Friday Flash #78: The Rise of the Phoenix

First Meeting
Drawing by Me

Legend says there can be only one, and it is born of fire. 

And so it began. We searched libraries and talked to everybody we could think of who might be a source. And over months and years we wove together the tiny fragments of truth about where a legend might actually be found, and wondered whether we might be deemed worthy of finding it.

We found hers first. The fire phoenix of legend – master of life and change, death and rebirth. He tested her; oh how he tested her. And, I suppose, she tested him. But something clicked and there grew an acceptance and then a bond between them. That of a salty teacher and the only student he cared to tolerate. Majestic, intelligent, and done. Almost 500 years old, some of his spark had dimmed, and one day he made it clear to Feena his time was coming to an end.

From his ashes would rise his successor, with all his memories – although they may be fuzzy at first. Feena helped prepare the fire, unshed tears blurring her vision. The bed of cinnamon, cassia, spikenard, and amomum made for an amazingly scented kindling nest. He had told her it would ease the transition.

They stood together when the fire burned brightly, and all was ready – a rare moment of quiet between two fiery creatures. Feena could feel heat radiating from him. Suddenly he let out an ear-piercing screech that reverberated through her soul. He launched straight up, as though reaching for the noon sun, then slowly rode the wind back down, gliding in large, slow circles, as though he were a bird of prey looking for his next meal. And when he was ready he dove, wings in, extreme speed, straight towards the heart of the fire. He didn’t burn, as Feena had feared, but rather became the flame himself.  Feena felt a brief spark in the palm of her hand – the feather he had given her had also converted into flame, leaving behind a small handful of golden ash, which she gently closed her fist around.

She kept the fire burning, but nothing remained of her friend. She held vigil, hoping, but not fully believing, this part of the legend would also be true. He hadn’t been able to tell her what would happen. The magic of death and rebirth was instinctual, but otherwise unknown even to him. As far as they could know, nobody had ever seen it happen.

And so she kept the fire burning and she waited. As day turned to dusk, and dusk turned to night, and the temperature dropped, she sat watching the flames dance. In the darkest part of the night, when the only thing to be seen were the flames, the fire suddenly grew of its own volition. Sparks started flying and flames followed them.

The higher flames dancing and flickering started to take shape. Feena’s eyes burned as she refused to even blink. The phoenix wasn’t born in fire, but rather of fire. As he took form, he let out a screech not quite as piercing as that of his predecessor, but still strong enough that the world knew he’d arrived. She shifted slightly, and in doing so sharply drew his attention. He seemed to realize that he wasn’t alone and looked at her – fire and death in his sharp eyes. She didn’t see any of her old friend in his gaze, but she knew the memories would be there somewhere. Taking a deep breath, she extended her arms, opening her cupped hands to reveal the golden ashes of the one who’d gone before.

He cocked his head slightly, as though studying her, or maybe trying to retrieve a memory, and then with no further acknowledgement, took flight – straight up, just as his predecessor had done, until he surpassed the light of the fire and she could see him no more.

Feena kept her vigil on the fire the rest of the night, unsure exactly what to do next. When the first light of dawn broke behind her, she felt more than heard a gentle chuffing sound behind her. Turning she found, in full splendour, this era’s phoenix.

Friday Flash #72 -- Daughter of Nightmares and Smoke

Once considered peaceful, the dragons came one night and scorched the villages.   For days nothing could be seen but smoke.  The people would try to rebuild, but every few months the dragons would return.  It was a time of terror.  Hunting parties were sent to get revenge; no one returned.  

And then one day, the skys were empty.  No longer did the occasional shadow drift over the village.  No more did children cower from the giant creatures from the sky.  Nobody knew why they attacked or where they went, but over time, that became unimportant. Things were quiet, and people rebuilt out of their grief.  And as the children who had seen their villages destroyed grew up and gave birth to children of their own, memories faded.  By the time their grandchildren had grandchildren, understanding of dragons had changed.  From peaceful and harmless, to horrifyingly vicious, to nothing more than a wisp of a myth. A story to scare young children into behaving.

But time is a tricky thing, and to the dragons, it moves differently.  Only one generation had passed since The Great Betrayal, and memory of it was clear.  After all, she did live with them.  Tall and graceful, Alesha laughed as she skipped between the caves, easily avoiding the dragon chasing her.  She whipped around a boulder, turning at the last second and ducking under the dragon who almost had her.  She poked his belly as he flew over top, “Gotcha Tren!” she laughed, his roar made the rock she was standing on shake, but didn’t phase her in the slightest.   They were siblings.  Friends.  And she had very definitely won.  Again.

It’s time to come home, the thought from their mother was as clear in her head as if it had been spoken.  Tren, having received the same message turned and headed toward her.  With a running leap, Alesha hopped on for the flight home.

She knew she was different, of course.  Small and fragile, but nimble and creative.  She couldn’t breathe fire, but she could build it.  She couldn’t fly, but she could access spaces the dragons would never be able to.  Her dragon family accepted things as they are, as they’ve always been, while Alesha questioned everything.  They complemented each other.  The smarter ones appreciated that and considered her family; the lesser ones treated her as little more than a pet.  A curiosity.  A spoil of war.

When they returned to the roost, Alesha and Tren were surprised to discover the elder dragons had gathered.  Tren aborted his landing and circled, hoping to avoid interrupting the council, but Tasque, the head of the council, noticed him and with a thought compelled him to join them.

Alesha slid off Tren as soon as he landed, preferring to face whatever was coming standing.  But while she stood calmly and confidently, her hand quivered gently where it rested against Tren’s shoulder.  

What’s going on? she asked.

The time has come for you to fulfil your destiny.  The voice in her mind was powerful, and not one who had ever deigned to speak to her before.   She met Tasque’s stare head on and held it for a moment.  She could feel a wave a pride wash over her – the dragon who had adopted her so long ago was pleased.

What do you need me to do?  Her heart beat faster and she had to consciously stop herself from fidgeting.  So long she had wondered why the dragons had adopted and raised her.  It was the one question nobody would ever answer.  

You remember, of course, The Great Betrayal?   How could she forget?   Her heart sank as she was reminded yet again of the time the dragons had attempted to aid humans, only to have five of their eggs stolen.   The dragons had found four – three of which had been destroyed; the fourth hatched and grew up to be Tren.  But the fifth egg, even after months of searching, remained hidden.  And with the humans getting closer to their nest, they had to call off the search and moved the entire flight to their current home.  But when they did that, they brought one thing that was not theirs.  They brought an infant girl.  Her.

We have located the last egg.   It will not hatch until it is returned to us, but we cannot retrieve it.  You and Tren will go together, get the egg, and bring it home.

Her eyes widened and she glanced at Tren.  She was going to go to the human’s world?   Before her thoughts could start spinning too quickly, her mother’s familiar voice interrupted.  

Alesha, you’ll need to remember all we’ve taught you about humans.  Tren will help you get there, but he must not be seen, so you will be on your own.  Several of their generations have passed since we adopted you – with us you’re still so young, but there you will age quickly.  We believe we’ve found which castle the egg is locked in, but that’s all we know.  You’ll need to find a way to get in, rescue the egg, and get out quickly.  You can navigate in the dark nearly as well as we can; most humans cannot – use that to your advantage.  You must speak of us to no one.  Dragons to them are creations of nightmares and smoke.  And you are our daughter.  Never forget it.

Do you understand? The leader’s voice interrupted.

I do.

Will you undertake this task asked of you by the dragon council?

I will.

Then it be done. We will watch for your return with each new moon.  May the stars guide your way.

