tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-278960700311243672024-03-05T21:27:29.137-08:00The Tales of TanglewoodScott Kessmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14462588371754984394noreply@blogger.comBlogger55125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27896070031124367.post-29386394749043632682012-08-10T06:15:00.001-07:002012-08-10T06:15:34.884-07:00Free Kindle Book!!The first book in the Tales of Tanglewood series is now being offered for FREE on the Kindle, for the nex five days, until August 13th at midnight. The second book in the series is only $4.99. Get your <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Tales-Tanglewood-Dubh-Whistle-ebook/dp/B001SASERC/ref=la_B002CB3E8A_1_1_title_1_kin?ie=UTF8&qid=1344571286&sr=1-1">free Kindle book on Amazon.com</a><br />
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<br />Scott Kessmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14462588371754984394noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27896070031124367.post-46096264194706760392012-07-31T13:12:00.002-07:002012-07-31T13:12:15.392-07:00First Tales of Tanglewood to be free Kindle book<style>
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Starting Friday, August 10th, The Tales of Tanglewood: The
Lon Dubh Whistle will be offered on the Amazon Kindle absolutely free for a
period of two weeks. The first in the series of Tanglewood adventures, this YA
fantasy novel follows the adventures of Colin, a child who is fully aware of
the hidden world of myth and wonder hiding within the woods just beyond his
home, long kept secret by old magic. </div>
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Only the fey magic which runs through his veins has enabled
him to find what others cannot; the Tanglewood, the wood within the woods. Full
of odd characters and fey beings, the Tanglewood is a world of magnificent
folklore come to life. </div>
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Tales of Tanglewood: The Lon Dubh Whistle melds together
influences of Celtic and Irish mythology with modern-day folklore, and is a
fantasy novel to be enjoyed and cherished by all ages.</div>Scott Kessmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14462588371754984394noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27896070031124367.post-61241840569260002532011-04-26T18:33:00.000-07:002011-04-26T18:36:58.989-07:00Aren't There Any Happy Endings?<span style="font-family: arial;">Following is the foreword from my upcoming collection of short stories, entitled "Aren't There Any Happy Endings?"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">It will be available in all e-formats, and perhaps paperback at a later date if there is demand for it.</span><br /><br /> <style>@font-face { font-family: "Times"; }@font-face { font-family: "Cambria"; }p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal { margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman"; }div.Section1 { page: Section1; }</style> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in; line-height: 150%; font-family: arial;">FOREWORD</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in; line-height: 150%; font-family: arial;"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in; line-height: 150%; font-family: arial;">The book <s>you hold in your hands</s> on your e-reader of choice is a collection of my short stories written over a span of about 20 years, perhaps a little longer. Some have been previously published in other collections or genre magazines, some have been shared with friends and family, and a few have never been seen by eyes other than my own.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in; line-height: 150%; font-family: arial;">Most of these stories contain elements of horror, with perhaps a touch of fantasy and a few sprinklings of the supernatural. But the characters within these stories are very real. They could be you or me or someone you know, and you will likely recognize a bit of yourself in some of them. But I should warn you—the majority of these characters are not likeable. They are not heroes, nor are they villains. They are not overcoming great obstacles or creating great works of importance or changing the world for the better. Many of them are simply lost, or miserable, or cruel, or just empty souls wandering through life without ever finding direction.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in; line-height: 150%; font-family: arial;">Despite all this, you will still want to read about them, because haven't we all felt some of that at some point in our own lives?</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in; line-height: 150%; font-family: arial;">Thankfully, for many of us, those feelings of loss, despair, and hopelessness are faded memories, and we enjoy better, happier lives. But not all of the characters in these stories are able to share the same happy endings.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in; line-height: 150%; font-family: arial;">And that is where the true horror of the story lies—in the idea that not everyone always gets a happy ending. The hero doesn’t always save the day, the right words aren't always said, and the right choices aren't always made. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in; line-height: 150%; font-family: arial;">It's the horror of reality—maybe not yours or mine, not currently, and hopefully not ever, but many others face this horror everyday. Here are some of their stories…</p>Scott Kessmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14462588371754984394noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27896070031124367.post-3499669382468986262011-01-02T16:53:00.001-08:002011-01-02T16:54:27.233-08:00Fantasy Under $5 — Popular "The Tales of Tanglewood" YA Fantasy Now on Smashwords<style>@font-face { font-family: "Cambria"; }p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal { margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman"; }a:link, span.MsoHyperlink { color: blue; text-decoration: underline; }a:visited, span.MsoHyperlinkFollowed { color: purple; text-decoration: underline; }div.Section1 { page: Section1; }</style> <p class="MsoNormal">With chatrooms and fantasy fiction forums inundated on a daily basis with requests for new fantasy books recommendations, it is refreshing to see that many choices are available for under $5 as an e-book or other digital format. One such fantasy fiction series is The Tales of Tanglewood, by author Scott Michael Kessman. The first two novels in the YA fantasy series can be found in various <a href="https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/16673">digital formats at Smashwords.com</a>, and on the <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Tales-Tanglewood-Dubh-Whistle-ebook/dp/B001SASERC/ref=tmm_kin_title_0?ie=UTF8&m=AG56TWVU5XWC2">Kindle at Amazon.com</a></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Tales-Tanglewood-Dubh-Whistle-ebook/dp/B001SASERC/ref=tmm_kin_title_0?ie=UTF8&m=AG56TWVU5XWC2"><br /></a></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">The first novel in the YA fantasy series, entitled “The Lon Dubh Whistle,“ received rave reviews and drew comparisons to such popular epics as Harry Potter and Eragon, and fans anxiously awaited the next installment.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">The wait is over, as the second novel in the Tales of Tanglewood YA fantasy book series has been published by Lon Dubh Publishing. Entitled “The Curse of Satyr Stump,” the second novel continues the adventures of Colin, the boy with Blood of the Fey, and his fey companions, Ailfrid the ferrish, Deidre the elf, and the druid Bairtlemead Muffingrow.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">The second novel also delves a bit deeper into Celtic mythology and Irish folklore, with an alternate take on the Celtic legend of Grainne and Fionn, and the introduction of classic Irish faerie creatures, such as leprechauns, the pooka, and the will-o-the-wisp.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Both novels in the YA fantasy book series are available in paperback at major booksellers online and can be ordered by most brick and mortar stores. They are also both <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Tales-Tanglewood-Dubh-Whistle-ebook/dp/B001SASERC/ref=tmm_kin_title_0?ie=UTF8&m=AG56TWVU5XWC2">available on the Kindle</a> and in various other formats at <a href="https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/16673">Smashwords.com</a> for the low price of only $4.99 each—worthy additions to the list of fantasy under five dollars. In fact, the digital formats of both novels in the Tales of Tanglewood YA fantasy series have been outselling the paperback versions 3 to 1.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">It should also be noted that while the Tales of Tanglewood books fall into the genre of YA fantasy, they have actually been enjoyed by the YA market and many adults as well. In fact, it seems as though an older audience has indeed found something magical in the Tales of Tanglewood series, perhaps a much needed reminder that magic does still exist in this world, if only we take the time to look.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Find out more about the Tales of Tanglewood YA fantasy book series written by Scott Michael Kessman, and how to purchase them for under five dollars at <a href="http://www.talesoftanglewood.com/">http://www.talesoftanglewood.com</a></p>Scott Kessmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14462588371754984394noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27896070031124367.post-30801185150560931522010-06-17T13:28:00.000-07:002010-06-17T13:29:08.550-07:00New YA Fantasy Books Series Available for Under $5 on KindleWith chatrooms and fantasy fiction forums inundated on a daily basis with requests for new fantasy books recommendations, it is refreshing to see that many choices are available for under $5 on the Amazon Kindle. One such fantasy fiction series is The Tales of Tanglewood, by author Scott Michael Kessman.<br /><br />It’s been two years since the first novel in the YA fantasy series, entitled "The Lon Dubh Whistle," was published. The novel received rave reviews and drew comparisons to such popular epics as Harry Potter and Eragon, and fans anxiously awaited the next installment.<br /><br />The wait is over, as the second novel in the Tales of Tanglewood YA fantasy book series has finally been published by Lon Dubh Publishing. Entitled “The Curse of Satyr Stump,” the second novel continues the adventures of Colin, the boy with Blood of the Fey, and his fey companions, Ailfrid the ferrish, Deidre the elf, and the druid Bairtlemead Muffingrow.<br /><br />The second novel also delves a bit deeper into Celtic mythology and Irish folklore, with a alternate take on the Celtic legend of Grainne and Fionn, and the introduction of classic Irish faerie creatures, such as the leprechauns and a pooka.<br /><br />Both novels in the YA fantasy book series are available in paperback at major booksellers online and can be ordered by most brick and mortar stores. They are also both available on the Kindle for the low price of only $4.99 each, worthy additions to the list of fantasy under five dollars.<br /><br />It should also be noted that while the Tales of Tanglewood books fall into the genre of YA fantasy, they have actually been enjoyed by the YA market and many adults as well. In fact, it seems as though an older audience has indeed found something magical in the Tales of Tanglewood series, perhaps a much needed reminder that magic does still exist in this world, if only we take the time to look.<br /><br />Find out more about the Tales of Tanglewood YA fantasy book series written by Scott Michael Kessman, and how to purchase them for under five dollars at the <a href="http://www.talesoftanglewood.com">Tales of Tanglewood website.