Chapter Three, Part One

A short while later, their bellies full of roasted
fish washed down with sweetened water, they
had forgotten about the sprites and were
content to walk casually along the bank of Copper
Stream, still savoring the taste of the delicious fish that
lingered on their lips.

During the journey, Colin seemed to have also
forgotten about his parents. Somewhere deep inside
him, he knew there was something he must do, but it
was barely a murmur in his mind, which was loud and
alive with wonder and enjoyment, and frequently
distracted by the urge to scratch at the bites that
irritated his flesh.

At last, Ailfrid pointed to a hut made of wood and
stone, built up against a portion of the bank that sloped
steeply, reaching much higher than the boys. A door in
the hut opened as they approached, and Colin nearly
laughed when he saw the little man scrambling toward
them along the muddy bank.

Bairtlemead Muffingrow was a small, squat man,
barely taller than Colin and Ailfrid. A small set of
round glasses was perched upon a bulbous nose, set
neatly between two large, welcoming eyes of pale blue.

framed overhead by bushy gray eyebrows. His smile was
equally comforting, and long white tendrils of a thin
beard trailed from his chin, nearly to his waist.

Muffingrow’s body was hidden beneath a bundle of
robes, but two large, pudgy hands emerged from the
folds of his clothing to grab a hand each of Colin and
Ailfrid. He shook them both vigorously.

“Come in, come in! Ailfrid, always a pleasure to see
you. And you – hmm, there is mystery about you, isn’t
there?”

Muffingrow’s smile grew nearly as wide as his face,
and Colin would have feared being swallowed up by it,
had it not been so friendly. “Well, come in, won’t you,
and tell an old man why you’ve come to me today.”

They followed Muffingrow into the
hut, which Colin noticed was much
larger on the inside than it had first
appeared. A portion of the druid’s home
apparently extended into the steep embankment.

The second thing that Colin noticed was the myriad
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
contained within the walls of the druid’s home.

Muffingrow bade them sit at a small wooden table.

The chairs were also of wood, but had been fitted with
comfortable pillows of brown cloth. Inset into one wall
was a small fireplace with a happily crackling fire, and
near it, what appeared to be a second enclave, carved
directly into the rock, but with an earthen base.

A thick curtain divided another chamber from
Colin’s view. But all about him, he spied numerous
curiosities, most notably a tall bookshelf nearly
overflowing with all manner of jars and boxes and
containers. Many were labeled with the names of various
spices that Colin recognized, many others were either
not labeled or inscribed with strange runes that Colin
was at a loss to decipher.

Muffingrow stood in front of the boys. “Now,
before we talk, I see that you have had a little bug
problem?”

Colin looked down at the many red bumps
decorating his arms and legs, and imagined his face must
look the same.

Ailfrid nodded. “This is Colin. The sprites sent a
nest of black ants after him.”

“Sprites, eh? Nasty little buggers. Well, I have a salve
that should take care of those bites.” Muffingrow
turned and scanned some of the shelves, then clapped
when he spied what he was looking for. He took down
a large jar that contained a dark, mud-like substance,
and offered it to Colin.

“Spread this over those bites, and they’ll be much
better tomorrow.”

Colin wasn’t certain he wanted to smear the foul
looking slime onto his body, but he felt he could trust
the druid. Unscrewing the lid, he smelled the contents
first, and was surprised to find it rather pleasant,
reminiscent of berries, and a hint of smoke and ash. He
cupped a small portion of the salve in his palm and
proceeded to apply it to the bites.

Muffingrow nodded his approval. “Good, good. Rub
it in.”

Colin did so, and was happy to discover that the
salve began to blend nicely with his own skin, almost as
if it were being infused beneath his flesh, while still
managing to conceal the bites.

“Now,” the old druid said. “To business. Ailfrid, I
see you’ve brought blackberries. I presume you want
some tea?”

Ailfrid nodded enthusiastically. “I most certainly
do!” He handed the clutch to Muffingrow, who took
them and placed them into a large black pot already
filled with water. The pot was set on a pivoting arm,
which allowed it to be moved over the fire. The druid
then proceeded to gather together a small batch of
additional ingredients. A handful of dark leaves from an
old tin, some dried herbs and spices, and what looked
like some dried berries of another sort all went into the
pot. Within seconds, the hut was filled with a savorysweet
aroma.