Alesha bowed her head as she’d be taught, then gracefully vaulted on to Tren’s back so he could take them out of the council.  Tren tried to talk to her, but her thoughts were flowing too quickly for her to hear him.  She was going home.  A home she’d never known, true, but one where there were people like her.  And maybe, just maybe, once she’d rescued the egg, she could find a way to bridge the worlds.

The daughter of nightmares and smoke yes, but also of dreams and starlight.

FridayFlash #70: Vaalea's Story

Stories are often told of princesses being rescued from dragons; as far as I know, I’m the only princess who had ever been rescued *by* a dragon. I was so young – I didn’t really understand all that had happened, or have any understanding of all that would happen. My sister, who I’d only just met, called the dragon, Drazul, and I climbed on. I was fearless and he was amazing. He spoke to me and made me laugh. And away we went.

It took forever to get there. Days? Weeks? I don’t know. It seemed like forever, but I was a child -- a year is a lifetime then.   He told me all about the special school I was going to; a school for people like me. We landed on top of a mountain. Slowly the mist cleared to reveal a castle, whose sides shimmered as though a mirage. Drazul directed me to head inside, and I was so excited – I’m sure I bounced.

There were other kids, and for the first time I could remember, I was allowed to play with them. My roommate, Adalyn, was the same age as me, but she seemed so much older. She was calm, always organized, “well put together” my mum would’ve said, and never got into trouble with the rest of us. But somehow, we still became friends.

We played, we learned, and we grew. Every once in a while, the dragons would bring us a new student. They would wander in; some were excited, but most were terrified. And thus we learned about the outside world, where magic was at best feared and at worst hunted. And so we stayed where we were safe, and we learned, and we practiced. And over time, we became strong.

But eventually, I grew up. And as I did, I wondered. I remembered so little of my life before I’d come. Why had my mother or my sister never come to visit? Drazul flew me here, surely he could’ve flown them. And I started to think that maybe it was up to me to go find them.

My first thought was to call Drazul and ask him to take me. He’d flown me here so many years ago, and stopped by at least a couple times a year since. We’d talk and play and sometimes he’d take me flying. But he never answered my questions of home, always just said I was better here. And eventually I stopped asking. Unfortunately though, I’d never learnt to call him; Drazul came when he wanted to and left on a whim – he never stuck around for long.

I slung my backpack over one shoulder, everything I valued inside. There were no rules against leaving – we could go at any time; the only rule was that once you left, you could never return. It was an easy life at the school. One where I knew everybody and was known. I could be myself and practice my magic, and perhaps one day even teach. It was a good life. But it wasn’t the life I was destined for, and somewhere, deep inside, I knew it.

I had said my goodbyes, but purposely not told anybody exactly when I would leave. It would be hard enough without a crowd. As I slid through the door, I felt a hand on my shoulder. Looking back over my shoulder, I saw Adalyn carrying her matching bag. “You didn’t think you’d be going without me, did you?” she asked.

---

Author's note -- this is the start of a sequel to Jezina's Story.   For more on the school mentioned, see my short story Returning.

#FridayFlash #69: Don't try this at home

This story was completely inspired by a YouTube video posted on my wall this week.   For your entertainment, it is included at the end.

As always, comments very welcome!

Enjoy :)
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I followed the instructions so carefully.  I mixed all the powders together, then gently misted the liquid, before finally packing the whole thing around the dragon egg.   Toy dragon that is -- one of the little figurines I had bought five-for-a-dollar at the dollar store.  It would make for a great bath bomb; my nieces would love it.  And of course I had to test one.  After all, I couldn't risk giving them away and having them not work.   If only I'd known...   But how could I?   I still don't really believe it.

Sure enough the bomb fizzled and quickly turned my bath black.  I wasn't sure I liked that aspect -- would pick a friendlier colour next time.   I felt around the tub for the tiny plastic egg, but when I found it, it had already opened.

Disappointed, I started feeling in the black water to find the little plastic toy.  And let when my hand landed on something scaly!   I flew out of the tub and grabbed a towel -- glaring at the water that another inhabitant had ruined for me.

As though expecting something to attack, I carefully reached over, then yanked the plug out and jumped back!   The drama was unnecessary as the black water calmly receded.   I thought maybe a lizard of some type?   But those don't tend to live here.

When the bath drained, a little creature about the size of my hand stood and angrily shook the bath water off.   He was a deep purple colour with wings that glistened.  He cocked his gecko-like head, seeming to study me as I was him.  The moment only lasted a few seconds before I had a very clear picture in my head of me picking him up and getting him out of the tub.

Not at all sure that was a good idea, I nonetheless followed the suggestion.  The creature gave what I'm convinced was a nod of thanks before walking out of the room, his wings folded carefully behind him and tail raised just slightly off the ground.

Panicked barking jolted me out of my shock and I raced to my dog Casey in time to see the tiny creature spread his disproportionately large wings and hiss.   Casey, my fierce protector, backed down instantly.   He could've squashed this creature in a heartbeat, but no, he lay down with a whimper, flicking his eyes from me to the creature.   Sorry Casey, wish I could help...

I opened the door to the yard, pleased when the creature wandered outside.   Relieved I waited an hour for him to leave.   Then two.  But every time I looked outside, he was still there, sunning himself on a rock and growing at an observable rate.   After only a few hours, he was bigger than my German shepherd.

When it came time for dinner, I wondered if I should feed him.   What would he eat?   Google wasn't able to suggest anything, and some instinct stopped me from posting pictures online.   As I went to peer in the fridge and see what options there might be, I saw the other bath bombs.

No way.

But looking from them to my creature, now the size of a Shetland pony, I had to accept that some how my five-for-a-dollar toy and homemade egg, had hatched an actual dragon.   And I had no idea what to do with him.

----

What started it all:

#FridayFlash 67: A Flash of Colour

Follow the lemmings, she thought as she joined the hundreds of commuters filing two by two down the stairs to exit the train station.   Her whole life had been an adventure.  She loved that her friends watched her, bemused, to see what the next twist might be.  But now she who loved light, colour, and openness trudged between the tight grey rows of skyscrapers.

At the first red light, she looked around, determined not to succumb to the temptation to stare at her phone and complete the transformation into “one of them”.  It was a little defiance, but the only thing she could do to keep her sense of self.  On the opposite corner, she noticed a teenage girl wearing a brilliant red cape. Most unusual though was that the girl was looking right at her. They made eye contact as the light changed.  The girl pointed with her chin over her shoulder, spun around and left; her cape billowed behind her as people blindly shuffled to allow her to pass through.

Lizzie elbowed her way to the front of the crowd, eyes scanning the limited routes.  A flash of red flickered at the edge of an alley, and without allowing herself to consider her motives, Lizzie trailed it.  This alley was noticeably quieter and calmer.   The masses of people continued down the main road.  Up ahead the girl looked back over her shoulder, gave a mischievous wink, and let herself through a gate.

Lizzie was sure the gate hadn’t been there yesterday.  She would’ve sworn this was a dead end.  She looked behind her, giving a moment’s thought to the safe and responsible option of continuing on to work.  She dismissed it instantly. 

On closer inspection, Lizzie decided the gate had been there forever, she’d simply missed it.  It was ancient, yet opened smoothly when she pushed through it.  She heard the latch click behind her and turned to look back, relieved that everything was exactly as she’d expect to see and then amused at herself for considering anything else.  But when she faced forward, her world had changed.  The girl still stood waiting for her, but no longer was she standing in a city alley with office buildings on either side of her; in front of her lay something from a storybook – rolling hills of green, trees off to one side, and a castle in the distance.  A frantic look back revealed the city Lizzie knew, and she reached backward for the gate.  The cold metal in her hand was reassuring, but as she opened it, she felt an almost overwhelming sense of loss.  She allowed the gate to close again which dulled the sensation significantly, but her fingers turned white with the intensity of the grip she kept.

