Tag Archives: fantasy

Shadow of the Dark Wizard

dark castle

Image: spyderonlines.com

The Third Story in the Adventures of the Ambrosial Dragon: A Children’s Fantasy Series

For the first two stories in this series, see The Day the Dragon Came to Live with Us and Rescuing a Dragon.

Tarmreiboth the Dark Wizard had become very interested in the spaces between worlds recently, and with good reason. It was being used by fugitives.

Tarmreiboth resided in a realm ruled by his family for thousands of generations that was dangerously near the void between the dimensions. It’s near in the sense that the darkness from the void enters Tarmreiboth’s realm rendering it dark as well. It has always been that way, as far back as the eldritch sages of the Storvian Mountains remembered, which was a considerable length of time.

Yet this darkness rendered Setioval, which was the name of Tarmreiboth’s dark planet, strangely immune to detection by the Shadow Dragons who ruled the space between worlds. It may have helped that the denizens of Setioval were just as black hearted and evil as the Shadow Dragons, but it was still a puzzle why the Dragons never visited their realm.

No matter, since they never have. Still Tarmreiboth liked to keep an eye on what was happening in the void.

An Ambrosial Dragon making the crossing between one dimension and the next was unusual but not unheard of. The dragon having two human companions from Earth with him was unprecedented. Earth was almost a forgotten legend in the world of Setioval. This astonishing reminder led Tarmreiboth to do a little research.

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Ed Meets God in Church

church

Image: Clipart Panda

This is a continuation of the original short story First Encounter where Ed and Phil are introduced.

Ed Tillman crept into the worship hall like a thief.

He hated being greeted at the door of the church, he hated walking through the crowd of parishioners as they chit-chatted with each other while finishing off their coffee, and he hated the idea of sitting too close to other people in a pew.

So why was he going to Sunday services again?

Oh yeah, to have an encounter with God. It wasn’t going to be easy.

Ed was an introvert by nature and preferred to live alone. He got his wish when Cynthia, his ex, asked for a divorce. He missed his family, especially his two kids, but he didn’t mind being alone, strange as that might sound.

He found an empty place in one of the pews in back.

It wouldn’t be so bad if he could sit next to his friend Mark and his family, but they were on vacation visiting Mark’s in-laws. Ed hadn’t made any other friends at church so he was sitting in a large room with people who were pretty much strangers.

The rest of the church people were filtering in now. The service was supposed to begin in a minute or two. Ed didn’t look forward to the music, which he didn’t relate to. He definitely didn’t look forward to having to stand and pretend to be interested in shaking hands with his “neighbors”.

In fact, about the only thing he liked about going to church was the sermon. He always brought a pen along with his Bible so he could take notes. Maybe that was the closest he was ever going to come to meeting up with God at church.

“Hi there.”

A body dropped heavily into the pew right beside him.

“Phil?”

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Rescuing a Dragon

crystal trees

Uwe Zucchi / AFP – Getty Images

The Second Story in the Adventures of the Ambrosial Dragon: A Children’s Fantasy Series

If you haven’t done so yet, read the first story The Day a Dragon Came to Live with Us.

Grandpa sat in a chair on his back patio pretending to manipulate a drone’s controls while Buddy the Dragon flew high above.

“You see, Landon…” Grandpa addressed his seven-year-old grandson sitting to his right, “…if anyone sees Buddy way up there, I can just say I’m flying a drone over the field. The trick is taking off and landing.”

“I’m glad he can fly. He likes to be high up.” Landon didn’t take his eyes off of the golden figure in the distance, imagining what it would be like to be up there with his best friend.

Grandpa spoke into the microphone he’d wired into the drone control box. “Okay Buddy, that’s a wrap. C’mon down now.” The dragon could hear Grandpa through a headset he’s managed to get to fit on Buddy’s head. The dragon could talk back through a small microphone.

“Flying, flying. Buddy likes flying.”

“It’s getting late and Dani will be waking up from her nap soon.” Dani was Landon’s 15-month-old sister. Landon’s and Dani’s Dad was still at work but would be home in time for dinner.