</a>Scott Kessmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14462588371754984394noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27896070031124367.post-31173667864989906272010-04-19T13:42:00.000-07:002010-04-20T11:45:31.974-07:002nd Tale in the Tales of Tanglewood fantasy series on Kindle!The Tales of Tanglewood: The Curse of Satyr Stump is now also available on Amazon in paperback, and on Kindle at the low introductory price of $4.99!<br /><br /><iframe src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?lt1=_blank&bc1=000000&IS2=1&bg1=060000&fc1=F7F3F3&lc1=EBEBF1&t=artrocitiesco-20&o=1&p=8&l=as1&m=amazon&f=ifr&asins=0615362737" style="width: 120px; height: 240px;" marginwidth="0" marginheight="0" frameborder="0" scrolling="no"></iframe><br /><br /><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Tales-Tanglewood-Curse-Satyr-ebook/dp/B003HNOA8A/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&m=AG56TWVU5XWC2&s=digital-text&qid=1271788902&sr=1-1">Purchase The Tales of Tanglewood: The Curse of Satyr Stump on the Kindle</a>Scott Kessmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14462588371754984394noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27896070031124367.post-57570900339046015522010-04-06T15:10:00.001-07:002010-04-06T15:15:24.855-07:002nd Tale in the Tales of Tanglewood fantasy series published!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG2LGpf73MQA1x3XLU0lXptymRmQIGFO77oFFW9XAoHXrWbOexfmIu-IupZyrdc6t08ugjQxkP_JyoSp7ZZ8tVDqrnQbuLPs9EAj0-Bo3WvAS1xbjomXz1UVNXSA-SYNz9SSNehUhFBzw/s1600/tanglecover+2front.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG2LGpf73MQA1x3XLU0lXptymRmQIGFO77oFFW9XAoHXrWbOexfmIu-IupZyrdc6t08ugjQxkP_JyoSp7ZZ8tVDqrnQbuLPs9EAj0-Bo3WvAS1xbjomXz1UVNXSA-SYNz9SSNehUhFBzw/s320/tanglecover+2front.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5457151538699072722" /></a><br />My second novel is now currently available exclusively on The Tales of<br />Tanglewood website at a 10% discount!<br /><br />The Tales of Tanglewood: The Curse of Satyr Stump is the follow-up to The Lon Dubh Whistle, and continues the story of Colin, Blood of the Fey, and his adventures in Tanglewood.<br /><br />The Tales of Tanglewood fantasy series melds together influences of Celtic and Irish mythology with modern-day folklore. In the second tale, "The Curse of Satyr Stump", Colin, Blood of the Fey, returns to Tanglewood shortly before Sahwen night, a time when the magic of the 'wood has a strange effect on all things within it. <br /><br />Things have entered the 'wood that should not be there, and the pathways are no longer safe. The blackberries have spoiled, a pooka roams the 'wood, and a strong calling pulls Colin close to Satyr Stump, where Fionn the satyr has been cursed by Grainne, the Grey Lady. <br /><br />Tasked to face the dark druidess and help break the curse upon Fionn, Colin seeks help from the druid Bairtlemead Muffingrow, the ferrish Ailfrid, and the elfin girl Deidre. But it will be the satyr chieftain himself who joins Colin, seeking to help restore another piece of Tanglewood that has been claimed by deiney corruption. <br /><br />But the Grey Lady will not yield so easily, and Colin and Fionn are both nearly powerless in her domain. Colin learns very quickly that during Sahwen, Tanglewood can be a very dangerous place indeed.<br /><br /><br />Book purchased through <a href="http://www.talesoftanglewood.com">the Tales of Tanglewood website</a> will be signed and have the option of a personalized message.<br /><br />The book will also be available shortly on Amazon.com and for the Amazon Kindle, and in regular stores as well.Scott Kessmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14462588371754984394noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27896070031124367.post-27447702005424333072010-01-08T21:27:00.000-08:002010-01-08T21:31:12.506-08:00Chapter Three, Part OneA short while later, their bellies full of roasted<br />fish washed down with sweetened water, they<br />had forgotten about the sprites and were<br />content to walk casually along the bank of Copper<br />Stream, still savoring the taste of the delicious fish that<br />lingered on their lips.<br /><br />During the journey, Colin seemed to have also<br />forgotten about his parents. Somewhere deep inside<br />him, he knew there was something he must do, but it<br />was barely a murmur in his mind, which was loud and<br />alive with wonder and enjoyment, and frequently<br />distracted by the urge to scratch at the bites that<br />irritated his flesh.<br /><br />At last, Ailfrid pointed to a hut made of wood and<br />stone, built up against a portion of the bank that sloped<br />steeply, reaching much higher than the boys. A door in<br />the hut opened as they approached, and Colin nearly<br />laughed when he saw the little man scrambling toward<br />them along the muddy bank.<br /><br />Bairtlemead Muffingrow was a small, squat man,<br />barely taller than Colin and Ailfrid. A small set of<br />round glasses was perched upon a bulbous nose, set<br />neatly between two large, welcoming eyes of pale blue.<br /><br />framed overhead by bushy gray eyebrows. His smile was<br />equally comforting, and long white tendrils of a thin<br />beard trailed from his chin, nearly to his waist.<br /><br />Muffingrow’s body was hidden beneath a bundle of<br />robes, but two large, pudgy hands emerged from the<br />folds of his clothing to grab a hand each of Colin and<br />Ailfrid. He shook them both vigorously.<br /><br />“Come in, come in! Ailfrid, always a pleasure to see<br />you. And you – hmm, there is mystery about you, isn’t<br />there?”<br /><br />Muffingrow’s smile grew nearly as wide as his face,<br />and Colin would have feared being swallowed up by it,<br />had it not been so friendly. “Well, come in, won’t you,<br />and tell an old man why you’ve come to me today.”<br /><br />They followed Muffingrow into the<br />hut, which Colin noticed was much<br />larger on the inside than it had first<br />appeared. A portion of the druid’s home<br />apparently extended into the steep embankment.<br /><br />The second thing that Colin noticed was the myriad <br />aromas of the many dried branches of herbs that were suspended from the rafters. Indeed, it smelled as though the very essence of the forest were<br />contained within the walls of the druid’s home.<br /><br />Muffingrow bade them sit at a small wooden table.<br /><br />The chairs were also of wood, but had been fitted with<br />comfortable pillows of brown cloth. Inset into one wall<br />was a small fireplace with a happily crackling fire, and<br />near it, what appeared to be a second enclave, carved<br />directly into the rock, but with an earthen base.<br /><br />A thick curtain divided another chamber from<br />Colin’s view. But all about him, he spied numerous<br />curiosities, most notably a tall bookshelf nearly<br />overflowing with all manner of jars and boxes and<br />containers. Many were labeled with the names of various<br />spices that Colin recognized, many others were either<br />not labeled or inscribed with strange runes that Colin<br />was at a loss to decipher.<br /><br />Muffingrow stood in front of the boys. “Now,<br />before we talk, I see that you have had a little bug<br />problem?”<br /><br />Colin looked down at the many red bumps<br />decorating his arms and legs, and imagined his face must<br />look the same.<br /><br />Ailfrid nodded. “This is Colin. The sprites sent a<br />nest of black ants after him.”<br /><br />“Sprites, eh? Nasty little buggers. Well, I have a salve<br />that should take care of those bites.” Muffingrow<br />turned and scanned some of the shelves, then clapped<br />when he spied what he was looking for. He took down<br />a large jar that contained a dark, mud-like substance,<br />and offered it to Colin.<br /><br />“Spread this over those bites, and they’ll be much<br />better tomorrow.”<br /><br />Colin wasn’t certain he wanted to smear the foul<br />looking slime onto his body, but he felt he could trust<br />the druid. Unscrewing the lid, he smelled the contents<br />first, and was surprised to find it rather pleasant,<br />reminiscent of berries, and a hint of smoke and ash. He<br />cupped a small portion of the salve in his palm and<br />proceeded to apply it to the bites.<br /><br />Muffingrow nodded his approval. “Good, good. Rub<br />it in.”<br /><br />Colin did so, and was happy to discover that the<br />salve began to blend nicely with his own skin, almost as<br />if it were being infused beneath his flesh, while still<br />managing to conceal the bites.<br /><br />“Now,” the old druid said. “To business. Ailfrid, I<br />see you’ve brought blackberries. I presume you want<br />some tea?”<br /><br />Ailfrid nodded enthusiastically. “I most certainly<br />do!” He handed the clutch to Muffingrow, who took<br />them and placed them into a large black pot already<br />filled with water. The pot was set on a pivoting arm,<br />which allowed it to be moved over the fire. The druid<br />then proceeded to gather together a small batch of<br />additional ingredients. A handful of dark leaves from an<br />old tin, some dried herbs and spices, and what looked<br />like some dried berries of another sort all went into the<br />pot. Within seconds, the hut was filled with a savorysweet<br />aroma.<br /><br />Colin sniffed the air, breathing deep the scent of the<br />brewing tea, and found his nerves instantly relaxed.<br /><br />Ailfrid was also enjoying the wonderful fragrance,<br />but then he turned his attention to the druid and more<br />serious matters.<br /><br />“Bairtlemead, Colin followed the stones to<br />Tanglewood.”<br /><br />The druid seemed taken aback by this at first, and<br />peered at Colin over the rims of his glasses, and then<br />moved in for a closer look.<br /><br />“At first I thought the sheehogue magic that separates<br />the ‘wood from the kynney deiney was weakening, but then<br />I thought…”<br /><br />Muffingrow’s face brightened. “Ah, I follow your<br />reasoning, and you are correct, Ailfrid.”<br /><br />Ailfrid seemed surprised. “I am?”<br /><br />“Yes, most definitely. It’s the Blood of the Fey. Just look<br />at that skin, almost as fair as the soft snow that covers<br />the ‘wood in winter. And those fingers, thin and nimble<br />as an elf ’s. And hair as black as pitch. But the real proof<br />is in those eyes! They sparkle with an inner fire I’ve<br />rarely seen. Almost as if the light of Alastar were<br />contained within. Blood of the fey indeed. There is<br />much to this boy.”Scott Kessmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14462588371754984394noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27896070031124367.post-55013944947166841722009-12-27T06:16:00.000-08:002009-12-27T06:48:10.136-08:00Chapter Two, Part ThreeThey followed the path in silence for a while,<br />content to listen to the peaceful calls of songbirds and<br />mourning doves, and the buzzing of colorful dragonflies<br />circling the banks of the pond. Then, the trees suddenly<br />thinned on either side, revealing the open forest once<br />more, and Colin spied a small bridge ahead, which<br />crossed over a stream that branched off from the pond.<br /><br />“Copper Stream,” Ailfrid said.<br /><br />As they approached the bridge, Colin saw that the stream<br />was aptly named. The water, which babbled happily by, was<br />nearly golden-copper in color, brilliantly reflecting the<br />sunlight. Throughout the water, Colin spied several large<br />fish, also of a copperish hue.<br /><br />“Does the stream have a story?” he asked.<br /><br />“Everything in Tanglewood has a story to tell. But the<br />tale of Copper Stream is a tale for another time. Now, we<br />fish! A big fat fish, cooked over a fire!" Ailfrid grinned<br />from ear to ear. “How does that sound?”<br /><br />Colin’s belly rumbled, and he realized he was<br />starving. He hadn’t eaten anything since his supper the<br />night before, and the thought of freshly roasted fish set<br />his mouth to watering. “That sounds really good.” He<br />nodded and grinned like a fool.