I’ve been working on this story since I was fifteen. Recently, I’ve taken it up again in earnest. I have some new ideas and I just have to make time for it. This character’s name is Yendor. I don’t want to give too much away but the story is called “The Song of Yendor,” so he may have a prominent role. You can read some of the story here
“Rolled in the midst of never-ceasing currents flowing without rest forever onward.” Rig Veda1,32,10.
Halloween is coming, and with it, Samhain, the ancient, pagan holiday from which it is derived. Samhain is the Celtics holiday which marks the coming of winter and the death of the deciduous plant life for the year. By extention, it also memorializes all the life that has past that year. This passing from the life of Spring and Summer to the death of Fall and Winter is where the idea of Ghosts and Otherworld creatures roaming our world comes from.
The Goddess of the ancient Celts is called Danu. You will be told that this Goddess is specific to the Irish Celts, but the river Danube which runs through Germany is named for her as well. There is another water Goddess even farther from Ireland named Danu. In India. While researching Danu, for a painting this Halloween I found mention of her, and the belief by some that they are the same Goddess. I found that the Indian version of Danu, which is in the Rig Veda, has been demonized just as the European one has. In India she is the mother of Vitra the dragon, who is defeated by indra. Finding out she’s a dragon only makes me like her even more. Here is an abstract painting of her, rendered in ink in honor of Inktober.
Though she be small, she is mighty and fierce. Discount her fury at your peril for her purpose is just & her will is unbreakable.
Alive is a land which lurks in the mist
Afar is a font where the fairy folk fly
Many are the men who murmur, “It does not exist.”
For fear of the foe who flit by the eye
Some say the secret to seeing the fae
Is to speak what you seek at the end of the day
As the daylight dusk darkens & purples the sky
The stars start to sparkle & you solemnly say:
“Ethereal elves, spirits & sprites, pixies & brownies and fairies delight
Dryads & naiads, sirens & sylphs;
Tuatha de Danann, Come visit tonight!
A light hum emanated for the dew covered daisies and daffodils springing in the meadow
A glinting, gleaming gossamer flicker of flying, flashing feathery fluff
Was the only glimpse of the sundrenched lemon drop sprite
Spinning lazily in the early morning light.
As the slow, sultry summer sings sunny, slothful Saturday
The shadows sweep silently, stealthily, sinkingly, towards sunset
The twinkling twilight tells its tale of the tail end of the day
And darkness descends.
??
When dusk’s disc disappears, drowning in darkness
Shadow upon shadow shields the secrets seeking solace, silently safe from sight
Never knowing comfort Hardly hearing howling horrors
Hiding, biding, biting
crawling, calling, bawling
Through the night.
Falling fearful foul, freak fancies flying; filled with fiery fright.
Call the faeries all the fae, luminous and bright
glimmering with glamour
glittering and gossamer
and glowing with delight
Banishing the banshee
Shining hope and joy
And life & love & light.
?
On that moonless dark night
Oh, how the nightmares come
In mists and in shrouds
With long curving fangs
And glistening malevolent eyes
Beating their bat wings
The gargoyles growling tails
Twitching they descended upon the babe, to feast upon his fear
The Fae, they were waiting
Ready with bows & blades
& pikes & spear to defend the boy child from the demonic host
In that babe’s room of smiling suns & plush bunnies, the battle ensued
Silver flashed in the dim light and arrows flew
Sharp teeth & claws, forked tails & gleaming eyes
The battle was fought and shone in the sleeping babe’s dreams
Shrouded in shadow, the muffled thumps and clash of blades frightened the child
As any haunting horror
The grand production featured the fae and the demon battle
The violence fed the fevered visions of the innocent.
These are sketches, poems and notes for a fairytale about about a young boy who has nightmares and the Fairies who come to his aid.
When a man sets out to tell a tale, he wants to entertain with adventure, action and fun. He cares not of lofty goals or higher ends. Yet tales have a way of telling themselves; at least when they are told correctly. Unseen turns and hidden paths reveal themselves with each step. Shadows shift as our eyes adjust, and then there is a flash of light as confusing as the darkness before. In the end we may have told a different story than we set out to, but it is the one that wanted to be told. We care not, so long as there is adventure, action and fun.
The road was familiar even at night. The houses, the neighborhood, the shops and bars were all known. This was home. Wandering home from somewhere, he became lost. The streetlights cast a garish glow that did little to dispell the stark and encroaching shadows. Once again he was alone in the night in a strange place. The breeze chilled his skin as it stroked his face and moaned through the sycamores. Leaves rustled and unseen whispers could be heard. Without warning a horse seemed to bear down on him, rider unseen. It was too close, too sudden; he would be trampled by the mindless beast.
Rhyder sat bolt upright in bed. Another nightmare. His wife beside him, his son in his crib across the room. The feeling of fear and disorientation hung over him, but slowly faded. He drank the water from the table by the bed and drifted back to sleep. Moments later the baby, his son, woke screaming. Rhyder leapt up and picked up his son and held him to him. The crying was unconsolable. When at last he had calmed his boy and gotten him back to sleep, he found that sleep for himself was elusive. With a heavy heart he realised his son had inherited his nightmares.