Colin sniffed the air, breathing deep the scent of the
brewing tea, and found his nerves instantly relaxed.

Ailfrid was also enjoying the wonderful fragrance,
but then he turned his attention to the druid and more
serious matters.

“Bairtlemead, Colin followed the stones to
Tanglewood.”

The druid seemed taken aback by this at first, and
peered at Colin over the rims of his glasses, and then
moved in for a closer look.

“At first I thought the sheehogue magic that separates
the ‘wood from the kynney deiney was weakening, but then
I thought…”

Muffingrow’s face brightened. “Ah, I follow your
reasoning, and you are correct, Ailfrid.”

Ailfrid seemed surprised. “I am?”

“Yes, most definitely. It’s the Blood of the Fey. Just look
at that skin, almost as fair as the soft snow that covers
the ‘wood in winter. And those fingers, thin and nimble
as an elf ’s. And hair as black as pitch. But the real proof
is in those eyes! They sparkle with an inner fire I’ve
rarely seen. Almost as if the light of Alastar were
contained within. Blood of the fey indeed. There is
much to this boy.”

Chapter Two, Part Three

They followed the path in silence for a while,
content to listen to the peaceful calls of songbirds and
mourning doves, and the buzzing of colorful dragonflies
circling the banks of the pond. Then, the trees suddenly
thinned on either side, revealing the open forest once
more, and Colin spied a small bridge ahead, which
crossed over a stream that branched off from the pond.

“Copper Stream,” Ailfrid said.

As they approached the bridge, Colin saw that the stream
was aptly named. The water, which babbled happily by, was
nearly golden-copper in color, brilliantly reflecting the
sunlight. Throughout the water, Colin spied several large
fish, also of a copperish hue.

“Does the stream have a story?” he asked.

“Everything in Tanglewood has a story to tell. But the
tale of Copper Stream is a tale for another time. Now, we
fish! A big fat fish, cooked over a fire!" Ailfrid grinned
from ear to ear. “How does that sound?”

Colin’s belly rumbled, and he realized he was
starving. He hadn’t eaten anything since his supper the
night before, and the thought of freshly roasted fish set
his mouth to watering. “That sounds really good.” He
nodded and grinned like a fool.

Ailfrid placed the blackberry branches on a log that
lay along the bank, and produced a tangle of fishing line
and a crude hook from his pocket. “I’ll catch us a fish
or two. You can relax on the bridge.”

Colin doubted he could relax, not when he was
famished. Still, the placid, serene waters of the pond
were a calming sight, and the sun glancing off Copper
Stream was warm and soothing at his back. He sat
himself down on the wooden bridge and quickly lost
himself in the tranquility, while a short distance away,
Ailfrid troubled himself with untangling the fishing line.

Colin closed his eyes and felt the breeze tickling the
back of his hair. He opened them again and squinted
against the rush of dazzling sunlight, which set the
whole pond to glowing. Wildflowers of all sorts grew
along the shore of the pond, tall and luxurious. A short
distance to his left, he could see the shafts of sunlight
streaming in through the thick trees of Root Path,
highlighting the floating motes of dandelion spores that
hovered peacefully in the air.

Colin smiled, feeling deep contentment. This place was
truly magical, and he was a part of it. His allowed his mind
to wander, much in the same way the dandelion spores were
spending their time on this summer afternoon.

The stream glided beneath the bridge as smoothly as
fine silk. Colin eyes followed the gentle waters as it they
passed beneath him. Glancing down at the bridge, he
spied a large black ant emerging from the space between
two planks of wood. It was steadily making its way
toward him.

Casually, Colin drew back a finger and proceeded to
flick the ant across the wood, where it disappeared into
the thin shadowy chasm between the planks.

Satisfied, Colin turned to look at Ailfrid, who
appeared to be deeply concentrated on the surface of the
pond. He had apparently managed to untangle the line
and fasten it to the end of a stick, which he dangled
over the water. He slowly reeled in his line by hand,
hoping for a hungry fish to nibble on the bait.