<br /><br />Ailfrid placed the blackberry branches on a log that<br />lay along the bank, and produced a tangle of fishing line<br />and a crude hook from his pocket. “I’ll catch us a fish<br />or two. You can relax on the bridge.”<br /><br />Colin doubted he could relax, not when he was<br />famished. Still, the placid, serene waters of the pond<br />were a calming sight, and the sun glancing off Copper<br />Stream was warm and soothing at his back. He sat<br />himself down on the wooden bridge and quickly lost<br />himself in the tranquility, while a short distance away,<br />Ailfrid troubled himself with untangling the fishing line.<br /><br />Colin closed his eyes and felt the breeze tickling the<br />back of his hair. He opened them again and squinted<br />against the rush of dazzling sunlight, which set the<br />whole pond to glowing. Wildflowers of all sorts grew<br />along the shore of the pond, tall and luxurious. A short<br />distance to his left, he could see the shafts of sunlight<br />streaming in through the thick trees of Root Path,<br />highlighting the floating motes of dandelion spores that<br />hovered peacefully in the air.<br /><br />Colin smiled, feeling deep contentment. This place was<br />truly magical, and he was a part of it. His allowed his mind<br />to wander, much in the same way the dandelion spores were<br />spending their time on this summer afternoon.<br /><br />The stream glided beneath the bridge as smoothly as<br />fine silk. Colin eyes followed the gentle waters as it they<br />passed beneath him. Glancing down at the bridge, he<br />spied a large black ant emerging from the space between<br />two planks of wood. It was steadily making its way<br />toward him.<br /><br />Casually, Colin drew back a finger and proceeded to<br />flick the ant across the wood, where it disappeared into<br />the thin shadowy chasm between the planks.<br /><br />Satisfied, Colin turned to look at Ailfrid, who<br />appeared to be deeply concentrated on the surface of the<br />pond. He had apparently managed to untangle the line<br />and fasten it to the end of a stick, which he dangled<br />over the water. He slowly reeled in his line by hand,<br />hoping for a hungry fish to nibble on the bait.<br /><br />Suddenly, the ferrish dropped the stick and sniffed at<br />the air, glancing about furiously. He settled his<br />measuring gaze on Colin.<br /><br />“Did something just happen?”<br /><br />Colin shook his head. “Nope. I’ve just been sitting<br />here.”<br /><br />Ailfrid remained silent but sat with a furrowed brow.<br /><br />He did not remove his gaze. Colin was about to inquire<br />of Ailfrid what had him worried, when he was<br />distracted by a subtle whispering, very faint, but<br />growing steadily louder by the second. It was coming<br />from beneath the bridge.<br /><br />Ailfrid’s silver eyes grew wide. “Colin! To your left!”<br />He pointed.<br /><br />Colin turned his head and shrieked, scrambling to his<br />feet.<br /><br />A thick tide of black ants was streaming up through<br />the slats of the bridge, so numerous they began to cover<br />the expanse of wood like a rapidly growing fungus. The<br />whisper of hundreds of thousands of tiny legs and black<br />carapaces brushing against each other was like the<br />rustling of dead, dry leaves.<br /><br />The army of ants was headed directly for Colin,<br />forming bridges across the spaces between the planks of<br />wood for the main bulk of the insects to scurry across.<br />They were moving fast.<br /><br />Colin turned to run, and beheld a similar scene on<br />the opposite end of the bridge. Another force of ants,<br />rapidly closing the distance.<br /><br />Ailfrid was running along the bank of the pond, and<br />shouting at Colin. “The water! Jump in the water!”<br /><br />But Colin was frozen still with shock and fear. His<br />mouth was incapable of screaming or shouting; only<br />frightened breathing managed to escape past his lips.<br /><br />Then the tide of ants were upon him, swarming over<br />his feet and up his legs, wriggling their way under his<br />pajamas. He felt the itching of a hundred thousand legs<br />thoroughly covering his skin. He found his voice again<br />and shrieked when they began to bite.<br /><br />He was dimly aware that Ailfrid was still shouting<br />something, but then the ants invaded his ears and tried<br />to get into his mouth and nose. He was forced to shut<br />his eyes and end his flailing about, in order to keep his<br />hands over his face. Completely covered by the thick<br />mass of ants, he sank to his knees and curled into a ball,<br />his whole body twitching, his flesh reeling under the<br />onslaught of a thousand tiny pinpricks.<br /><br />Despite the shell of ants that covered him, he<br />somehow sensed that the air about him had suddenly<br />gone dry, and now his skin tingled not with the bites of<br />ants, but with a static charge. A series of loud pops, one<br />after the other, echoed across the pond, and Colin felt<br />several tiny shocks along the length of his body.<br /><br />He thought perhaps he had been electrocuted, and<br />the strong scent of sulphur filled the air. He felt<br />Ailfrid’s arms about him, helping him to his feet. The<br />ferrish was also knocking off the blackened crust of<br />thousands upon thousands of dead ants. Still<br />smoldering, they fell onto the bridge in large, crackling<br />clumps.<br /><br />“Damn sprites! Got nothing better to do than pester<br />us with your tricks!” He helped Colin shake off more of<br />the dead insects. They fell upon the bridge by the<br />hundreds, fused together in brittle masses. Ailfrid<br />kicked them into the water.<br /><br />“It was pixie magic that did this. They were angry<br />that I led you away from their hole earlier. They don’t<br />often get the chance to claim a deiney plaything, and I<br />ruined it for them.”<br /><br />Colin, visibly shaken, scratched at himself furiously.<br />His skin was alive with bites, and it still seemed as if the<br />ants still surged over his flesh. He noticed his pajamas<br />were slightly charred.<br /><br />Ailfrid saw Colin’s concern. “Sorry about that, but it<br />couldn’t be helped. I’ve got a bit of magic myself, and it<br />was the best way to get the little buggers off you. Hope<br />I didn’t hurt you?”<br /><br />“No, I’m okay.”<br /><br />“Good. I would have tried to blast them before they<br />got to you, but I was too far away.” Ailfrid looked<br />about. “Damned intolerable sprites! I’d blast them if<br />they’d the courage to show themselves.”<br /><br />Familiar laughter sounded from the undergrowth,<br />and it was not at all pleasant. Colin and Ailfrid scanned<br />the bushes and the trees, but saw nothing. Ailfrid<br />scowled.<br /><br />“I sensed them. Or their magic, rather. It has a scent,<br />like honeysuckle. If you are alone and you ever smell<br />that, you better run, until you don’t smell it anymore.”<br /><br />Colin nodded.<br /><br />“Well, they’re likely gone back<br />down their hole now. They made their<br />point. Come, sit by me over there.<br /><br />We’ll have that fish soon enough.”<br /><br />They ambled back over to Ailfrid’s<br />fishing spot, but neither could mask<br />the concern that clouded their features.<br /><br />They still felt as though they were<br />being watched, and they both<br />wondered what other tricks the sprites<br />would cast their way.Scott Kessmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14462588371754984394noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27896070031124367.post-90104906638321602102009-12-17T10:15:00.000-08:002009-12-17T10:20:28.673-08:00Chapter Two, Part TwoThe Root Path wound its way through the woods,<br />surrounded on either side by tall trees and thick<br />undergrowth. The path itself was narrow, composed of<br />thick roots that stretched across the ground, covered<br />here and there with bright patches of fairy carpeting.<br /><br />Colin had to step carefully to avoid tripping over the<br />roots, but they were of little hindrance to Ailfrid, who<br />trotted nimbly over them as though the path were flat<br />and even.<br /><br />Gradually, the path began to widen, allowing them to walk side by side. Colin now wore the mask slung over his back, secured by a piece of twine offered by Ailfrid,<br />He was more at ease with the mask now, and imagined<br />it was made of the very bark that encased the trunks of<br />the mighty trees lining the path.<br /><br />“This area of the ‘wood used to be thick with trees,<br />so thick, only the smallest of the fey could get through,”<br />Ailfrid said. “Monohan the Druid came and spoke to<br />the trees, and asked to please make a path, so that all the<br />sheehogue could travel easily through these parts. A group<br />of trees pulled up their roots from the earth and moved<br />alongside Monohan. A great hole in the earth remained,<br />so the trees laid their roots across the hole. Monohan<br />stepped onto the roots and moved into the space they<br />had created, and the next group of trees before him also<br />parted, and laid their roots across the empty earth.”<br /><br />Colin slowed, gawking at the trees that lined the path<br />with awe and appreciation.<br /><br />Ailfrid continued. “Wherever Monohan stepped, the<br />trees before him parted and created a path for him, until<br />the way through the thick part of the ‘wood was clear,<br />and all the fey could now travel through it.”<br /><br />Colin smiled at the trees, and marveled at all the<br />wonders Ailfrid was showing him. They walked along<br />the path till just past noon, and then the tree line along<br />the left side of Root Path thinned slightly, allowing<br />Colin to glimpse a glistening pond whose waters lapped<br />the shore just a few feet away from the mighty trunks.<br /><br />“We’re nearing the bridge. Wait here, I need to get<br />something.” With the agility of a squirrel, Ailfrid<br />scurried up into the trees to his right.<br /><br />“Wait! Where are you going?”<br /><br />The ferrish grabbed hold of a branch, and pulled<br />himself over it with ease. Kneeling upon his sturdy<br />perch, he called down to Colin. “I’ve got to get a clutch<br />of blackberries for Doc Muffingrow. They grow near<br />here. I’ll just be a few moments. Just stay on the path<br />and you’ll be fine.”<br /><br />Ailfrid climbed further up into the tree and slipped<br />through a space in the tangled mess of leaves and<br />branches, disappearing into the foliage. A moment later,<br />Colin heard a rustling on the other side of the trees, and<br />realized it was Ailfrid, landed safely upon the earth and<br />pushing through the undergrowth.<br /><br />Colin looked around at the barriers formed by the<br />trees, and shook his head. Stay on the path? How could<br />he get off the path?<br /><br />He picked his way slowly among the roots,<br />muttering to himself. At least the trees to his left had<br />the decency to thin wider, affording him a breathtaking<br />view of the small pond, alive with a large population of<br />ducks and dragonflies, and the occasional white swan.<br /><br />The twisting roots of Root Path stretched outward like<br />a mass of snakes into the water, drinking deep of the<br />nutrients of the rich soil, while schools of tiny fish<br />darted playfully through the underwater maze.<br /><br />Colin was so taken with the serenity of the pond that<br />he nearly stepped directly into a hole that lay in the<br />center of the path. He looked down and saw it at the<br />last possible moment, and nearly lost his balance when<br />he sought to divert his foot away from the hole.<br /><br />The burrow was dark, measuring just a few inches<br />larger than his foot, and ringed thickly by the roots of<br />the ancient trees. It was at once frightening yet<br />beckoning, stroking Colin’s unyielding desire to explore<br />all things forbidden. Such traits are common in many<br />young boys, and often ultimately lead to trouble.