“What…?  Where…?” usually articulate, she found herself unable to formulate a question that would address the situation she found herself in.

A bird calling in the distance was the only answer she received.  It was not a city bird she heard. 

Lizzie’s feet felt rooted in cement.  She could not go forward if she wished, but nor was she inclined to tolerate the intense misery of the gate.  The other girl’s hands were interlaced in front of her while she stood quietly.  Her eyes shone of wisdom and experience well beyond what her age should allow.

“Who are you?” Lizzie’s words came out barely more than a whisper.

“I was once as you are now.  I made my choice; now you must make yours.”  Her melodic voice had a hypnotic tone to it that suited the look in her eyes but not her youth.

“How did that work out for you?”

The girl’s eyes crinkled as she let out a short laugh that instantly set Lizzie at ease.   The woman-girl paused for a moment, looking away from Lizzie before answering.

“My choice had consequences,” she spoke slowly, as though considering each word.  “Some were very hard,” she gave a gentle laugh, making Lizzie wonder how much time had passed that such hard results could now have happy memories.   Lizzie waited for her to continue, but the girl had her lips pressed tightly together.

She phrased her next question carefully.  

“If you were to do it again, knowing what you know now, would you make the same choice you did?”

The girl gave the smallest of nods before speaking, “Yes I would, but realize I did not face the same choice you have in front of you.  Your choice is your own, but if you wait much longer to decide, you’re going to be late for work.”

The reality check startled Lizzie.  What was she doing?  She had to get to work.  She needed that job.  She opened the gate and felt the sense of loss wash over her.  Her feet were still unwilling to move.  Reaching into her purse she smiled; she never missed a day so nobody would care as long as she called in – and given that she was seeing fantasy countries in a dead-end alley, she was clearly in need of a mental health day.

Her relief at the simple solution disappeared instantly when she discovered she had no service.

“Really?” her guide rolled her eyes, suddenly seeming entirely like the teenager she appeared to be.

So go to work like a responsible adult or play hooky for a little while?  That was the decision Lizzie tried to rationalize, but she knew in the part of her soul that’s reserved only for truth, that the choice she had to make would be immeasurably more significant than that.

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, thought about everybody important in her life, and realized that every one of them would understand that she needed to make the choice they never would.

So with fear and excitement warring for control over her emotions, she let go of the gate and walked towards her next adventure.

FridayFlash #64: The road less travelled

She stood only a few kilometers from the base of the mountain, its peak shrouded in an unnatural mist. It was a mountain she'd never had any interest in seeing from a distance, much less climbing, but now she had no choice. She looked around her, taking in the stunning views and the happily oblivious families playing on the beach. They had no idea of the power that lurked nearby; hopefully they never would.

She took a deep breath and left the beach, finding herself quickly in deep vegetation. She knew of people who could trek through deep forest without ever making a sound. Sadly, she was not one of them. And realistically she figured her presence would be known long before sound would have given her away. She rolled her eyes as another branch snapped and an angry bird cawed loudly.

Humans had so few natural predators, yet somehow still the thought of approaching one in its den triggered long dormant instincts; her legs felt like she was wearing lead shoes, and she could hear her own heartbeat. But she had no choice. It was her fault Callie had been taken. Taken. Not killed. Nobody believed her when she told them that, claiming stress and grief were manipulating her memories. But she knew what she had seen; the dragon had been too gentle, too determined. It hadn't killed her sister; it had kidnapped her.

She muttered under her breath as she ducked under a branch only to walk straight into a cob web. There was no trail; of course there was no trail -- most people had no idea what lived up there and those who did, actively avoided visiting. But somehow it wasn't horribly overgrown either -- as she walked, her feet seemed to find their own path.

All too quickly she reached the low mist. The air hung heavy and her clothes began to sag as they drank the moisture from the air. She paused to catch her breath and became aware of the utter silence surrounding her. The birds, monkeys, and various other woodland critters who had been narrating her hike, were now noticeably missing, as though they too knew better than to risk venturing into the mist.

Welcome Christina, she froze and her eyes widened at the words she felt rather than heard. We have been waiting for you.

She snorted and determinedly continued her hike. After all, realistically if they, whoever they were, wanted her dead, she would be. Only a few moments later, the mist cleared, her limp hair and damp clothing all that reminded her of the humidity that had been.

Christina didn’t know what she’d expected to find. If she’d put any consideration into it, it would have been an arid cavern of some sort – maybe something similar to a volcano. But that was not what she found.

She knew she was staring and her teeth clicked as she consciously closed her mouth. What she saw defied all understanding she possessed. If front of her floated a stunning castle, whose edges shimmered like a mirage. To either side was what looked like giant garages, unfathomably large, and lit by crystals. The whole place oozed wealth and grandeur, but somehow also had a welcoming homey feel.

“Stein!” Christina’s eyes focused on the door as her little sister came tearing out toward her.

“Callie!” She swooped her sister up in a bear hug, “Are you okay?” But she could tell by the grin on her face and the strength in her hug that her sister was fine. “What happened? Actually no, never mind, you can tell me when we get home.”

Callie unwrapped herself and grabbed Christina’s hand, pulling toward the castle. “We can’t go yet. You have to meet Jory! And school is so much more fun here than at home.”

Christina, she held her breath as the powerful feeling overtook her again, Callie will complete her studies here. At which point she may return to your home if she desires. You too have sufficient power to stay and learn – although you are old to be so untrained. Alternately, you may leave unharmed. But know that once you cross the mist, you will have no memory of this place. Choose wisely.

Callie tugged on her hand, imploring her to come, but Christina paused, her mind spinning. She thought of her parents, and the grief they would feel at the apparent loss of another daughter; she thought of the life she would lead if she never knew what had happened to Callie; and then she looked at her sister’s excited face and knew there was no choice. Hoping it wasn’t all an elaborate ruse, she gave one last look through the mist before allowing her little sister to pull her toward the castle and her destiny.

Friday Flash #61: Dragons and Coffee

I was cold and wet and miserable.  It was the kind of fall day that screams at you that winter is coming and unless you have a fabulous travel budget, there’s absolutely nothing you can do about it.  The downtown core was uninviting as commuters flocked by the thousands to their preferred form of transit – all hunched over and lost in their own worlds.  Shops lined the streets advertising already for Christmas, but easily ignored.  I had to sidestep as a door I must’ve walked by a thousand times without ever noticing opened and a rather strange looking little man stepped out carrying an A-frame.  I swerved to avoid him, muttering under my breath.  But in doing so, I happened to read the sign – it offered free baked goods with any coffee purchase.  And suddenly, in all my misery, coffee, especially coffee that didn’t come from one of the half-dozen chain stores I’d already passed, seemed like a fabulous idea.  And, well, what could possibly go wrong with baked goods?  So I stepped through the red door.

The warmth hit me first and then I took it all in.  The room was huge – far bigger than the store frontage would’ve led me to believe.  Set up like an old private library, it was my own personal paradise.  A roaring fire rapidly shed all memory of the weather outside, large leather recliners surrounded the room – each with their own little round table.  Wooden shelves lined the walls – complete with a rolling ladder attached to them.  The books that lined them ranged from the latest pop fiction paperback to editions so old they predated printing and had to be worth thousands of dollars each.