Suddenly, the ferrish dropped the stick and sniffed at
the air, glancing about furiously. He settled his
measuring gaze on Colin.

“Did something just happen?”

Colin shook his head. “Nope. I’ve just been sitting
here.”

Ailfrid remained silent but sat with a furrowed brow.

He did not remove his gaze. Colin was about to inquire
of Ailfrid what had him worried, when he was
distracted by a subtle whispering, very faint, but
growing steadily louder by the second. It was coming
from beneath the bridge.

Ailfrid’s silver eyes grew wide. “Colin! To your left!”
He pointed.

Colin turned his head and shrieked, scrambling to his
feet.

A thick tide of black ants was streaming up through
the slats of the bridge, so numerous they began to cover
the expanse of wood like a rapidly growing fungus. The
whisper of hundreds of thousands of tiny legs and black
carapaces brushing against each other was like the
rustling of dead, dry leaves.

The army of ants was headed directly for Colin,
forming bridges across the spaces between the planks of
wood for the main bulk of the insects to scurry across.
They were moving fast.

Colin turned to run, and beheld a similar scene on
the opposite end of the bridge. Another force of ants,
rapidly closing the distance.

Ailfrid was running along the bank of the pond, and
shouting at Colin. “The water! Jump in the water!”

But Colin was frozen still with shock and fear. His
mouth was incapable of screaming or shouting; only
frightened breathing managed to escape past his lips.

Then the tide of ants were upon him, swarming over
his feet and up his legs, wriggling their way under his
pajamas. He felt the itching of a hundred thousand legs
thoroughly covering his skin. He found his voice again
and shrieked when they began to bite.

He was dimly aware that Ailfrid was still shouting
something, but then the ants invaded his ears and tried
to get into his mouth and nose. He was forced to shut
his eyes and end his flailing about, in order to keep his
hands over his face. Completely covered by the thick
mass of ants, he sank to his knees and curled into a ball,
his whole body twitching, his flesh reeling under the
onslaught of a thousand tiny pinpricks.

Despite the shell of ants that covered him, he
somehow sensed that the air about him had suddenly
gone dry, and now his skin tingled not with the bites of
ants, but with a static charge. A series of loud pops, one
after the other, echoed across the pond, and Colin felt
several tiny shocks along the length of his body.

He thought perhaps he had been electrocuted, and
the strong scent of sulphur filled the air. He felt
Ailfrid’s arms about him, helping him to his feet. The
ferrish was also knocking off the blackened crust of
thousands upon thousands of dead ants. Still
smoldering, they fell onto the bridge in large, crackling
clumps.

“Damn sprites! Got nothing better to do than pester
us with your tricks!” He helped Colin shake off more of
the dead insects. They fell upon the bridge by the
hundreds, fused together in brittle masses. Ailfrid
kicked them into the water.

“It was pixie magic that did this. They were angry
that I led you away from their hole earlier. They don’t
often get the chance to claim a deiney plaything, and I
ruined it for them.”

Colin, visibly shaken, scratched at himself furiously.
His skin was alive with bites, and it still seemed as if the
ants still surged over his flesh. He noticed his pajamas
were slightly charred.

Ailfrid saw Colin’s concern. “Sorry about that, but it
couldn’t be helped. I’ve got a bit of magic myself, and it
was the best way to get the little buggers off you. Hope
I didn’t hurt you?”

“No, I’m okay.”

“Good. I would have tried to blast them before they
got to you, but I was too far away.” Ailfrid looked
about. “Damned intolerable sprites! I’d blast them if
they’d the courage to show themselves.”

Familiar laughter sounded from the undergrowth,
and it was not at all pleasant. Colin and Ailfrid scanned
the bushes and the trees, but saw nothing. Ailfrid
scowled.

“I sensed them. Or their magic, rather. It has a scent,
like honeysuckle. If you are alone and you ever smell
that, you better run, until you don’t smell it anymore.”

Colin nodded.

“Well, they’re likely gone back
down their hole now. They made their
point. Come, sit by me over there.

We’ll have that fish soon enough.”

They ambled back over to Ailfrid’s
fishing spot, but neither could mask
the concern that clouded their features.

