J is for Jester

But we're not talking about just any jester. The time has come for us to discuss the strange jester-slave in the house of Duke Shippening.

First, however, let me take a moment to remind my dear blog readers that this A-Z series contains many SPOILERS! So if you have not yet read Veiled Rose, you might want to steer clear of this particular series so that key plot points and surprises aren't given away!

Okay, moving on . . .

Early on in his exile, Lionheart finds himself in Shippening, the Duchy just north of the isthmus separating Southlands from the Continent. The Duke of Shippening (whom some of you might remember as one of Una's suitors in Heartless) is a despicable man, the last work in classic barbarous villain-types. But it is in his household that Lionheart, newly robbed of what money he brought with him from Southlands, finds work.

And there, Lionheart meets the duke's jester-slave.

This Fool was a strange person . . . He was abnormally thin, too thin, really, to continue living. His jester's garb of brilliant colors sagged on his frame; yet his wrists, though tiny and more delicate than a woman's, were not emaciated and bony. He was an albino, whiter than snow, and rather beautiful in a way. (p. 237)

Lionheart's earliest memories of this jester date back from his childhood when Duke Shippening sent the strange man to the Eldest's House. There Lionheart saw him perform, and thus was born his lifelong ambition to become a jester himself.

Seeing the same jester now, many years later, Lionheart is less thrilled. He finds the man strange, otherworldly, and not a little mad. He is deformed as well: Each of his fingers boasts an extra joint. One day, when the jester wanders out to the kennel grounds, Lionheart approaches him and hears him with his eyes closed, speaking in a strange language.

"Els jine aesda-o soran!"

When he opens his eyes and looks at Lionheart, he switches to a language Lionheart recognizes, saying, "I blessed your name, O you who sit enthroned beyond the Highlands."

This creature, Lionheart begins to suspect, is not human.

For those of you familiar with fairy tales, Lionheart's suspicion must be swiftly confirmed by the jester-slave's reaction to iron. "If you will break my chains, I will grant you a wish," he tells Lionheart. When Lionheart protests that the jester has no chains, the strange man indicates an iron collar around his neck. It is not locked; in fact, there as an easy, workable latch, and anyone could easily remove it. And yet the poor Fool touches it only with pain. "Iron," he says, "Iron chains."

Faeries, you see, have an aversion to iron. In most ancient folklore, fairies avoid iron and are harmed by even the smallest touch. And the jester-slave of Duke Shippening is no exception.

Lionheart is not so quickly convinced. Despite his recent experience with the Dragon, his mind is still fairly rooted in the realities he has always believed. But there is one who recognizes the truth of the jester-slave on sight: A merchant named Sunan.

This merchant, a guest of Duke Shippening, took one look at the jester and exclaimed, "Your lordship, who is this person?"

"My idiot, of course," says the duke.

Sunan is impressed. As he later on tells Lionheart, "He [Duke Shippening] is not the buffoon he projects to the world. And his alliances are powerful, though even I cannot guess at them."

Sunan knows that for Duke Shippening to command a Faerie slave, he must have very powerful connections indeed.

Even a slave, however, may rebel. And so does this jester when ordered to sing for the duke and his guests. He steps forward and sings a song of Fireword . . . the sword that can slay dragons.

Infuriated, the duke orders his men to beat the poor jester. But Lionheart, in a moment of pity, steps in to the rescue and, though he doesn't know what good it will do, snaps free the iron collar.

What happens next I cannot say, for I would hate to give away a good plot point, even with the spoiler warning at the top of the page!

I will say that I enjoyed very much inventing this character. He is the classic image of the weeping clown, a strange contrast to the idealized dream of a jester that Lionheart has in his head . . . and foreshadowing of the darkness to come when Lionheart at last achieves that dream. But the jester himself, while otherworldly, is not evil. He speaks warnings to Lionheart and, when his warnings prove useless, gives him hope of where he might find the answer to his great question.

"I need to know how to kill a dragon," Lionheart tells the jester.

"I must remain in your debt," the jester replies. "That knowledge I may not impart to you."

I believe a Faerie such as he will see to it that his debt is repaid. Maybe one day we will meet the liberated jester-slave again in the twisting paths of Goldstone Wood?

The Winner of the Unicorn Caption Name Drawing!

