeaaa!” that would’ve sounded appropriate from a terrified housecat. It sounded no less appropriate from this golden man, but Gervais couldn’t be bothered to think about that oddity just now. ChuMana, who currently looked like a woman with no arms, appeared to be focused on the knight. Good.Gervais redoubled his efforts to reach the exit.            Somewhere very close behind him, Gervais heard a splash. A moment later, the serpent’s tail wrapped around him and plucked him from the water. He flailed, but could do nothing but given an alarmed “Graaaaaaup!”            The tail brought Gervais face-to-face with the knight. He kicked, but at the same time, he knew with absolute certainty that he was probably doomed. For the first time, he noticed that the knight had a girl with him, a dirty, dark-skinned creature who appeared to be asleep.             The knight took Gervais from the serpent and raised him to eye level. “Now, you know your part. Kiss the girl like you mean it and we’ll all be better off, understand?”            No, Gervais didn’t entirely understand, but he supposed he had a better chance as a human than a frog. He let out an unenthusiastic “Graup” and let the knight turn him to face the girl. It’s your best chance, he reminded himself, as if he had a choice in the matter. Then his mouth was pressed against the girl’s.             Instantly, his mind was filled with strange sights: a mountain path, dark maidens with bleeding feet, a dark sky, a grim-faced man. Gervais wanted to pull away, though he would’ve enjoyed the kiss if not for the eerie images. The knight, however, would not let him.            Suddenly, the girl came awake. She flailed, smacking the knight’s chin and knocking Gervais away. He let out an alarmed “Graaaup!” and splashed back into the swamp a few feet away. A moment later, he felt his body stretching, straining, shifting-            And then he was human, half-submerged in muddy water. Gervais scrambled to his feet, not gracefully, but with remarkable speed for one who’s spent two months as a frog. He made straight for the exit, splashing through the muck as quickly as possible.            The knight and the girl stood in his way. The knight looked up and snarled. “Dragon’s teeth.”            Dragon’s teeth indeed. What now? The knight must’ve recognized him; he couldn’t possibly not. What to do? Gervais could think of only one thing to do: pretend not to recognize the knight and enact his plan on how to thank the maiden who un-frogged him. So, he swept into a bow, more gracefully than he thought he could after all his time as a frog. The girl was obviously unconscious, but Gervais addressed her anyway. “Fair creature of untold beauty! How long have I awaited the deliverance brought by your sweet kiss?”            The knight seemed to be trying to help the girl stand as he snapped, “Enough blathering. She’s unconscious and cannot hear you. Just as well if you plan to speak in clichés.” He shook the girl. “Come, this is ridiculous. One doesn’t faint upon waking from an enchanted sleep!”            As the knight seemed too busy with the girl to recognize him, Gervais chose not to point out that girls liked clichés quite well if you said them like you’d just made them up yourself. Instead, he did his best to slip quietly past them. He hadn’t gotten very far before the knight turned on him again. “Here. Take her. I’ve had quite enough of this heroics nonsense. And have I mentioned that it’s none of my business?”            Gervais blinked. Two thoughts whirled in his mind: he doesn’t recognize me? And he wants me to take the girl? Unsure what else to do, he said the first thing that popped into his mouth. “She isn’t mine.”            “She is now. She kissed you out of your froggishness, didn’t she?” The knight took a staggering step forward, obviously planning to dump the girl in Gervais’s arms. “Take her and deliver her kingdom like a man, then marry her, why don’t you?”            Marry? That girl? Gervais took a hasty step back and nearly fell into the swamp. “M-marry? Oh, now, Sacred Lights!”            The knight fixed Gervais with an incredibly cold stare. “Don’t tell me you have any complaints?”            Dragon’s teeth! Thunder rolled. Gervais jumped and instinctively hunched his shoulders. “Oh, I’m certainly not complaining. Much obliged for the rescue, of course. But-”            “But what?” the knight demanded. His stare, if possible, grew colder.            “Well, marriage . . .” Gervais could think of no other way to put it. “I am expected to marry well.”            “To a princess, I would imagine?” The knight shrugged the girl in his arms. “This one is as much of a princess as you’ll ever find.”            He had to be joking.            “She drank from an enchanted River. Who but a princess does that? True, she’s not much to look on right now-”            Well, that was true enough.            “-but she’ll clean up well enough. And she rescued you, by Lumé, from a fate amphibian! Just the girl to bring home to mum and dad.”            No, this was not at all the girl to bring home to his father. Gervais rubbed the back of his neck. A drop of rain plopped onto his nose, followed by others that splashed into pools around them. Honesty about his situation seemed to be the only choice in this predicament. Oh well. “The thing is, I need  to find myself a bride with a  certain amount of dowry. Never mind why. But this girl . . .” He made a helpless gesture. “I mean, look at her. Princess or not, one must wonder if she’d recognize the value of a gold coin if it hit her in the eye!”            The knight no longer even pretended to smile. “You won’t take the creature because she had no riches?”            Gervais sighed. “It’s a sad business, I know, but what is a man to do? So I’ll just be moving along, then. When she comes to herself, give her my thanks. It has been a pleasure, and her kiss was nothing to frown upon, take my expert word for it! Farewell, princess! Farewell, stranger! I must take my leave-”            He turned to walk away and found himself face-to-face with the serpent. Though she still looked like a woman, she wore a snakish smile. “And where do you think you’re going?”            Gervais backpedaled. “Oh, dragon’s-” The rest of his curse turned into a startled scream as the woman-serpent darted forward and bit his shoulder. He felt himself shrinking rapidly into a bullfrog again and knew that all hopes of escape were, for the moment, pointless.            Dragon’s teeth.



VOTING: If you would like to vote on this or any of the other fan fiction submissions, email your top three titles to me at aestengl@gmail.com. Voting is for fans of the Goldstone Wood series only.

FOLLOW THE SONG: Sarah Taleweaver

Once upon a time, there was Goldstone Wood, and it is still here today. The Wood was there when Parumvir was just a collection of squabbling duchies, and it has remained through centuries of kings, conquerors, wars, and progress. It has outlasted even the legends said to take place within and around its borders. The stories of Maid Starflower, Bard Eanrin, the Dragonwitch, Akilun and Etanun, Princess Una, Prince Lionheart, Lady Daylily, and even the Prince of Farthestshore himself have all faded from memory, been regulated to myth or religion, or been stripped of anything mildly fantastic and stuffed into history books.But Goldstone Wood remains, and even today, no one ventures far inside. No one crosses the stream or the bridge that arches over it. And though no one will admit it, all know what holds them back. Somewhere deep inside, all fear that the legends might be true, that history left things out, and that myth and religion are not as far-off as they’d like.But sometimes no oneisn’t everyone. Sometimes a brave soul will come along who doesn’t fear the legends as much as others. Sometimes he or she will stand on the edge of the stream dividing Near and Far, look at the Wood beyond, and hear the call to more than the ordinary. Sometimes he or she will answer.And that is where our story reallybegins.~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~                The girl’s violin sang alone in the stillness of Goldstone Wood, as it had every day of the past week. The notes flowed off the instrument and lingered over the quiet waters of the stream. Then they flew away to be lost among the trees.            The girl, Helen, stopped playing and lowered her violin with a sigh. She flopped to the ground under a wide oak. “It’s no good,” she muttered to herself. “It’s just not right.”            She stared dismally across the stream to the Wood itself. It seemed to wait there, so close and yet so far away, like the song she was trying to capture in the strings of her violin. She knew the melody; she felt it somewhere deep within herself. Yet whenever she tried to play it, the notes simply wouldn’t come as they should.            With another sigh, she began to pack away her violin. “Why can’t I play it right? Why, when I can play anything else, if I practice it? I know this one better than any of those others.”            