Separated Soul: Prologue
"As the small woman's dying body sank into the sea her illusion dissolved revealing auburn hair, smoky teal eyes, aquamarine garments, and a mortal knife wound in her chest. The sea washed the blood from her bodice and flesh as the clouds broke and a shaft of pure silver moonlight fell upon the very place where the woman sank. The sea began to bubble and churn as Reality and the moon spread their treacherous net. As soon as the woman's heart stopped beating and her water-filled lungs ceased to function; Reality caught and pulled her in, stopping her voyage into death. Her glazed eyes blinked once more as the moon's beams pulled her back to the surface while her shadow was left behind.
Heedless of the savage crashing of the waves the woman swam to the shore and crawled upon the sand. Gone were the pale garments she wore before. In their place was a black silk shift and velvet bodice studded with silver crystals. As she stood shivering in the sand her much greyer skin and black garments were covered once more by a chaste beam and a silver robe of her lost people formed around her. The woman who fell prey to a murderer's sacrificial knife then leapt into the sea to rob the assailant of his glory was gone. In her place was a lady who was not alive, nor was she dead; she was an immensely powerful sorceress but also a witch. She was the offspring of neither man nor woman, but of a storm-darkened sea and a chaste moonbeam; the creation of no god but of Reality itself. She was Moon Child."--Separated Soul prologue-pg.iv.
Heedless of the savage crashing of the waves the woman swam to the shore and crawled upon the sand. Gone were the pale garments she wore before. In their place was a black silk shift and velvet bodice studded with silver crystals. As she stood shivering in the sand her much greyer skin and black garments were covered once more by a chaste beam and a silver robe of her lost people formed around her. The woman who fell prey to a murderer's sacrificial knife then leapt into the sea to rob the assailant of his glory was gone. In her place was a lady who was not alive, nor was she dead; she was an immensely powerful sorceress but also a witch. She was the offspring of neither man nor woman, but of a storm-darkened sea and a chaste moonbeam; the creation of no god but of Reality itself. She was Moon Child."--Separated Soul prologue-pg.iv.
Escape to Ellse Where: Chapter 1
It was the year I turned twenty-one, I was going to be placed within the Sacred Ring of Star Journeys to undergo the ritual all of my kindred faced. Why we did this I do not recall, except that it was the time when our gods decided how much magical power they would bequeath to the one in the ring. It happened so long ago now and yet I remember it like it was yesterday.
Seven boats made of oilskin bags washed up on our shore. The people in them were ragged and dirty. These people all smelled of the sea, dead fish, and stale sweat. Salt crystals encrusted every available surface and their eyes were pale blue and cold like a poor quality aquamarine. Not a gray iris in the lot.
What walked out of the sea behind these boats was terrifying. mottled, scaly skin, yellowish green eyes; uneven claws and sharp fangs; while boils, warts spots, and every other conceivable blemish decorated their flesh. Not one had a complete set of limbs, and several were missing an eye. The limbs that were not naturally missing were often deformed and the creatures smelled of iron. The bag-boat men called these barely humanoid creatures Fomorii and bowed to them as gods. The deformed Fomorii did all the talking for the people of the bag boats.
"Greetings, gentles," a Fomorii said. "Would it be possible for you to provide sustenance for the Chosen of the Fomorii? they have traveled a long way and their stomachs can no longer tolerate raw fish."
High Sorcerer Hyllaell told the creatures that they could have food only when he heard the bagmen's tale. his voice was the closest to stern that I had ever heard.
The Fomorii told the story of the people behind him. He told us that these people in the strange boats were called Celts, and they were the original inhabitants of a place called Thrace. I have since learned that he lied about his followers place of origin and quite a bit more.---from pgs. 1 &2 Chapter One of Escape to Ellse Where
Seven boats made of oilskin bags washed up on our shore. The people in them were ragged and dirty. These people all smelled of the sea, dead fish, and stale sweat. Salt crystals encrusted every available surface and their eyes were pale blue and cold like a poor quality aquamarine. Not a gray iris in the lot.
What walked out of the sea behind these boats was terrifying. mottled, scaly skin, yellowish green eyes; uneven claws and sharp fangs; while boils, warts spots, and every other conceivable blemish decorated their flesh. Not one had a complete set of limbs, and several were missing an eye. The limbs that were not naturally missing were often deformed and the creatures smelled of iron. The bag-boat men called these barely humanoid creatures Fomorii and bowed to them as gods. The deformed Fomorii did all the talking for the people of the bag boats.
"Greetings, gentles," a Fomorii said. "Would it be possible for you to provide sustenance for the Chosen of the Fomorii? they have traveled a long way and their stomachs can no longer tolerate raw fish."
High Sorcerer Hyllaell told the creatures that they could have food only when he heard the bagmen's tale. his voice was the closest to stern that I had ever heard.
The Fomorii told the story of the people behind him. He told us that these people in the strange boats were called Celts, and they were the original inhabitants of a place called Thrace. I have since learned that he lied about his followers place of origin and quite a bit more.---from pgs. 1 &2 Chapter One of Escape to Ellse Where
Secret Sorcerer: Chapter 1
A bright pink vortex disrupted the dust of the old throne room. The small man who knelt in the centre of the room ignored the zephyr. His black hair, threaded here and there with silver, brushed against his unlined face and closed eyes. A flash of fuchsia light greeted his efforts as Feline was thrown onto the floor. The man in blue opened his eyes and smiled, the Stolen Sorcerer was back.
"Well met, my most dear associate," Feline High Sorcerer of the Ellfs and ex-ambassador to the Tuatha de Danann, laughed as he picked himself up from the mattress he landed upon. "your timing was always the most accurate. I am indebted to you my dear Rabbit."
"And I am indebted to you, my friend," Rabbit, King of the Ellfs, secret High Sorcerer and best friend of Feline laughed as he stood. The cramped muscles and sinews of his legs complained as he straightened. "I now possess far more silver, thanks to you."