<br />A light wind whispered through the trees, carrying<br />with it the sweet scent of honeysuckle, and the faint<br />tinkling of bells.<br /><br />As if a trance had taken hold of Colin, he slowly inched<br />forward, closer to the hole, and kneeled before it. A shaft of<br />sunlight managed to reach through the trees and penetrate<br />the darkness in the hole, reflecting brightly off something<br />that lay within.<br /><br />Peering even closer, Colin saw it was a small white<br />circular object, reminiscent of a shiny pearl. Then he<br />noticed similar objects laying beside the first, appearing<br />to be painted with veins of various colors.<br /><br />He realized they were marbles.<br /><br />Colin started to reach his hand into the hole.<br /><br />“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” a voice warned.<br /><br />Colin quickly drew his hand back and leapt to his feet,<br />startled by the voice. Ailfrid emerged from the branches of<br />the trees above him, and hopped down to the roots with<br />the grace of a feline. “The gift of a sprite comes with a<br />sharp bite.”<br /><br />“Sprites?” Colin backed away from the hole, eyeing it<br />warily. He could suddenly sense the presence of something<br />else within the burrow, something not so innocent as<br />marbles.<br /><br />“Indeed. That is a sprite hole. Pixies and sprites are<br />close cousins and nearly identical, and all of them are<br />bad. The ‘wood is full of them, especially Thorn Grove.<br />You’ll want to avoid them, and you definitely don’t<br />want to put your hand in there. One bite from those<br />mischief makers and you’ll find yourself in a heap of<br />trouble.”<br /><br />A high-pitched snickering sounded from all about<br />them, and from within the hole.<br /><br />Colin looked about, worriedly. “Ailfrid?”<br /><br />“Don’t worry. They can’t do anything to you now.<br /><br />You didn’t take their gift. So they can’t take you in<br />return.”<br /><br />“Take me where?”<br /><br />Ailfrid looked down at the hole. “Below.”<br /><br />Colin shuddered.<br /><br />“Never mind all that. C’mon, look.” Ailfrid waved<br />about a small clutch of branches, covered with ripened<br />blackberries. “Bairtlemead makes a delicious blackberry<br />tea, better than any tea from those druids in faraway<br />Wychwood.”<br /><br />Colin frowned. “I’ve never had tea before.”<br /><br />Ailfrid frowned back. “How old are you?”<br /><br />“Ten,” Colin replied. “Almost eleven. Wait, how old<br />are you?”<br /><br />“Three hundred and seven,” Ailfrid replied proudly.<br /><br />“Ten, huh? I forgot, deiney years are different. Well, I<br />don’t care how old you are, you’re in Tanglewood, and<br />in the ‘wood, we have the finest wines made from the<br />plumpest of grapes. We have the sweetest mead made<br />from the most golden honey. And we have the best<br />blackberry tea made from the blackest of blackberries,<br />not to mention the tastiest of muffins made by Doc<br />Muffingrow himself!”<br /><br />Ailfrid grew excited. ”You’ll see, you and me are<br />going to have a flask of blackberry tea, and you’ll never<br />want to drink anything else again.”<br /><br />And with that, Ailfrid turned and continued down<br />Root Path, and Colin smiled and followed, wondering<br />what the wonderful sounding tea might taste like.Scott Kessmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14462588371754984394noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27896070031124367.post-12564500899870177732009-12-11T12:00:00.000-08:002009-12-11T12:04:10.789-08:00Chapter Two, Part OneWhen Colin woke, he expected to find himself<br />tangled within his blankets, but it was a<br />bundle of leaves that he clutched in his<br />hands. And instead of the familiar sounds of breakfast<br />being made and the smell of sizzling bacon, he woke to<br />the haunting call of a mourning dove, and the scent of<br />pine and oak and other earthly aromas.<br /><br />He sat up with a start, and found himself not in his<br />bedroom, but somewhere in the woods, surrounded by<br />trees and bushes and a wide-open sky, rather than four<br />walls and a ceiling.<br /><br />His first thought was that he had been sleepwalking,<br />but then he spied the smoldering remnants of the<br />bonfire and the wooden mask beside him, and<br />remembered his dream.<br /><br />He realized that this time, it had not been a dream at<br />all.<br /><br />He had shown no fear in the night, but that emotion<br />suddenly tumbled forward. Now that this was real, he<br />was not entirely certain he wanted to be here. Not if the<br />creatures he had seen in the night truly did live in theforest. And he thought of his parents, who would be<br />extremely worried if they found him missing. He<br />couldn’t imagine what sort of punishment they might<br />hand him when he returned home.<br /><br />Rising to his feet, he surmised that finding the way<br />home would be another large problem. But he was eager<br />to leave the woods, for he felt eyes upon him. The<br />creatures he had glimpsed last night in what he had<br />believed to be a dream could be anywhere, and while<br />they had shown open friendliness then, he was not so<br />certain that courtesy would be further extended today.<br /><br />He started off in a random direction, and nearly<br />shrieked when a boy stepped from a large grouping of<br />bushes. “You’re awake!” the boy said, clapping his<br />hands and hurrying toward Colin, who abruptly took a<br />step back. “Don’t be afraid,” the boy said, continuing<br />closer. “I gave you that mask, remember?”<br /><br />Colin looked down at his hand, surprised to find<br />himself holding onto the mask. “I don’t want it,” he<br />said, handing it out to the boy. He shivered when he<br />spotted the small sprouts of horns atop the boy’s head,<br />peeking through tufts of sandy hair.<br /><br />“Don’t be silly, it’s a gift. Keep it. You’ll need it at<br />nightfall, to see in the dark.”<br /><br />Colin certainly had no intention of spending another<br />night out here. And the mention of eyesight drew<br />Colin’s attention to the eyes of the boy standing before<br />him, and just like in his dream (which wasn’t a dream,<br />he had to keep reminding himself of that), they were<br />pure silver, with no pupils. They stared at Colin in a<br />way that made him feel especially uneasy.<br /><br />“What?” the boy asked. “I<br />though we had fun last night.<br />Didn’t we?”<br /><br />Colin had to admit to<br />himself that it was fun. The<br />memory of the dance thrilled<br />him, and he felt some of his<br />fear slipping away. And the<br />boy wasn’t all that frightful.<br />Except for the horns and eyes,<br />he looked very much like an<br />ordinary child.<br /><br />He was dressed in a loose-fitting shirt of a very light<br />material, and green breeches that seemed woven of heavy<br />cloth. His feet were barefoot and dirty. He had an old<br />tattered satchel slung over his shoulder.<br /><br />Colin was slightly ashamed to still be wearing his<br />pajamas. “We have a gathering like that every new moon.<br />You were lucky to come when you did. Otherwise you might<br />have been wandering about Tanglewood, and who knows<br />where you would have wound up?”<br /><br />Colin looked around. “I’m not really sure how I got<br />here in the first place. I thought I was dreaming.”<br /><br />“You found us because you passed through the<br />Gateway. It is a secret pathway, and the kynney deiney<br />can’t find it. Only the fey can show you the way.”<br />The boy smiled.<br /><br />“What are the fey?” Colin asked.<br /><br />“I am of the fey, as are all my sheehogue brothers and<br />sisters in Tanglewood. Fairykind has many forms, but<br />we are all creatures of the fey.”<br />“I see. I think.”<br /><br />“The magic of the fey keeps Tanglewood safe.<br />Otherwise we’d likely have all sorts of kynney deiney<br />tramping through here, and that wouldn’t be good at<br />all.”<br /><br />“Oh, I guess not. But you didn’t show me the way in.<br />I found it myself.”<br /><br />The boy stared, his expression painted with<br />confusion and mild shock as he thought of something.<br />“You’re right, I didn’t show you the way. And you’re<br />certain you followed nothing else, not even a butterfly<br />or a bird?”<br /><br />“Nothing,” Colin nodded. “I was walking in the<br />woods, and I found a path of glowing rocks that led to<br />a bunch of trees that formed an archway. I passed under<br />– what?” Colin paused when he saw the boy’s mouth<br />pop open.<br /><br />“You saw the rocks?” the ferrish boy asked,<br />stammering.<br /><br />“Yes, and something written on the trees.”<br /><br />“You should not have been able to.”<br /><br />“Well, I did,” Colin replied, started to get frustrated.<br /><br />“But, but–you shouldn’t have. Unless…” The boy<br />trailed off, appearing lost in thought. Then he simply<br />stated, “Come with me.”<br /><br />“Where are we going?” Colin dared to ask.<br /><br />“To see Bairtlemead Muffingrow.”<br /><br />“Who is that?”<br /><br />“A friend. A druid. Most of the younger sheehogue call<br />him Doc Muffingrow.”<br /><br />“What’s a druid?”<br /><br />“You might say a druid is a friend to the forest. But<br />more importantly, Bairtlemead is wise, one of the wisest<br />humans any of the fey have ever known. He came to<br />Tanglewood long ago, and has been here ever since. He<br />has no use for the world of kynney deiney. By the way,<br />how are you called?”<br /><br />“My name? Colin.”<br /><br />“Colin,” the boy repeated. “I’m Ailfrid. Say, Colin is<br />a good name.”<br /><br />“Why, what does it mean?”<br /><br />“Never mind that now. We’ve got a lot of distance<br />to cover. We have to follow the Root Path almost all<br />the way to Fallen Tree, then at the bridge, we follow the<br />Copper Stream. Muffingrow lives along the bank.<br /><br />When we get to Muffingrow’s, we’ll see what he has to<br />say. It could all just be nothing.”Scott Kessmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14462588371754984394noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27896070031124367.post-13779431791535558522009-12-07T08:18:00.000-08:002009-12-07T08:21:14.541-08:00Chapter One, Part TwoColin, his reflexes dulled by the trance he had<br />succumbed to, blinked and turned his head. He beheld a<br />small boy not unlike himself, save that two small knobs,<br />the beginning of horns, rested atop his head, and his<br />eyes were of purest silver, absent of pupils.<br /><br />The boy smiled, angel-like, and held something out.<br />Colin slowly reached for it, and saw that it was mask.<br />Seemingly made of tree bark, it was painted a light<br />shade of green, had two eye slits rimmed with brown,<br />and two small horns imitating those of the boy.<br /><br />“Come dance with us,” the boy whispered.<br /><br />Colin donned the mask, felt it adhering to his skin as<br />though it belonged there, and shivered with forbidden<br />delight. Following the boy into the clearing, the ring of<br />unnatural forest-folk parted, allowing him entry.<br /><br />He followed the boy into the circle, skipping and<br />dancing, waving his arms frantically along with the<br />beating of the drum. He soon found himself surrounded<br />by other strange and wondrous children, some with<br />tails, some with scales, some with claws, and some with<br />wicked grins filled with sharp teeth, but Colin was not<br />afraid.<br /><br />He knew he was welcome here, for the mask made<br />him one of them. Laughing and shouting with glee, he<br />frolicked and danced away the night. He joined hands<br />with some – the boy who had given him the mask on<br />his left, and a dark-haired girl with pointed ears on his<br />right. Together, they spun about, leaping and running<br />and circling about the fire, until Colin finally collapsed<br />from exhaustion and exhilaration.<br /><br />His tired bones and weary head succumbed to sleep<br />as he settled down into a soft bed of leaves and grass.