Helen finished putting away her violin and stood, dusting leaves and pine needles from her long, brown skirt. The debris seemed to cling to the sturdy material, and she quickly resorted to picking up the largest bits and hoping no one would notice the rest when she returned home. She was about to turn away when the silvery notes of a birdsong dropped to her ears.            Helen turned back towards the sound in wonder. She never heard birds in this part of the Wood, and this song was not like any she had ever heard elsewhere. It was sweeter, purer, almost matching the song Helen could never grasp. And as she listened, she thought she heard words among the notes, though no human voice could have sung them.“Beyond the Final Water falling,The Songs of Spheres recalling,When the music calls your heart to more,Won’t you follow me?”            The song faded from Hellen’s ears but lingered in her mind. She stared into the far side of the Wood, searching for the bird that had sung it- if it was a bird. Stories said that strange creatures lurked in the Wood. Surely those stories weren’t real, but no simple songbird sang quite like that.             Won’t you follow me? The song seemed to call to her, ask her to- to do what? Whatever it was, she probably shouldn’t listen. It was her imagination, logic told her, or a trap, Haven teachings said. You didn’t follow mysterious birdsong or anything else into the Wood, and that was that.            Yet Ellen did not move to leave.            A wind sprang up and blew past her out of the deepness of the Far Wood. It carried with it the scent of secrets, waiting patiently to be rediscovered. And it held a whisper of the song she’d just heard.             Won’t you follow me?            Helen slung the strap of her violin case over her shoulder and started walking, not back towards her home, but upstream, towards the bridge she knew was there. She needed to find out where that song came from. Surely it couldn’t hurt to just cross the stream and have a quick look around?             Halfway to the bridge, she paused, recalling something else she’d heard at multiple Havenmeets: “If you must enter the Far Wood, ford the stream but step not on the Old Bridge.” No one had ever been able to give her a proper answer as to the why of that warning, but Helen decided to heed it anyway, just in case. Lifting her skirt, she scrambled down the stream bank and made her way across the stream. At this point, there were a few stepping stones, enough for her to make it across without completely drenching her shoes. She reached the far bank and paused. Some instinct, long buried but still there, warned her to turn back.Helen shook herself, recalling her thoughts from earlier: just a quick look around couldn’t hurt. Carefully, she stepped onto the far bank.Immediately, Helen realized that she’d done something far more significant than cross a stream. She first noticed the change in the light: where it had been cloudy, now bright sunshine filtered though the leaves. The forest itself was different as well: thick pines rather than spreading oaks and silver birch. And where there had been decay, fallen leaves and rotting branches, here the ground was clear of such debris, though not of underbrush.Helen shivered. Perhaps the stories were truer than I thought. She glanced over her shoulder. The stream remained, though the wood on the far side looked like that which she was in now. Surely crossing back over the stream would return her to her own wood? If so, I have no reason at all to worry. Straightening her shoulders and clasping the strap of her violin case, Helen called out a cautious, “Hello?” No answer came.She glanced over her shoulder again, weighing the merits of going back. But, no. She was here. She’d have her look around. Besides, she was one of the Haven- didn’t that mean she was protected? “’For He makes Paths in the wilderness for his people,’” she muttered, recalling one of the many verses pounded into her over the course of her seventeen years, “’and watches their every step.’ That sounds like protection to me.” Admittedly, the words of a centuries-old book, even one claimed to be infallible, weren’t entirely comforting when one was in a mysterious Wood and possibly in another world as well. Helen hesitated, wondering if, protection or not, it wouldn’t be better to turn around? But then she heard once again the silvery song that had called her over here.“Beyond the Final Water falling,The Songs of Spheres recalling,When doubts shadows every thought,Won’t you follow me?”