"I am most sorry to say that I do not understand," Feline replied as he straightened his black velvet, beaded jerkin and dusted off his white spider silk, full sleeved shirt.
"It is very easy to see," Rabbit replied with a rueful smile. Just look at my hair and you will see my new bank."...pg.3 Chapter 1 of Secret Sorcerer, Book Two of The Moon Child Memoirs.
"Well met, my most dear associate," Feline High Sorcerer of the Ellfs and ex-ambassador to the Tuatha de Danann, laughed as he picked himself up from the mattress he landed upon. "your timing was always the most accurate. I am indebted to you my dear Rabbit."
"And I am indebted to you, my friend," Rabbit, King of the Ellfs, secret High Sorcerer and best friend of Feline laughed as he stood. The cramped muscles and sinews of his legs complained as he straightened. "I now possess far more silver, thanks to you."
"I am most sorry to say that I do not understand," Feline replied as he straightened his black velvet, beaded jerkin and dusted off his white spider silk, full sleeved shirt.
"It is very easy to see," Rabbit replied with a rueful smile. Just look at my hair and you will see my new bank."...pg.3 Chapter 1 of Secret Sorcerer, Book Two of The Moon Child Memoirs.
SEparated Soul : Chapter 1
The wind howled as dark rain-filled clouds scudded across the moon's face and a Roman's Celtic slave hurried across the moors. He glanced around furtively, missing nothing except the black and white Norwegian Forest cat who watched him closely. The man was visibly nervous, he had the look of one who knew all the tales of the dark witch who was said to live in this dreary patch of land, and he knew the Romans' laws against consorting with her and her demons. As he stood there shivering, a man's lilting baritone voice invaded his mind.
"Why dost thou seek my mistress?" the voice said in formal Latin. "Knowest thee not the penalty for so seeking her?"
"I was sent," the Celt said in the common Latin of the slave pens, as his mind radiated his fear. "The Picts must be held back."
"The Picts are Celts, are they not?" the voice asked of the shivering man.
"What does that have to do with anything?" the Celt said around the chattering of his teeth.
"Thou are't also a Celt," the voice replied.
"But my master is not and he wishes for your lady's help," the Celt shivered as he spoke. "The Picts are seeking to drive out the Roman masters. My master is worried; Hadrian's Wall is all that stands between them and us. Only by the grace of your lady dis Boadicea fall the last time a group of Celts rebelled."
"Ah, but the Picts are not rebelling, my dear Celt," the voice laughingly replied. They are invading. Why can your master not summon help from Rome, is not an invasion of Roman ruled lands sufficient excuse?"
"Barbarians are trying to force their way into Rome; the Roman ary is already taxed by that invasion," the Celt sighed. "The legions here are on their own that is why they need your lady's help."
"So it is," the voice replied. "She shall grant thee an audience now.
As the voice finished speaking, a black mist crept up the Celt's legs, around his body and over his head. A sense of weightlessness descended upon him as disorientation invaded his thoughts. When the mist cleared he found himself standing in a dark room where a great black cauldron bubbled over a large fire in a huge hearth. Rude tables held glass phials and bottles filled with noxious substances, while a woman sat watching him from an oversized chair made of twigs.--from Chapter one pg.s 1&2 of Separated Soul Book One of The Moon Child Memoirs.
"Why dost thou seek my mistress?" the voice said in formal Latin. "Knowest thee not the penalty for so seeking her?"
"I was sent," the Celt said in the common Latin of the slave pens, as his mind radiated his fear. "The Picts must be held back."
"The Picts are Celts, are they not?" the voice asked of the shivering man.
"What does that have to do with anything?" the Celt said around the chattering of his teeth.
"Thou are't also a Celt," the voice replied.
"But my master is not and he wishes for your lady's help," the Celt shivered as he spoke. "The Picts are seeking to drive out the Roman masters. My master is worried; Hadrian's Wall is all that stands between them and us. Only by the grace of your lady dis Boadicea fall the last time a group of Celts rebelled."
"Ah, but the Picts are not rebelling, my dear Celt," the voice laughingly replied. They are invading. Why can your master not summon help from Rome, is not an invasion of Roman ruled lands sufficient excuse?"
"Barbarians are trying to force their way into Rome; the Roman ary is already taxed by that invasion," the Celt sighed. "The legions here are on their own that is why they need your lady's help."
"So it is," the voice replied. "She shall grant thee an audience now.
As the voice finished speaking, a black mist crept up the Celt's legs, around his body and over his head. A sense of weightlessness descended upon him as disorientation invaded his thoughts. When the mist cleared he found himself standing in a dark room where a great black cauldron bubbled over a large fire in a huge hearth. Rude tables held glass phials and bottles filled with noxious substances, while a woman sat watching him from an oversized chair made of twigs.--from Chapter one pg.s 1&2 of Separated Soul Book One of The Moon Child Memoirs.
Escape to Ellse Where : Chapter 2
Ellfstane smiled and his eyes turned a warm gray, like a rain washed granite boulder warming in the summer sun. He perched upon the stool, leaving the chair for her.
"Katara, we don't have any way of fighting these Firbolls and Fomorii, at least not on their terms." He started to pleat the leg of his green velvet trews. Not an easy task; trews were always cut rather tight.
"What are you saying?" Katara asked as she sat in the down-filled chair.
"We do not know how to fight." His left hand began to twist up the hem of his tabard. "Either we ask the Tuatha De Danann for help, or we assemble all of our sorcery and use that against these Thracian Celts. Is it possible for you to assemble our most powerful spells?"
"I will try, my friend, I will try." Katara began to fold up the pendulum of her girdle. "Do you think it will help?"
"We cannot just accept what is happening." Ellfstane got up and stood as tall as his two feet and three inches of height would let him. "We must try to protect ourselves and our children as best we can."
"We will, my friend. We will never surrender or give up until the last Ellf lies in death." Katara stood up. The lifts on the heels of her slippers made her the same height as her friend, despite the fact that she was only twenty-two inches tall.
"We think as one then." Ellfstane stretched out his hand, his palm toward Katara. "Fortune Favor you Katara."