Let me announce this winner by listing the caption along with the photograph:

It serves one master, I am sure-and lives forever to serve him/her. Perhaps it is a creature that one cannot see with mere mortal eyes. For all you know, it could be standing next to you, but blind as you are, you would never see it, never hear it - except for those whose eyes have been stripped from their scales by overcoming great adversity beyond one's imagination.

Congratulations, Eszter! The winner of this name drawing!

Please send your address to me: aestengl@gmail.com. I will be certain that you get your free copy of Moonblood as soon as it prints (and before it even hits the shelves!).

Great job to the rest of you. There was some pretty tremendous imagination at work here, and if I'd had to pick a favorite, it would have been impossible. Keep your eyes open for more opportunities in the near future, and thanks for your participation!

I is for Imaginary Friend

For the most part, the allegory in Veiled Rose is not as emphasized as that in Heartless. However, at the time when I wrote Veiled Rose, the spiritual themes present were much more personal to me. So let's take a moment to analyze the spiritual twists of my second novel, starting with Rose Red's Imaginary Friend.

Rose Red has several strange influences on her life, several voices that speak to her and draw her various ways. The first of these is Beana, her goat, who is a voice of practicality and homey love to the poor, rejected girl. The second voice is that of the Mountain Monster in the cave. This is a far more seductive voice, whispering lies and half-truths, working guileful persuasions to manipulate the girl according to his will.

But the third voice is that of Rose Red's Imaginary Friend.

He was a prince, of course. Rose Red, being a romantic child at heart, would hardly imagine anything less. But he always appeared to her in the form of a wood thrush (p. 44).

She assumes he must be imaginary, however. Just as she assumes that she must imagine Beana's talking, and that she only dreams of the Mountain Monster. But all these various voices are so real and so strange, poor Rose Red must sometimes wonder if she is a little mad.

But they make a distinct three-way influence on my little heroine's life. Beana speaks to the practical, the earth-bound, the sensible side. The Monster speaks to the dangerous, the lurking evil that hides in the heart of every living creature. And the Imaginary Friend calls to the spiritual heart of her. These three influences, while three distinct characters on their own, also form for us a complete picture of the girl herself. Through these influences we see Rose Red in her entirety, simple country girl, dangerous goblin, and spiritual warrior.

But especially the voices of the Monster and the Prince grow confusing in her mind as time goes on and the dangers mount.

"You left me alone," Rose Red accuses the Prince at one point.
You are not alone, my child, he assures her.
"You're no better than the Dragon," she says. "You want me for yourself."
I want you for yourself, he replies. I want you to be everything you were intended to be before the worlds were formed. Everything this death-in-life has prevented you from becoming
"You sound like the Dragon. He calls me a princess."
I call you my child.

There is a distinct difference between the Monster and the Imaginary Friend. Both call her to walk certain paths, both urge her to live a certain life. But the Monster constantly demands something from her, he demands that kiss. While the Imaginary Friend, by contrast, gives her protection, first in the form of Beana (whom we later learn is one of the Prince's knights), and later in the Asha lantern, a gift of Faerie make that protects her in the dark places of the Netherworld.

We both want your love, your loyalty, the Prince tells her. And you cannot give it to both of us.

Nevertheless, Rose Red struggles to believe that the Prince can be anything more than imaginary. How often have I too found myself in unhappy circumstances and immediately leaped to the conclusion, "God doesn't care," or even, "God isn't there." It is the most human (and most sinful) reaction, and it doesn't matter in the moment how many times God may have proven Himself to me in the past. My human nature still rallies to fight the spiritual nature being nurtured in me.

The same is true for Rose Red. Even as she journeys through the Netherworld with the protection of her Imaginary Friend actively surrounding her, she still doubts. And her doubt leads her to the point of desperation and even despair.

The beauty of the story is the way in which the Prince doesn't abandon her, however. Even when she rejects him, basically throws his gift back in his face, he remains constant, true, and present, though she cannot sense him. Hers is a story that reflects the truth of:

"Even though I walk through the Valley of the Shadow of Death, I will fear no evil." Psalm 23:4

In the end, the Prince whispers encouragement to Rose Red once more, and she knows at last that he is not imaginary.

"I will always protect you," he promises. "But that does not mean you will not know pain." (p. 339)

In the struggling times to come, we must hope that Rose Red will remember that moment, when she was rescued from the clutches of the Dragon in the very stronghold of his kingdom. We must hope that when the darkness descends once more, she will know the truth of the Prince's promise and there find comfort and strength. But it is a hard lesson for any of us to learn, a battle that must be fought again and again . . .