“Oh, okie-dokey, Gramps.”

Buddy went into a nosedive right toward the back of Grandpa’s house, but at the last second he fully extended his wings and breaking hard, landed softly on the back lawn not five feet from the startled pair.

Grandpa recovered his composure. “Have a nice flight?”

The dragon walked up to Grandpa and nuzzled his head on the older man’s leg. “Yup, yup, yup. Good fly. Good fly.”

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First Encounter

liquor

Image: theguardian.pe.ca

Ed left church just as the service ended and headed to the nearest liquor store. He didn’t wait until the ushers came along to release people row by row. He didn’t wait until the Pastor was ready at the door to shake hands with each parishioner as they left. He just left. He needed a drink.

Ed Tillman, 44 years old, divorced, behind in his child support, absentee Daddy to 16-year-old Tiffany and 12-year-old Johnny. Yeah, his life was messy, really messy. One of the other Postal Carriers he worked with said he needed to find God. His friend Mark told him God could be found in church.

Ed was desperate enough and dumb enough to believe him.

As Ed pulled into the parking lot of the strip mall off of Meridian Road, he was still trying to figure out if God ever went to that church.

Oh, the people were polite, they were descent, they all got along. They went to the same picnics, attended the same Wednesday night Bible studies, and some even went on vacations together.

They were all so nice and squeaky clean. Ed wasn’t anything close to that. If God requires that you put on a suit, shake hands and introduce yourself to the people around you in your pew, and sing a bunch of really boring songs, then maybe God didn’t want Ed to find Him.

Standing in front of the display of the different brands of Vodka, Ed opened his wallet and checked how much cash he had left. Just barely enough. He’d memorized the price of a cheap 750 millimeter bottle including sales tax.

“How’s it going, buddy.” The guy behind the counter must have been about Ed’s age, maybe a little older. Long, dirty blond hair, ragged beard, tattoos on both forearms disappearing under his shirt sleeves, definitely not squeaky clean.

“Not bad.” Ed looked around. “Business is slow.”

“Yeah, no shit. You’re my first customer.”

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I’m Going To Be Published on “Theme of Absence”

infinity

Image: numbersleuth.org/

Have a look at the site Theme of Absence. As it says on the main page, it’s an “Online Magazine of Fantasy, Horror and Science Fiction (the lack of an Oxford comma just kills me).

Anyway, the site administrator is Jason Bougger, and along with Betty Rocksteady, and Tim Bougger, they accept previously unpublished submissions of flash fiction and short stories. Here’s a link to their Submission Guidelines.

The reason I bring all this up is that one of my submissions has been accepted and will be published on Friday, September 23rd.

I’ve been published quite a few times before, but those were all technical books, self-study guides, and textbooks.

On September 23rd, one of my fiction pieces will be published online for the very first time (apart from my own blog, of course).

I’m pretty excited.

Jason also offered to do an author interview with me and I said “yes,” so that’ll appear on Theme of Absence the same day as my flash fiction (just a hair under 1,000 words) story.

It’s nothing that I’ve published on my site, so you don’t get a preview.

You don’t have to wait a whole month. Visit Theme of Absence right now and read some of the other stories they’ve published. Maybe you’ll find a new favorite author.

If Aesir Should Find You In The Snow

frozen forest

Image: eskipaper.com

If you are brave enough to leave behind everything familiar and comforting, which can be anything from your house to bitter, old resentments, and set out on a truth-seeking journey, either externally or internally, and if you are truly willing to regard everything that happens to you on that journey as a clue and if you accept everyone you meet along the way as a teacher and if you are prepared, most of all, to face and forgive some very difficult realities about yourself, then the truth will not be withheld from you.

–Elizabeth Gilbert

The snow muffled everything around Gary, making it seem as if the world around him were slowly disappearing, becoming inaudible and invisible, except for the white.

He hadn’t planned on walking this far away from the road. He’d driven up to the mountains on an impulse. Bored and disgusted with the “sameness” of each day of his life, he craved something different. He saw the online weather report about snow in the mountains, just a short drive from where he worked, got up and left.