Katara placed her palm over his in the Ellfic gesture of greeting, friendship, and farewell. "Fortune Favor you, Ellfstane."
The young prince of the Ellfs smiled and left her washroom. Katara stared at her worktable and pondered Ellfstane's visit. Would the Ellfs' sorcery be sufficient or would it be necessary for her to create new spells as time went on?
One thing stuck in Katara's mind: Ellfstane's refusal to give up. The Ellfs would never give up unless all of the Ellfic leaders told them that the situation was hopeless. It looked like Ellfstane would never make that proclamation, and if Katara knew Caraedon, the king wouldn't give up either.
She sank back into the the chair and removed her left slipper. It had started to chafe her heel. One glance inside showed her why. The velvet lining needed replacing.
When she glanced up, she saw the Solstice Stones in the scrying mirror. They stood in all their radiant, magical glory, and then the vision faded to be replaced by a vaguely recognizable jumble of rocks that roughly formed the shape of a circle. When this vision faded, it was replaced by the Solstice Stones semi-erected toward the heavens, but with only a weak flicker of their former power. -- from pgs. 22 & 23 Escape to Ellse Where: book one of the Ellfaerran Diaries, Chapter 2.
"Katara, we don't have any way of fighting these Firbolls and Fomorii, at least not on their terms." He started to pleat the leg of his green velvet trews. Not an easy task; trews were always cut rather tight.
"What are you saying?" Katara asked as she sat in the down-filled chair.
"We do not know how to fight." His left hand began to twist up the hem of his tabard. "Either we ask the Tuatha De Danann for help, or we assemble all of our sorcery and use that against these Thracian Celts. Is it possible for you to assemble our most powerful spells?"
"I will try, my friend, I will try." Katara began to fold up the pendulum of her girdle. "Do you think it will help?"
"We cannot just accept what is happening." Ellfstane got up and stood as tall as his two feet and three inches of height would let him. "We must try to protect ourselves and our children as best we can."
"We will, my friend. We will never surrender or give up until the last Ellf lies in death." Katara stood up. The lifts on the heels of her slippers made her the same height as her friend, despite the fact that she was only twenty-two inches tall.
"We think as one then." Ellfstane stretched out his hand, his palm toward Katara. "Fortune Favor you Katara."
Katara placed her palm over his in the Ellfic gesture of greeting, friendship, and farewell. "Fortune Favor you, Ellfstane."
The young prince of the Ellfs smiled and left her washroom. Katara stared at her worktable and pondered Ellfstane's visit. Would the Ellfs' sorcery be sufficient or would it be necessary for her to create new spells as time went on?
One thing stuck in Katara's mind: Ellfstane's refusal to give up. The Ellfs would never give up unless all of the Ellfic leaders told them that the situation was hopeless. It looked like Ellfstane would never make that proclamation, and if Katara knew Caraedon, the king wouldn't give up either.
She sank back into the the chair and removed her left slipper. It had started to chafe her heel. One glance inside showed her why. The velvet lining needed replacing.
When she glanced up, she saw the Solstice Stones in the scrying mirror. They stood in all their radiant, magical glory, and then the vision faded to be replaced by a vaguely recognizable jumble of rocks that roughly formed the shape of a circle. When this vision faded, it was replaced by the Solstice Stones semi-erected toward the heavens, but with only a weak flicker of their former power. -- from pgs. 22 & 23 Escape to Ellse Where: book one of the Ellfaerran Diaries, Chapter 2.
Secret Sorcerer : Chapter 2
LLa Lune was very lonely. She'd been waiting for her familiar for months now, although she couldn't say how many passed since her escape from Uther's bonfire.
He still hadn't shown up. maybe he thought she died up there. She hoped that wasn't the case. Somehow she had to find a way to get him back. Shadow's Dawn had become very important to her, she couldn't recall the precise moment when he'd gained such a strong hold on her emotions, but he did.
La Lune's gaze searched the hovel, looking for anything of Shadow's Dawn's. Nothing was there. He hadn't left so much as a hair behind. Perhaps he found himself another witch? La Lune banished that thought as fast as it came. She would never accept such a possibility, even though she kept coming back to it no matter how far her thoughts traveled. This was all Uther's fault for making Shadow's Dawn believe she was dead. She'd fix him, she would...her eye fell on the quivering amphibian form on her table.
A knock fell upon the outside of the hut. La Lune crossed to the door and opened it to see a tall woman standing there.
"May I come in?" the woman asked in old Gaelic, which made La Lune nervous; the Kieran vision and it's implied threat were not forgotten by her yet.
"Yes, of course," La Lune was so stunned that she stepped back as the stranger walked in. Why was the woman there, and if she was one of the searchers why was she so polite? La Lune decided to blank her mind and obseerve.
The woman was tall compared to La Lune's diminutive stature. The stranger stood about five feet and six inches in height, her hair was a dark brown like tilled earth, and her eyes were the colour of bark. Her hair was piled on her head, but a few rebellious ringlets escaped down her back. A circlet of silver wrought in the shape of complex knots rested below the confined hair and across her forehead.
She was very slender, but muscular as well and the light from the fire brought out the scarlet figures of swords, ravens, and spears on her ebony brocade gown. A rope of red and black cords, twisted together, was wrapped around her waist, and was threaded through a silver ornament of complex knots that matched her circlet. The strange design the northern Celts in the Caledonian Islands called the Key of Life ran down both sides of her obsidian cloak and it was figured in carnelian.
"I be known to my people as the Queen of Ghosts and Shadows," the woman said in her very accented voice. "I have recently discovered that you escaped the wretched Briton's fire, that is if you truly are the Dark Witch of the Moors."
"I am."
"Ah, that's all to the good," she smiled. "I be searchin' for ye for a long time. I be the closest thing to a rival you've got, as far as witchcraft be concerned. I decided it might be in our combined interests to work together. That's why I be here."
"How?"