            And that was all she needed. Without another thought, Helen set off in the direction of the song. Oddly, though she’d gone in the direction where the trees and underbrush were thickest, there always seemed to be a clear space for her to walk. Every now and then she heard the notes of the song once again, and they pulled her onward, deeper and deeper into the Wood.            As she walked, Helen noticed an uncomfortable sensation: as the trees passed into the corners of her eyes, they seemed to blur somehow. What was it that she’d been told in both childhood stories and Havenmeet lessons? In the Far Wood, a single step could take you a thousand leagues? Or was that only with certain boots? She couldn’t recall for sure.            She noticed something else as well: she seemed to be passing certain landmarks over and over. Surely she’d seen that oak with the gap in its trunk at least twice by now? And that lion’s-head rock, she felt certain she’d passed three times or more by now. Was she just going in circles?             Yet the song still led her onward.            The Wood began to grow darker. The ground beneath her feet became rougher and steeper, and Helen stumbled often. She paused to catch her breath, leaning against an old, gnarled tree. “If this is a path,” she muttered, “it’s not much of one.”            She glanced over her shoulder, and her fingers clenched in fear around the strap over her shoulder. Whatever trail or path she had followed up here was gone; behind her was only a dense mass of trees and underbrush, obviously too thick to push through. And from among the trees glinted bright eyes. Red eyes.             Song and weariness forgotten, Helen took off running. Branches caught at her skirt and blouse now, as if trying to hold her back. She tore past them, heedless. Was that a howl she’d just heard behind her? She didn’t dare wait and find out. She just kept on as fast as she could, scrambling, tripping, running.             Then a pit opened before her feet.            Helen heard herself scream. She backpedaled furiously, falling over backwards in her haste. She tumbled a few feet, her violin case smacking against her.             She lay where she’d stopped for several moments, gasping for breath. Then, with a glance back, she pushed herself to her feet and took off once more, this time away from the pit. She had to get away- had to get out of the Wood- had to get home-            Helen stumbled again, this time on a downhill slope. She tumbled some distance before a thornbush caught her. Spikes dug through the thin fabric of her blouse and into her skin and held her thick skirt fast. She struggled to free herself but only succeeded in tangling herself more in the branches and the strap still somehow slung across her chest. She thought she could hear the sound of footsteps running towards her.            And then they passed her, and after them came deeper darkness than before. Before long, all sound faded, but that pure midnight blackness remained.             Helen finally managed to untangle and unstuck herself. She tumbled out of the thornbush and lay, facedown, on the ground, cheek pressed into the dirt. She was dead. Or about to die. Or going to wander lost in the Wood for eternity. All three came out to about the same thing, didn’t they?            “Dragon’s teeth,” she muttered, “why did I come in here? No song could be worth this.”            She pushed herself to a sitting position. If she was going to die, she refused to do it sprawled on the ground like she had been. And now that she thought about it, wandering lost in the wood for all eternity sounded a bit more attractive than death. After all, if she was lost, there was always the chance she’d be found.             Helen looked around, trying to decide in which direction to wander. With the darkness lurking between each tree, the Wood seemed more foreboding than ever. The absolute silence didn’t help; for some reason, Helen couldn’t help filling it with images of strange creatures lurking ever just behind her, ready to pounce.             Desperately, she tried to recall anything she’d ever heard about the Wood and what one did when one was lost there. Surely she’d learned something? The Wood came up every week in Havenmeet, in every children’s story-            But all she could remember was another of the verses she’d been forced to memorize: “Call on the Prince and He will answer. Seek and you will find. Ask and so you will receive.”            Well, it was better than nothing. “Um,” Helen said aloud, wondering how one called on the Prince in a situation like this. Prayers to Him (and all other religious figures) were generally reserved for Havenmeets and mealtimes, and Helen herself rarely said them. When she did, she usually just parroted what her elders would’ve said. But none of those words seemed appropriate now.            “Um . . .” She tried again. “Oh, Prince of Farthestshore, hear this prayer of your humble servant. Do not abandon me in my hour of need, when I am lost and wandering. Give me a Path or a guide to lead me home.”            She didn’t really expect much of a response, so she wasn’t very disappointed when the midnight didn’t lift, no hero appeared, and no Path spread out before her. She just sighed and carefully moved so she could at least sit with her back against a tree. Maybe once daylight returned, she could find her way out.            So she sat and hummed to herself and wondered why she’d thought a song was worth entering the Wood for. It had been a beautiful song, she admitted, but that was no reason to go gallivanting off into the unknown as she had.             Eventually, Helen thought that the blackness seemed to be lifting. When she could see five trees away, she stood up. Picking a direction she thought might take her in the general direction of home, she set off.            “You know, that’s not a very nice Path to go down.”            Helen whirled around in midstep. “What?” She spotted the speaker at once, a dark-skinned man in a green cloak. “Who-?”            The man, who’d been leaning against a tree, straightened and smiled at her. “Not that you’re not free to go down any Path you like, but you do look rather lost, and you probably don’t want to wander into the Burning Lands. Scratch that, you definitely don’t want to wander into the Burning Lands. I ought to know.”            He covered the distance between them in three quick strides. “But, since you don’t want to go to the Burning Lands, I assume, where are you headed? Not that it’s any of my business, but as I said, you look lost.”            “Um . . .” Helen glanced behind her, then at the stranger. One thing about the Wood she recalled very clearly: you shouldn’t trust everyone you meet in it.            “You don’t need to tell me,” the man said. “As I said, it’s not my business. All the same, if you are lost, I might be able to help. I do know something about finding my way in this place, whatever Eanrin might say.”            Helen blinked. “Wait. Eanrin?” Eanrin was decidedly not real, assuming this man meant the bard of fairy tale fame. At best, that Eanrin was exaggerated. At worst, he was completely made up.            But the man nodded. “Bard Eanrin. Out of curiosity, do they still play his songs in the Near World these days?”            “Um. A few? Not many.” As a rule, Eanrin’s love poetry had passed out of fashion well over a century ago, unless you were a lovesick young man trying to impress a girl. “Eanrin isn’t . . . He’s not . . .” She trailed off. This was the Wood. Who knew what was and wasn’t real?            The man burst out laughing. “Really? They finally gave up on it? Wait until I tell him that!”            “Yes?” Helen decided not to pursue the Eanrin subject. “So who are you?”            “I?” The man clapped a hand to his heart. “Pardon me, fair lady, for my gross breach of etiquette in failing to introduce myself.” He dramatically fell to one knee before her. “I am Lionheart, knight of Farthestshore. At your service, maiden. And you are . . .?”            “Helen.” Perhaps she shouldn’t have said that, but if he was a knight of Farthestshore, surely he could be trusted. Couldn’t he?            “A pleasure to meet you, Maid Helen.” Lionheart stood. “Now, since we aren’t complete strangers, maybe we can go back to my original question: where are you headed?” He winked. “Don’t worry. Knights of Farthestshore don’t lead people off in the wrong direction.”            Helen gaped. “Did you just read my mind?”            For a moment, Lionheart looked alarmed. Then he laughed. “No. I’ve been lost in the Wood before as well. That was before I became a knight, though. So, will you trust me?”            Helen hesitated a moment longer. Then she nodded. “Yes. I’m trying to get home- Sondhold. In Parumvir.”            “Easy enough.” Lionheart looked around and then set off in what seemed to be a random direction. “Keep up. If you get off the Path, it won’t end well.”            Helen hurried after him. “Are you sure this is the way?”            “Positive.” He grinned at her. “Knights of Farthestshore don’t lead people off in the wrong direction, remember?”            “Well, yes.” Helen couldn’t help smiling back. “But I thought that a Path would be a bit easier to see, at least once you were on it.”            “Only if you know what to look for.” Lionheart strode on. “So what brought you into the Wood, Maid Helen? Running from something? Looking for someone?”            “No. Nothing like that. I . . .” Helen sighed. This knight was sure to think she was crazy, running into the Wood after birdsong. “It’s pretty stupid.”            “As a self-professed Fool, I know all about stupid. Go on.”            This wasn’t exactly comforting, as this man was supposed to be a knight of Farthestshore and her guide to boot. Helen went on anyway, feeling her face grow warmer with every word. “Well . . .” she patted the violin case at her side, thankful it had remained whole though all this escapade. “I play the violin, if you can’t guess, and there’s this song . . . I don’t really know how to explain it, but it’s like I hear it and know it somewhere inside, though I can’t play it at all. And I was out practicing in the Near Wood- it’s nice and quiet and private there- and I heard . . .” She paused, wishing for a way to make this part sound just a little less silly. “I heard a bird singing that song. It was like it was calling me. So I followed the song across the stream and into the Wood and, well . . . stuff happened.” She looked down at her fingers wrapped around the strap on her case. “Like I said, stupid.”            But Lionheart shook his head. “Not as stupid as you think.”            Helen frowned. “Why not? I wandered into the Far Wood after a birdsong. ‘Stupid’ is probably generous . . . That goes against just about everything I ever learned at Havenmeet.”            Lionheart had obviously been about to say something, but at the last moment, his expression creased into something between worry and confusion. “Havenmeet?”            Helen stopped walking. Wouldn’t a knight of Farthestshore know about the Haven? “You sound confused.”            “I am.” Lionheart stopped as well and turned to face her. “What’s this Havenmeet, and what does it have to do with the Wood?”            “Havenmeet. It’s when Haven members, well, meet.” Helen wondered if she should run, but she had no idea where to run to. “Don’t you know about the Havens?”            “I know about the Haven, singular, and I’m fairly sure it’s not the same as whatever you’re talking about. Maybe you should explain.”            How did one explain what the Havens were? Everyone Helen had met knew, even if they didn’t go to one. “The Havens . . . they’re where followers of the Prince gather for worship once a week. We sing, a priest gives a message . . .” She trailed off, trying to figure out what else she could say.            Apparently she’d said enough, because Lionheart nodded slowly in understanding. “Ah. Now I remember. I visited one of those, well, some time ago.” A sheepish smile crossed his face. “I haven’t been to the Near World much lately, if you can’t tell.” He started walking again. “I didn’t expect a religion around the Prince to catch on, though. In my experience, humans tend to reject Him.”            Helen hurried after him. “He killed the Dragon, died, and yet lives still. When we see Him for who He is, why not worship?”            “That, I’ll admit, is an excellent point.” Lionheart fell silent, his expression returning to perplexed.             Helen waited for him to say something else. When he didn’t for some time, she asked, “Is something wrong?”            “Maybe, maybe not.” Lionheart ran a hand through his hair. “Look, it’s hardly my place to judge, considering how little I know about these Havens, but the idea seems off to me. The Prince isn’t supposed to be a religion. He’s more than that.”            Now it was Helen’s turn to be perplexed. “But we’re supposed to follow the Prince, aren’t we?”            “Definitely,” Lionheart replied. “The thing is, I’m not sure that building a religion around the Prince is the same thing as following Him. Religions, in my experience, are more ritual and rules than life. But when you follow the Prince, it effects everything in your life.” He grimaced. “I’m not the one to ask about it, probably. Dame Imraldera could explain it better.”            Helen chewed on her lip, considering what Lionheart had said. “So you’re saying the Havens are wrong?”            “No.” Lionheart shook his head. “Wrong’s a bit too strong. I mean, people learning about the Prince is good. I just wonder, how many people at these Havens actually live for the Prince?”            His words struck closer to home than Helen wanted to admit. Did she live for the Prince? No. I don’t. He’s right.Haven was, for her, just what he’d said it was: ritual and rules to follow so she could feel like she was doing right. “You’re right,” she said quietly. “But it’s hard to live for someone you don’t know, and how am I supposed to know the Prince if I’ve never met him?”            “That’s a question I can’t answer.” Lionheart’s face was grave; it did not seem to be an expression he was used to. “I expect there’s a way, though. I’ve heard that there were some, long ago, who heard of the Prince from the Brothers Ashuin and followed Him because of that.”             “Hmm.” Helen could think of nothing else to say now. She walked on beside Lionheart in silence, thinking over his words and wondering how in the world she could change. Did she really want to? Her life was comfortable; did she dare lose that?            Comfortable and empty. It was like her music: the songs she knew just weren’t enough. She wanted something more, that one song she couldn’t quite play.             Thinking of that song brought a question to Helen’s mind. “Sir Lionheart? The song I mentioned, the one I followed in here . . . do you know anything about whatever it might be?”            “I have an idea.” Lionheart glanced over his shoulder, then up into the branches of the trees they passed. “Let me know if you hear it again.”            “I will.” Helen sighed, realizing that Lionheart probably wasn’t going to reveal anything more about what he might or might not know. Why not? Probably he didn’t want to make predictions without knowing more. She wished she could hear the song again. She could imagine the melody, but as always, her recreation fell short of the real thing.            Then, suddenly, as if responding to her wish, the first notes of the song fell from the trees to her left. Helen stopped short, turning towards the sound.“Beyond the Final Water falling,”The Song of Spheres recalling,When your heart yearns for something more,Won’t you follow me?”
            “Sir Lionheart?” Helen breathed out the words, barely thinking about them. “I hear it again. The song.” Just as before, it seemed to call to her. Almost without thinking, she took a step after it.            Lionheart stopped just behind her. “Where?”            “You can’t hear it?” Doubt assailed Helen. What if this was a trick? Things in the Wood are rarely what they seem . . .            “No.” Lionheart paused. He stepped forward, staring intently at the ground at her feet. “But I think I know what it is all the same. Lead the way, and I’ll follow.”            Helen hesitated, just a moment. Dare I? After what happened before? But Lionheart said go on, and her heart said go on, and so she did. She plunged off whatever Path they’d been following, into the trees. Oddly, though she’d left the Path and though the forest had seemed thick a moment ago, there always seemed to be an opening before her and a way through trees and underbrush. So she raced on after the Song.            As she traveled, the Wood grew darker. Rocks appeared beneath her feet, and she stumbled now and then. Lionheart fell behind, though she did not notice. Still the Song guided her on, and she followed, determined not to lose it this time.             Suddenly, the ground beneath her dropped steeply downward in a rocky gorge. Helen stopped at its edge, peering ahead in search of a path. She could see none, just sharp-edged stones and hulking boulders. She bit her lip. Should I look for another way? No. The Song hadn’t guided her wrong before; she hadn’t become lost until she turned aside. I won’t make that mistake again.            Taking a deep breath, Helen began the scramble down into the gorge. As before, a path seemed to open before her feet, guiding her down the steep slope. She reached the bottom of the gorge safely and still the Song led her onward, through the rocks and boulders. The walls of the gorge grew steeper on either side of her until they seemed to close in around her, but she forced herself to ignore them and to focus on the Song.            She stepped through a narrow spot where the rocks seemed to almost join over her head. Then, suddenly, she was no longer in the gorge or in the Wood at all. She stood on a rocky plain beneath a star-filled sky. The Song she’d been following faded away. And she was alone.            Helen clutched her violin case and shivered. “Hello?” she called, though she could see no one. “Is anyone here?”            A rustle of wings brushed her ears. She turned to see a thrush alight on a pillar of rock, looking out of place in this barren world.  It spoke in a familiar silvery voice. “I’ve been waiting for you.”            Helen stared. “You were the one singing the Song, weren’t you? The one who led me here?”            “I am the Giver of Songs,” the thrust replied seriously. “I did lead you here.”            “Why?” Halen asked. It occurred to her that she should feel far more ridiculous than she did, talking to a bird. At the moment, she was too curious to really care.            “You have forgotten me.” The thrush sounded so melancholy that Helen thought her own heart would break for it. “All your people have.”            