I stood in the entrance wanting nothing more than to relax into one of those chairs with a book and the promised coffee, but it was clearly private.  I looked around, a little awkwardly, wondering where the people were.  Had I misunderstood?

“Come in, come in!  I’m sorry to keep you waiting!”  I jumped at the sound, and turned to find the little man beside me, holding a plate of cookies that smelled as though they’d just come out of the oven.  “Welcome to our little café, please have a seat.”  The man gestured into the library.  There was something not quite right about him, but I couldn’t quite pinpoint what.

“Is this your shop?” I asked.

“My family’s,” he told me.  “It seems like we’ve spent a thousand years preparing it, and now we’re finally ready to open!  You’re our first customer.”

That explained a lot – from the expensive books being out in the open to his speaking in exclamation marks, to the lack of visitors.  I was pretty sure the first book would be stolen within the week and that would be the end of that ambiance, but I hoped the rest might remain.

“You’ll find our menu on every table, but allow me to start you with some cookies.”   He nodded to the room, and backed out through a cleverly concealed door.

I took a seat with a smile, entirely committed now to enjoying the experience of being an excited proprietor’s first customer.  The menu was actually printed on the table – the prices were reasonable given the location and the ambiance, so I made my choice and looked up.

Only to discover I was no longer alone.  I squeaked in surprise.  Yes, I squeaked.  I admit it.  I didn’t squeal or yell or faint or even react with any kind of dignity.  I squeaked.  And I suddenly understood why the room was so large.  For you see…  Yeah you’re never going to believe me.  Maybe it would be best if you stopped reading now.  Seriously.

Sitting in front of me was a dragon.

No I’m not kidding.  Nor am I delusional.  I hadn’t eaten any of the cookies yet so nobody had drugged me.  A stunningly gorgeous dragon lay in front of me.  His tail was wrapped tightly around his body and none of the furniture or books had been disturbed.  His scales didn’t sparkle or glitter, but they did seem to change colour depending how the firelight hit them – varying by times through purple, green, grey and almost pink.  He was looking at me and had cocked his head just like my puppy used to do when I was a child.

“Hello?” I asked tentatively.  Partially I felt ridiculous – seriously, who talks to a dragon?  But that went away when he answered.

“I am Illarion.”  His voice sounded like Mini Mouse.  I am not even kidding you.  I deserve a medal for keeping a straight face and not reacting when he first spoke.  This giant, majestic creature that by all accounts I’ve heard should either be extinct or never have existed, exists, has the ability to speak, and has a voice like Mini Mouse.  It was Just. Plain. Wrong.

“Nice to meet you Illarion.”  If you only had one question to ask a dragon what would it be?  Have it prepared now, because I’ll tell you – on the spot, it’s hard to think of anything good.  Now?  Now I have heaps of ideas, but then…  Alas, I’m ashamed to say the best I could come up with was “where are you from?”

“I was created by dreams and magic and nature and gods.  But if you mean where on this planet, the answer is Russia.”

Okay then.  Have to admit I liked his first answer better.  I wanted that on a bumper sticker.

“Would you tell me about yourself?” I asked, wondering if I was being rude.

“Such knowledge must be earned.”

“How do I earn it?” I asked, my competitive nature instantly engaged.

“We will play rock, paper, scissors. If you win, I will tell you my story and if you wish, take you to my home.”  I suspected he wasn’t talking about Russia.

“And if you win?”

“You will learn no more today.”

Okay so that would be disappointing, but not tragic.  And I’d still have coffee and a fabulous new café.   And so we played.

For those of you who have the capacity to learn from others.  Should the opportunity ever arise, do not, I repeat, Do Not play rock, paper, scissors with a dragon.  It turns out fire beats rock, paper, and scissors.

Suffice to say I lost.  I would argue he cheated, but when playing with a dragon, you have to play by dragon’s rules.  I’d like to say my life changed that day, but the reality is I found myself a faceless member of the masses on the same cold, wet street.  The red door, the sign, and the wonderful bakery smells were strangely absent.  I didn’t get to travel to wherever he was from.  I didn’t even get my free coffee.

But I will admit that these days when things are really dreary, I keep half an eye out for a red door.  Because next time, I might win.

A sample of what's coming next...

As requested - a snippet from the latest work-in-progress.  I think it mostly stands on its own.  I kinda love this main character.  She might have to stick around for a while :)

The original of the first chapter can be found here -- obviously person and names have changed, but the premise is the same.

My little world is still in need of a name though -- any suggestions?  Medieval-ish, said world has 6 divisions to it.

Let me know what you think!

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Gavin looked again to Marcus for instruction and Lissa had to work to maintain her calm facade. More than anything from home she missed being treated as an equal by the men.  She may not have their knowledge of war, but she expected to at least be answered directly.  But she took a deep breath and told herself to forget it.  Women’s lib wasn’t even a figment of the imagination here.  The fact that Marcus and Zane respected her was surprising enough – she had to remind herself to be grateful for that.

And then, she learned it went beyond that.  She realized Marcus was livid and when he addressed the knight; his voice was ice cold and his visible tattoos seemed to become more vibrant somehow.  “She is your queen and she asked you a question. You have disgraced yourself and me by failing to answer immediately.  The only reason you are still alive is because she respects me enough not to kill you.  But if you fail again, I’ll take care of it myself.  Are we understood?”

Lissa nodded her appreciation to Marcus, while the knight stammered an apology.  But, she realized, it wasn’t enough.  He would treat her with respect to honour Marcus, but not because he actually respected her.  She’d have to earn that. 

A slow smile crept over her face as the idea came to her.

“Calista…” she heard the warning in Zane’s voice, but ignored it.  She wasn’t going to do anything particularly challenging.  They’d been practising endlessly.  She just wanted to make a point.  She imagined a ring around the knight on the floor.  She could see it clearly in her mind.  The men were all watching her now, but she said nothing.  She held her hand in front of her and turned it over palm down then back up again, as a casino dealer would before dealing the cards.  When their eyes focused on her hand, she created a little flame.  Nothing intimidating, smaller even than the average candle.  It flickered, bouncing just over her palm, and she looked up to meet the knight’s eyes.  She flashed a wicked smile and he paled.

But she wasn’t done.  She brought her hand up to her face.  It was entirely unnecessary, but she understood the effect of a good show.  One of the things Zane had taught her was magic was far more powerful if the audience believed, and she knew how to manipulate an audience.  She blew gently on the flame, but instead of going out or even growing as a flame would usually behave, it took on the characteristics of a leaf – and when she blew on it, it gently floated away. 

The flame wafted gently until it hit that imaginary ring around the knight.  The ring that her mind had lined with gasoline.  The effect was impressive.  Startling even to her, and she knew what was coming.  Instantly the knight was surrounded with a wall of fire taller than he was.  She saw him through the flames, hands up protecting his face, spinning in an attempt to find a way out.

Marcus let out a loud laugh; while Lissa was certain it was forced, she was also reasonably certain the knight was too panicked to notice the subtlety.

“I think,” the wizard spoke calmly, “Sir Gavin has learned his lesson, highness.  I’m getting quite warm, so if you don’t intend to kill him, perhaps you could douse the flames?”

“Look at me, Sir Knight.”

The knight did as he was told, meeting her gaze through the flames.  Slowly she dissipated the flame into the air, allowing the flames to shrink until they vanished.  She held Gavin’s gaze the whole time; her own expression was carefully neutral. 

“Let me be very clear,” her voice was calm and quiet, making it all the more powerful.  “I am queen, which alone means I outrank your lord.  I am also a wizard, which makes me the most powerful queen LAND has seen in centuries.  I was raised far from here and have training the likes of which you cannot imagine, which enables me to think and solve puzzles in a manner you’ve never seen. Trust me, Sir Gavin, what I tell you now.  That wall of fire is naught but a child’s trick.  If you ever disrespect me again, you will learn just what a warrior queen is capable of.  Understood?”

