Fan Fiction Contest

Corin and the Bard

By: Clara

 King Grosveneur was slumped in his throne, massaging his head with one of his hands. He didn’t care if the whole of his court was watching this display of overwhelming disappointment concerning his son. He just wanted to do what was right. Grosveneur lifted his head  briefly from the comfort of his hand only to see the court staring at him unblinkingly. “Well?” He asked, a little more loudly than he had meant to. The word echoed throughout the hall. “He’s my son.” The King of Beauclair looked around at the people who were supposed to be advising him and frowned. He knew what they expected of him, but he just simply couldn’t banish his only child; no matter how great the offense. “Bring him here.”

The King’s command was quickly transferred to a guard who was standing at the doors of the Throne Room. Almost as quickly, Gervais, Prince of Beauclair, walked into the room, his boot heels clicking hollowly throughout the court.

            Gervais’s manner was not of one who stood on the brink of banishment for his gambling debts. It was the manner of someone who was much too important to care about some petty offense he might have caused. King Grosveneur picked up on his son’s attitude, and wasn’t at all surprised. This was just the way he had expected Gervais to act.  Gervais stopped a few feet away from Grosveneur’s throne.  

“What is it, Father?”

Grosveneur’s expression darkened. Gervais pretended not to notice, and instead began to examine his elegant lace cuffs. The King traced his fingers over the complicated filigree on his throne, never taking his eyes off the proud man standing in front of him.

“You have a rather large gambling debt, son.”

Gervais looked up and snorted. “Yes, I know.”

Grosveneur took a deep breath and then stood up. “Gervais,” He clenched his fists at his side while he looked at the seemingly disinterested man in front of him. “You have given me little choice of what to do with you.”

“Oh, please, Father!” Gervais scoffed. “You have every choice. You are the King!” Gervais’s face turned red, and a vein at his temple throbbed. It was obvious now that Gervais was very much concerned by what his father might do. The room became even more silent as Grosveneur sucked in a breath and tapped his thigh with his finger. Even Gervais stood stock still and appeared to be holding his breath. Then the King of Beauclair spoke.

“I hereby banish Gervais, Prince of Beauclair, my son, and heir to the throne. His banishment shall be lifted as soon as his debts are paid. You must leave immediately.”

Gervais stared in shock at his father. “You’re not serious.”

Grosveneur raised an eyebrow. “Oh, but I am. And I did say immediately.” His tone was shockingly hard. Gervais took a step back, made a sarcastic bow, and left the room. Shortly thereafter, everyone else left too. After all, no one wanted to see their King cry.

***

“Parumvir is nothing to Beauclair…do you not agree?”

Corin Geoff groaned inwardly as another question was hurtled at him from the fop of a prince he was accompanying. When he had volunteered to guard the banished prince, he had imagined great adventures to befall him…but already six weeks had passed and they had found no form of excitement; except for when Gervais had sunk waist deep in mud, nearly ruining his favorite outfit. Mud was hard to get out of clothes, as Corin had soon discovered. Realizing that he had not answered the Prince’s question yet, he quickly supplied him with one.

“Of course, My Prince. Nothing to Beauclair at all.” 

Gervais smiled and nudged his horse onward, clueless that when he rode ahead, Corin lifted his eyes to heaven and mouthed, Why me? One of the other guards rode ahead and patted his shoulder sympathetically as he passed. Ever since Corin had successfully purged the mud from the Prince’s clothes, he had become Gervais’s favorite person. At first it wasn’t so bad. Gervais had been fairly sullen and quiet throughout the first half of their trip, therefore, he had not been bothering Corin. Then they had crossed the border to Parumvir, and suddenly, Gervais was lively, talkative, and to Corin, very annoying. He guessed that the Prince was practicing his “charming” skills for the Princess of Parumvir.

Corin slowed his horse down so that he was well behind the other soldiers. This was nice. No nagging prince, no muttering soldiers...just the forest and the birds. Corin took a deep breath and closed his eyes. There was something calming about woods. Then Corin realized he had fallen a good ways behind the rest of the men. So he tapped his horse lightly to catch up with the others, the jingling of his horse’s belled bridal causing squirrels to scatter. As Corin neared his group, he heard Gervais call to him from up front.

“Where’s my favorite soldier? Corin! Come ride with me!” Gervais waved Corin up to his side and settled down to tell him all about his wooing of the Fair Lady Genevieve.

***

Village folk crowded around the Prince of Beauclair and his infantry as the group neared the castle. The crowd was full of “oohs” and “ahs”, and Gervais countered their interest with smiles and waves. Corin felt sick as he realized that this was probably the most adventure he would encounter. The princess would probably fall in love with Gervais at first sight.

And that would be that.

