Tag: magic

The Accident

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Something was wrong. She must have hit her head harder than she thought; could a concussion make you see color differently? She touched her forehead gingerly and pushed herself to her feet. What had she been doing? Oh yes, running. She had tripped and hit her head because…

Something had been in the woods, and she had looked over her shoulder. She’d tried to catch herself. Why hadn’t it worked? And seriously, why were the trees pink?

Green light lit the trees from behind, and she took an involuntary step back. A wild glance all around only disoriented her and made her head hurt worse, so she stood still, breath coming ragged in her throat.

An old man stepped out of the trees, kicking purple dust into the roadway as the toe of his boot caught in the loam beside it. “How do you come to be here?” He demanded, his brows lowering above sharp cheekbones. “This is not the way!”

“I must be delirious,” she muttered, but ice crawled up her spine all the same. She touched her aching head again, just as the old man stepped toward her, his stride impossibly long. Deep purple eyes smouldered inches from her face, and his voice rose to a screech.

“Where is the Artifact?”

Kizi

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A ray of sunshine peeked into her nest, softened into a pink glow by the delicate petals beginning to unfurl over her head. She blinked in wonder, and yellow dust clung to the green tufts of her hair as she raised her head from her flowery pillow. Gossamer wings fluttered from her back, unexpectedly bouncing her into a curving petal.

The flower wobbled on its stem, and lavender eyes blocked the light. A giggle followed, then the bud was pulled open by two pairs of hands and a gentle breeze from a dozen sets of wings blew the pollen away. She reached up to touch them in delight, but her own wings waggled, lifting her unsteadily from her soft bed. She spun in jerky circles trying to see them move until, dizzy, she clung to the tip of the bud and panted.

One of the watching sprites flipped headlong through the air and blew a raspberry in her direction. Another zipped after him, yanking a lock of hair and folding its own arms with a frown. Kizi giggled and covered her mouth in glee at the mocker’s predicament. She narrowed her own eyes and focused on making her wings do her will. With a wobble, she rose into the ranks of the sprites, who welcomed their tiny new sister with dizzying acrobatics and a chorus of chuckles that set every bird in the grove singing.

Visit https://books2read.com/u/baDgr6 or https://www.amazon.com/Chosen-Heather-N-Russell/dp/B09BF7W792/ to see more of Kizi in _Chosen_, the first installment in the Magicborn series.

Fallen Faerie

The wooden towers of Crann still soared above the forest floor as Sean passed the mighty gate posts. The gates themselves were long gone, eaten away by time and exposure. Loam crunched beneath his feet and he winced at the now familiar twinge between his shoulder blades.

How long had it been? He couldn’t remember now. How beautiful Crann had once been, full of color and graced by its delicate queen. Even after all this time the gossamer of her wings filled his memory, and his throat closed in anguish.

The castle loomed over him as he stood in the center of the great courtyard. Once brilliant in the sunlight, now it cast deep shadows that threatened to engulf him. The spectre of death hovered between the once fine towers, death that he had brought.

Well, he had paid dearly for his crime. The queen, whose life fueled the city, had died, poisoned by the creature he had innocently tried to save. The council had cursed him, cut his own wings from his body as the price of treason. His loss could not save them, however, and without the queen they one by one faded into mist. Crann stood empty and silent, its spires growing green and soft as its floor decayed.

He gazed up at the remnants for a moment, hunching his aching shoulders. He didn’t know why he had come back; nothing but pain remained for him here. He turned slowly back to the shadow of the gate and froze. Barely visible under the drifting leaves, something gleamed, something so small he might have stepped on it. He bent and retrieved it, cupping it reverently in his palms where it glowed ever brighter until it took gauzy shape. His back itched, and she smiled up at him as tiny green points broke the earth around him.

Time

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At first glance the room seemed frozen in time, it’s antiquated charm untouched by the decades. A closer look revealed a different story entirely. The light streaming in the windows cast shadows that hid threadbare patches in the aging carpet. In a far corner, disguised by carefully arranged furniture, a square of plywood barely covered a hole where the floor had begun to rot away.