<br />The intoxicating smell of the earth was like a sweet<br />perfume.Scott Kessmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14462588371754984394noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27896070031124367.post-86534354490613959722009-12-01T16:47:00.000-08:002009-12-01T16:48:15.521-08:00Chapter One, Part OneWhen the darkness fell from the sky to bathe the earth in its dark, cool touch, Colin dreamt of the many things that roamed the woods behind his house. In his dreams, Colin would watch from his bedroom window overlooking the yard, his darting eyes scanning the small shrubs and bushes, and finally the trees and thick undergrowth that was home to wondrous and magical things. Creatures only glimpsed in fairy tales and folklore, dismissed by adults as creative imagination.<br /> <br />But Colin knew they were real. He would sit patiently at his window, and soon, the shadows would begin to pulse with life, feeding on the moonlight that was their catalyst. Slowly, they took on form. Humanoid, animal, and unidentifiable shapes evolved from the deepest patches of the inky expanse, sprouting horns and claws and hooves and shining eyes that peered through the night, seeing things clearly as if it were bright day. <br /><br />Colin couldn’t hear them from his room, but he could imagine their growls and their laughs, their little shrieks and their sighs of contentment. He knew they reveled in their short time in the woods, short because soon the sun would come up to send them scurrying back to whatever hiding places they sought shelter in during the day. <br /><br />He knew this because with the first inklings of pink light creeping over the horizon, they would melt back into the earth, take on the substance of trees and bushes, or scatter themselves into fragments formed of leaves and twigs blowing about in the wind, their voices fading and disguised as insects chirping and the rustling of branches. In actuality, this was his dream fading away to mere fragments, as the sun peeked through his windows and the noise of his parents in the kitchen roused him from his sleep. <br /><br />Once, after awakening, he ran to his window and gasped when he thought he saw someone standing on the edge of the woods, peering up at him. He was unable to make out a distinct shape, but it was small, maybe a child like himself, and he imagined small, glowing eyes. He had run downstairs then, and into the yard, ignoring the shouts of his mother who told him to get properly dressed and put something on his feet. There had been nothing and no one else in the yard. He scanned the trees, but whatever he had seen was gone. He trudged back inside. <br /><br />*******<br /><br />A few years passed. Colin never saw the form of the strange boy in the woods again, but he still dreamt of the forest creatures, the elves and fairies and satyrs. The dreams no longer came to him every night – sometimes only once a month. But when they did come, he always woke refreshed, with vigorous energy and a sense of longing. <br /><br />It was a cool summer night when the dream came again, only this time, he was no longer content to sit at his window and watch from afar. This time, he found himself outside, standing at the edge of the woods. It was dark, with only the faintest of moonlight gracing the earth. <br /><br />He took a step forward, then two more, and the woods engulfed him, brushing against his bare skin, tickling and caressing, sometimes scratching but never too deeply, and his feet soon adjusted to walking on the bare earth. The pebbles and twigs did not bother him, and he liked the tickle of the grass and leaves, the soft mud between his toes. <br /><br />He walked a long time, and the woods grew murky and black. It was extremely difficult to navigate through the undergrowth, and Colin thought perhaps he might turn around and try to find his way home, when he spied something glowing softly, lain upon the ground. As he moved forward to investigate, he saw that it was a rock, and a short distance away was another one. A trail, in fact, of gently glowing rocks, leading deeper into the woods. He followed them to where they led – a small cluster of white trees that seemed to form an archway. And even odder yet more exciting than the rocks were the many strange symbols inscribed upon the trees, also glowing faintly, a comforting milky-white. He examined them closely, but they were like nothing he had seen before, though he imagined it was writing of some sort. <br /><br />Colin traced his fingertips over the strange runes, and a twinge of excitement rippled through his body. Eager to continue the adventure, he stepped through the trees. <br />Upon emerging from the archway, he heard the noises. He was unable to make out distinctive voices, but there were many of them, and it sounded like hearty, joyous singing. <br /><br />Creeping as silently as he could, he approached the chorus of voices, moving deeper into the undergrowth, pressing aside outreaching tree limbs that sought to block his path and protect the denizens of the forest. <br /><br />Deeper into the woods he traveled, his way lit by a mass of fireflies signaling their mates. Trying desperately to be silent, twigs cracked and leaves crunched under his weight. Perhaps the creatures of the forest would teach him to move silently as they did. <br /><br />His house far away now, little more than a memory, he began to feel as if he had been birthed here, living his young life among the trees and the earth, cradled within the leafy arms of the forest. How he longed to make this dream real, to banish his true life to some nether-region, replace it with one free of school and homework and all the complications grown-ups seemed to accumulate as they grew older. None of that would be found here, he knew. <br /><br />The voices grew louder now, but were still unintelligible. Yet the woods were brighter now as well. Colin spied the telltale glow of a fire, glimpsed through a break in the trees, some distance away but growing closer as he traveled deeper into the heart of this magical nighttime world. <br /><br />He moved slower, more carefully, picking his way through the bushes and around the trees, doing his best to avoid roots and thorns, until he advanced upon the clearing, but did not yet dare to enter. <br /><br />The firelight lit the clearing in a soft orange glow, flickering shadows dancing across the trees to match those of the strange creatures who frolicked about the fire, waving their arms and swinging their heads with wild abandon. They looked to be caught in the throes of lunacy, yet their movement varied in accordance with a small drum, beaten by a small form that sat before the fire.<br /> <br />Colin watched in awe, unable to make out the true forms of those in the clearing, as they moved too quickly and were obscured by the wavering light. He found himself mesmerized by the dance and the drum, and did not realize that something stood directly beside him until it gently tapped him upon the shoulder with a child’s hand.Scott Kessmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14462588371754984394noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27896070031124367.post-32098199994696771062009-11-23T16:00:00.000-08:002009-11-23T16:03:23.133-08:00Prologue Pt. 2Although I saw no other fey on my journey to the home of Monohan, I did behold the phenomenal beauty of the forest, brilliant with light and flushed with color, truly a wonder of nature rarely glimpsed by human eyes. <br /><br />The old man called out certain areas to me as we passed by them or over them. Root Path, Copper Stream, Satyr Stump, Fallen Tree, and others. But I paid little attention to the names. Instead, I concentrated solely on observing all I could. I wanted to hold tightly to these beguiling visions of woodland splendor and the broad spectrum of color that no painter could ever hope to reproduce. <br /><br />My body felt young again, and my energy seemed infinite, despite how far we had walked. The complaints of old bones were gone, replaced by vigor and determination.<br /> <br />The home of Monohan was hollowed out of a huge and ancient tree, easily fifteen feet across the trunk. The bark was rough and gray. A mass of thick branches reached high into the sky and across the earth, but bore no leaves. <br /><br />I saw no entrance to the tree at first, but the outline of a door appeared when the old man knocked upon the thick bark. The door, a section of tree as tall as Monohan and myself, slowly swung open of its own accord, and the old man bade me enter. <br /><br />“This tree was once mighty and powerful, long ago,” Monohan explained, as I stepped into the tree. “But, as with all things, his time was soon to pass, and when I happened upon him, I asked if he would share with me the space within his giant form, so that I may have a home.” <br /><br />Remarkably large yet equally cozy, the hollow of the tree was yet another sight to take my breath away.<br /><br />It was as if a storybook image had come to life before my eyes. All of the furniture that lay within; the large table, the chairs, the shelves and cabinets, and the narrow stairway that wound its way to another floor higher in the tree – they all appeared to be fashioned from the substance of the tree itself. In fact, the legs of the table sprouted from the floor as though they had been grown, as did the railing on the stairs and the stairs themselves. The floor was smooth and solid, and detailed the pattern of the tree’s long life. <br /><br />“The tree obliged me,” Monohan continued, motioning me to be seated at the table. “I have lived here ever since, long after the tree gave its final breath to the sky.” <br />Lavish tapestries adorned the walls, depicting images of elves and fairies and other creatures I did not immediately recognize. A small fire blazed at the opposite end of the hollow tree in a small enclosure, with the smoke dwindling up into an unseen chimney within the outer shell of the trunk. <br /><br />The scent of herbal incense also hung heavy in the air. I found it all very pleasant and soothing, and immediately felt at home within the tree. <br /><br />Monohan leaned his staff against the wall and proceeded to take a small teapot off a shelf, and hang it from an iron hook, suspended over the fire. “Blackberry tea is best served hot.” <br /><br />As the old man busied himself with the teapot, I took in some of the finer details of his home. Strange runes and symbols were impressed within the inner shell of the tree and along the table, reminiscent of Celtic design. <br /><br />Various nooks and flat protrusions in the tree formed crude shelves, on which all manner of items were stored. Small candles placed thereabouts further illuminated the inside of the tree, casting the hollow in an amber light. <br /><br />My eyes wandered over the tapestries, and I took notice of a small representation depicting a tall, thin being that I first thought to be an elf, but something told me that despite the elfin features, this fey was something different. He stood within a ring of other creatures, and possessed a regal look. His stance set him apart from the depictions of the other fey that regarded him. They seemed awed yet warmed by his presence. A subtle smile on the central fey’s lips revealed a multitude of characteristics; kindness, understanding, strength, confidence, and more. I do not know how I was able to discern all that from the tapestry, and Monohan interrupted any further thoughts of it. <br /><br />He sat himself down across from me. I noticed then that Cluny was gone. He must have flown off at some point during the walk, but I was too lost in the wonders that surrounded me to have noticed. <br /><br />“Now, while that tea is getting hot, let’s talk.” He clasped his hands in front of him. <br /><br />“Alright,” I said. “Why have I been brought here then?” <br /><br />The old man’s face brightened, and he smiled. “Ah, good lad, now you are asking the right questions.” He paused, and then grew very serious. <br /><br />“You’ve been brought here,” he said, “to tell the tales of Tanglewood.” <br /><br />He smiled again, but I was merely confused. <br /><br />“You don’t look pleased,” he said. <br /><br />“I don’t know what you mean,” I replied. <br /><br />“You are a writer, aren’t you?” <br /><br />“Yes. Well, I mean, I used to be.”