“Yes highness,” his voice came out clear.  He continued to hold her eyes as he dropped to one knee and held his sword out in front of him, point to the ground.  Then very deliberately he bowed his head.  “I give you my sword, highness.  And with it my life.”

He stared at the ground while Lissa considered him.  Technically he owed her his allegiance regardless through Marcus, so the offer, while undoubtedly heart-felt, wasn’t actually of any benefit to her.  Her head was pounding; she put it down to stress and frustration.  She was getting so very tired of the testosterone game.  Threaten them, they respect you.  But it wasn’t the kind of respect she wanted.

“I do not accept,” she said.  Marcus tensed and his hand reached for his blade, but she caught his eye and shook her head sharply.  “Your sword belongs to Lord Thornbury, as does your life.  I have no need of either, for I have his sword.”  Marcus nodded and the knight’s shoulders deflated slightly.

“What I do need, however, is your opinion about the dorns.”  She repeated her earlier request.

“Yes your highness.”  He remained kneeling, but lowered his sword to the floor and lifted his eyes to meet hers.  His recitation was thorough and in the end, she knew what they were facing.  

“Do you have anything else to tell us?” she asked, exhausted and hoping the answer was no.

“No highness.”

“Marcus?  Zane?” she asked.  Both men shook their head in the negative.

“You are dismissed Sir Gavin.”

The knight bowed first to her, then to Marcus and finally to the wizard before leaving the room.  As soon as the door shut, Lissa sighed and leaned back against the wall, wishing she could relax even briefly. 

“You know,” Marcus said studying her, while one hand mindlessly twirled a knife between his fingers, “when I told Gavin you could kill him, I didn’t actually think you could do it.”

“I know.  That’s why I had to do what I did.”

“Why didn’t you accept his sword?”

“Because it was offered out of fear, not respect.”  She paused for a moment and he nodded; he didn’t look surprised.

“You were going to kill him.”  She said it as a statement, but he answered it as if it were a question.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“A soldier whose allegiance is rejected is dishonoured.  As a subject of yours, I couldn’t keep a vassal whom you had deemed unworthy.  But nor can I afford for him to sell what he knows to our enemies.  His life was forfeit when you declined him and he knew it.  You restored his honour to him smoothly and enabled him to maintain his position in my household.  He’s your man now, whether you want him or not.”

“I know,” she said with a wry smile.

Marcus paled just slightly and his hand paused in the twirling of the knife.   She winked at him and the knife slowly started moving again.  “You are your mother’s daughter,” he said, “but you are so much more than she ever was.  I won’t forget it.”

#FridayFlash 60: In the silence of the night

“Highness, I could use your assistance.”

“Of course,” she said instantly.

Lissa turned her horse to follow the wizard Zander across the camp, nodding to people as they passed through.  It was Illian's turn to be her shadow again tonight, and he followed without question or comment.

They left camp and rode toward the quickly setting sun.  Her eyes adjusted to the dim light easily enough, but soon she was relying on her horse to follow as she could hardly see Zander in front of her.

Zander’s voice, when he spoke, seemed exceptionally loud in the silence of the night even though in reality it was barely more than a whisper.  “Highness, you know what I’m looking for?”

“Yes,” she answered after realizing he couldn't see her nod.

“It is here somewhere.  There is a chance you might be better able to find it than I.  You should be able to communicate with the earth the same way you speak to the dragons.”

Speak to the earth the way she spoke to the dragons.  Right.  Hi earth, how you doin'?  She smiled, amused by her own smart-ass attempt.  The only answer she received was a crunch of grass as her mare snagged a bite to eat.  But she acknowledged that wasn't going to get them anywhere.  Zander said she had the skill; he didn't, so he couldn't teach her to use it.  She was on her own, but she’d been on her own before. 

Speak to the earth the way she spoke to the dragons.  Okay, so how did she speak to the dragons?  She brought the image of her dragon, Dezian, to mind. Can you hear me? She asked.

Yes highness, how can I serve you? The voice was fainter than she was used to, but no less majestic.

Don’t come here, she said, warding off any instinct the dragon might have; Dezian showing up would not aid 

their stealth mission.  I need to talk to the earth; do you know how to do that?

It is no different than us talking.  Just open your mind and listen.  The earth is far older; it speaks 

slower and only when necessary.  Be patient.

Thank you Dezian.  She didn't really know how to apply what she’d just been told, but at least she’d been paying conscious attention to how she spoke to her dragon.  First she had to visualize her; then she could communicate.

She dismounted, somehow knowing it was the right thing to do.  Illian appeared behind her and she gave him her reins.

“Your highness?” he asked as she stepped away from him.

“I’m not going far,” she took only a few more steps to a tree bigger than any she’d ever seen at home, but of average height here, and ran a hand softly down its bark.  She sat at its base, leaning back against it.  Her legs were stretched out in front of her and her hands lay softly at her sides.  One, resting on a dirt patch, the other on slightly damp moss.  She closed her eyes.

Great and mighty earth, she said, serious this time and her tone one of pure respect.  Would you do me the honour of sharing your knowledge?

She waited patiently, focusing on her breathing.  Slowly inhale, pause, and exhale – as though she were preparing to meditate.  Without her vision, her other senses became more attune.  The moss seemed softer under her hand.  She could smell the dirt, but also the rain that had fallen hours earlier and a whiff of a flower somewhere nearby.  Her ears heard the songs of the crickets calling; she felt like she understood their longing, but could do nothing to remedy it.  An owl hooted somewhere far in the distance and a wolf howled; the two couldn't possibly have been connected, but somehow it seemed as though they were communicating with each other.  But she couldn't quite grasp what they said.

She tried to close her ears to the night, listening only to the sound of her own breath.  Inhale, pause, exhale.  She lost track of time.  She could've been sitting there minutes or hours.  Inhale, pause, What is it you seek?  She was startled, because she hadn't really expected to receive a response, but exhaled just as calmly, focusing on maintaining her meditative state.

Inhale, pause, Once, long ago, a tunnel was dug through your magnificent forest. Exhale.

This did happen, it wasn't so much a voice as a memory.  The image of a much younger forest floated through her mind.  She was having trouble separating the earth’s thoughts from her own.

I would really appreciate knowing where the entrance to the tunnel is, she thought in-between breaths.

You already have this knowledge, and while that answer should have both surprised and frustrated her, it didn't.  Because it was correct.  She found she had the knowledge of this forest and all it had seen since the days when it was nothing but weeds and dirt.  She knew of the trees that had grown mighty, only to be felled by an axe.  She knew of the animals and their reliance on one another in their life circle.  And she knew of the people – those who had loved, those who had killed, and everybody in-between.  Watching eons of history flip through her mind in seconds she continued to focus on her breathing and paused when she saw a boulder being moved, a tunnel being sealed.  And she knew, better than she’d known her own home, exactly where the tunnel Zander sought was.  

Thank you for this gift, meaning so much more than thank you.  Is there anything I can do for you, majesty?  She doubted the title was correct, but it seemed to suit and she hoped at very least it wouldn't offend.

Use your tunnel, Lissa, and then restore this forest to those who belong here.  She was unsurprised to hear her given name used; what was a queen next to the earth?

It will be done. It was a promise she would keep.

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From my WIP.  Thoughts?

#FridayFlash 57: When a warm wind blows

A warm wind blew on a cold night right before I died.