H is for Hill House

Hill House, though abandoned, had remained unscathed during the years of the Dragon's occupation.

Thus begins Veiled Rose, book 2 in the Tales of Goldstone Wood. It is, I think, one of my favorite opening lines I've written.

As a comparison, would you like to read some others?

Two children, a brother and a sister, played down by the Old Bridge nearly every day, weather permitting.
(Heartless)

The unicorn stood before the gates of Palace Var.
(Moonblood)

Once upon a time, great Etalpalli, the City of Wings, was ruled by a Faerie queen.
(Starflower--most recent draft, subject to change)

Let me tell you a story.
(Book 5 draft--subject to change)

The Queen of Arpiar bore twin sons, but only one could inherit the kingdom, so she was faced with a choice.
(Goblin Son. Sorry, this one's unsold, so you don't get to read it. Maybe someday!)

First lines are important. Not as important as first chapters (sometimes, I think beginning writers are told to place too much emphasis on a killer first line), but important nonetheless. It sets the tone of everything to follow. Often (though not always!) it is the first thing the writer puts down on paper for the particular story in question, so it is equally important for that first sentence to catch the writer's attention as the reader's.

Veiled Rose was a difficult story for me to pin down. Second books often are. While this was not the second novel I had ever written (nor was Heartless the first), it was the first sequel. They say the strength of a writer can be told, not by their debut, but by their follow-up novel. Does Author In Question have more than one story to tell? Or will he/she merely rehash the old one in a new setting with different eye-colors for the leads? It's a question far more significant to the writer than to the reader. It's a question that every writer must answer by the all-important labor of writing that second book.

So, knowing only that I wanted to tell a story about Lionheart (a hero/villain from Heartless) and with the character of Rose Red alive in my brain, I set to work on penning a sequel.

The first one I wrote was deemed un-publishable by my editors.

Yikes! I have to tell you, that is not a response any writer likes to hear on their first-ever sequel! While I had honestly believed that I had penned a story alive with great characters and significant plot-threads, my editors, alas, saw only caricatures and rambling rabbit-trails.

I was devastated. I really thought I had something in that original draft of Veiled Rose. But, looking it over a month or two after receiving their comments, I had to admit that, yes, the plot really was rambling around and, due to that rambling, the characters were  not coming across as vividly as I had believed.

However, I also saw potential. So after a certain amount of pleading, my editors did the unthinkable: They told me I could have a second stab at it.

Looking back on it now, I'm nothing short of amazed at the trust they demonstrated by going ahead with the project. After all, I had done nothing to merit that trust! But by God's good grace, they signed off on a hastily-scribbled synopsis and moved on ahead with production . . . leaving me with approximately two months to come up with something they could truly love and get behind.

Two months.

May I just mention that those were two months during which I was becoming engaged, moving all my worldly goods to my fiancé's house, and moving myself temporarily to Wisconsin to plan a wedding? While simultaneously trying to work two other jobs?

Yeah, definitely dropped the two other jobs during that time. The cats and I lived on starvation rations.

So it was that, with an un-publishable first draft under my belt, a handful of notes in my hand, and my head desperately whirling with thoughts of weddings and movings and all sorts of major distractions, I sat down at my desk and wrote that first line:

Hill House, though abandoned, had remained unscathed during the years of the Dragon's occupation.

I won't say it was magic. I won't say that suddenly all my writerly problems were solved.

I will say that God's grace poured down on me in that moment.

When I wrote that line, suddenly scenes, once elusive, took shape in my brain; scenes and characters and twists of a far more focused plot. I saw Hill House where the boy Leo spent an incredible, life-changing summer. I saw the mountain cave where an isolated goat girl was tormented by a manipulative monster.

A whole new story--scarcely recognizable from the original draft I'd written the year before--took shape in my mind. And a book that should never have been written poured from my heart.

I met the deadline by God's power alone. And my editors were pleased.

I came down ridiculously sick (Rubella. Bleh.) a few weeks later, breaking out in red rash all over my body with two weeks to go before I was supposed to walk down a certain aisle wearing a certain white dress. But the book was finished, the rash disappeared, and at the end of the craziest summer of my life, I found myself married and the author of a publishable sequel.

And it all started with that first line.