<br /> <br />“Nonsense! There is no such thing as used-to-be. You are a writer, whether it has been ten minutes or ten years since you’ve picked up a pen. Look there, on the shelf.” He pointed. <br /><br />The shelf he indicated held a large stack of parchment, and several quills and bottles of ink. <br /><br />“They are yours,” he continued. “To write the tales of Tanglewood.” <br /><br />He said this matter-of-factly, as though everything should have been understood. <br />It wasn’t.<br /> <br />The old man spoke. “Much has happened in the ‘wood these many years past. Much that needs telling. It has been my charge to record the events of the ‘wood and instill them within the Well of Knowledge, but I have fallen behind in my task, as I was busy with other matters, and will soon be called away again. So I entrust this chore to you. You need to write, and the ‘wood needs a suitable scribe.” <br /><br />He rose from the table and proceeded to take two wooden mugs from a small nook. <br />“I wrote stories,” I explained. “Fiction. And sometimes newspaper articles. But I was never a famous writer. Why me?” <br /><br />“Why? Because you believe. And also, because when you wrote, you wrote from the heart. You wrote with feelings and emotion. You let it flow from your heart and soul, to your pen, to the paper. You have a magic in you that can manifest itself in the words you write, should you choose to let it out.” <br /><br />“Magic? I don’t think so. I imagine I would have been more successful as a writer if that were true.” <br /><br />“You were not meant to write for the ‘kynney deiney’. You were meant to write for the ‘wood. Until now, your magic has been suppressed. Here in the ‘wood, it can be free.” <br />Monahan rose from the table but continued talking. “You feel it now, don’t you? You feel it stirring in your heart, like a sleeping beast that has been dreaming for very, very long, and is only now opening its eyes to a new world. No doubt there is a flurry of words and sentences and descriptive passages already forming quite a storm in your head.” <br /><br />Monohan removed the teapot from the hook, and poured each of us a steaming mug of dark purplish tea. The sweet scent of blackberries and various other spices wafted through the hollow of the tree. It smelled absolutely heavenly as I breathed in deep the steam that rose from within the mug. <br /><br />“Not just anyone can write these tales,” he continued, seating himself at the table again. “But you have always been a Soul of the ‘Wood, even if you were never actually in the ‘wood” <br /><br />“Soul of the ‘Wood?” <br /><br />The old man looked at me, his eyebrows furrowed. “You like repeating after me, don’t you? Well, to answer your question, a Soul of the ‘Wood is one who has always believed, one who has always had the wild spirit of nature contained within. You are at peace in the forest, and a friend to animals. You find the beauty in nature, and your soul is open to the magic of the world. That, my good man, is a Soul of the ‘Wood. Now, drink your tea.” <br /><br />I did, and the sweet-hot liquid was like nothing I’d ever tasted. Its warmth enveloped me in a comforting embrace, while my senses were affected by a rushing wave of sprightly exuberance. <br /><br />Tasting of ripe blackberries, woody herbs and sharp spices, I felt as though the spirit of the ‘wood itself was contained within this magical elixir. <br /><br />It tasted familiar. It tasted like home, a home I had never seen, but at last returned to. <br /><br />My mind was a flurry of ideas, and I looked at the parchment and quills, suddenly eager to begin work on these tales of the ‘wood. <br /><br />I had denied myself the comfort and thrill of writing for far too long. <br /><br />“These stories, these tales of Tanglewood you wish me to write,” I said, taking another healthy sip. “Who will tell them to me?” <br /><br />Monohan sipped his own tea and smiled. <br /><br />“Listen to the trees, my friend. The trees will tell you the stories, and perhaps much more.” <br /><br />I listened, and the whispering wind rustled the leaves of the trees. The very air had found a voice, deep and ancient. There were no clear words, but rather a weighty moaning that penetrated my mind. From this engrossing chant I could discern a meaning. <br /><br />Behind my eyes, I beheld new images of the ‘wood, places I had never been to, and strange creatures I had never seen. <br /><br />The voice of the ‘wood suffused itself into my soul with startling intensity. It spoke as though it were just another part of myself, familiar yet detached, muted as though immersed under water, a rumbling echo within a deep cavern. <br /><br />The great trees had witnessed much in their millennia, and had an abundance of stories to tell. But they chose to speak to me first of a little boy named Colin, who reminded me much of myself when I was his age.<br /> <br />But Colin had found Tanglewood much faster, much easier than I did…Scott Kessmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14462588371754984394noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27896070031124367.post-85680109551198425952009-11-19T14:45:00.000-08:002009-11-19T14:50:11.947-08:00Prologue Pt. 1When I was a young boy, the world outside my house was a magical realm. My yard was full of clover and toadstools, which I spent considerable time looking through on sunny afternoons, searching for evidence of fairies, pixies or elves. I made sure never to step on the bright green moss beds that hugged the base of the trees. The soft moss was fairy carpeting, and I wanted the fey to have a comfortable, inviting place to relax, should they ever decide to visit my yard. <br /><br />Many summers came and went, and my view of the world began to change. Distracted by homework, and video games, and mundane tasks and chores, the yard slowly transformed from something mysterious and magical to just your plain, ordinary, everyday backyard.<br /> <br />I had begun to grow discouraged after never finding any sign of the fey. But an advantage came with being older; I was now allowed to enter the woods alone. A small forest bordered the yard behind my house, and it was there, I thought, that I would stand a better chance of meeting a creature of the fey, for the woods were their true home, where they likely lived in abundance. <br /><br />Every hidden pathway was an adventure leading to secret places, every knothole in a tree a possible lair for sprites, every clearing a possible meeting ground for elves. I walked the paths until I knew them all by heart, and watched and waited and listened, and I never found any sign of the fey. <br /><br />Several more summers passed, and the woods, though undeniably beautiful, no longer seemed a haven for mystery and myth. The forest was home to typical woodland animals such as raccoons, squirrels, birds, and the occasional fox or owl, but little else. <br /><br />I gave up my quest to find and meet the creatures of the fey. I had other things to be concerned about now anyway. College, a girlfriend, a job, followed by a house, a wife, a career. The magic of the world and my memories of the woods faded away to a far distant place, overtaken by real world technology. Steel and glass and concrete and plastic began to replace trees and grass. <br /><br />All about me, the world changed at the hands of my fellow man, intent on removing all that was once bright and magical from the earth. Once, acres of farmland, and endless miles of woodland dominated my hometown. Now, most of that was gone, replaced by obscenely large cookie-cutter homes and unnecessary shopping malls boasting rows of cookie-cutter shops. <br /><br />Winter, Spring, Summer, and Fall; the changing scenery repeated itself in a constant cycle, and I grew older still, watching with detachment. I grew bored, restless, and saddened by the state of the world and what it had become. I realized that a world without magic, whether real or imagined, is not a fun world at all. And if you can no longer find any magic in the world, then you must find it within yourself. <br /><br />And so it was that one day, when I was very old, I decided I would take a walk in the woods once again. Away from the cities, technology still had far to go before it could completely erase every patch of nature from the world. I had moved far away from my old home and my old hometown, but here in this new town where I resided, there was a large area of woodland just within walking distance, and I felt a renewed sense of childlike energy as I approached it. <br /><br />It seemed funny that I had never really paid attention to the woods that I had likely driven by so many times. Had it really been so long ago that I wandered a simple dirt pathway looking for fairies and elves? Had my childhood been abandoned and forgotten so easily? <br />As I walked through the woods, I appreciated the beauty of the trees, the serenity of nature, and the warmth of the powerful sunlight that split the trees. Fey or no fey, I found magic in the woods once again. I had to stop and pause a moment, to simply bask in the moment of peace that had overcome me. It was the peace of being a child, of having no worries or concerns. Such trivial things had been left behind at the border of the woods, and I stood here now with a happy heart, the heart of a child finding wonder and magic for the first time. <br /><br />The moment had captured me so completely that it took a few minutes to notice the butterfly circling lazily before me. It was a colorful splendor of purples and yellows, and appeared to be dancing in the air just for me. I smiled and observed the small insect that seemed to mirror my happiness. <br /><br />I held out my hand, and the butterfly lighted upon it, and I marveled at the insect, which was casually staring back at me, slowly waving its antennae. Then it caught a breeze and flew before me again, remaining close. I strode forward to continue my walk and the butterfly moved forward with me, ahead of me.<br /><br />If it hadn’t been such a crazy notion, I would have thought that I was supposed to follow the beautiful insect. Since I had nothing else to do with my time but enjoy all that the woods had to offer, if they offered me a butterfly to lead my way, then I would follow. <br /><br />We walked for some time, the butterfly and I, down a path that narrowed considerably, and into an area where the trees grew thick and the sunlight struggled to penetrate the canopy of leaves overhead. Still, I was certain that I could find my way back at ease, and I was enjoying the camaraderie of the butterfly in this enchanting environment. <br /><br />The butterfly picked up speed, darting through a small tunnel of birch trees, and I followed.<br /><br />Emerging from beneath the archway, the forest suddenly changed. It wasn’t something immediately noticeable in appearance, but rather a subtle feeling that enveloped me gracefully. <br /><br />Though I had already been walking for some time, the weariness was gone from my bones, chased away by a sudden onset of vigorous anticipation.