His co-workers will get along fine without him for an afternoon. It’s not like he really adds very much to the team. Probably not even his boss will miss him.

Fortunately, he had a pair of snow boots and a heavy coat in the trunk of his car. The snow on the ground was already up to his ankles and getting deeper. It was like walking on magic. He didn’t even notice the effort it took to move one foot ahead of the other.

The trees were getting more numerous, but their natural flocking rendered them silent sentinels in a land of snow and ice, like ancient Frost Giants. Now all he needed was Aesir, beautiful, naked Aesir, the Frost Giant’s daughter, for a companion.

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Writing for My Grandson

reading

Image: boomerhighway.org

Most of the stories (and proposed chapters for novels) I write for this blog aren’t really good reading for my seven-year-old grandson. That’s not to say that all have “adult” language or “adult” themes (i.e. sex), but just because the stories are too sophisticated to be interesting to a child, or some of the subject matter might be too violent.

However, when I was editing The Oppressed People: From the Chronicles of the Diluvian Kings, I thought about how a story about a dragon who loved children might be right up his alley.

Every other week, when my son has his kids, we have his kids, too. Every evening, my grandson needs to read one of us a book, and in turn, we read to him.

So I chose last Sunday evening to read him “The Oppressed People.” He liked it. He seemed captivated by the story. He couldn’t say he had a favorite part, though. But it was such a thrill to actually read him a story I wrote, something I created out of my own imagination, a story he couldn’t have accessed any place else.

The opportunity for me to read to him again occurred last night, so I chose the only other tale I thought would be appropriate: The Last Warrior. It’s another fantasy tale that again, is an allegory for modern social and political issues. Of course, he didn’t get the allegory (though his Dad would), but he still enjoyed the surface details.

I was a tad surprised when he said he liked it, because there’s really no “action” as such, at least the kind of action that I thought would be attractive to a seven-year-old. In fact, he was so interested, he asked if he could read my stories on his Kindle when he’s at his Mom’s. Maybe I can send him the links via email.

I briefly toyed with the idea of reading him Walking in Glass Slippers since it’s definitely a fairy tale (along with being another allegory commenting on social issues), but it has some suggestive language, including Ella’s “enchanted lingerie,” and I didn’t want to have to explain that part to him.

I try to write a short bit of fiction every day, and not everything I write is good content for children, but hopefully, now that I’ve had this experience, I can occasionally tailor some of what I produce for him, and as she gets older, his sister.

Anyone else out there have any experience writing for children?

Walking in Glass Slippers

glass slippers

Image: commons.wikimedia.org

“Hillel would say, Do not judge your fellow until you have stood in his place.”

-Pirkei Avot 2:4

“Don’t judge a man until you have walked two moons in his moccasins.”

-Native American proverb

“Ouch! I’ll never get these on.” Prince Richard complained painfully as his father tried once again to push his right foot into the glass slipper. “Stop it, Father. The shoe is too small, and it’s made of glass. Do you want to cut me?”

“Stop complaining, my son.” King Stellen was running out of patience, which is not a good quality in a father or a King. “If you ever hope to find Ella, let alone understand her, you must step into her shoes.”

“Maybe I don’t want to understand her.” He yanked his foot back and examined the newly formed bruises. “Maybe I’d like to understand a woman with larger feet and who wears more sensible footwear. What sort of woman wears glass slippers, even to a formal event?”

“I don’t know, Richard. But if you want to find out, you’ll have to try again.”

The young Prince hesitated, and then grimaced as he again offered his foot to his father. “Be gentle, please.”

“Here, perhaps a little butter applied in the right places will help.”

King Stellen took some butter from the small dish he had earlier placed on the night stand next to him and rubbed it generously on his son’s right foot.