No trolls, no giants, no strange faerie folk…just a betrothed prince and princess. Corin was pulled out of his muse by the castle gates opening. He was so caught up in self-pity that he hadn’t realized that they were this close to the castle. A short, fat man bustled out of the castle doors and bowed to Gervais. As they had neared the castle, Corin had fallen behind Gervais and the rest of the soldiers, so he couldn’t hear what the man was saying. Gervais suddenly dismounted, so Corin and his comrades did as well.

The little man escorted Gervais into the castle and left all of the Prince’s men standing in the courtyard.  Corin scowled at Gervais’s back and rolled his eyes when he saw the prince turn to wink at a stern looking old lady. The last sight he saw before the doors closed was the woman fluttering her hands about and rushing up a flight of stairs. The Prince’s men looked around feeling quite awkward. No one had shown any bit of interest in them so far. Then the doors to the castle opened up again. The same little fat man came bobbing out over to the men. He stood at the front of them, (on his tip-toes) and said in a quivering voice, “Will Corin Geoff please step out? His Highness, Prince Gervais, requests his assistance.”

Corin sighed. He thought that Gervais would have completely forgotten him, but, apparently, he was wrong. Corin stepped sullenly forward, and followed the dithering man up the steps of the Parumvir castle.

“This way, sir.” The little man held his hand out to the left hallway. They walked up a flight of stairs, and Corin (completely forgetting his impending encounter with the Prince) looked awestruck around himself. Beauclairs palace was nothing to this. While Corin’s home palace was garish and fashionable, Parumvir’s was tasteful and unique. Corin wanted to stop to inspect paintings and busts of past family members, but the little man was leading him quickly down the hallway. At last, Corin’s guide stopped at the front of a door.

“This is the Prince’s room.” Without another word, the little man scurried off, while Corin knocked on the door.

“Enter.”

Corin grimaced at his Princes voice. He sounded quite at home here already; and he hadn’t even seen the Princess yet. Gervais turned around when Corin walked inside his room, and frowned. “I need your help, dear friend.”

Corin coughed. “With what?” There was nothing worse, Corin thought, than being a Prince’s confidant. Gervais raised an eyebrow, and Corin checked himself. He added a, “Your Majesty.” which seemed to satisfy Gervais. The Prince gestured for Corin to sit as he did so himself. “Romancing is a delicate operation that should not be taken lightly. Wine?” Gervais picked up a glass of wine off of a table beside his chair and held it out to Corin, who refused. Gervais shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He sighed and sipped the wine delicately. “Where was I? Ah, yes. A painter must not make a mistake on his canvas; if he does, he must get a new canvas.” He looked meaningfully at Corin. “And I don’t want to have to get a new canvas.”

Corin tapped his heels on the floor. “Yes, yes. No one wants to get a new canvas, but what does this have to do with me?”

“The point where you come in, dear fellow,” Finally, he was getting to the point. “Is when I sing to the Princess.”

“What?” Corin didn’t think he wanted to know where this was heading.

Gervais must have noticed Corin’s distressed face, because he said, “Not to worry. I only need you to write a song for me. You see, I can’t sing without my music written down for me. My fool of a father rushed me out of the palace so fast, I forgot to bring my most favored music, and I cannot for the life of me remember a single song! You will help me, won’t you?”

Corin opened and closed his mouth like a fish. “Write your own song! You know more about music than I do!” Corin was standing up now, and yelling at the Prince. How could Gervais expect him to do that? It was humiliating!

I am a soldier! Not some prince’s personal bard! Corin’s thoughts flew from anger to indignity. What did Gervais expect him to come up with anyway? The Prince himself was calm and collected. He had expected this. “You have no choice, Corin.”

The Prince had a point. He was just a soldier and had to do his Prince’s bidding. Corin’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “When does it need to be done?”

Gervais smiled. “Good man.” He stood up. “In answer to your question, tomorrow morning.”

“Tomorrow-…now wait just a minute! That’s not long enough! May I at least find a song for you to sing and not have to write it?”

Gervais pondered that a moment. “No. She mustn’t know it.” Then he patted Corin’s shoulder. “Why don’t you go outside? Find some inspiration, hm? Whatever you choose to do, leave my room. You’re tracking mud on the rug.”

Gratefully, Corin left Gervais’s room and stood in the corridor. Now which way led to the outside? 

***

Corin looked up at the sun. It was a hot day, he was sweating, and he had not had even a hint of inspiration. Then a thought struck him. Why did he have to be outside for inspiration? Surely the insides of the castle would be just as inspiring. Just as he was heading up the castle steps, the doors opened and a cat marched out; its tail held as high as though it was a flag flying from a castle’s turret. It pranced deftly down the stairs, and paused in front of Corin. The cat looked up and showed Corin it’s ugly face. Corin stared in awe. He was looking at a cat with no eyes that moved as sure as though it owned the world. Perhaps this was the inspiration he had been looking for?