<br />My skin tingled. <br /><br />I began to notice small differences in my surroundings. The forest was radiant; bright beams of sunlight trickled through the leaves to kiss the ground below, and cast a lustrous glow about the forest. The very air seemed to shimmer excitedly and the leaves and the grass sparkled with fresh morning dew. The twittering of woodland birds was musical, and the wind rustling the leaves of the trees and tickling my hair was a soothing, comforting whisper. <br /><br />The butterfly still fluttered by, and I glanced at the insect suspiciously. I suddenly wondered if perhaps there was real magic to be found in the woods after all. <br /><br />The rational part of my mind wanted to dispel the silly idea, but the child in me was wholly stronger here. Fueled by memories and desires of childlike longing, I easily dispatched rationality to a faraway corner where it was unable to cause any trouble or sway me from continuing. <br /><br />I could taste the very essence of the forest on my tongue, a morning mist of earthy flavor. The aroma of the woods was fresh and primal; I could sense the richness of the deep earth beneath my feet, and the scent of pine was seductively inviting, mingling with subtler notes of clover and sweet honeysuckle, orange blossoms and wild berries. <br /><br />My ears were wide open to the welcoming song of the birds hidden within the surrounding trees. The woods were lush with color; a bold array of greens, majestically strong browns, the effervescent glow of sunlight glancing off patches of delicate, golden-white flowers. <br /><br />The whispering wind hinted at secrets and assured me that the magic I was feeling was real. <br /><br />The forest was alive, and for some reason, the butterfly had led me here, to the heart of it, to witness these sensations for myself. <br /><br />I was gazing at the woods around me in silent admiration, when a quiet voice startled me. <br /><br />“I wasn’t sure you would come,” the voice said. <br /><br />I whirled, frightened to find myself suddenly not alone. Had I not been so old, I might have run. <br /><br />When I saw that the owner of the voice that addressed me was an old man, much older than myself, I realized there was no need to take flight. He was likely just another old soul out for a walk in the woods, and our paths had crossed. My heartbeat settled back to its normal rhythm. <br /><br />I had not immediately considered his words to me. <br /><br />I then noticed his appearance and strange manner of dress. <br /><br />He wore a shirt of a roughly woven green cloth, and brown pants of a similar material, reminding me of something you might find in a thrift store back in the year 1500. The legs of his pants were folded over a pair of pointed brown boots of worn suede or leather, hardly what I would call a comfortable walking shoe. A tall, wooden walking stick, smoothed and topped with a gnarled clump of a head, was clutched in his hands. <br />His hair was cropped short, mostly white with the slightest tinge of red, and his beard was straight and long, framing a softly wrinkled face. His eyes, however, were not soft. Though seemingly kind, they were also hard and strong and lively. They watched me intently. <br /><br />He leaned his staff against a tree and reached into a faded brown satchel that was slung over one shoulder, and produced a wooden flask. <br /><br />“Something to drink? You’ve walked far to get here, you must be thirsty.” <br /><br />I was thirsty, but I was not yet ready to accept an odd flask from an even odder man. <br />“No thank you, “ I replied. <br /><br />He raised his eyebrows slightly. “Suit yourself. But you’re passing up a fine blackberry tea.” <br /><br />He put the flask away, and when I witnessed the butterfly set itself down on the shoulder of the old man, it was my turn to raise my eyebrows. <br /><br />The stranger glanced at the insect on his shoulder, and then returned his gaze to me. “Yes,” he said. “The butterfly is mine. Rather, he’s my friend. You two have already been acquainted, but you haven’t been properly introduced. His name is Cluny. I am Monohan.” <br /><br />It seemed absurd to introduce myself to a butterfly, but I found myself starting to anyway, out of politeness. “I am–“ <br /><br />“We know who you are, of course. Why do you think I sent Cluny to find you and lead you here?” <br /><br />This was all getting a little too bizarre for me. I was about ready to turn around and head home. <br /><br />The old man uncannily sensed my thoughts. <br /><br />“Don’t go, please. Not after all the trouble I’ve gone through to find you. The ‘wood needs you.” <br /><br />“The ‘wood?” I asked. <br /><br />“Tanglewood, to be more precise. This is where you stand now, just beyond the Gateway, the entrance to Tanglewood.” He pointed to the copse of birch trees I had just walked beneath. <br /><br />“You would not have found it on your own, I assure you. Only the fey can show you the way. That is why Cluny led you here.” <br /><br />The butterfly left the shoulder of the old man and flew about my head enthusiastically, and then returned to its shoulder perch. <br /><br />I was more interested in what the stranger, Monohan, had just said, I asked him to repeat it. “What did you just say?” <br /><br />“I said only the fey can show you the way. No one can get into Tanglewood otherwise.” <br /><br />All my childhood endeavors of searching for the fey came rushing back into my head, but I forced myself to remember that I wasn’t a child anymore. Old notions of magic and innocence had been joined by doubt and suspicion, and I wasn’t quite ready to believe I was in the presence of a fey. Not yet. <br /><br />Once again, the old man seemed to sense my apprehension. “You have questions?”<br /> <br />“Yes.” <br /><br />“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather follow me to my dwelling, where we can discuss all this over a mug of fine blackberry tea?” <br /><br />“No, I’d rather ask them right here.” <br /><br />Monohan nodded. “Alright. Ask your questions. But leave your heart open to receive the answers.” <br /><br />Fair enough, I thought. “Okay. Are you telling me that you are one of the fey?” <br /><br />The man chuckled. “Me, no. I do live among them, however, for quite some time. I have been away from the world of man, the ‘kynney deiney’, for quite a long time indeed.” <br /><br />“Then the butterfly–“ <br /><br />“Cluny,” Monohan corrected.<br /> <br />“Yes. Cluny.” <br /><br />“He is a creature of the fey, possessed of intelligence and some minor magics. You’ll find that many of the creatures of Tanglewood, the birds, the foxes, sometimes even the fish, are no ordinary animals. But we are getting off topic. We have much to discuss, so please try to keep your questions related to the topic at hand.” <br />“I’m not even sure exactly what the topic is.” <br /><br />“That’s easy. The topic is contained within this simple question. Are you ready to accept that the fey and their magic are real, and always have been?” <br /><br />I paused, unsure of myself. It was here I knew I had to make a decision. I could dismiss the ramblings of this man as harmless lunacy, or I could accept what he had told me, and follow him to his home, wherever that may be. <br /><br />A gentle wind caressed the trees once more. Watching with curious perception, listening keenly, I heard the whispers of the woods and the song of the sky resonating within my mind. A primeval feeling of enlightenment overcame me. <br /><br />I realized then that I had truly never stopped believing, and these extraordinary woods, full of untamed life and strange enchantment, had cast a spell over me. <br /><br />Monohan took hold of his walking staff and gestured me over, turning toward a path I had not seen before. <br /><br />With a renewed sense of adventure and my curiosity piqued beyond habitual limits, I eagerly followed.Scott Kessmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14462588371754984394noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27896070031124367.post-27645134291293544882009-11-08T08:20:00.000-08:002009-11-08T08:32:11.492-08:00An excerpt from Angel Tears - new novel currently in production for NANOWhenever Dariuse saw an angel spread her wings, his heart fluttered. A sudden rush of adrenaline would course through his cold veins; the thrill that accompanied his observation of the angel’s majestic flight was immeasurable. <br /><br />The wind whistling through the angel’s feathers was an ethereal melody, playing softly as if in tribute to her own grace and beauty. The sky above belonged solely to the angel and nothing else. The clouds were her personal plane of reality; wispy tendrils of white cotton encircle her, and glistening beads of moisture cling to her lustrous golden skin. Her wet lips are spread in a soft smile, and her eyes closed against the tainted world floating below.<br /><br />Weaving a haphazard pattern through the clouds, she darts about like an energetic child. For moments at a time, she simply sails along gracefully, randomly interjecting her flight with long swoops and dazzling turns, and then finally hovers still. Her snow-white wings are spread wide. Remarkable warmth emanates from them and kisses the ground far below, as soothing as the showering rays of the sun.<br /><br />It is at this moment, when the angel’s perfect form is silhouetted against the sky, that Dariuse knows he must turn away or risk entrapment. His eyes are special, and can see nearly as far as heaven if he concentrates his focus. But to continue to watch the angel one moment longer would mean surrendering his mind to the glamour that is continuously expelled from the heavenly being. Had Dariuse been human, his consciousness would already be lost, doomed to envision the aerial dance even long after the angel had returned to her haven in the cosmos. <br /><br />Therein lied the primary danger element in hunting angels. They were creatures of striking beauty and magical elegance, but dare to watch them for too long, and you are transfixed by the vision.<br /><br />Dariuse knew this not just because he was extremely knowledgeable about angels. He knew this because he was nearly defeated in this way during his very first hunt. It was only his severe hatred of angels that enabled him to summon the willpower to break free from the spell, and even for days afterwards, the effect lingered on, forcing him to continually concentrate deeply in order to avoid slipping back into the recesses of oblivion.<br /><br />The angel hunter drew a black arrow from the quiver slung across his back, and reached for the bow he had placed in the branches beside him. From his perch high in the trees, he kept the angel in sight out of the corner of his eye, not daring to chance looking at her directly. <br /><br />The angel remained motionless, her ivory hair floating about her seemingly with its own life. Her physique is quite remarkable, the object of every man’s fantasy, the living embodiment of sexual desire. Her slender arms were spread wide, allowing a soft breeze to run through her long, nimble fingers. Each finger was capped with a white nail that was as sharp and as deadly as a hawk’s talon. <br /><br />Dariuse nocked the arrow. It is exquisitely crafted; the shaft is long, polished and smooth, and nearly unbreakable. It is finished with the feathers of a slain angel and stained with her blood. The feathers will enhance the propulsion of the arrow and keep it on course. The arrowhead is sharp enough to penetrate the most solid mountain and bury itself deep within the mass of stone, but that would be an extreme waste. There are only nine more arrows such as this one in the world, and though Dariuse has only ever needed to use no more than one in each of his kills, he took great pride and pleasure in crafting them, and would not care to lose a single one.<br /><br />The bow itself is fashioned from the bones of an angel’s wing, which Dariuse was delighted to find both strong yet pliable. It is in fact the wing bones of his first kill, which was quite difficult without the aid of this superb instrument of death, to say the least. The angel hunter smiled with amusement every time he reflected upon how the remains of one angel have since aided in securing the deaths of so many others.<br /><br />In one fluid motion, Dariuse leapt to the tallest reaches of the tree, rising out of his leafy enclosure to reveal himself to the sky, and drew back the bowstring.<br /><br />Dariuse let loose the arrow, and it streaked into the clouds with barely a sound, straight and purposeful. The hunter could almost see the trail of heat left in its wake.