“That actually feels pretty good.” Richard closed his eyes and recalled the sensuous beauty Ella exuded when she first walked into the grand ballroom the night before. All eyes were on her, and every man, from the lowliest Duke, to Richard the Prince himself, desired a dance with the wondrous stranger (actually, the old King felt a similar desire…one not experienced for many years, but Queen Sophie used her ceremonial fan to smack the King a good one on the shoulder, derailing such thoughts).

It was while in this mood, this altered state of thought, that Richard felt a strange sensation at the ends of his legs, and opening his eyes, he saw something startling.

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The Oppressed People: From the Chronicles of the Diluvian Kings

dragon

from “The Hobbit” (2012)

They gathered in defiance and rage at the base of the mountain. The dragon, that evil serpent of old, had terrorized The People for the last time. The people in the surrounding towns and villages never understood how horrible the dragon’s persecution was. To them, the dragon was a protector, a savior, and ally. To The People, the only People who have ever suffered the wrath of the dragon, the beast was always an invincible foe, a terrible enemy.

Three days ago, all that had changed.

Shay the Dragon had existed as far back as living memory could recall. Her tales were chronicled in the Scrolls of the Diluvian Kings beginning more than a thousand years ago. Her scales were always a brilliant gold, her fangs ivory six-inches long, her wings spread nearly the width of the village of The People, and when she took flight, there was the sound of thunder.

Except to The People, her tales always were sagas of benevolence, of kindness, of protection from evil, of security. But The People were always told that Shay was the bringer of terror, persecution, and slavery. Should Shay be seen soaring above the village of The People, it always meant that someone would die. It always meant some of The People would be taken to be slaves in the mines of Shay, digging for precious metals and jewels until the work exhausted and finally killed them.

Why Shay treated The People and only The People with cruelty was unknown, but The People among all the people of the surrounding towns and villages, eventually were considered to be outcasts since they alone suffered under the dragon’s horrendous claws.

These were the tales of The People. This is what the minstrels of the High King always sang of when they visited the village of The People, which was increasingly frequent these days. Children had nightmares of Shay visiting them in the night, stealing them from the safety of their homes. The dreams were especially vivid after a visit from the High King’s minstrels.

No one in living memory could actually recall the last time Shay appeared in the village of The People. They were only reminded of such events by the minstrels of the High King when they visited from the Bright Kingdom many leagues away. The minstrels, in the name of protecting The People, stirred up their fear, stoked the flames of anger, inspired a collective feeling of victimization and injustice among them.

Only the High King and his minstrels understood The People, understood that the dragon was the enemy of The People, and only the High King protected and defended The People.

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The Last Warrior

obi wan

Sir Alec Guinness as Obi Wan Kenobi from Star Wars (1977)

He was the last of his kind and he was old. Once, there had been millions like him, roaming the nation and the wild lands, defending the faith, upholding righteousness, protecting the innocent.

But that was a long time ago.

His companions were not defeated by the sword or the lance, but by indifference and betrayal. Betrayed by the very populace they so cherished.

The leaders became corrupt and arrogant, they paid off the scribes to write untruths, the town criers cried lies, even the ballads sung in the taverns became twisted and perverted. Truth became falsehoods and outrageous slander became truth.

The nation’s heroes were branded cowards while cowards became heroes.

One by one, his comrades fell, lost, devalued, and finally crushed.

The last warrior endured. He fought back. He stood his ground, even when everyone turned against him, even when those who had once stood beside him became his enemies in the name of their new “justice” and “righteousness.”

The old warrior could not even take solace in the faith for it too had been perverted. Long held truths and principles of righteousness, justice, and peace were turned upside down by clergy who, being all too human, learned to believe the lies they were told by corrupt Kings and Queens who controlled the scribes and who silenced the warriors.

The sermons by preachers of the faith now differed little, if at all, from the propaganda of the scribes and town criers, for the ever-enduring word of the Creator was “progressively” interpreted to mean what it had never meant before.

One by one the other warriors fell, or just gave up to an intractable enemy, the nation, the populace, their friends and neighbors. One by one door upon door was closed to the last warrior. He had few friends left, and even those were embarrassed to be seen in his company, lest they be accused by association, of what the scribes and holy men now called heresy.

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