Then Corin realized that the cat was waiting for something. Its tail was twitching in a way that meant it was unhappy. Then Corin realized the problem. He moved out of the cat’s way and watched as it padded surely down the rest of the steps, to head to the garden. Corin followed slowly behind. The peculiar feline seemed to know where it was going, and seemed to have a purpose. Corin saw the cat round a rose bush and then it was gone. He watched but the cat did not reappear. Corin had decided that the insanity of his having to find “inspiration” had caused him to lose his mind when he heard something.

It was a beautiful voice, coming a little ways away from where he was standing. Corin approached the sound with curiosity and wonder. He could just make out the words of the song now.

“Oh, my love is like the blue, blue moon

Floating on the rim of June!

Oh, my love is like a white, white dove

Soaring in the sky above!”

Just as it was getting even lovelier, Corin stepped on a twig. The singing instantly stopped, but Corin had just enough time to see the cat dart around a hedge. Corin wasn’t about to let it go. He scrambled after it, and watched as it hid in a bush. Corin dove in after it and grabbed the cat’s middle. It hissed and clawed Corin’s hands and face raw, but he would not let go. Finally, Corin had the feline held securely by the scruff of its neck. The cat was now emitting guttural growls and batting at his captors face periodically. Corin laughed at it, which caused more growls. “Now you listen to me.” Corin whispered menacingly at the cat. “I know you had something to do with that song. Now tell me what that was!”

Corin kept his voice soft; he didn’t want anyone hearing him threaten a cat. He shook it and asked again. If someone had asked him why he thought the cat would actually answer, he couldn’t have told them.

“Put. Me. Down.”

Corin nearly dropped the cat when he heard it speak. “You-you really can talk?”

“Yes, and by the way, you are holding a knight of Farthestshore by the scruff of the neck!” Corin dropped the cat. To his surprise, it sat down.  “I am the great Sir Eanrin of Rudiobus! And that song was meant for my true love.” The cat managed to look tragic. “It is meant to be sung to a woman of great beauty.”  The cat curled his tale around his paws. “Tell me, why are you so desperate to find out what song that was?”

Corin sighed. “Prince Gervais needs a song to sing to the Princess. And he wanted me to write one.”

Sir Eanrin snorted. “So you decided to threaten me to give you one. How rude.”

“Forgive me, but I’m quite desperate. I’m just a soldier and I don’t know the first thing about writing a song.”

“Well, I can’t say I understand your position, for my Prince would never make me do something against my will, but, I will help you.”

Corin breathed a sigh of relief. “Then you will give me the song?”

“Since you put me down, yes, I will give your Prince my song. But you must give me one piece of information.” His tail flicked back and forth as he spoke. “Why is that Prince of yours suddenly here to pay his respects to Princess Una?”

Corin paused a moment and then answered. “He was banished from his kingdom for his gambling debts.”

“Was he? How interesting…” Purred Sir Eanrin. “One more thing, what are you doing, a strapping young man, running around finding songs for a prince who hasn’t done a days work in his life?”

Corin thought a while. He had become a soldier in the hope of finding adventure. And he had volunteered to escort his Prince for the same reason. “I thought there would be adventure in it.”

Sir Eanrin sat a moment before saying anything. “If it is adventure you crave, go to the Old Bridge and cross over to the other side into Goldstone Wood. I will make sure you go on the right Path. There will be plenty for you to do there. Now, if you will excuse me, I have some toads to catch for Prince Felix.” Sir Eanrin of Rudiobus was gone after that; padding off to go catch toads.

***

Dusk came, and with it, the fog. It rolled in like dragon’s smoke, and settled by the Old Bridge where a figure stood. It was the figure of a man, staring off into the other side of the woods. He had a sword at his side and a bow on his back. He took one step closer towards the other side, and the bridge creaked under his weight . He took another step, and another. Just a few more and he would be in Goldstone Wood.

He took them; and like some sort of hungry animal, the fog swallowed him up, leaving no trace of his leaving.

 But two people saw him leave. Two men who watched the young man take his fate into his own hands.

“Why did you tell him to go, Eanrin?” asked one of them.

“Forgive me, my Prince, but I thought it would be good for him. He yearns for more than the normal life.” Sir Eanrin was standing in his human form, looking sightlessly at Goldstone Wood.

“I will keep him as safe as I can, for now.” Said the Prince of Farthestshore. “The Dragon lies in his future. I pray he will let me save him.”

The two men watched Goldstone Wood a little longer, and then departed when night had finally covered them.                                                                                      

Fan Fiction Contest

 

 

Spring Sprig

By: Hannah Williams

 

With the stealth of a wraith, the figure crept through the vines towards the dozing tiger.  The leaves of the ivy whispered to one another in anxious tones as they watched the stalker’s process. 

The tiger was a beast of colossal size, and his black stripes slashed across his coat like scars.  His side rose and fell heavily.

The hunter was getting closer.

Disturbed by a distant dream, the flaming orange tiger shifted.

The figure froze.

But the tiger slept on.

Inching forward, the figure coiled itself for a spring.  It leapt—!