Worn depressions in the chair cushions told the story of generations, the books whose spines crumbled behind the glass testifying to the many hands that had opened them over the years. One windowsill showed more evidence of water damage than the other, its tracks rubbed nearly free of paint. Perhaps it had been the favorite spot of some long-gone housewife, a pleasant breeze blowing through loose strands of her hair while she mended some article of clothing.

The one thing not fading stood beneath a glass dome in a place of honor on a central table. The roses could have been placed there within the hour, so fresh and full of life were their white petals. Only the photograph the visitor held belied the impression. In it the room itself was newer, black and white print capturing the faces of a young family who couldn’t help glancing at each other instead of the camera. The same bouquet stood in its case, every blossom and leaf exactly the same.

The visitor hesitated, rumors in the town holding his foot at the threshold. With a laugh he replaced the photograph in his pocket and shrugged. He stepped into the room and froze. With a shriek of horror he clutched at his face and tried to flee, but there was no escape. He could only watch in the mirror as his body grayed, wrinkled, stooped, and finally crumbled to dust. The photograph caught a small draft where it lay on the carpet and fluttered across the threshold into the hall outside. The white roses stood motionless in their case, endless life in the midst of decay.

Book Review: The Night the Scary Beasties Popped Out of My Head

When Dan is woken up by a horrible racket inside his head, he decides to draw his nightmares. If he can erase the nightmares they won’t bother him anymore, but unfortunately things don’t quite work out that way. Dan is in for quite a wild night when the nightmares escape and begin drawing on their own.

This is such an adorable book! The author’s five year old son illustrated the story with true childhood imagination, making the magic pencil in the story come to life on the page. This book is a recent acquisition to our personal library, and has already become quite the favorite.

The Key

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“Do you see that?” Shana’s forehead creased, and she side-eyed Jesse as he stepped beside her.

“See what?” He glanced around, eyebrows raised. His gaze slid easily over the stump in question, and she knew he couldn’t possibly see what she was seeing, but she persisted anyway.

“That stump over there,” she pressed, pointing with a finger that trembled slightly. “Don’t you see anything?

He peered with a slight frown into the underbrush. “You mean, that moss-covered rotting thing that’s half buried?” He turned to look at her, head cooking to one side in that usually endearing little habit of his. Now it just irritated her; if he couldn’t see it, she was definitely hallucinating, and she could not be hallucinating. Not again.

“Yes, that one!” Shana half-screeched and clenched her fists at her sides. She stomped over to the stump and glared at him. “How do you possibly miss something this weird?” She bent down and snatched the key from where it lay on the smoothly cut surface of the wood and thrust it toward him so hard she almost threw it.

But he wasn’t there. Instead, an old man smiled at her and reached out to catch the key as it fell from her nerveless fingers. “Ah, there you are! What luck! I’m never sure I have it right, you know. And you’ve missed it so many times already.”

“Missed it?” Her voice quavered, barely audible even in the quiet under the trees.

“Nevermind all that now, you’re here now and that’s all that matters.” The old man tossed the key and caught it casually before slipping it into a voluminous pocket in his robe. “Come, we must get you settled in and ready to assume your duties.”

He turned and strode off into the woods, leaving Shana staring after him with her mouth hanging open. “Come… where?” She demanded, her voice trailing off as he ignored her completely. She slowly followed him with a wild glance back at the empty, rotting stump.

Book Review: The Green Children

Bud and Blossom are green children and the best of friends. They live in the cool shade of Ballybogey Forest with all the Otherfolk, safe from the prying eyes of people. That is, until one day when a strange new music, the sound of bells, lures the two friends into the open road. Spotted by the scheming Squire Scrum, they soon find themselves trapped, starving, and in mortal danger.