It was time. I'd lived long enough to see the rise and fall of an empire. Or four. I'd learned a dozen languages, traveled around the world and through time. I'd even managed to fulfill my childhood fantasy of being a princess. Ugh, what a mistake that was - let me tell you girls, there are much better fantasies out there! Tiaras are just not worth the publicity.

My life was, and I say this in all humility, the thing of stories. I kind of wish somebody cared enough to write it down; it would make the kind of epic tale that would gain a cult following from the fantasy types and puzzled disdain from all the normal people - but it would definitely stir up talk.

The problem, as I see it, is that I've always been a secondary character. And nobody writes about secondary characters - not even me.

I was born to the Aldmere family; ever heard of us? Yeah, I thought not. Like I said, secondary characters. And I was the seventh daughter of a seventh daughter -- I know, cliche right? But it's a cliche for a reason. The whys and the hows were lost before they were ever known, but the end result is the Aldmere family are chroniclers. We provide an unbiased report of all items of importance throughout time -- albeit the definitions of both unbiased and importance are ummm sometimes open to interpretation. And in return, we live long enough to experience things worth recording. Some, like my cousin Agyfen, follow the rise and fall of an entire culture. He did his job exceptionally well! Academics still discuss his work. But sadly the anglo-saxons cared little for the names of their scribes, and so he remains anonymous. Then there are others, especially more recently, who live only long enough for a specific event. And then there are the sevens - of which I'm one. We are to oversee the greater picture - or so I was raised to believe. For me though, the picture's always been rather fuzzy - like those first black and white tvs. So I've always felt I had no real job to do. All the important details had their own chroniclers - cousins of mine mostly. Every time I found something exciting to chronicle it'd already been claimed. And while sevens are overseers, we also only get to write that which goes unclaimed.

To be honest, the only thing I've done that I felt worth recording, was dying. Now *that* was interesting. And I still don't entirely understand how it happened. It was night - the kind of night that's so dark you cannot see your hand in front of your face. No matter how wildly you wave it around in front of you! Not that I did that of course. And it was cold - appropriate for winter. But what was disconcerting was the wind. It had a Caribbean warmth to it - and I was far too far away for that to make any sense at all. I remember wondering if maybe it was a time storm; I'd experienced one of those as a teenager (volatile emotions and all that) - was how I came to know Agyfen. But my brother was three years ahead of me and he claimed story rights to time storms so I couldn't even chronicle that. Not that I'm bitter or anything - just letting you know how it came to be that in an entire life dedicated to telling stories, I have yet to write a word.

Anyways - it wasn't a time storm. I was way too old, and I didn't end up somewhere else in time, so clearly that was not the issue. Wasn't even a storm - no rain, sleet, snow, hail, or anything else. Just the eerily warm wind.

I was there - muttering about the folly of being out without a light - and then... I wasn't. The simplicity of it astounded me. Other chroniclers have covered death before; they come out with stories of bright lights and feelings of love. People love those stories. Some of their names even get remembered! Have to admit, I've always been slightly jealous of those who star in their own stories. I think I'd hoped to do that with the princess stint, but I got covered by a pop-fiction chronicler. It was a sadly embarrassing moment.

But right - exciting death's been done, so a seven cannot repeat it. But I really don't think my death, or any like it, has ever been properly recorded. Just going about the minutia of my boring day-to-day life and then suddenly I wasn't. And there was something reasonably exciting about that. I certainly wasn't bored anymore. And I no longer had to stress about what I was supposed to do with my life. But now, through my death, I know exactly what purpose my life has served. I was supposed to be a below-average quasi-failure... The running joke of the family really. Because, let's be honest here, fifty percent of us ARE below average and usually their stories do not get chronicled.

I, the ultimate secondary character, was supposed to chronicle the lives of secondary characters. A perfect fit really. Obviously I didn't figure it out in time to do anything about it, because as soon as a secondary character gets written about, well then they're no longer secondary and thus somebody else's job. A vicious cycle that. And death's already been done.

But there's one part of my story that to the best of my knowledge has never been chronicled. And from that I leave you with one simple warning:

Beware the warm wind.

You're welcome.

#FridayFlash: Nano Excerpt - The Fair Ones

Nanowrimo continues, and as such for flash this week I offer another snipit of my nano-novel. Spoiler alert – if you’ve been reading my Smashwords novel ( http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/28889) this section has not yet been posted! The full version is more developed, but we haven’t gotten to that point yet :)

I borrowed characters I first created in my story The Magic of Spring... I couldn’t let go of them and felt they might work out here. Let me know what you think!

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Jezina awoke to see Kale heating water over the fire while a man and a woman watched on from the sidelines. They were almost eerily gorgeous. Tall and thin, both had the perfectly symmetrical features rarely seen in reality. Their skin was pale, but seemed to glow. Both had dark hair with a stunning gold stripe through the centre; the woman’s was quite long and flowed freely over her shoulders. The man had the dark portion shaved while the golden portion was formed into spikes, somehow giving the impression of power and confidence rather than ridiculousness.

The man smiled at her blatant inspection and Jezina felt herself blushing, ashamed of her behaviour.

“See,” he said to the woman next to him, “I told you she was the one.”

“We don’t know that yet,” she warned, although seemed to disbelieve the words she was speaking.

“Hello,” the man spoke to her in her own language, “do you yet miss the woods?”

“How can I miss what I never knew?” she asked in response to the strange question.

“Jezina?” Kale interrupted, sounding puzzled.

“Sorry, should I have waited for an introduction?” she asked, sure she had yet again broken some rule of social etiquette.

Kale looked worried, “introduction to whom?” he asked. The woman giggled – a surprising sound from one as elegant as she.

“He can’t see us,” she told Jezina.

“Unless we let him,” the man finished.

“Jezina?” Kale queried. Jezina looked at the pair and back at Kale, who was watching her worriedly. She was coming to believe all the myths were true.

“Kale, do you know any stories about a race of fair people with a golden stripe in their hair?”

Seemingly concerned about the non-sequitor and puzzled as to why she had her mental shields up, Kale nonetheless could see no reason not to tell her. “Sure, although I don’t remember much about them; they’re supposed to be so gorgeous that to see them would be death to any human – although since they’re also invisible, how we could possibly know that, I never understood. Some cultures pay homage to them; they leave offerings in return for being treated kindly. Seems a bit of a waste to me.” At which both the visitors smiled. “Why?”

Sensing this was going to be an interesting morning, Jezina couldn’t see any way to break the news easily, “because we have company for breakfast,” she told him and watched the disbelief steal over his face for a split second before he managed to hide it behind his mask.

“So clearly seeing you is not death, how much of the rest of the story is true?” Jezina asked the fair ones with a smile.

“I’m Az,” the woman avoided the question by introducing herself still smiling, “and this is my twin Goht.”

“Jezina,” she introduced herself, “and my… friend, Kale.” She said, stumbling only slightly over how to introduce him. “Would you like some tea?” she asked, certain that was what Kale had been making.

The stunning pair declined gracefully and looked at each other, the silent communication of those who’ve known each other forever flashing in their eyes. A decision was reached.

“What do you want from her?” Kale asked them cautiously, suddenly able to see the stunning people.

“Come with us and meet with our queen,” Goht requested instantly, “she is knowledgeable in the ways of prophecy and will be able to tell if you are the one it speaks of. She also may be able to give you information that could be useful.”

Kale looked at Jezina and shrugged. The prophecy was hers and so was the choice.

“Why not?” Jezina stated, “it’s not every day I’m invited to meet invisible royalty.”