"GROAAWWLLL!” the tiger roared out in shock as a small body pounced on his stomach.  With mind-blowing quickness, he doubled his body up, grabbling with his claws for his attacker.

But his paws touched nothing but air. 

A peal of childish laughter filled the morning, chiming in with the purr of the vines and the soft chuckles of the waterfalls.  The great tiger heaved himself to his feet, no longer afraid, but decidingly put out and irritated.  “Dragons eat you, Spring Sprig!” he roared, saliva flicking off his razor-edged fangs.  “Dragons devour you a thousand times!”

“Make it a thousand and a half, Lord Bright as Fire!  Oh do!” a child’s voice giggled.

To this response, the tiger could do nothing but growl.

“Where are you?” he snarled.  “Where did you go?”

“I’m up here, silly kitty.”  A small figure dropped from the top of a nearby wall onto the ground and waved. 

It was a girl. 

She was very small, and looked only about ten.  She wore short pants that flared out just below the knees, and her shirt sleeves shaped like flower petals over her shoulders.  The material of her attire was silk green.  A tangle of dark brown curls sprouted from her head, generally falling behind her back, though a few rebellious ringlets sprung out over her forehead and around her cheeks.  Many flowers were woven in her cork-screw hair.  Her pink lips were curved up in a joyful smile that bespoke of her childish innocence.  She giggled again, not in the least intimidated by the towering tiger who glared at her so darkly.  “I scared you,” she said in the self-satisfied way that comes so naturally to children.  “I scared you really bad.”

“You did,” the tiger admitted.  “Don’t ever do it again.”

She stuck her lower lip out in a pout.  “That’s no fun.  Really it’s not.”

He just growled.

Ignoring his deep rumble, she half walked, half danced, over to a long stone table that stretched the entire length of the roofless hall that was draped in green vines.  Her bare feet made smudge prints on the golden tile beneath the leaves.  As soon as she reached the table, she jumped up on top of it and began to trot along its length, having no eyes for the hundred stone princes who sat in chairs on the table’s either side.

“Where is your frog, child?” the tiger snapped.

"The giant one that I ride?”

“Do you have any others?”

“Indeedy.  I lo-ve all froggie woggies.” She smiled at him, scrunching her eyes up tight.

“Where is it?”

“Ferdinand is outside the borders of your realm.  He wouldn’t come in for the life of me.  He’s scared of you, he is.  Scared stiff.”

The gigantic cat licked his whiskers.  “As you should be.”

“Fiddlesticks,” she laughed.

 With deft agility, Sprig skipped along the table, going over and around tall platters of glistening fruit.  She kicked one apple off the top and bounced it from ankle to ankle, as she continued the stretch of the stone table.  Whether she noticed that one side of the table was torn apart and crumbling, she did not say.  “You missed me, didn’t you?”  She kicked the apple high into the air, leaned forward, and caught it between her teeth.  One hand popped up to remove it from her mouth, part of it tearing away with a delectable crunch.  “Say you did, Ragniprava!”

With a ferocious roar, the tiger leapt forward, put his front paws on the table, and reared up to eye level with her.  “Do not call me by my name!  I forbid it!”

Even though the strength of his roar blew her hair back, Sprig didn’t bat an eye.  “By the Flowing Gold, are you missing an eye?”

Deflated, the tiger sank back on his haunches.  “Yes,” he grumbled.  “I had two guests recently.  One was a prince.”

Sprig’s eyes widened, and in a moment she was dashing back along the table, examining the face of each stone prince, while exclaiming, “I didn’t see a new one.  What happened?”

“Sit still for a moment, and I’ll tell you,” the Lord Bright as Fire ordered.

She clapped a hand over her mouth and giggled.  “I can’t be still.  You know that.”  To prove it, she suddenly kart-wheeled across the table—not once, but down the entire length!

Ragniprava gasped and covered his eye with a paw.

Another spiel of laughter sounded right in front of him, and he looked up to see Sprig before him, hands on her hips.  Hesitantly, afraid of what he might see, he peeked behind her. 

But all the towers of fruit remained untouched.

She sat down at the edge of the table, her hands touching the stone in between her upright knees, like a frog.  “If I bounce just a little, I might be able to hear your story.”

Glaring at her, the tiger lord stalked away.  He began.  “I was patrolling my demesne for I had felt a sudden presence.  You know my skill in stealth, and I approached the trespasser without alerting him.  It was some dark-skinned fellow; one who, I thought, was out looking for my skin.  I surprised him—ha!  He scrambled up a tree, and I in my dignity…”

“In all your dignity,” Sprig repeated.

“…did not go up after him.  We exchanged a few terse words, but then I felt the presence of another.  One of much greater power than the terrified mortal I’d trapped.  Along came a cat.  A blind cat of all things.  He spoke to me; he DARED address me as Ragniprava!”

“I like him already,” the girl giggled, even though she received a fiery scowl.