They still felt as though they were
being watched, and they both
wondered what other tricks the sprites
would cast their way.

Chapter Two, Part Two

The Root Path wound its way through the woods,
surrounded on either side by tall trees and thick
undergrowth. The path itself was narrow, composed of
thick roots that stretched across the ground, covered
here and there with bright patches of fairy carpeting.

Colin had to step carefully to avoid tripping over the
roots, but they were of little hindrance to Ailfrid, who
trotted nimbly over them as though the path were flat
and even.

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,
He was more at ease with the mask now, and imagined
it was made of the very bark that encased the trunks of
the mighty trees lining the path.

“This area of the ‘wood used to be thick with trees,
so thick, only the smallest of the fey could get through,”
Ailfrid said. “Monohan the Druid came and spoke to
the trees, and asked to please make a path, so that all the
sheehogue could travel easily through these parts. A group
of trees pulled up their roots from the earth and moved
alongside Monohan. A great hole in the earth remained,
so the trees laid their roots across the hole. Monohan
stepped onto the roots and moved into the space they
had created, and the next group of trees before him also
parted, and laid their roots across the empty earth.”

Colin slowed, gawking at the trees that lined the path
with awe and appreciation.

Ailfrid continued. “Wherever Monohan stepped, the
trees before him parted and created a path for him, until
the way through the thick part of the ‘wood was clear,
and all the fey could now travel through it.”

Colin smiled at the trees, and marveled at all the
wonders Ailfrid was showing him. They walked along
the path till just past noon, and then the tree line along
the left side of Root Path thinned slightly, allowing
Colin to glimpse a glistening pond whose waters lapped
the shore just a few feet away from the mighty trunks.

“We’re nearing the bridge. Wait here, I need to get
something.” With the agility of a squirrel, Ailfrid
scurried up into the trees to his right.

“Wait! Where are you going?”

The ferrish grabbed hold of a branch, and pulled
himself over it with ease. Kneeling upon his sturdy
perch, he called down to Colin. “I’ve got to get a clutch
of blackberries for Doc Muffingrow. They grow near
here. I’ll just be a few moments. Just stay on the path
and you’ll be fine.”

Ailfrid climbed further up into the tree and slipped
through a space in the tangled mess of leaves and
branches, disappearing into the foliage. A moment later,
Colin heard a rustling on the other side of the trees, and
realized it was Ailfrid, landed safely upon the earth and
pushing through the undergrowth.

Colin looked around at the barriers formed by the
trees, and shook his head. Stay on the path? How could
he get off the path?

He picked his way slowly among the roots,
muttering to himself. At least the trees to his left had
the decency to thin wider, affording him a breathtaking
view of the small pond, alive with a large population of
ducks and dragonflies, and the occasional white swan.

The twisting roots of Root Path stretched outward like
a mass of snakes into the water, drinking deep of the
nutrients of the rich soil, while schools of tiny fish
darted playfully through the underwater maze.

Colin was so taken with the serenity of the pond that
he nearly stepped directly into a hole that lay in the
center of the path. He looked down and saw it at the
last possible moment, and nearly lost his balance when
he sought to divert his foot away from the hole.

The burrow was dark, measuring just a few inches
larger than his foot, and ringed thickly by the roots of
the ancient trees. It was at once frightening yet
beckoning, stroking Colin’s unyielding desire to explore
all things forbidden. Such traits are common in many
young boys, and often ultimately lead to trouble.
A light wind whispered through the trees, carrying
with it the sweet scent of honeysuckle, and the faint
tinkling of bells.

As if a trance had taken hold of Colin, he slowly inched
forward, closer to the hole, and kneeled before it. A shaft of
sunlight managed to reach through the trees and penetrate
the darkness in the hole, reflecting brightly off something
that lay within.

Peering even closer, Colin saw it was a small white
circular object, reminiscent of a shiny pearl. Then he
noticed similar objects laying beside the first, appearing
to be painted with veins of various colors.

He realized they were marbles.

Colin started to reach his hand into the hole.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” a voice warned.

Colin quickly drew his hand back and leapt to his feet,
startled by the voice. Ailfrid emerged from the branches of
the trees above him, and hopped down to the roots with
the grace of a feline. “The gift of a sprite comes with a
sharp bite.”