They walked for a while, making the kind of small talk strangers do; an activity Jezina had little experience with that fascinated her to no end. While she got to know the life story of her new friends, Kale kept his thoughts to himself, watching quietly.

They stopped beside a tree – the biggest by far that Jezina had ever seen. The beautiful people gave them masks, warning them they were needed to pass the spirts.

The tree came to life. It reached down with its upper branches to the base of the trunk, making a giant bow. The massive tree then rocked backwards onto the bow with an ominous creak, revealing a cavernous opening with steps leading underground where one would expect to see roots.

With a wide-eyed look at Kale, Jezina took Goht’s hand and descended, Kale and Az following immediately behind. There was a loud groan as the tree righted itself and the group was plunged into darkness.

And dark it was. In all her life, Jezina had never seen such dark. She touched her hand to her face and at no point could she see even a hint of a shadow of it.

Without her sight, Jezina’s other senses increased exponentially. She could hear every footstep – the confident ones of her hosts and the hesitant shuffle of Kale, as blind as her, behind her. In the distance she heard other sounds. The flutter of wings. A scrambling of clawed feet. And other sounds she couldn’t identify. Sounds she didn’t want to identify.

She could smell nothing. It was as though her nose were as blind as her eyes. She had never considered how much she used scent until it was gone.

Her sense of taste, however, was still strong. Even though she hadn’t eaten a thing she felt as though she’d eaten something incredibly bitter. She felt her cheeks pursing in reaction.

“Tighten your mask,” Goht told her as soon as he noticed her expression. Evidently the darkness really didn’t affect them. Goht let go of her hand to tighten the mask for her. She could feel her heartbeat accelerate in panic instantly when he let go of her hand, but Az, clearly understanding, reached out from behind and held her other hand for both security and stability until he was done.

The path twisted and wound endlessly. They walked for minutes. Hours. Days. Jezina lost all concept of time and space, until all of a sudden, in the distance there was a glimmer.

“We’ll take the masks back now,” Az told them. “We’re through the spirit’s realm. Your vision will also return shortly.” As Az collected the masks, Jezina realized the depth of her mistake. Without a mask and a light source, there was no way to return the way they’d come. She and Kale would be trapped here. She wondered that he who had concerns about her wandering the village with Malla, would let her come down here. And then she realized, he had never tried to stop her from exploring the village, just from doing so alone. Here he was with her. The choice of where to go was hers and hers alone; his only concern was to watch over her while she went. And if the choice was hers, so was the responsibility. She felt an uncomfortable pit in her stomach, and had the horrible feeling that she had chosen wrong.

#fridayflash 52: A new horse

"So who's the new horse?"

"What new horse?" I questioned, giving my student a puzzled look.

"The grey out with Jasper."

"I don't have any grey horses and Jasper's turned out alone," I told her as I headed out to the paddocks to check. Sure enough when I got there, Jasper was grazing quite peacefully on his own -- no sign of any new horses in any of the paddocks. I looked at Kellie and raised an eyebrow.

"I *swear* there was another horse out here when I came to get Swizzle. Gorgeous grey -- and you know I don't usually like greys -- but this one's coat seemed actually white. Had its hindend turned to me, was grazing over in the corner," she pointed to where she'd seen the mystery horse.

"Ok," I didn't really know what to say. She wasn't prone to hallucinations and it was a gorgeous fall day -- too cool to be heat stroke. No signs of drugs or alcohol use. "Are you feeling ok?" She rolled her eyes in dismissal in typical teenage fashion. Ok no worries there. "Well, if you see the mystery horse again, take a pic for me." I told her, only half joking.

We dismissed the incident and moved on -- the whole thing turning into one of those jokes that decades from now would still hold meaning for us and no other. A week later I was turning out horses. The morning was a photographers dream -- our valley was shrouded in mist, and the sun had just crested the hill behind the paddocks, it's beams emphasizing the power of the mist as they failed to penetrate it. The first four horses were already out and I was walking out with the fifth, still half asleep and appreciating the quiet morning, I had the horse in the paddock and was taking off her halter before I realized we weren't alone. I looked in disbelief. There, hidden in the mist, a stunning grey horse was grazing at the end of the paddock. But none of the other horses had given any indication there was a stranger in their midsts. I quickly relocated my mare to another paddock, keeping my eye on the new horse the whole time.

That paddock had been empty, so the gate had been open -- I entered, closing it behind me out of habit. I approached from the side as I would any horse; the mist was playing mind tricks -- the horse seemed to waver in and out of my vision. At times seeming to disappear into the mist and otherwise being as solid as all the other horses around us. The geldings I had turned out first were watching me attentively, but seemed to be paying little attention to the new horse. While she had yet to acknowledge my presence by so much as a sideways glance. What horse didn't at least make note of a strange person in their vicinity?

What I saw next would challenge all I'd ever been taught. The horse lifted her head and looked over her shoulder at me, finally acknowledging my existence, and when she did, I froze. Protruding from her head was a long, thin, crystalline horn. She flipped her head, tossing her mane in a way that only ever happens in fiction, took two canter strides, cleared the paddock fence with perfect form, and was swallowed by the mist. All while my brain struggled to combine what I'd seen with what I knew. A unicorn? Unicorns didn't exist. They certainly didn't graze in my paddock. And yet, I had seen it.

A trick. It had to be a trick. Somebody glued something on the horse's forehead. But then, where had the horse come from and where had it gone? And how come none of my horses had been concerned about it? Cows were regarded as monsters plotting world domination, sheep -- well anything little and fluffy that bounces is clearly pure evil, and even ponies were not above suspicion -- but unicorns didn't get so much as a blink from any of them? How could that be possible?

Over the next few days I started carrying my camera everywhere. Each morning I awoke filled with excitement that I might see her again -- turnout was suddenly a chore I looked forward to. I contemplated leaving food for her, but knew that my horses would just eat it. But I never saw her. Beginning to doubt my sanity I became less careful about having the camera and chores returned to feeling like work until one morning, cameraless once more, she returned. I approached cautiously, stopping a few strides away. She looked at me and I felt as though I were being evaluated, although I had no idea the criteria. She flipped her head in the air, once more sending the mane flying, the rising sun reflecting off her horn. Head held high, she stood perfectly still and looked at me. I approached carefully, keeping my eyes down and moving slightly sideways as though she were a skittish horse. After only a few steps I heard the most musical laugher. I stopped and couldn't resist a glance. She was facing me head on, proud and tall. For all she might look like one, this was not a prey animal. She closed the distance between us, staring straight into my eyes the whole time. It was the most disconcerting feeling. Part of me was concerned -- it was a wild animal, I was alone, and I had no idea what she might do. Part of me was absolutely enthralled with awe. I couldn't have moved at that point for anything. And part of me was wondering if I'd actually lost it. Was I really seeing this? Was I dreaming? Hallucinating?

She bowed her head and her horn gently touched my shoulder as though she were knighting me. And then I knew. The myths were true. All of them. And I'd been chosen.

My life would never be the same.

#FridayFlash 48: The Shadows of the Night

They say Shakespeare is a plagiarist because most of his stories were first told by somebody else. What they don't usually mention is that until very recently the art in story-telling was to tell a tale everybody knew in a new way. And let me tell you, it's *way* easier to just invent something new! hahaha This is my first attempt at retelling a known tale, and I hope I've given it a life of its own. Let me know what you think!

Thanks for reading :)

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The Shadows of the Night

They say it's always darkest just before the dawn, but I know that's not true.

It's really darkest at that point when you become exhausted from counting sheep, when you realize sleep will elude you, no matter how hard you try. And in that moment, when night is at its darkest, is when your mind registers the shadows the eye cannot see. The horrors of the night – those that instinct would have us fear. Those that science has committed to the realm of myth. But they remain.