“So I chased him up a tree, and then low and behold—

“POOF!” Sprig shouted, flinging her arms wide.  “He turned into a big fat hippo, and he broke the branch, and he fell on top of your head, and you landed on a stick, and gouged out your eye!  End of story.”

The look Ragniprava gave her could have withered a full-grown tree.  “Do you want me to continue or not?”

“Am I stopping you?” she grinned.

The tiger groaned, a long-suffering groan, before continuing.  “He turned into a man.”

“Ooooh.”

“SHHH!  He turned into a man clad in scarlet with patches over his eyes.  And there they were: two men in two different trees.  Well, after some dialogue, we came to an agreement.  They would amuse me, and I would allow them to come attend my feast.”

“Sooo generous.”

“SHHH!  The scarlet one assured me he could entertain me for he was Sir Eanrin, Chief Poet of Rudiobus.”

“Ah-HA!” Sprig cried.  “I know him!  I’ve seen him before.  He’s the greatest poet of all time.”

“Greatest poet of all time or not, he bored me to death.  Ugh.  What an awful lovey-wuvy song he composed.  I had just made up my mind to eat them both, when the mortal stole the original tune and put comical words to it!  Oh!  It was beautiful!”  The tiger laughed, and threw back his shaggy head.  The laugh would have scared anyone but Spring Sprig.  She laughed right along with him. 

When the tiger stopped laughing, he resumed. “The look on the Chief Poet’s face was priceless.  Losing my eye and the rest of the following ordeal was almost worth it for that insulted, and disgusted, and shocked look on his face.  Anyway, I switched to my man form, just like this.” As he spoke, the tiger was no longer there, but instead Sprig looked at a huge man with glossy ebony skin, but the next moment he was back to being a tiger.  “So I led them to my home.” He paused proudly.  “And invited them to dine.  Sometime through the meal, I realized that the mortal man was keeping a secret from me, and I used my heart-probing skills to discover the truth.  He was a PRINCE!”

Sprig knew what this meant.  She glanced back at the hundred stone princes.  They were the tiger’s collection.  Every prince who came to Ragniprava’s realm was turned into stone by the tiger to sit at the long table.  Not a practice Sprig approved of, but she said nothing.

“I went to attack him in tiger form, and then that cocky cat, that miserable man, that petty poet, hit me like one of the Fallen, and we rolled off the table onto the ground!  The audacity!  The boldness! The—

“Persnickityness!” Sprig finished. 

The tiger stopped in his pacing (for he had begun to pace) and frowned at her, but his rising anger cooled.  “Clearly, there was only one thing to be done.  I split myself.”

Sprig’s eyes widened.  Even she had no smart remark to this. 

Faerie lords and ladies had three lives.  They could save them…or they could use them all at once.  By splitting himself, Ragniprava had used two of his lives. 

Her eyes darted around.  Here was one.  Where was the other?  She stopped bouncing and leaned in to listen.

“My first me leapt forward to get the prince, while my other me gave pursuit to the crimson-clad poet.  The prince had hidden underneath the table, and switching back into man form, I began to hack through the stone with my mighty sword.  Eventually he came out, and he tried to stop me with a flimsy little beanpole.  My sword crashed down on it and…”  He halted and growled furiously, his tail lashing at a hundred miles per hour.

Sprig fidgeted.  “Yes?”

“My sword broke.  Broke!  I morphed to tiger form, and attacked him.  But then that me was suddenly killed.”

“Oh!” Sprig squeaked, at this unexpected conclusion.  Then after a long pause she asked, “By whom?”

“How should I know? I wasn’t there to see.  Meanwhile, the other me, this me, chased the cat-man down the dark corridors of my realm.  He dared to face me with a knife, and I sprang for the kill.  But he ducked and rolled under me, and the next thing I knew, as I pivoted around in surprise, he plunged the knife right into my eye!”  The Lord Bright as Fire threw back his head and released an earth-shattering roar of rage.

He looked down to see Sprig staring at him big eyed. 

“And?”

“The poet got away.  I was too angry to chase him.  Now what do you think?”

For a moment, Sprig froze, aware of her precarious position. 

Ragniprava glowered at her.  She’d been rooting for the little cat.  The thought irked him.  If she should say so out loud, he knew he would not be able to contain his wrath.

“I think…” she hesitated.  Then she threw back her own head, flowers flying, and laughed.  “I think you look like a big ugly pirate!  Yo ho matey, and ninety-eight bottles of ale!”

The waterfalls’ and vines’ laughter stopped abruptly, and the forest’s humming stopped, leaving only the bell-like laughter of the child in green, as they waited in suspense to see the tiger’s reaction.

Ragniprava stared at her for a moment, his golden eyes narrowing.  But as she continued to giggle, the ferocious expression on his face slowly melted away, and for a moment there was even a hint of a smile on his sharp fangs.  He shook his head.  “Oh…You are impossible,” he huffed.  “You can’t take anything serious.”