“Sprites?” Colin backed away from the hole, eyeing it
warily. He could suddenly sense the presence of something
else within the burrow, something not so innocent as
marbles.

“Indeed. That is a sprite hole. Pixies and sprites are
close cousins and nearly identical, and all of them are
bad. The ‘wood is full of them, especially Thorn Grove.
You’ll want to avoid them, and you definitely don’t
want to put your hand in there. One bite from those
mischief makers and you’ll find yourself in a heap of
trouble.”

A high-pitched snickering sounded from all about
them, and from within the hole.

Colin looked about, worriedly. “Ailfrid?”

“Don’t worry. They can’t do anything to you now.

You didn’t take their gift. So they can’t take you in
return.”

“Take me where?”

Ailfrid looked down at the hole. “Below.”

Colin shuddered.

“Never mind all that. C’mon, look.” Ailfrid waved
about a small clutch of branches, covered with ripened
blackberries. “Bairtlemead makes a delicious blackberry
tea, better than any tea from those druids in faraway
Wychwood.”

Colin frowned. “I’ve never had tea before.”

Ailfrid frowned back. “How old are you?”

“Ten,” Colin replied. “Almost eleven. Wait, how old
are you?”

“Three hundred and seven,” Ailfrid replied proudly.

“Ten, huh? I forgot, deiney years are different. Well, I
don’t care how old you are, you’re in Tanglewood, and
in the ‘wood, we have the finest wines made from the
plumpest of grapes. We have the sweetest mead made
from the most golden honey. And we have the best
blackberry tea made from the blackest of blackberries,
not to mention the tastiest of muffins made by Doc
Muffingrow himself!”

Ailfrid grew excited. ”You’ll see, you and me are
going to have a flask of blackberry tea, and you’ll never
want to drink anything else again.”

And with that, Ailfrid turned and continued down
Root Path, and Colin smiled and followed, wondering
what the wonderful sounding tea might taste like.

Chapter Two, Part One

When Colin woke, he expected to find himself
tangled within his blankets, but it was a
bundle of leaves that he clutched in his
hands. And instead of the familiar sounds of breakfast
being made and the smell of sizzling bacon, he woke to
the haunting call of a mourning dove, and the scent of
pine and oak and other earthly aromas.

He sat up with a start, and found himself not in his
bedroom, but somewhere in the woods, surrounded by
trees and bushes and a wide-open sky, rather than four
walls and a ceiling.

His first thought was that he had been sleepwalking,
but then he spied the smoldering remnants of the
bonfire and the wooden mask beside him, and
remembered his dream.

He realized that this time, it had not been a dream at
all.

He had shown no fear in the night, but that emotion
suddenly tumbled forward. Now that this was real, he
was not entirely certain he wanted to be here. Not if the
creatures he had seen in the night truly did live in theforest. And he thought of his parents, who would be
extremely worried if they found him missing. He
couldn’t imagine what sort of punishment they might
hand him when he returned home.

Rising to his feet, he surmised that finding the way
home would be another large problem. But he was eager
to leave the woods, for he felt eyes upon him. The
creatures he had glimpsed last night in what he had
believed to be a dream could be anywhere, and while
they had shown open friendliness then, he was not so
certain that courtesy would be further extended today.

He started off in a random direction, and nearly
shrieked when a boy stepped from a large grouping of
bushes. “You’re awake!” the boy said, clapping his
hands and hurrying toward Colin, who abruptly took a
step back. “Don’t be afraid,” the boy said, continuing
closer. “I gave you that mask, remember?”

Colin looked down at his hand, surprised to find
himself holding onto the mask. “I don’t want it,” he
said, handing it out to the boy. He shivered when he
spotted the small sprouts of horns atop the boy’s head,
peeking through tufts of sandy hair.

“Don’t be silly, it’s a gift. Keep it. You’ll need it at
nightfall, to see in the dark.”

Colin certainly had no intention of spending another
night out here. And the mention of eyesight drew
Colin’s attention to the eyes of the boy standing before
him, and just like in his dream (which wasn’t a dream,
he had to keep reminding himself of that), they were
pure silver, with no pupils. They stared at Colin in a
way that made him feel especially uneasy.