For you see, myths are merely truths that time has all but forgotten.

I know this because I am one. And I hope you’ll forgive me for it. My name is Anesidora, Nesi to my friends, and I was born in a time when the Gods wandered amongst the men, playing with them as though they were little more than toys. I was born of the earth out of revenge. The first of my kind. A woman, granted Aphrodite’s powers of beauty and seduction, Athena’s wisdom, and Apollo’s gift for music.

And I have to admit, I loved my life. I wasn’t a myth, or even a legend. I was a girl, blessed by the gods, and in love with a boy. Fortunately for me, in the happy way of fairy stories, he loved me back. My world was a wonderful place to live.

We had a wedding the equal of which has never been seen. Attended by Gods and mortals alike, the wine flowed freely, the crystal sparkled, and the people celebrated. It was a night never to be forgotten. And as was tradition at the time, Epim and I were granted gifts by the attendees. My favourite was a stunning vase – painted with vibrant colours on a smooth surface. You could almost, but not quite, see through it. As I went to pull the stopper out, I was warned – the vase must never be opened. You can’t imagine my disappointment. I was such a silly child. But all my life I’d had anything I wanted, yet now I couldn’t use the one gift I was most interested in.

It sat in our front entrance – too stunning to be hidden from sight. I came to believe it had powers – when I was upset, merely laying a hand on it would calm me. If I was sad, it would reflect the light in a way that would insist on a smile. When it turned out my husband was even more a child than I, being near the vase gave me the patience to deal with him. And, years later, our children.

For years that vase captivated me. And gradually, the warning I’d been given faded in my mind. Epim claimed to have forgotten – he always had some excuse or another, but I knew. I always knew. It just seemed, after so many years, how important could it be? And when, for our anniversary, he gave me that perfect, exotic, stunning flower that seemed to light up next to the vase, I knew it was meant to be. Clearly *this* was why I was not to use the vase; I had to wait for perfection. And maybe the vase did have magic. Maybe it would make the flower live forever. It would be foolish of me not to use it. Or so I convinced myself.

A middle aged woman, yet still a silly child, a plaything of the gods, even after all those years.

The second the stopper moved – I swear it wasn’t even all the way out, only just moved – there was a horrific shriek that chilled my blood and froze me into place. It was only a second, but it was long enough for the shadows to escape. When I regained control I quickly restopped the vase, but it was too late. All the horrors and terror of the world had been unleashed. Plagues and sorrows, crime and pestilence, war and famine, and innumerable others all escaped in the heartbeat before I could stop them.

And my children’s world, and their children’s world, and the world of their children’s children, would never be the same. They would grow up in times of horrible violence and sadness. And I would watch it happen, knowing their pain was my fault.

So in the darkness of the night when you see the shadows move, know I’ve spent a thousand lifetimes trying to recapture them, forever paying for a second’s mistake. And that I know of what I speak when I tell you that myths are merely truths that time has all but forgotten. And I hope you’ll forgive me.

#friday flash 44 and WAG: Broken

Double posting this week for WAG and fridayflash. The prompt was: "This week write about something broken: toys, bones, hearts: it can be anything that just doesn’t work the way it’s supposed to any more."
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Breena's Wand

The fairy's eyes widened in dismay as she looked at her wand. Broken. That was it. She was sure to be expelled. This time. How does one even break a wand? Aren't they supposed to be indestructible?

Two of the other fairies glided past. Gracefully, the way fairies are supposed to be. But the comments they made were hurtful.

"Oh dear, what have you done now?" Breena turned, knowing the voice behind her all too well. Her sister Celie. Gorgeous, graceful, magical. All the things fairies should be. She even already had glitter on her wings! Breena feared she would never earn her glitter, and Celie took every opportunity to reinforce that fear. "Have you broken your wand? I didn't even know that was possible!" Celie's voice rang loudly with false surprise. "Well just look at us girls breaking all kinds of records -- I get my glitter younger than any fairy in history, and you become the first fairy ever to break a wand." Having drawn the attention of all the fairies in hearing distance to her sister's failure, Celie turned with a musical laugh and floated away, followed as always by her flock.

Breena looked down, avoiding the eyes of those who watched with pity or superiority, and wished fervently that she could disappear into the ground. Of course if she hadn't broken her wand, she might've had a chance at making it happen. But no, if she was honest with herself, she'd never even really mastered the most basic skill of invisibility.

Breena, come see me. The voice she heard in her head was that of her queen. It was not one to be ignored.

She walked to the palace, too upset to put the effort into floating. It took her longer, but she figured that since it might be her last time it was ok to stretch it a little.

The gates opened as she approached. She thanked them automatically and continued through to the crystal palace, stopping briefly to right a little plant that had fallen.

The throne room was crowded but it fell silent as she entered. Word had spread, the way it will, and everybody wanted to see what would happen.

"Bree," the gentle whisper had her raising her eyes briefly, "it'll be ok," Elvina told her. Elvina was the only friend Breena had. She had spent hours trying to help her learn the most basic magic, and when she was around the other fairies were less cruel; Elvina was powerful enough that she could befriend whom she wished. But even her presence wasn't enough to lift the weight from Breena's heart.

She forced herself to float, it would've been rude to walk in the presence of the queen, and made her way up the aisle. At the queen's throne she bowed her head and waited to be addressed as she'd been taught. The silence stretched on. Breena was tempted to risk a glance just to check that she was really there, but before she could do it and get in even more trouble, the queen spoke.

"What is it you want to do most?" the queen asked. Breena looked up at her puzzled, her fears temporarily allayed by the unexpected question. The queen did not elaborate and Breena took her time considering the answer. Her immediate response was that she wanted to be allowed to stay. But she knew the queen already knew that, and it was never a good idea to insult the queen's intelligence or waste her time. So she thought before speaking.

"I want to be a good fairy. I want to help people," she stated. And quickly dropped her eyes again as the crowd started tittering. Helping people was not something fairies were supposed to aspire to.

Silence fell, and when Breena risked a sideways glance, all the fairies were gone. Only she and Elvina remained in the presence of the queen.

Breena, look at me. The voice was in her head again. When she looked up, the queen smiled -- a powerful sight, and one rarely seen. "You're not going to be expelled," she told the fairy out loud, "but we do have to do something about this. Give me your wand." Even from the queen, and even with a broken wand, this was an exceptional order. To possess a fairy's wand was to control them; giving it up was almost unheard of and asking for it a line never crossed. Breena felt Elvina's presence behind her, silently supporting and encouraging. And she gave her wand to her queen.

Thank you little one. That shows a great deal of trust. Breena's eyes remained fixed on her wand. It was though somebody had borrowed an arm or a leg; it was physically painful to be so far from it, and very scary. "Now let's just see if I can mend this," and the queen did something Breena had never seen before. She very carefully removed a strand of glitter-covered gold from her wing. Only the fairy queen had gold in her wings; that was how one became queen. A fairy queen earned her gold after earning her glitter, but how was a closely guarded secret evidently known only by those who had done it.

The queen held the two pieces of the broken wand together and wrapped the golden strand around it multiple times. In the end it looked like a wand wearing a really thick belt in the middle. Then, with a tap of the queen's wand, the belt disappeared and Breena's wand appeared healed. It floated back into Breena's waiting hand, and her eyes widened as she held it and felt the power flow through. She looked at the queen, amazed. "It's stronger."

"Often things that have been broken and survived are. Use it well," the queen told her. And with a nod, Breena was dismissed.

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