“I can’t.  I tried, and it was incredibly boring!” Sprig gasped, her smile stretching from button ear to button ear, dimples in her cheeks.  Without a sign of warning, she leapt to her feet, and swooped down in an exaggerated bow.  “I fear now, Lord Bright as Fire, that I must leave your exulted demesne and hop on my way.  Ferdinand gets awful lonely if I leave him too long.”

“Yes, yes, be off, I wish you’d never come,” he growled.

Grinning, Spring Sprig bobbed down and kissed the tiger right on his nose. 

A shocked look swept over his face, followed by something almost like bashful pleasure.  “Oh, go away,” he commanded gruffly.

Laughing gaily, she somersaulted over him, tumbling down in the lush carpet of vines.  “Good-bye, good-bye!” she called starting to run backwards down the hall, and blowing the Faerie lord kisses.  “I’m off to see the Mher King!  There I’ll build a sandcastle!  And then I shall drop by and visit the Lord Who Walks Before the Night!  And then I’ll go treasure hunting!  And frog-catching!”  She had vanished now, and her voice became far and distant.  Somewhere, a long ways off, there was a joyful ribbet of a frog. 

Silence.

Ragniprava perked his ears, straining to catch one last sound.

Her cheery voice came far away, caught on the paths of the wind.  “And if I see Eanrin of Rudiobus, I’ll tell him you said hi!”

“Oh, go away, and good riddance,” he grumbled to himself.

Another laugh, and then all was quiet.

She had passed from his demesne to another.

The tiger sat alone in his roofless hall.  The stone princes were poor company, and the vines and waterfalls made boring chatter.

His sides inflated out as he heaved a great sigh. 

Already he missed Spring Sprig, the little girl in green who rode on a frog, bringing joy and laughter wherever she danced.

 

Fan Fiction Contest WINNER

 

Wood Thrush's Song

By: Meredith Leigh Burton

 

Note from the Author: I have only had an opportunity to read Ms. Stengl’s wonderful novel, Heartless.  If any aspect of this story has already been touched upon in subsequent novels of this amazing series, then I humbly ask that you bear with me.  It is not my intention to plagiarize or in any other way detract from Ms. Stengl’s phenomenal writing style.  Thank you, and God bless you all.

  _____

 

Acrid smoke permeated the clean winter air.  Gasping on the dizzying fumes, a young girl stumbled into Oriana’s vast courtyard.  Everyone had scattered in a blind panic, but the girl had remained in her secluded hideaway until all was quiet.  She knew that HE had managed to somehow gain entrance.  Clenching her teeth in frustration, the girl gingerly shuffled her feet and clung to a jutting stone wall for support.  Her eyes, or, the places where her eyes had once been, throbbed with pain.

“I know you are here, my little morsel.  Your scent travels to me no matter how you try to escape.  Let us not waste valuable moments.” His deep, caressing voice travelled to the girl’s ears, and she shivered with fear.

“Meeea?” The girl sucked in her breath and bent down.

“SSSH.  Quiet, Monster,” she murmured.  Despite her fear, she was enormously relieved.  She gently lifted the cat into her trembling arms.  For a moment, the cat sat rigidly, his wet nose sniffing the girl’s hand.  “Remember me?” she whispered.  Gradually, Monster’s taut body relaxed.  He rubbed his whiskered face against her hand.  Tentatively, the girl explored his face with her fingers.  When she encountered his absent eyes, she allowed the cat’s gentle purring to seep into every raw nerve.  Comfort washed over her, and she allowed the memories to burst forth.

***

“Why are you home so early, sister?” Gladiola turned from the fire.  Her hands were covered in pastry dough, and her shoulder-length chestnut hair was drenched in sweat.  She straightened her brown tunic over her plump frame, discretely placing a freshly baked strudel into a tunic pocket.  The family knew of her sweet tooth and never commented on the treats that mysteriously had a way of disappearing.

Iris sniffed and plopped down onto a makeshift stool.  “He never came,” she muttered.

Gladiola sighed.  “Honestly, Iris! Why do you bother with him? He’s arrogant, and—“

“What do you know about anything?” Iris’s voice was shrill with unshed tears.  “He’s the nicest boy I’ve ever met.  Anyway, you’re only twelve.  You don’t know anything!”

Gladiola bit her lip to stop it from trembling.  She yanked a cloth from a shelf and removed a smoldering pan from the hearth.  “I know lots of things,” she murmured.

After a long pause, Iris whispered, “I’m sorry.  I—“

A knock reverberated on the cottage door.  Both girls looked at each other.  Father wouldn’t be home from the smithy for several hours yet.  Iris went to the door and lifted the latch.  The door creaked on its rusty hinges.