<br /><br />The angel is oblivious until it is too late. Her eyes snapped open and she sighted the point of the shaft barely a moment before it struck her body. In that split-second, there was confusion on her face as she struggled to comprehend the unnatural object speeding toward her.<br /><br />The angel hunter is constantly amazed at the speed possessed by angels. In that one miniscule moment of clarity in which the angel realized the danger, she was able to twist her body just enough so that the arrow missed her heart, probably by no more than a mere fraction of an inch.<br /><br />The arrow made no sound as it sliced into her, and neither did she. Dariuse imagines that it was likely the shock of a strange new emotion called pain that overcame the angel first. The arrow ripped through flesh and bone as effortlessly as it had cut through the air. A portion of the shaft emerged from the angel’s back almost directly centered between her wings. A pure, unblemished white only moments ago, they were now spattered with blood.<br /><br />Miles away from the tree in which Dariuse sat, the angel began her plummet to the earth, trailing feathers and red mist behind her.Scott Kessmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14462588371754984394noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27896070031124367.post-77417139758871788672009-11-03T18:56:00.000-08:002009-11-03T19:01:49.784-08:00Synopsis of Angel Tears, being written for National Novel Writing MonthSynopsis: Angel Tears<br /><br />For centuries, Dariuse has hunted and killed angels, managing to stay hidden from their vengeance-seeking brethren. But when he kills an angel of particular importance, the delicate balance of restrained peace between angel and demon is threatened.<br /><br />Adexzinus seeks a position on the Council of Demons, and intends to use Dariuse to achieve that goal, and perhaps bring about an era of unrivaled chaos on Earth as well.<br /><br />Sebastian is an incubus whose appetite for the lifeforce of humans is rivaled only by his jealousy of vampires, particularly the attention lavished upon them by the entertainment industry.<br /><br />Tracey, a reluctant prostitute, and Mitchell, the police detective intent on saving her life, find themselves suddenly thrust into a world full of supernatural beings they never imagined really existed.<br /><br />Humans, demons, and cursed immortals. All will find themselves tested in ways they never imagined. The fate of the Earth depends solely upon who or what remains standing in the end.Scott Kessmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14462588371754984394noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27896070031124367.post-91167949485297356752009-10-20T07:38:00.001-07:002009-10-20T09:02:43.977-07:00The Tales of Tanglewood Book Trailer is done!<object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/wb3Ol1hLzIE&hl=en&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/wb3Ol1hLzIE&hl=en&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>Scott Kessmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14462588371754984394noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27896070031124367.post-55973162911650173332009-08-20T14:01:00.000-07:002009-08-20T14:06:41.042-07:00Interview posted on Author's DenAn interview with me has been posted on Author's Den. The interview was conducted by Lorna Suzuki, who can be followed on Twitter at <a href="twitter.com/LornaSuzuki">twitter.com/LornaSuzuki</a><br /><br />L.T. Suzuki lives in Canada and is the author of the <a href="http://www.authorsden.com/visit/author.asp?AuthorID=99745">Imago book series</a>.<br /><br />Follow me on Twitter at <a href="twitter.com/Scott_Kessman">twitter.com/Scott_Kessman</a>, and join the <a href="http://www.facebook.com/share.php?appid=2530096808&src=box&tid=50591359982&u=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.authorsden.com%2Fvisit%2Fviewblog.asp%3FAuthorID%3D99745#/group.php?gid=50591359982">Tales of Tanglewood Facebook Group</a>!Scott Kessmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14462588371754984394noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27896070031124367.post-21361289266109367392009-08-09T10:26:00.000-07:002009-08-09T10:31:43.019-07:00Preview of "Traveling Companions" - My zombie short story<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgr0hVZpfIN040ByQ9kE007i78EoC5A6AIoPguQ3crGfyVNvTAaFS7Vuk4bdhD2tDfb4U5FLV1VDDwqxZizcVN4FdVpScpuyFHq8uQfrY4WLPX-gu8uYQpg_1gc4Ei3feSY572TeqkHMc/s1600-h/51spzghxtrL._SL500_AA240_.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgr0hVZpfIN040ByQ9kE007i78EoC5A6AIoPguQ3crGfyVNvTAaFS7Vuk4bdhD2tDfb4U5FLV1VDDwqxZizcVN4FdVpScpuyFHq8uQfrY4WLPX-gu8uYQpg_1gc4Ei3feSY572TeqkHMc/s320/51spzghxtrL._SL500_AA240_.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368018039368620594" border="0" /></a><br />The full story can be found in the <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Book-Dead-Zombie-Anthology-Revised/dp/1935458256/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1249838654&sr=1-2"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span id="btAsinTitle" style="">Book of the Dead: A Zombie Anthology ( Revised Edition)</span></span></a><br /><br />Finding the entrance to the old bomb shelter amidst the scattered debris and severely overgrown lawn was lucky. It would provide a suitable location to rest and regain some strength before continuing her journey across what was once a thriving suburb, but now little more than a barren wasteland.<br /><br />The small confines of the bomb shelter made her nervous. She checked the locks on the heavy steel door a third time. She paced the tiny room and repeatedly scanned the empty shelves as if a fresh supply of water and canned goods might suddenly reappear.<br /><br />She had been careful to avoid detection as she crept silently through the neighborhood, keeping to the shadows as much as she could. Still, you could never be too sure. The zombies could be sneaky bastards sometimes. They were slow, but they were also usually quiet, and in the darkness, you might be standing right next to one and not know it until it grabs you and tears away a chunk of flesh with its rotted teeth.<br /><br />But Sam had been careful.<br /><br />She sat upon the cot. The mattress was comfortable. She looked worriedly at the door. Still locked. She was still nervous.<br /><br />The door was the only way out. If any of the dead had seen her, then even now they could be falling down the concrete steps, piling their bulk against the door as they sought to gain entry. More would come during the night, following the others without really knowing why.<br /><br />She imagined them wandering out there in the dark, shrouded in fog, hungering for her flesh, seeking her out with, dull, dead eyes. She shivered and lay down upon the mattress, gripping her rifle tight. She hugged the gun close, as though it were a source of warmth. If anything other than a tool for killing, it is her only friend. It has kept her alive, it has kept the abominations at bay, and she cherishes it as she would any friend, for without it, she would be lost, alone, and vulnerable.<br /><br />After what seems like an eternity, her eyes close and her body succumbs to sleep.Scott Kessmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14462588371754984394noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27896070031124367.post-81316618254242840762009-08-09T10:17:00.000-07:002009-08-09T10:18:13.857-07:00Where is the 2nd Tales of Tanglewood?For those of you wondering when the second book might be out - It is complete, and while I have the option of having it published by the publisher of the first book, I am currently attempting to find a larger publisher. So unfortunately there is no way of knowing at the moment how long that might take, as I need to wait for responses from agents and publishers, but hopefully not too long.Scott Kessmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14462588371754984394noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27896070031124367.post-85664276505677295762009-08-06T11:21:00.000-07:002009-08-06T11:26:27.816-07:00Tales of Tanglewood now listed on Feybound.comThe Tales of Tanglewood has now been listed on <a href="http://feybound.com/">Feybound.com</a>.<br /><br /><a href="http://feybound.com/">Feybound.com</a> is an online magazine with fresh content updated regularly and a place to come browse and enjoy. It regularly features fantasy, horror, science fiction and manga books, reviews and interviews with authors in those genres, as well as genre-related news.<br /><br />My listing can be found at <span style="font-size:100%;"><a href="http://feybound.com/2009/08/06/scott-michael-kessman-the-tales-of-tanglewood-the-lon-dubh-whistle/?utm_campaign=UA-8814816-2&utm_medium=twitter&utm_source=twitter">Scott Michael Kessman – The Tales of Tanglewood: The Lon Dubh Whistle</a></span>Scott Kessmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14462588371754984394noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27896070031124367.post-71897572103542647132009-08-03T05:31:00.000-07:002009-08-03T05:34:46.505-07:00Free Ezine Silverthorn Press Showcases Fantasy Authors, Artists & More<h2 class="content_sub_title"><span style="font-size:85%;">A Place Where Fantasy Writers and Fantasy Artists Can Find Both Information and Inspiration</span></h2><span style="font-size:85%;"><a rel="nofollow" target="_blank" href="http://silverthornpress.com/index.html">Silverthornpress.com</a> is a free ezine published and edited by Corbin Silverthorn, and promised to be a place where fantasy writers and fantasy artists can find both information and inspiration. Additionally, all lovers of fantasy are invited to peruse the ezine for intriguing articles related to the fantasy genre, including artist & writer interviews, and additional related resources.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.associatedcontent.com/article/1988800/free_ezine_silverthorn_press_showcases.html?cat=2">Read the rest of the article...</a><br /></span><span style="font-size:85%;"></span> <script type="text/javascript"><!--// <![CDATA[ /* [id2] Default 300x250 */ OA_show(2); // ]]> --></script>Scott Kessmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14462588371754984394noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27896070031124367.post-49095089317344773702009-07-16T18:14:00.000-07:002009-07-16T18:22:11.921-07:00Fantasy authors, writers, and professionals on TwitterAuthor <a href="http://www.brianrathbone.com/wordpress/">Brian Rathbone</a> has been kind enough to begin compiling a <a href="http://www.brianrathbone.com/wordpress/fantasy-authors-writers-and-professionals-on-twitter/">list of fantasy authors, writers, and professionals on Twitter</a>. Aside from myself, you'll find Clive Barker, Neil Gaiman, Kim Falconer, and many others.<br /><br />The list is not limited to fantasy authors. Fantasy podcasters, writers of fantasy flash fiction, fantasy magazines and publishers, and much more can also be found. The list is growing every day. Check it out and message Brian if you'd like to be added.<br /><br />Be sure to <a href="http://twitter.com/Scott_Kessman">follow me on Twitter</a> as well, and check out <a href="http://www.facebook.com/home.php?ref=logo#/group.php?gid=50591359982">The Tales of Tanglewood Facebook group</a>.Scott Kessmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14462588371754984394noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27896070031124367.post-4742881768379820612009-06-26T17:22:00.000-07:002009-06-26T17:31:07.590-07:002nd Interview on BlogTalkRadio2nd Interview hosted by Yolanda Renee on BlogTalkRadio on 6/18/09<br /><br />I discuss my ideas and inspiration for The Tales of Tanglewood, and also writing and other subjects related to the book, the publishing industry and fantasy in general.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.blogtalkradio.com/YolandaRenee/2009/06/19/Scott-Kessman-author-of-THE-TALES-OF-TANGLEWOOD">Tales of Tanglewood radio interview with author Scott Michael Kessman</a>Scott Kessmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14462588371754984394noreply@blogger.com0