“What?” the boy asked. “I
though we had fun last night.
Didn’t we?”

Colin had to admit to
himself that it was fun. The
memory of the dance thrilled
him, and he felt some of his
fear slipping away. And the
boy wasn’t all that frightful.
Except for the horns and eyes,
he looked very much like an
ordinary child.

He was dressed in a loose-fitting shirt of a very light
material, and green breeches that seemed woven of heavy
cloth. His feet were barefoot and dirty. He had an old
tattered satchel slung over his shoulder.

Colin was slightly ashamed to still be wearing his
pajamas. “We have a gathering like that every new moon.
You were lucky to come when you did. Otherwise you might
have been wandering about Tanglewood, and who knows
where you would have wound up?”

Colin looked around. “I’m not really sure how I got
here in the first place. I thought I was dreaming.”

“You found us because you passed through the
Gateway. It is a secret pathway, and the kynney deiney
can’t find it. Only the fey can show you the way.”
The boy smiled.

“What are the fey?” Colin asked.

“I am of the fey, as are all my sheehogue brothers and
sisters in Tanglewood. Fairykind has many forms, but
we are all creatures of the fey.”
“I see. I think.”

“The magic of the fey keeps Tanglewood safe.
Otherwise we’d likely have all sorts of kynney deiney
tramping through here, and that wouldn’t be good at
all.”

“Oh, I guess not. But you didn’t show me the way in.
I found it myself.”

The boy stared, his expression painted with
confusion and mild shock as he thought of something.
“You’re right, I didn’t show you the way. And you’re
certain you followed nothing else, not even a butterfly
or a bird?”

“Nothing,” Colin nodded. “I was walking in the
woods, and I found a path of glowing rocks that led to
a bunch of trees that formed an archway. I passed under
– what?” Colin paused when he saw the boy’s mouth
pop open.

“You saw the rocks?” the ferrish boy asked,
stammering.

“Yes, and something written on the trees.”

“You should not have been able to.”

“Well, I did,” Colin replied, started to get frustrated.

“But, but–you shouldn’t have. Unless…” The boy
trailed off, appearing lost in thought. Then he simply
stated, “Come with me.”

“Where are we going?” Colin dared to ask.

“To see Bairtlemead Muffingrow.”

“Who is that?”

“A friend. A druid. Most of the younger sheehogue call
him Doc Muffingrow.”

“What’s a druid?”

“You might say a druid is a friend to the forest. But
more importantly, Bairtlemead is wise, one of the wisest
humans any of the fey have ever known. He came to
Tanglewood long ago, and has been here ever since. He
has no use for the world of kynney deiney. By the way,
how are you called?”

“My name? Colin.”

“Colin,” the boy repeated. “I’m Ailfrid. Say, Colin is
a good name.”

“Why, what does it mean?”

“Never mind that now. We’ve got a lot of distance
to cover. We have to follow the Root Path almost all
the way to Fallen Tree, then at the bridge, we follow the
Copper Stream. Muffingrow lives along the bank.

When we get to Muffingrow’s, we’ll see what he has to
say. It could all just be nothing.”

Chapter One, Part Two

Colin, his reflexes dulled by the trance he had
succumbed to, blinked and turned his head. He beheld a
small boy not unlike himself, save that two small knobs,
the beginning of horns, rested atop his head, and his
eyes were of purest silver, absent of pupils.

The boy smiled, angel-like, and held something out.
Colin slowly reached for it, and saw that it was mask.
Seemingly made of tree bark, it was painted a light
shade of green, had two eye slits rimmed with brown,
and two small horns imitating those of the boy.

“Come dance with us,” the boy whispered.

Colin donned the mask, felt it adhering to his skin as
though it belonged there, and shivered with forbidden
delight. Following the boy into the clearing, the ring of
unnatural forest-folk parted, allowing him entry.

He followed the boy into the circle, skipping and
dancing, waving his arms frantically along with the
beating of the drum. He soon found himself surrounded
by other strange and wondrous children, some with
tails, some with scales, some with claws, and some with
wicked grins filled with sharp teeth, but Colin was not
afraid.