"You've been havin' some trouble with a certain High Sorcerer," the Queen of Ghosts and Shadows replied. "I happen to be knowin' someone who'd pay me a fortune, or even a pardon, if I brought that little man to her in chains. I once was her Druidess ye see. I didna ask her why she wants him as her captive, but she does. And there's one known as Dana who would pay even more to have him for her slave. If I managed to trap him and take him out of yer hair, plus helpin' ye take yer revenge upon ol' Uther, how much would it be worth t'ye?"---from pgs 17 & 18 Chapter 2 Secret Sorcerer, Moon Child Memoirs Book 2
He still hadn't shown up. maybe he thought she died up there. She hoped that wasn't the case. Somehow she had to find a way to get him back. Shadow's Dawn had become very important to her, she couldn't recall the precise moment when he'd gained such a strong hold on her emotions, but he did.
La Lune's gaze searched the hovel, looking for anything of Shadow's Dawn's. Nothing was there. He hadn't left so much as a hair behind. Perhaps he found himself another witch? La Lune banished that thought as fast as it came. She would never accept such a possibility, even though she kept coming back to it no matter how far her thoughts traveled. This was all Uther's fault for making Shadow's Dawn believe she was dead. She'd fix him, she would...her eye fell on the quivering amphibian form on her table.
A knock fell upon the outside of the hut. La Lune crossed to the door and opened it to see a tall woman standing there.
"May I come in?" the woman asked in old Gaelic, which made La Lune nervous; the Kieran vision and it's implied threat were not forgotten by her yet.
"Yes, of course," La Lune was so stunned that she stepped back as the stranger walked in. Why was the woman there, and if she was one of the searchers why was she so polite? La Lune decided to blank her mind and obseerve.
The woman was tall compared to La Lune's diminutive stature. The stranger stood about five feet and six inches in height, her hair was a dark brown like tilled earth, and her eyes were the colour of bark. Her hair was piled on her head, but a few rebellious ringlets escaped down her back. A circlet of silver wrought in the shape of complex knots rested below the confined hair and across her forehead.
She was very slender, but muscular as well and the light from the fire brought out the scarlet figures of swords, ravens, and spears on her ebony brocade gown. A rope of red and black cords, twisted together, was wrapped around her waist, and was threaded through a silver ornament of complex knots that matched her circlet. The strange design the northern Celts in the Caledonian Islands called the Key of Life ran down both sides of her obsidian cloak and it was figured in carnelian.
"I be known to my people as the Queen of Ghosts and Shadows," the woman said in her very accented voice. "I have recently discovered that you escaped the wretched Briton's fire, that is if you truly are the Dark Witch of the Moors."
"I am."
"Ah, that's all to the good," she smiled. "I be searchin' for ye for a long time. I be the closest thing to a rival you've got, as far as witchcraft be concerned. I decided it might be in our combined interests to work together. That's why I be here."
"How?"
"You've been havin' some trouble with a certain High Sorcerer," the Queen of Ghosts and Shadows replied. "I happen to be knowin' someone who'd pay me a fortune, or even a pardon, if I brought that little man to her in chains. I once was her Druidess ye see. I didna ask her why she wants him as her captive, but she does. And there's one known as Dana who would pay even more to have him for her slave. If I managed to trap him and take him out of yer hair, plus helpin' ye take yer revenge upon ol' Uther, how much would it be worth t'ye?"---from pgs 17 & 18 Chapter 2 Secret Sorcerer, Moon Child Memoirs Book 2
Separated Soul : Chapter 2
She was alone. This was something the stars couldn't hide from her, and they tried. Oh, how they tried. Whenever that inevitable sense of loss and solitude crept up on her millions upon millions of voices would call out to her. Reassuring and questioning alike.
"What about us?" was their cry. "When are you coming to see us?"
For perhaps a century, maybe less--she lost count of the years after the first five decades--the stars managed to ease the loneliness away. but now a new cry added itself to the struggle in her mind. This one came from the sea. It had no words, yet it spoke of unlimited sorrow. In it were the mournful songs of the humpbacks, the lonely cry of a lost seal pup, and the despairing whistle of a beached dolphin. Somehow, she knew the cries were for her. At first she couldn't understand why they cried. After all, she already was part of the sea, wasn't she? Every moonrise she would emerge with the first virginal touch of the moon's beams upon the water, but not before. Never before.
"Why not before?" she finally cried as she sat upon a partially submerged rock, the black silk petals of her dress and the silver skirt of her robe were pulled by the waves to and fro. "Why can't I exist during the day? I know there is such a time. From where I cannot say, but I do know it exists. Why can't I see the sky when the sun rises?"
"Because you are ours," the multiple cries of the stars replied. "You belong to us. You know this. You have always known this. Your mother is the chaste moon of your world and your father is a storm-tossed sea. You are the Moon's child, so we are your relatives."
"Can this be real?" she finally asked, as a half remembered image of another place, and another time flashed through her mind. "Is this...Reality?"
"What else is there?" answered the stars.
"There is also...I believe there is another realm of existence, one called..." slowly non-decipherable words spoken in an unknown--but familiar--voice became distinguishable, and then faded out once more, but not without leaving something behind. "A place called...Fantasy. The real and the fantastical, they exists side-by-side. Isn't this fantastical?"
"No!" replied the stars, a fierce anger colouring their voices. "Do not think of such a place. It does not exist. That is why it is called fantasy. It is a dream, an illusion that man creates in his mind, but can never attain. You are not a part of Fantasy."
"And never can be, my child," the soft voice of the moon caressed the lost woman's mind, easing the startled hurt from the star's reaction. "Reality has you too firmly in her grasp, as she has all men. The fantastical is not a realm you can enter."
"The few men I've met all say that the stars and moon can't talk," the silver and black garbed woman replied as the water crept higher up her legs. They say I live in a fantasy world. Sometimes I think they're right."
"Fantasy world, my child?" the moon asked in her gentle voice. "So that is where you found that word. No, my child, you do not live in a fantasy world and you are not mad either, which is what they really mean. The stars aren't really talking; it is the souls of the learned peoples supported by the stars you hear."