Hill House was a fun setting for me to invent. The name itself was inspired (as some of you may have guessed) from a famous novel I had read in college, the one-and-only horror story to have crossed my literary path: The Haunting of Hill House. An excellent book, but not one I'll recommend unless you really want to scare yourself out of some sleep.

Hill House in my story is significantly less haunted, though there are plenty of secrets and mysteries in the countryside surrounding it. It belongs to Leo's aunt, Dame Willowfair. When Leo and his cousin, Foxbrush, fought as boys, Foxbrush often planted a winning blow by declaring, "This is my mother's house, so you have to do what I say!" (p. 14). Nevertheless, it is at Hill House that young Leo finds more freedom than he has previously known in his life. Freedom . . . and a true friend.

I hope you found yourself swiftly pulled into the story of Leo and Rose Red when you read that opening line and the scene following. And I am more thankful than I can express that I had the opportunity to share it with you! Personally, I like it even better than Heartless.

And Now . . . UNICORNS!!!

Briefly interrupting my A-Z series to give you an opportunity to win a copy of Moonblood, due to hit the shelves this coming April. Are you interested?

Moonblood is a story of many dangers, frightening monsters, and epic stakes. And one of the most fearsome characters of all is the unicorn:

Here's a nice picture of a scary unicorn! If you would like to have your name entered in the drawing to win a copy of Moonblood, write up a caption for this picture in the comments section below. Let your imagination fly! Tell me who this unicorn is, where it comes from, what it wants. Is this one good? Is it bad? Is it an indifferent elemental spirit? Be creative!

I'll look forward to seeing what you come up with. I will announce the winner of the name-drawing next Sunday!

Isn't it nice to have a non-Dragon-related contest for once?

G is for Goldstone

Of course, the whole series is named Tales of Goldstone Wood, so Goldstone must be a remarkably important part of the series. And yet, we don't see a whole lot of Goldstone in Veiled Rose.

Or do we?

We know for certain of one important moment when Lionheart, having made the long trek to Parumvir, finds himself turned away at Oriana Palace's gates. Dejected and frustrated after all the long years of his exile, he makes his way down the hill and approaches the Wood.

The shade cast by the trees looked inviting. Any relief from this blistering heat would be welcome. Lionheart doubted any of the fabled monsters that purportedly lived within that shade would suddenly creep to this portion of the wood to devour one rejected jester. So he flopped down with his back against a tall, spreading maple at the edge of the forest . . . (p. 306).

Of course, he falls asleep.

Any one of you, dear readers, would be perfectly able to appraise Lionheart of his error here. I mean, seriously. Who takes a nap in a Faerie forest and doesn't expect to suffer consequences?

Consequences Lionheart certainly does suffer in the form of a terrifying dream. Some strange Other comes to him and sings into his mind in a dark voice.

You know the Princess Varvare . . . When you see her, you will send her to me. I will wait in the Wilderlands (p. 306-307).

This is, I believe, one of the strangest little interludes in the novel. What, by Lumé's crown, is this creature? And who, pray tell, is Princess Varvare?

So must Lionheart himself have wondered when he startled from uneasy sleep. After all the bizarre sights he had witnessed over the last several years, this one must have neared the top of his list for bizarreness. And he won't receive any answers concerning that mysterious vision through the course of Veiled Rose's storyline. He will have to wait for Moonblood . . .

Later on, Lionheart spends some time with Princess Una in Goldstone Wood, down by the old bridge. Nothing particularly untoward happens during that visit, and as far as Lionheart might surmise, the Wood isn't nearly as strange as reported.

But is this episode in Parumvir the only time we saw Goldstone Wood?

Maybe not.

Remember back the summer of Lionheart's eleventh year. Remember how he slipped out of the house late one rain-soaked afternoon and became lost on the mountain. He climbed all the way above the tree line, and when he entered the forest again . . . it wasn't the same forest.

The difference was subtle. One would hardly notice it at first. Leo was several paces in before he realized the smell was wrong. It didn't smell like rain. And though he could see the undergrowth spreading thick beneath the spreading trees, where he walked, there was none (p. 78).

The familiar forest of his summer surroundings has vanished, and in its place stands a malevolent Wood. A Wood that laughs at him and draws him down into its depths where he glimpses a phantom wolf and a ghostly woman with hair of fire. Terrified, Leo runs, and realizes that even the mountain is gone, given way to a flat forest.

But when he calls to Rose Red, she finds him and leads him out once more.