He knew he was welcome here, for the mask made
him one of them. Laughing and shouting with glee, he
frolicked and danced away the night. He joined hands
with some – the boy who had given him the mask on
his left, and a dark-haired girl with pointed ears on his
right. Together, they spun about, leaping and running
and circling about the fire, until Colin finally collapsed
from exhaustion and exhilaration.

His tired bones and weary head succumbed to sleep
as he settled down into a soft bed of leaves and grass.
The intoxicating smell of the earth was like a sweet
perfume.

Prologue Pt. 2

Although 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

“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.”

Remarkably large yet equally cozy, the hollow of the tree was yet another sight to take my breath away.

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.

“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.”
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.

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.

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.”

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.

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.

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.

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.

“Now, while that tea is getting hot, let’s talk.” He clasped his hands in front of him.

“Alright,” I said. “Why have I been brought here then?”

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.

“You’ve been brought here,” he said, “to tell the tales of Tanglewood.”

He smiled again, but I was merely confused.

“You don’t look pleased,” he said.

“I don’t know what you mean,” I replied.

“You are a writer, aren’t you?”

“Yes. Well, I mean, I used to be.”

“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.

The shelf he indicated held a large stack of parchment, and several quills and bottles of ink.

“They are yours,” he continued. “To write the tales of Tanglewood.”

He said this matter-of-factly, as though everything should have been understood.
It wasn’t.

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.”

He rose from the table and proceeded to take two wooden mugs from a small nook.
“I wrote stories,” I explained. “Fiction. And sometimes newspaper articles. But I was never a famous writer. Why me?”

“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.”

“Magic? I don’t think so. I imagine I would have been more successful as a writer if that were true.”

“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.”
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.”

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.

“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”

“Soul of the ‘Wood?”

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.”

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.

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.

It tasted familiar. It tasted like home, a home I had never seen, but at last returned to.

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.

I had denied myself the comfort and thrill of writing for far too long.

“These stories, these tales of Tanglewood you wish me to write,” I said, taking another healthy sip. “Who will tell them to me?”

Monohan sipped his own tea and smiled.

“Listen to the trees, my friend. The trees will tell you the stories, and perhaps much more.”

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.

Behind my eyes, I beheld new images of the ‘wood, places I had never been to, and strange creatures I had never seen.

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.

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.

But Colin had found Tanglewood much faster, much easier than I did…

The Tales of Tanglewood Book Trailer is done!

Tales of Tanglewood now listed on Feybound.com

The Tales of Tanglewood has now been listed on Feybound.com.

Feybound.com 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.

My listing can be found at Scott Michael Kessman – The Tales of Tanglewood: The Lon Dubh Whistle

Free Ezine Silverthorn Press Showcases Fantasy Authors, Artists & More

A Place Where Fantasy Writers and Fantasy Artists Can Find Both Information and Inspiration

Silverthornpress.com 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.

Read the rest of the article...

The Second Tale of Tanglewood will soon be told!

The 2nd book is complete at long last. Just need to do the illustrations, which will be far better than the pictures in the first book, as I'll be pulling my mighty artistic talent of the storage closet. In the meantime, I'll also be submitting the second novel to larger publishers as well, so not entirely sure when the book may be out, but you can always download the preview from the website http://www.talesoftanglewood.com

The Second Tale Coming Soon

The Tales of Tanglewood:
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. 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.

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.

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.

Sahwen is the Gaelic pronunciation of Halloween, which is actually spelled "Samhain."

Visit the official Tales of Tanglewood website to download a preview of The Second Tale.

Book Review in the Improper North Shorian

Finally added the December review to the website

I-Con photos of the book signing and with Holly Black

It was my extreme pleasure to have read the Spiderwick Chronicles, happily consuming all five volumes one New Years Eve weekend three years ago at a hotel in upstate New York. I read most of them either sitting beside a fireplace or perched on a balcony, swaddled with blankets, while a gentle snowfall laid claim to the mountains in the distance. It was an experience I shall not soon forget, as the magic of the books, coupled with the magic of that weekend, was one of those precious moments in time which begs remembrance.