I’ve been working on a new series of faerie sketches for a children’s book. Some are more finished than others. Most of them are in a little 5×7 sketchbook that my wife gave me as a gift, so the sketches are kind of small. These newer ones are being done with water soluble graphite, watercolor pencils and markers. They are helping me to flesh out the story. I’ve also been writing some poetry for the book, but again, more as sketches or ideas that may or may not end up in the book.
All I can really tell for sure is I probably won’t do the finished pieces in watercolor pencil and marker.
All of Sherwood Village was glad to see Martha return safely home. She arrived with her mother to a celebration filled with joy and feasting. Everyone had to hug her and tell her how glad she was safe. Robin’s reputation grew as the story of his lone venture into the Manor house, the rescue of the girl and his near capture was told and retold. None among them saw that Robin himself kept a reserved humour to himself. Robin knew the early relatively care free days of Sherwood village were over. The sheriff had seen what he was up against and would act quickly and decisively. There was a chance that the Earl would also seek revenge to assuage his wounded pride.
As the sun set on the forest revelers, their song carried on the evening breeze, and was taken up by the birds of Spring as they whirled among the treetops. The scent of roast mutton and venison wafted into the forest as well. The shadows stretched out to greet the coming night and a single man walked carefully and silently to where he had tied his horse, well away from the outlaws, lest it be found. He mounted heedless of his own hunger. He was a vagrant huntsman who had been arrested two night ago in Nottingham for drunk in public and failing to pay his considerable bar tab. The sheriff had shown uncharacteristic leniency toward the itinerant huntsman. The sheriff had even offered the man a job. Now, having followed the girl and her mother to their destination, he had found and monitored his quarry, and thus returned to Nottingham to deliver his findings.
Violette had been practicing for months. The Summer Solstice Festival was coming on Thorsday and she was going to be singing. Everyone was going to be there: Pansy, and Lily, Poppy, Lavender, & Rose. And there would be boys there too! Ursus the bear, Salamander, Puck, and Jasper. They had all been rehearsing together and the day was finally coming. All the faeries in the valley would be there.
At first Violette had been nervous. She had been given a difficult part and it was important to get it right. The Summer Solstice was sacred to the faerie folk and the Music of the Spheres was the most important part. It didn’t just signify the delicate and intricate symphony that permeated and sustained the Universe; it WAS that symphony. Everyone had to play their part and the Fey valley’s was during the Summer Solstice. Violette was so afraid of making a mistake that she couldn’t sing.
Then Aisling had given her the ring. Aisling was Violette’s favorite aunt and a Pillar of the Circle as well. When the Faeries of the Valley met, they gathered in concentric circles. The priestess was at the center surrounded by her council, and there were Pillars to keep order in all the rest of the circles. They were like the standing stones of the Fey circles of the land: dependable, honorable, wise and without bias. They were the leaders of the Valley and it was a great honor to be chosen by the council to be a Pillar.
The ring was a magical musical instrument. It was wrought of pure gold, and when struck however slightly or hard it rang with a sustaining tone; The root Sound of the Universe. The ring was ancient and bore inscriptions of long dead tongues upon it. If the ring were turned so the wind could pass through it, the Root sang like a ghost. With the ring to guide her, Violette couldn’t go wrong.
She quickly became adept at playing it and everyone who heard her admired her skill. She never tired of it and spent long hours coaxing the ring’s secrets from it. As the days grew longer and the cool nights bore witness to the stars circling the sky, the Fey looked forward to the festival.
They practiced in late afternoon sunshine. It raked across the landscape, touching the trees and the rocks, filtering its way through the leaves and casting long, blue shadows in a patchwork across the wild grass. Jasper had had enough for one day and decided to see if he could get a reaction from Violette. He had been slowly, nonchalantly making his way around behind her. His wings fluttered nearly silently in the still air and he floated up behind Violette. He ran a finger gently up the edge of her shimmering, gossamer wing, which he knew from experience tickled. She jumped and turned and as he propelled himself backwards up into the trees, she laid down the ring and chased after him. Lily saw and pointed and followed to see. Jasper, flitted around the elms and the birch, his ruddy, earthy brown clothes blending in to the woods, making him hard to track even for the other faeries.
Violette would not give up easily and chased him up and around, banking ever on his left to drive him rightward until he almost flew into a briar patch. He stopped to face her and they nearly collided.
“I give up!” he said, hands raised defensively. She closed in on him and pummeled him with her tiny fists, laughing. They were both breathing heavily from the chase. The other faeries gathered around laughing and the cool breeze carried the sound of their laughter through the leaves of the trees to the brook, which giggled along.
They heard the bell for dinner and they flew off to sunset hill where the faeries had their communal dinner each evening as the light of the day slowly faded. Lisa heard the dinner bell, and tore off running for home. She didn’t want to be late again, or she would catch a whuppin for sure! She glided over rocks and wove between trees like the wind itself. She came to the brook and grabbed her skirt by the bottom and gathered it up and leaped the stream in one graceful bound. She could only be this way in the woods. when she was around the other children, she was awkward and shy. She had few friends and longed to tell someone all her ideas and questions. Even if the other person thought they were silly, she wouldn’t care as long as they listened. She came to a small clearing and was momentarily confused. She hesitated for a moment, and in that moment, she lost her balance, tripped and fell.
There, laying on the grass in front of her, slightly hidden was a golden ring.