"And you?" the woman couldn't help asking. "Aren't you just a ball of green cheese?"
"A ball of..? No, my child," the moon laughed. "I am a spirit. Some call me Phoebe, some Artemis, and some Diana. I am a servant of Reality, and my home is a celestial sphere of gray rock; not cheese."
"Then that is what I am? A creation of Reality?" the moon's child asked.
"Yes, my child," the moon replied.---pg.s 9 & 10 from Chapter 2 Separated Soul: Moon Child Memoirs Book 1
"What about us?" was their cry. "When are you coming to see us?"
For perhaps a century, maybe less--she lost count of the years after the first five decades--the stars managed to ease the loneliness away. but now a new cry added itself to the struggle in her mind. This one came from the sea. It had no words, yet it spoke of unlimited sorrow. In it were the mournful songs of the humpbacks, the lonely cry of a lost seal pup, and the despairing whistle of a beached dolphin. Somehow, she knew the cries were for her. At first she couldn't understand why they cried. After all, she already was part of the sea, wasn't she? Every moonrise she would emerge with the first virginal touch of the moon's beams upon the water, but not before. Never before.
"Why not before?" she finally cried as she sat upon a partially submerged rock, the black silk petals of her dress and the silver skirt of her robe were pulled by the waves to and fro. "Why can't I exist during the day? I know there is such a time. From where I cannot say, but I do know it exists. Why can't I see the sky when the sun rises?"
"Because you are ours," the multiple cries of the stars replied. "You belong to us. You know this. You have always known this. Your mother is the chaste moon of your world and your father is a storm-tossed sea. You are the Moon's child, so we are your relatives."
"Can this be real?" she finally asked, as a half remembered image of another place, and another time flashed through her mind. "Is this...Reality?"
"What else is there?" answered the stars.
"There is also...I believe there is another realm of existence, one called..." slowly non-decipherable words spoken in an unknown--but familiar--voice became distinguishable, and then faded out once more, but not without leaving something behind. "A place called...Fantasy. The real and the fantastical, they exists side-by-side. Isn't this fantastical?"
"No!" replied the stars, a fierce anger colouring their voices. "Do not think of such a place. It does not exist. That is why it is called fantasy. It is a dream, an illusion that man creates in his mind, but can never attain. You are not a part of Fantasy."
"And never can be, my child," the soft voice of the moon caressed the lost woman's mind, easing the startled hurt from the star's reaction. "Reality has you too firmly in her grasp, as she has all men. The fantastical is not a realm you can enter."
"The few men I've met all say that the stars and moon can't talk," the silver and black garbed woman replied as the water crept higher up her legs. They say I live in a fantasy world. Sometimes I think they're right."
"Fantasy world, my child?" the moon asked in her gentle voice. "So that is where you found that word. No, my child, you do not live in a fantasy world and you are not mad either, which is what they really mean. The stars aren't really talking; it is the souls of the learned peoples supported by the stars you hear."
"And you?" the woman couldn't help asking. "Aren't you just a ball of green cheese?"
"A ball of..? No, my child," the moon laughed. "I am a spirit. Some call me Phoebe, some Artemis, and some Diana. I am a servant of Reality, and my home is a celestial sphere of gray rock; not cheese."
"Then that is what I am? A creation of Reality?" the moon's child asked.
"Yes, my child," the moon replied.---pg.s 9 & 10 from Chapter 2 Separated Soul: Moon Child Memoirs Book 1
EScape to Ellse where: Chapter three
" "I am a High Sorceress of the realm on a mission to discover any defense that could protect us from the Firbolls." She said, with the Ellfs' glottal stop in place of the g. "I came here from the Wind Hill moors to the Emerald Isle to check on my burrowing family members."
"Be your search successful, Sorceress Lady?" the precocious Alberon asked, as he played with several smoky crystals.
"No."
"Would ya ask me father about such a thing?" the boy asked as he arranged the crystals in a large triangle.
"No." Katara replied as she watched the boy play. "Only your twisting tunnels prevented the Firbolls from destroying you. I doubt that the Emerald Islanders possess such a weapon as the Agate Isle requires."
"Mayhap you're right," Alberon sighed. "But mayhap you're wrong. See these stones? I saw a pony die from this smoky crystal. First, she were mad, then a day or so later she were dead. The crystal in her flank were sharp and dark grey. By the time she were dead, the stone had become white."
"This smoky crystal killed a pony?" Katara knelt beside the boy. The lavender and gray petals of her dress cushioned her knees.
"Aye, but the stone ain't new. It were used by the Burrowers when the Traders first came to the isles." Alberon's silver-gray eyes looked into Katara's. "This stone tipped their arrows. They called it Crazy Crystal because it bled madness into the victim before causing death. There were a county that were named after the stone. The region is now known as Granite County."
Katara knew where Granite County was--the Solstice Stones were there. It was an area of dark gray stone at the south-eastern part of the largest isle. According to legend, the Trader people were very aggressive when they first came to the Agate isle, but the Burrowers were more in tune with the land. For forty years or so, they fought the Burrowers for the islands until everyone concerned realized that what the Traders wanted and what the Burrowers wanted were different. The Burrowers were hermit-like diggers with their thoughts in the mines and no knowledge of war. The Traders were gregarious craftsmen with keen intelligence and a sharp eye for a bargain. They had nothing in common, but everything in complement.
The actual race names of the two groups have long since disappeared, around the same time that the Traders ceased the practice of burying weapons and beakers with their dead. The two races were so thoroughly merged that it was impossible to tell one from the other, except in one person. Caraedon was the last king to be completely of Trader blood. In a purely emotional move, he married the daughter of a Burrower. The queen came from the region that provided the bluestone for the giant megalith near the royal palace. She died in that quarry and her last son, Ellfstane, was born in it.---from pgs. 27-29 of Escape to Ellse Where chapter Three.
"Be your search successful, Sorceress Lady?" the precocious Alberon asked, as he played with several smoky crystals.
"No."