We wonder, following this strange adventure: Is Goldstone Wood perhaps much bigger than the stretch of forest seen in northern Parumvir?

Again, we might just have to wait to learn a little more on this subject come Moonblood.

F is for Foxbrush

Here's the thing about Foxbrush . . . I don't think he is anywhere near as obnoxious as Lionheart thinks he is.

I'm not saying that he isn't obnoxious, at least to a certain extent. He's an egghead, not to mention a snob, and he wears oil in his hair.

But let me, here in this article, make a defense of young Master Foxbrush of Hill House.

He is, if you remember, Prince Lionheart's cousin, son of Dame Willowfair. It is to Willowfair's home, Hill House, up in the mountains, that Lionheart is sent to spend the summer of his eleventh year, thus necessitating a great deal of time spent with Foxbrush.

Foxbrush and Lionheart have almost nothing in common.

They are about the same age and, we learn later on, look remarkably alike. But that, we swiftly learn, is where their similarities end. When we meet Lionheart, he has just stuffed a bunch of chess pieces into a satchel, intending to use them as battling soldiers in a garden war. When we meet Foxbrush, he is reading a book called Economic Concerns of the Trade Merchant's Status. And they're both eleven.

See a difference there?

Foxbrush is also far more concerned with his own dignity and appearance than Lionheart. While Lionheart is perfectly willing to attempt fire eating in the stables or upside-down lute-playing, Foxbrush prefers to keep his clothes straight and his cuffs clean. While Lionheart does everything in his power to avoid any summer classes (to the extent of ambushing the postmaster's boy to intercept a letter from his mother), Foxbrush does long algebraic equations for the fun of it. While Lionheart likes to push the limits of authority, Foxbrush prefers to be every adult's favorite child.

Where Lionheart is willing to give the ostracized Rose Red a chance, Foxbrush thinks it far better advised to stick the general opinion surrounding the girl, to label her a monster, and to run.

And aside from all that, Foxbrush is such a perfect know-it-all!

Foxbrush's face emerged from behind the book, this time wearing his patient expression, the one that made Leo want to poke him in the eye (p. 15).

Yes, from Lionheart's (and indeed, from Rose Red's) perspective, Foxbrush may appear nothing less than loathsome.

But then again, isn't that just the point? We only see Foxbrush from Lionheart's, Rose Red's, and occasionally Daylily's perspectives. What might we see, however, were we to take some time looking at the world from Foxbrush's point of view?

A very different story, in fact.

Foxbrush is, in fact, quite a good boy. He follows the rules down to the letter, and is very hardworking, especially when it comes to his studies. Yes, he is remarkably concerned with his dignity, but is that really so dreadful a trait? And he's a bookworm.

Now, I certainly never would have the guts to tackle Economic Concerns of the Trade Merchant's Status as my summer read. But I can appreciate that young Foxbrush is doing what he can to better his mind. And while I couldn't do long algebraic equations to save my life anymore, there was a time (back in college algebra class) where I found them rather intriguing and even enjoyed myself while studying for that class. So Foxbrush and I do share a bit of sympathy.

Confession time: I'm also a know-it-all.

Maybe it comes from being a Big Sister. Or possibly just a former homeschooler. Might be genetics, I couldn't say for sure. But know-it-all-ness definitely runs through my veins, and I have a "patient expression" of my own that I'm sure drives more than a few of my acquaintances nuts.

But from my perspective, that expression is, in fact, quite patient. If somebody is doing or saying something I consider particularly idiotic, is it not better to resort to patience rather to angrily explode? So might Foxbrush argue when faced with the frustration that is Lionheart, his cousin, and his polar-opposite.

And seriously, readers, didn't you feel at least the tiniest bit sad for poor lovelorn Foxbrush when he watched Lionheart pursuing Daylily? Daylily who looks on him with about as much disdain (possibly more) as Lionheart does? Can he really help it if he's naturally such a bookworm and . . well, let's be honest . . . a nerd?

This, then, is my defense of Foxbrush. Hardly what you'd call a romantic hero, no. But not necessarily such a bad guy. It's hard to remember that when we see his harshness toward Rose Red, especially when, coming out of a dragon-poisoned slumber, Foxbrush catches up a poker and attacks the poor girl.

Despite this violence, however, I stand by what I say: I don't think Foxbrush is really such a bad guy. He's simply slumped into himself and his books and never had the opportunity (or taken the opportunity) to discover the man he might be.