This book is absolutely delightful, a retelling of a twelfth century legend of the creatures of the Green Isle. It is also a tale of friendship, courage, and innocence that holds appeal for all ages. Although they are Otherfolk, Bud and Blossom are typical children whose thoughtless fun leads them into trouble. Their friendship and the love of the rest of the Otherfolk hold the key to their survival.

As a bonus, if you’ve never experienced a story told by a lovable Irish grandfather, you’ll want to listen to the cd included in the back of the book. The lilt of Irish brogue accompanied by the happy skirl of flutes will bring a smile to every face and immerse readers into the world of Ballybogey as it must have been five hundred years ago.

Under the Oaks

Photo taken and edited by Becky Strike, Oak Alley Plantation, LA

He stared down the well groomed brick walk, his worn pack slipping from his shoulder to land with a metallic rattle. His torn, mud-stained uniform was a sore thumb against the impossibly manicured lawn and the milling people nearer the big house.

A woman in skintight pants, of all outlandish costumes, skirted around him with a sidelong glance. A little girl in garishly combined colors jumped up and down and pulled a man’s sleeve; he heard her ask as they passed why he was dressed in such weird clothes. He raised an eyebrow, locking eyes with the open-mouthed child until she lost interest and skipped on toothed road.

The road was all wrong, as well, and shining contraptions sat in neat rows near it on what should have been the cane fields. At least savory smells wafted from the big house. Maybe he could fill his empty stomach while he figured out what was going on.

If only his head didn’t feel so muzzy. He must have had fever; he really didn’t remember how he got back to the plantation. What had he been doing? He flushed with shame at the flash of memory. Cannonfire and screaming men, rivulets of blood polluting the rainwater churning under patched boots. A welcoming hollow in an ancient oak, just waiting at the edge of the field. Curling into a fetal ball with head wedged between his knees and hands locked white knuckles behind his head as battle faded into nothing. Then he was standing under the great oaks of home, only it wasn’t home. It was a nightmare.

Shadow

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She touched the red leaves, just a brush as light as breath that left them trembling in the reflection from the crystal. They were the only color in the pitch black tent, tiny sparks accentuating the crystal’s glow.

It was all an illusion, of course. The light absorbent black drapes lining the inside of the tent led to an all but invisible gap at the pinnacle, allowing a single shift of light that produced a seemingly innate glow in the crystal directly below it while leaving the rest of the tent in impenetrable darkness.

Including Jet. How long had it been since she had been seen by another human? How long since the shadow ring had claimed her for eternal darkness? The illusion that awed carnival patrons hid her secret that held her forever aloof from the world.

Already knowing what she would see, she cupped her hands around the crystal. The leaves vanished, but no hands were visible. Only empty darkness that threatened to overwhelm the solitary gleam of light. This tent, this single crystal with its trappings, remained her last link with humanity, the last reason for human speech to ever address her.

The flap lifted and an unidentifiable figure slipped inside, their rapid breathing loud in the black hole that was her existence. “You wish to speak to the Shadow?” she whispered from the shelter of the crystal. “What is your deepest desire?”

Book Review: Silk Peony, Parade Dragon

The mandarin needs a dragon to lead the emperor’s New Year’s parade. Mrs. Ming has seven dragons, but the only Silk Peony is able to parade. She has beautiful scales and many virtuous qualities, but she is a lady dragon and doesn’t have a beard to impress the emperor with her wisdom. The mandarin is mortified, and behaves quite rudely, but eventually agrees to hire Silk Peony.

Everyone, including the emperor, loves Silk Peony, and the parade is very successful. The mandarin doesn’t want to admit he was wrong and tries to cheat Mrs. Ming. Fortunately, she and Silk Peony have a plan.

This is a delightful book with eye catching illustrations for children to por over for hours. They, like the children in the story, will love Silk Peony for who she is. This is a fun way to introduce ancient Chinese culture and mythology to young readers and listeners, and could be used to spark interest in further study of Chinese dragons and new year’s traditions.