"Would ya ask me father about such a thing?" the boy asked as he arranged the crystals in a large triangle.
"No." Katara replied as she watched the boy play. "Only your twisting tunnels prevented the Firbolls from destroying you. I doubt that the Emerald Islanders possess such a weapon as the Agate Isle requires."
"Mayhap you're right," Alberon sighed. "But mayhap you're wrong. See these stones? I saw a pony die from this smoky crystal. First, she were mad, then a day or so later she were dead. The crystal in her flank were sharp and dark grey. By the time she were dead, the stone had become white."
"This smoky crystal killed a pony?" Katara knelt beside the boy. The lavender and gray petals of her dress cushioned her knees.
"Aye, but the stone ain't new. It were used by the Burrowers when the Traders first came to the isles." Alberon's silver-gray eyes looked into Katara's. "This stone tipped their arrows. They called it Crazy Crystal because it bled madness into the victim before causing death. There were a county that were named after the stone. The region is now known as Granite County."
Katara knew where Granite County was--the Solstice Stones were there. It was an area of dark gray stone at the south-eastern part of the largest isle. According to legend, the Trader people were very aggressive when they first came to the Agate isle, but the Burrowers were more in tune with the land. For forty years or so, they fought the Burrowers for the islands until everyone concerned realized that what the Traders wanted and what the Burrowers wanted were different. The Burrowers were hermit-like diggers with their thoughts in the mines and no knowledge of war. The Traders were gregarious craftsmen with keen intelligence and a sharp eye for a bargain. They had nothing in common, but everything in complement.
The actual race names of the two groups have long since disappeared, around the same time that the Traders ceased the practice of burying weapons and beakers with their dead. The two races were so thoroughly merged that it was impossible to tell one from the other, except in one person. Caraedon was the last king to be completely of Trader blood. In a purely emotional move, he married the daughter of a Burrower. The queen came from the region that provided the bluestone for the giant megalith near the royal palace. She died in that quarry and her last son, Ellfstane, was born in it.---from pgs. 27-29 of Escape to Ellse Where chapter Three.
Secret Sorcerer: Chapter 3
"She was trying to kill me again," Feline sighed as he accepted the glass Sapphire gave him. "It is most certain."
"Actually," Sapphire replied as he averted his greyish brown eyes from Feline's gaze. "The Skethryll and his apprentice were surprised by how light her grasp was at the point of impact. They believe she was only using strangulation as a method of abduction."
"What?" Feline's throat felt as if someone had forced him to eat a bowl of sand. He drank some of the water in the goblet, rejoicing in the coolness of the liquid as it eased the burning in his tissues.
"She started to release you as you lost consciousness," Sapphire's oval face held concern in the ageless contours countless millennia had created. "You were correct. Compared to Morrigan, the Skethrylln are not an actual threat to you. I'm sorry."
"Why?"
"I misjudged your reading of the situation," Sapphire sighed as he played with the tatters of his right sleeve. At one time, Sapphire had been a well-muscled man, and a skinny youth. The traces still remained from both within his slim form. "I guess I've spent so much time hating all Paras that I never once thought that there could ever be a stronger, and worse, force out there in the universe."
"I would not actually call her a force," Feline replied as he placed the empty glass on the table. He started to look around the room he was in. He was lying on a bed that was covered by a silk coverlet of rose, and the bedposts were made of rose quartz. The light in the chamber was pink tinged as the windows were made of the same material as the posts only much thinner and in sheets. What little wood was in the place was very pale. "Wait, Sapphire, where am I?'
"Chrystall Ellfaeras," Sapphire replied. "This is your domain within it, the lush gardens of the cat in the south."
"You mean I am back in--?"
"no, at least..." Sapphire paused; a light breeze disturbed the gauzy draperies in the room. "You are back in my galaxy, but not in its Reality, so you haven't broken you oath to the young Skethryll, although you eventually will."
"I fear I do not understand," Feline said as he shifted himself until he was in a sitting position. "I have no intention of ever interfering with, or even entering, his galaxy at any time in the future. It is most perilous at all times."
"That little Skethryll will not let you get away with that, besides," Sapphire sighed, then looked directly into Feline's eyes his gaze was intense. "My cousin's family has grown immensely since the fall of Ancient Ellfaera."
"I do not see what--"
"I can't watch them all," Sapphire rushed in, cutting off Feline's confused protest. "Kendall was one of the few Parapsychologists in the entire bunch, but I made a mistake. I wanted it to be a mortal who selected the chosen one, but he had to be a Skethryll and he had to carry the blood of the Ellfaers. I amended the curse, in a desire for symmetry and stated the One Who Chose also had to be of Kendall's blood and kin. A direct descendant. The thing is, I can't look out for the entire family now, how can I watch over the important one when he comes? Besides, I'll be killed if the Skethrylln pick up any hint of my presence near their stupid Citadel. At least they only want to study and hold you. You're too valuable to them to kill."
"Most reassuring," Feline replied in bitter tones as he tried to stand, only to find he also made himself dizzy. "And I thought the Splitting Spell was bad."
"Also, remember, I said I made a mistake," Sapphire's rather light voice said as his eyes began to gleam.
"I thought you already explained that," Feline replied as he sat back down on the bed as he waited for the room to stop imitating a speeding roundabout.
"No, actually I hadn't," a dull red stained Sapphire's skin as an embarrassed note stained his tone. "my mistake was to make it impossible for an actual Ellfaer to remove the darkness inherent in the power of the Adlamar Spiral. Only a sorcerer from another world can do so, and that sorcerer must belong to the ocean goddess of my wife--."
"Pearl!" Feline exclaimed as the dizziness passed and his thoughts cleared.
"Well, yes," Sapphire said, somewhat confused.
"So that was what Onyx meant," the ex-ambassador muttered to himself. "My apprentice must remove the evil of the Paras, but what does that have to do with me, and why did you say the young Para would not let me--?"
"Any excuse to reclaim you for his Citadel will do," Sapphire sneered. "Besides, your godchild will be involved in the weaving of the spell, unwillingly it's true, but he will be there bside the One Who Was Mistaken."