“Hello, Iris,” a deep, yet caressing voice murmured.  Gladiola stared past her sister’s thin frame into the eyes of the handsomest man she’d ever seen.  His eyes shone, and he wore a flowing robe of red silk.  His jet black hair cascaded down his back.  Despite his otherwise handsome demeanor, the man’s face made Gladiola gasp.  It was whiter than marble and lifeless.

“Um, hello,” Iris said.  “M-May we help you? This is the land of Lunthea Maly.  We don’t have much here, but--” Her voice trailed away.

The man chuckled deep within his throat, a frightening yet hypnotic sound.  Gladiola shuddered.  “Yes, you may help me, child,” the man whispered.  “The luscious scent of apple strudel has reached me.  The scent of rejection has also stolen upon my nostrils.  I wonder if I might come in for a moment?”

“R-Rejection?” Iris stammered.  “I don’t know what you’re—“

“There is No need to be frightened of me.  I merely seek to assist you, Iris.  Let me in, and I will remedy your hurts.” Without warning, the man seized Iris’ wrist and leant forward to peer into her chocolate colored eyes.  “The fire smolders within you,” he chortled.  “Almost as brightly as it burns within the maiden whom I seek for my own.  However, you’ll do for now.  Invite me in, Iris.”

Gladiola screamed and flung herself between the stranger and her sister.  Her last memory was of searing heat and a vicious laugh.  “You are of no concern to me, girl!” The man’s voice had acquired a rasping quality.  Gladiola felt needles of excruciating pain prick her eyes, and she knew no more.

***

A silvery song filled Gladiola’s ears.  Groggily, she sat up.  Burbling water splashed nearby, and the song gave her comfort.  Darkness was everywhere, and her eyes throbbed.  How had she gotten here? Where was she?

The silvery song drew closer, and suddenly, she felt a feather-soft object caress her hand.  He is gone, now.  I brought you here.

Gladiola discerned no physical words, yet she knew something was speaking to her.  “M-My sister,” she tried to say, but her voice wouldn’t cooperate.

I can understand you.  You do not have to speak.  I am sorry, Gladiola.

Sorry about what? The girl trembled.  She knew what the mysterious presence was going to say.

She is with him, now.  After Herbert’s rejection, she could not withstand the Dragon’s seductive suggestions.

Gladiola thought briefly of the plump clerk at the smithy.  He had been Iris’s third beau.  Sadly, she murmured, “I-I could not help—“

I will reach out to her.  For now, will you allow me to help you?

“H-Help me? But, I don’t—“ Even as she spoke, Gladiola felt the pain once again.  “Yes,” she said.  “I don’t know you, but I—I think you must be a friend.“

I am Aethelbald, Prince of Farthestshore.  You must trust me.

After a long moment, Gladiola nodded.  She heard the mighty whoosh of wings and felt cool water bathe her face.  The water carried a multitude of scents: innumerable flowers and spices she had never smelt before.  The pain gradually lessened to a dull ache, yet the world remained dark.

Follow my song, and I will lead you to a place where you are greatly needed.

Trembling, Gladiola followed the multiple harmonic notes of birdsong as the Prince led her away from the stream and toward the outskirts of a busy city.  Several times, she stumbled and nearly fell, but each time, something she could barely feel would lift her up.  It seemed as if a carpet made of down kept her from stumbling, yet she knew the substance must be the wings of her guide.

***

Now, Gladiola continued to stroke Monster’s head.  “I tried to warn her,” she whispered.  She remembered how she had been led to an unlocked window.  Aethelbald had wrapped his wings around her and lifted her inside.  You are in Oriana Palace.  This is the kitchen.  Trust me, and you will be safe.  I need you to keep watch over my love.

“Over who? Keep watch? But, I—“

You will know what to do.

As Aethelbald prepared to fly away, a final thought seeped into her mind.  Gladiola’s are delicate flowers, yet they are tenacious.  They always come back.  You are strong.  Look to the cat.

***

Gladiola gently released Monster, and she stepped forward.  “I’ve got to talk to him,” she whispered.  “Thanks for everything.”

“Meea?”

“I’ll be all right.”

She remembered how the cat had been the first creature she’d encountered.  Smiling, she thought of how he skulked around the kitchen searching for a choice tidbit.  Judging by the low murmur of voices, she’d judged it was dinnertime in the palace.  A whiskered face had brushed against her hand as she’d groped around the kitchen.  Her fingers had immediately discovered the cat’s absence of eyes.  “Someone stole your sight, too,” she’d murmured.  Reaching into her tunic pocket, she’d withdrawn a half-eaten apple strudel.  “Sorry it’s stale,” she’d whispered.

She and the cat had bonded right away.  Monster had led her to a cupboard where she could sleep, deep in the recesses of Oriana Palace where no one ever came.  He had been the one to lead her to the royal chamber where Princess Una lay in fitful dreams.  Even without touching the girl’s hands, Gladiola knew they had been severely burned.  The acrid stench of the Dragon’s smoke was a smell she would never forget.  She knew she could not talk directly to Una, (the girl would simply laugh at her), but she also knew that she had to send some sort of message.  So, in the quiet night, she’d emptied Una’s water pitcher.  Maybe in this way, Una would finally notice the debilitating burns.  She knew that her work was small, but she hoped that it had helped.