And so it was also a pleasure to find myself on a discussion panel this morning at a fantasy convention with the author of The Spiderwick Chronicles, Holly Black, as well as her author friend Jane Yolen. Our discussion covered Realms of Fantasy in both the past, present & future, and was entertaining and informative.

Holly signed my copies of The Spiderwick Chronicles, and I gave her and Jane signed copies of my own book.

My book signing at I-Con went very well, and the discussion panels I was a part of were very interesting and entertaining.

Guest Author at I-Con 28

I will be a guest author at I-Con 28 at SCCC Brentwood Campus, April 4th & 5th. I will be available to sign my book from 1pm - 2pm on Saturday, and will be on panels discussing fantasy and other subjects on both Saturday and Sunday, along with Spiderwick author Holly Black & others. (See the I-Con schedule for full details)

I-Con 28 website & schedule information

Reading & Book Signing @ Cool Beanz

I will reading and discussing my book. as well as selling and signing copies, at Cool Beanz in St. James, Nov. 24th at 8:00 pm.

Great atmosphere, wine, coffee and food, and of course, a good book! Visit me at Cool Beanz and make a Monday night a little more special.

What is Cool Beanz?
Located in a strip mall that also houses a fitness club and salon, Cool Beanz is a warm space with a decor of mismatched leather couches, tasseled pillows, chandeliers and local artwork.

Menu: Traditional coffees, seasonal drinks and cocktails made with liquor. Soup, biscotti, pound cake and other pastries are all prepared in-house.

The blackberries have spoiled!

There will be no more blackberry tea for some time. With the coming of Samhain, so too has come the pookha. The presence of the strange, shapeshifting creature has caused the blackberries to spoil.

A small matter, as the spiced apple tea is no less alluring and flavorful.

Monohan has given me a handful of coins to carry with me. He insists I keep them on my person whenver I journey through the 'wood. Should I encounter the pookha, I am to give these coins to the creature, and make my escape quickly while it is distracted.

Alastar, A Star too Far

I now know that the central figure depicted in the tapestry above Monohan's hearth is Alastar. The star too far still watches over Tanglewood, and I think Colin in particular. I wonder if there is some undiscovered relation there that the trees have not yet revealed to me. Perhaps even the trees do not know themselves.

But there is the mystery of Colin's fey blood to consider. And Bairtlemead has his own suspicions as well. I can only hope that all will be revealed in another tale.

Samhain in Tanglewood

Monohan has cautioned me against exploring certain parts of the 'wood during the time of Samhain. He says that the magic of the 'wood acts strangely during this time, and some areas aren't safe.

Indeed, the 'wood is thick with heavy magic, like a presence seeping through the trees and up from the rich earth. Already there are changes. The blackberries have spoiled, an obvious sign that a pookha now lurks about. I've been advised to carry some spare coins, as the pookha can be easily distracted if they are offered to it.

Of course, Samhain is a time of great feasting and celebration as well. I'll be attending the great feast of Samhain in Chestnut Grove in a few weeks time. It is sure to be quite the spectacle, with many strange sheehogue in attendance.

Blackberry Tea

Blackberry tea is the drink of choice for many of the sheehogue in Tanglewood. But this is no ordinary tea. Made from a variety of herbs and spices and plump, ripe blackberries, the scent of the tea brewing over a fire instills the air with a heavenly, comforting aroma.

Served in wooden mugs, the rising steam is enough to calm jittery nerves, yet one sip of the marvelous elixir is enough to invigorate you. A mild sweetness accompanied by pungent spices and earthy undertones, the tea instantly livens your senses and instills within you the energy of a child.

When accompanied by Bairtlemead Muffingrow's delicious muffins, which hold a certain magic all their own, there simply isn't a better feast to be had.

Beware of Sprites!

Once, the sprites were only mischievous little creatures, capable of causing a little mayhem but never inflicting harm. After the arrival of the Lost Fey and the departure of Alastar, their demeanor soon changed.

Once, happy feasts in which Ailil, King of the sprites, shared food and music with Cox, King of the brownies, were joyous occasions in the Tanglewood. Those times are no more, and war between Ailil and Cox has tainted the 'wood.

The sprites now reside in the Below, for no tree will allow them to make a home within the trunks. They use their magic and their trickery to capture the unwary.