"My what?" Feline was shocked by the disclosure. "What would any godchild of mine be doing there?"
"That is what I have been trying to ask you." ---from pgs 34, 35, & 36 chapter three Moon Child Memoirs Book II Secret Sorcerer
"Actually," Sapphire replied as he averted his greyish brown eyes from Feline's gaze. "The Skethryll and his apprentice were surprised by how light her grasp was at the point of impact. They believe she was only using strangulation as a method of abduction."
"What?" Feline's throat felt as if someone had forced him to eat a bowl of sand. He drank some of the water in the goblet, rejoicing in the coolness of the liquid as it eased the burning in his tissues.
"She started to release you as you lost consciousness," Sapphire's oval face held concern in the ageless contours countless millennia had created. "You were correct. Compared to Morrigan, the Skethrylln are not an actual threat to you. I'm sorry."
"Why?"
"I misjudged your reading of the situation," Sapphire sighed as he played with the tatters of his right sleeve. At one time, Sapphire had been a well-muscled man, and a skinny youth. The traces still remained from both within his slim form. "I guess I've spent so much time hating all Paras that I never once thought that there could ever be a stronger, and worse, force out there in the universe."
"I would not actually call her a force," Feline replied as he placed the empty glass on the table. He started to look around the room he was in. He was lying on a bed that was covered by a silk coverlet of rose, and the bedposts were made of rose quartz. The light in the chamber was pink tinged as the windows were made of the same material as the posts only much thinner and in sheets. What little wood was in the place was very pale. "Wait, Sapphire, where am I?'
"Chrystall Ellfaeras," Sapphire replied. "This is your domain within it, the lush gardens of the cat in the south."
"You mean I am back in--?"
"no, at least..." Sapphire paused; a light breeze disturbed the gauzy draperies in the room. "You are back in my galaxy, but not in its Reality, so you haven't broken you oath to the young Skethryll, although you eventually will."
"I fear I do not understand," Feline said as he shifted himself until he was in a sitting position. "I have no intention of ever interfering with, or even entering, his galaxy at any time in the future. It is most perilous at all times."
"That little Skethryll will not let you get away with that, besides," Sapphire sighed, then looked directly into Feline's eyes his gaze was intense. "My cousin's family has grown immensely since the fall of Ancient Ellfaera."
"I do not see what--"
"I can't watch them all," Sapphire rushed in, cutting off Feline's confused protest. "Kendall was one of the few Parapsychologists in the entire bunch, but I made a mistake. I wanted it to be a mortal who selected the chosen one, but he had to be a Skethryll and he had to carry the blood of the Ellfaers. I amended the curse, in a desire for symmetry and stated the One Who Chose also had to be of Kendall's blood and kin. A direct descendant. The thing is, I can't look out for the entire family now, how can I watch over the important one when he comes? Besides, I'll be killed if the Skethrylln pick up any hint of my presence near their stupid Citadel. At least they only want to study and hold you. You're too valuable to them to kill."
"Most reassuring," Feline replied in bitter tones as he tried to stand, only to find he also made himself dizzy. "And I thought the Splitting Spell was bad."
"Also, remember, I said I made a mistake," Sapphire's rather light voice said as his eyes began to gleam.
"I thought you already explained that," Feline replied as he sat back down on the bed as he waited for the room to stop imitating a speeding roundabout.
"No, actually I hadn't," a dull red stained Sapphire's skin as an embarrassed note stained his tone. "my mistake was to make it impossible for an actual Ellfaer to remove the darkness inherent in the power of the Adlamar Spiral. Only a sorcerer from another world can do so, and that sorcerer must belong to the ocean goddess of my wife--."
"Pearl!" Feline exclaimed as the dizziness passed and his thoughts cleared.
"Well, yes," Sapphire said, somewhat confused.
"So that was what Onyx meant," the ex-ambassador muttered to himself. "My apprentice must remove the evil of the Paras, but what does that have to do with me, and why did you say the young Para would not let me--?"
"Any excuse to reclaim you for his Citadel will do," Sapphire sneered. "Besides, your godchild will be involved in the weaving of the spell, unwillingly it's true, but he will be there bside the One Who Was Mistaken."
"My what?" Feline was shocked by the disclosure. "What would any godchild of mine be doing there?"
"That is what I have been trying to ask you." ---from pgs 34, 35, & 36 chapter three Moon Child Memoirs Book II Secret Sorcerer
Separated Soul: Chapter 3
" "A formidable task?" he muttered to himself, and then called to the presence in his mind. "My sponsor hinted that the moon and Reality might remove her from this world to limit my control over her mind. Do you think it is possible? She said it happened before."
"Yes, my friend, it did but I doubt it will happen here," Unicorn sighed. "You see, that galaxy was completely different from this one."
"Different?" Feline asked of the goddess who spoke in his mind.
"Yes," she sighed. "You see, Reality controlled that galaxy. There was only one instance of sorcery anywhere in it. The sorcery belonged to a cluster of our children on one solitary planet. There were no Fates there and Fortune didn't exist. Reality was offended by or powerful children who exhibited no measurable characteristics of power until they transmorphed a being into a toad. Reality didn't ,like that one little bit. So, it created another power that could be charted and measured by mind graphs or some other scientific means from birth.That specific power was unique to that galaxy as several of the others tended to include small vestiges of Fantasy throughout. The problem was reality itself did not have the power to do what it desired."
"So, it did not do as it wished?" the multi-named Feline asked of the divine voice in his mind.
"On the contrary, it did pull it off," Unicorn replied.
"Well, how?"
"It chased us away, hounded us if you prefer, until all but one sorcerer was gone," she sighed. Obviously she found the memory to be quite painful. "Not all of our children were sorcerers, in fact this is the first time we've allowed all of our children to possess magical powers. Generally, after we leave, the sorcerers and to a lesser extent their weaker aides, handle all calls upon magic our children make, but I digress. As it happens, Reality didn't want all of our children out of the way, just the sorcerers and their helpers. It created a planet-wide outcry and arranged the slaughter of all our witches, warlocks, wizards, and sorcerers, except one.