Helen frowned, puzzling over this piece of information. “Do I know you?”            “You have admitted that you do not, though you have claimed to in the past. You have forgotten me and the songs I gave.” The bird fluttered its wings. “Long ago, many heard my song and followed my Paths. Now even those who claim to serve me no longer listen.”            “I listen!” Helen bit her lip, realizing that wasn’t entirely true. “Sometimes. I try to. I’ve tried to play your song, but it never comes out right.”            “You cannot play my song without my help.”            “But I’ve never met you before!” Helen shook her head. “I don’t even know who you are. Won’t you tell me?”            “I am the Giver of Songs,” said the thrush, as it had before. “I know you, Helen, though you do not know me.”            Something clicked in Helen’s mind. She gasped. “You’re Him. The Prince. The Defeater of the Dragon.” She sank to her knees.            “I am.” The thrush was suddenly no longer a thrush but a man standing before Helen. His face was gentle, though she didn’t dare look him in the eye.            “I’m sorry.” The words didn’t seem like enough to fill the measure by which she’d been found wanting. The Prince she claimed to serve had called to her, and she hadn’t recognized Him! She struggled for words. “I- I want to know you and follow you. I want to hear your song always- to play it, if I can. Will you help me?”            “I will.” The Prince took her hands and gently raised her to her feet. “Would you like to hear my Song as it was meant to be?”            Helen nodded, though she wondered what could make the Song better than it had been. A moment later, her question was answered as the Song burst from above, melody and harmony intertwining and swelling as if to fill the entire world. Helen gasped, overcome by wonder and a yearning to join the Song somehow. At the same time, however, the beauty of the Song crushed her. How could she, a dust-bound mortal, hope to play anything so wonderful?            “Only through me can you hope to succeed,” the Prince said. “Do you still desire to try?”            “Yes!” Helen turned to face him. She hastily removed her violin and bow from their case, hands trembling in excitement. “Please! I . . . I think I’ll die without it.” It sounded to her ears like an exaggeration, but in her heart it rang true. Some part of her would indeed die without the Prince’s Song.            The Prince moved so he stood behind her. “Then let me guide your hands and I will teach you.”            She let him. At first he held her hands, showing her fingers where to press down and where to stroke the bow across the strings. Then he let go, but she could still feel him guiding her somehow, just as his Path had guided her steps. And sooner than she expected, the small voice of her violin joined the larger chorus around her.            At last the Song faded, though Helen played on for a few more minutes. Then she lowered her violin and knelt before the Prince once more. “Thank you.”            “Thank you for listening.” The Prince set his hand on her shoulder. “You followed me into the Wood, Helen. Will you still follow me in your own world and walk the Path I have given you?”            Helen nodded. “As long as you guide me, I’ll follow.” She wasn’t sure how she’d know the Path, but surely she could learn.            The Prince touched her violin. “And will you carry my Song to your people and remind them of me?”            Helen nodded again, more firmly than before. How could she not? Her heart yearned to play again, to share the Song with others. “Of course.”            “It will not be easy,” the Prince warned. “Here you speak with me face to face and hear my Song clearly. In your own world, your Path will often be clouded, and many things will try to drown out my voice and my Song.”            “I’ll still follow, as long as you will guide me,” Helen promised.            “Good.” The Prince smiled and gestured for her to rise. “Now, my knight Lionheart is looking for you. He will see you home. Do not forget what you have heard here, Helen Songbearer.”            Songbearer. She had never heard that name before, but it felt right. “Will you come as well.”            “I am always with you,” he replied. “Though you may not always know it. Walk my Path and call on me when you are in need. I will always answer.”            “All right.” Helen placed her bow and violin back in their case and slung the strap over her shoulder once more. She bowed one last time to her Prince. Then she set off back to Lionheart and the Wood and her world, carrying the Song with her.


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