***

Trembling, Gladiola stepped forward.  She approached the sweltering heat.  “Dragon?” Her voice trembled, but she did not care.

Harsh laughter reverberated around the courtyard.  “You! Paltry girl! I remember you.  Get out!  You’re wasting my time!”

“I-I want to know of my sister.”

“She wanders in my Village.  She brought me quite a satisfactory offering the other day, a young girl who had been abandoned on the road to Southlands.  For now, your sister is safe.  However, her constant cries try my patience.  Are you satisfied now?”

For a moment, Gladiola thought of how she herself had been abandoned long ago at the age of five.  She had awoken in the cottage of a blacksmith and his nine-year-old daughter.  She shivered as she thought of what the Dragon’s mysterious words might mean, but she managed to speak boldly.  “I won’t leave Una alone.”

The Dragon laughed.  “Oh, but you will, my sweet.  I despise interfering weaklings.  Go, or taste my fire once again.  This time, I’ll take more than your eyes.”

Trembling, Gladiola turned and hurried toward the jutting stone wall.  A volley of putrid flames assaulted her, and she fell in a crumpled heap.  Menacing footfalls invaded her addled brain, and she heard the Dragon’s measured breaths as he bent over her.  “No fire smolders within you,” he murmured.  “You are worth nothing.  Just a pathetic weakling.  Leave me be, and I will spare your life.”

Suddenly, a silvery song pierced her mind.  Strength surged within her, and she felt a gentle breeze lift her to a sitting position.  The Dragon sent forth another stream of fire.  “Be stubborn, fool! My poison will vanquish you!” he hissed.

The flames no longer hurt.  Gladiola felt the breeze lift her up and whisk her away into a vibrant place of serenity.  She heard the Dragon emit a resounding roar of anger, pain and frustration.  Then, all was still.

***

Gladiola felt as if she walked on air.  A gentle hand touched her arm.  “You are with me, now, child,” a female voice murmured.  “Prince Aethelbald wonders if you would be willing to serve him forever?”

            “Who are you?”

“I am Dame Imraldera,” the gentle voice murmured.  “I serve those whom the Prince brings to the Safehaven after the Dragon’s poison has infected them.  Would you wish to help me?”

After a moment, Gladiola asked, “But, my father.  My sister.  I—“

“A dragon’s burning has invaded your village.  I think you’ll find that your father will be brought here along with many others.  The Dragon King has violated you with his poison, and if you choose to leave, you will not survive.  The Prince offers you a place of rest and a job of service.  Will you accept?”

Gladiola nodded.  A pitcher of cold water was placed in her hands, and Dame Imraldera led her to a bed made of a soft, flower-like material.  “A young boy of royalty lies asleep here,” the fairy whispered.  “Just sit this pitcher beside him.  You will be one of his attendants, and thus you will learn of our Prince’s battle with his ultimate enemy.”

Thus it was that Gladiola, a mere blind weakling in the Dragon King’s eyes, served many people in many different ways.   She served them with a pitcher of water and a song she had learned from the mysterious guiding presence of a wood thrush.

Fan Fiction Contest 2012: THE WINNER!

The time has come, ladies and gentlemen, to announce the winner of the first ever Tales of Goldstone Wood Fan Fiction Contest! With so many wonderful submissions, it was a very close contest. But when I added up the final tally, the story that won out above all others was . . . .

 

 

Wood Thrush's Song

  MEREDITH LEIGH BURTON

Congratulations, Meredith! You have won a free, first-printing copy of Starflower and TWO other Tales of Goldstone Wood novels of your choice, along with an added surprise gift of a Tales of Goldstone Wood coffee mug!

We have second and third runner-ups as well.

SECOND PLACE:

Spring Sprig

 

 

HANNAH WILLIAMS

 

Congrats, Hannah! You have won a copy of Starflower and a Tales of Goldstone Wood coffee mug!


THIRD PLACE:

Corin and the Bard

CLARA
 

And you, Clara, have won a Tales of Goldstone Wood Coffee Mug!

Congratulations to all three of you talented writers! Feel free to email me at aestengl@gmail.com to let me know your mailing addresses, and I will mail off your prizes!

 

I will be posting the winning story tomorrow, and the second and third place stories on Monday and Tuesday following. After that, because the rest of the stories were simply too good not to share, I'll be posting new stories on Monday and Wednesday of each week until all of them have been featured!

 

The rest of you participants be watching your emails for your judges' comments as well. All three judges expressed to me how impressed they were by the quality of writing submitted. When the points came in, there were some very close calls! I hope you all had fun with this contest and will keep your eyes open for future contests and giveaways.

 

Congrats again to Meredith Burton!