"Reality itself confronted that survivor and demanded its measurable power in exchange for his life. Reality even went so far as to threaten the lives of the non-magical followers of the High Sorcerer it caught, for that was the sorcerer's rank. It was too much for him. He reluctantly agreed and created a power that could only be described as super-natural, as it could manipulate the natural plane, to a point. Reality thought it won, but our sorcerers were not fools. He placed an inherent evil in that power and a strict set of rules. You see, he knew Reality was going to eliminate him and he was a firm believer of justice. Reality did dispose of him as soon as it got the chance and then released the rest of our children to follow its dictates. We never went back."
"What happened to your non-magical children?" Feline asked the melancholy voice. "Did they forget the High Sorcerer who surrendered so much to protect them?"
"No, Feline, as far as I know they never did," Unicorn's voice sounded confused as she spoke to him. "Blue-Stone went back once just to check and found a bizarre situation. The survivors did not forget the high Sorcerer who saved their lives. In fact, they remembered him only too well. They spread tales of the sorcerers' powers. Hours were spent describing each article of a sorcerer's skill until the very words were branded into the minds of the planet's entire populace. It's a common, easily alluded to, idea that found its way into everyday folk-lore. The people of that world still describe those with power as 'sorcerers' and I don't think it will ever stop."
"You said that Blue-Stone went back to check," the pink-robed High Sorcerer said as an idea popped into his brain. "Was the sorcerer Blue-Stone's High Sorcerer, by any chance?"
"No, Love," Unicorn sighed deeply, "I'm sorry to say he was mine."
"Unicorn, I am most truly sorry," Feline--which was not his true name--could not believe he would make such a callus mistake. "I did not mean to upset you. Please, Most Illustrious Goddess, accept my most extreme apologies."
"It's all right, Love," Unicorn sighed as her thoughts began to sound distant. "You did not know."
"These other ones, the ones with the measurable power," he said quickly, to change the subject. "Can they do what we can?"
"Of course they can't!" Unicorn laughed. "Reality won't let them. Only a sorcerer can halt the sun, alter time, resurrect the dead, hop from one universe to another, skip dimensions and control the very fabric of Reality. That's why it hates you so much."-- from Moon Child Memoirs: Separated soul, pgs 26-27 Chapter 3
"Yes, my friend, it did but I doubt it will happen here," Unicorn sighed. "You see, that galaxy was completely different from this one."
"Different?" Feline asked of the goddess who spoke in his mind.
"Yes," she sighed. "You see, Reality controlled that galaxy. There was only one instance of sorcery anywhere in it. The sorcery belonged to a cluster of our children on one solitary planet. There were no Fates there and Fortune didn't exist. Reality was offended by or powerful children who exhibited no measurable characteristics of power until they transmorphed a being into a toad. Reality didn't ,like that one little bit. So, it created another power that could be charted and measured by mind graphs or some other scientific means from birth.That specific power was unique to that galaxy as several of the others tended to include small vestiges of Fantasy throughout. The problem was reality itself did not have the power to do what it desired."
"So, it did not do as it wished?" the multi-named Feline asked of the divine voice in his mind.
"On the contrary, it did pull it off," Unicorn replied.
"Well, how?"
"It chased us away, hounded us if you prefer, until all but one sorcerer was gone," she sighed. Obviously she found the memory to be quite painful. "Not all of our children were sorcerers, in fact this is the first time we've allowed all of our children to possess magical powers. Generally, after we leave, the sorcerers and to a lesser extent their weaker aides, handle all calls upon magic our children make, but I digress. As it happens, Reality didn't want all of our children out of the way, just the sorcerers and their helpers. It created a planet-wide outcry and arranged the slaughter of all our witches, warlocks, wizards, and sorcerers, except one.
"Reality itself confronted that survivor and demanded its measurable power in exchange for his life. Reality even went so far as to threaten the lives of the non-magical followers of the High Sorcerer it caught, for that was the sorcerer's rank. It was too much for him. He reluctantly agreed and created a power that could only be described as super-natural, as it could manipulate the natural plane, to a point. Reality thought it won, but our sorcerers were not fools. He placed an inherent evil in that power and a strict set of rules. You see, he knew Reality was going to eliminate him and he was a firm believer of justice. Reality did dispose of him as soon as it got the chance and then released the rest of our children to follow its dictates. We never went back."
"What happened to your non-magical children?" Feline asked the melancholy voice. "Did they forget the High Sorcerer who surrendered so much to protect them?"
"No, Feline, as far as I know they never did," Unicorn's voice sounded confused as she spoke to him. "Blue-Stone went back once just to check and found a bizarre situation. The survivors did not forget the high Sorcerer who saved their lives. In fact, they remembered him only too well. They spread tales of the sorcerers' powers. Hours were spent describing each article of a sorcerer's skill until the very words were branded into the minds of the planet's entire populace. It's a common, easily alluded to, idea that found its way into everyday folk-lore. The people of that world still describe those with power as 'sorcerers' and I don't think it will ever stop."
"You said that Blue-Stone went back to check," the pink-robed High Sorcerer said as an idea popped into his brain. "Was the sorcerer Blue-Stone's High Sorcerer, by any chance?"
"No, Love," Unicorn sighed deeply, "I'm sorry to say he was mine."
"Unicorn, I am most truly sorry," Feline--which was not his true name--could not believe he would make such a callus mistake. "I did not mean to upset you. Please, Most Illustrious Goddess, accept my most extreme apologies."
"It's all right, Love," Unicorn sighed as her thoughts began to sound distant. "You did not know."
"These other ones, the ones with the measurable power," he said quickly, to change the subject. "Can they do what we can?"
"Of course they can't!" Unicorn laughed. "Reality won't let them. Only a sorcerer can halt the sun, alter time, resurrect the dead, hop from one universe to another, skip dimensions and control the very fabric of Reality. That's why it hates you so much."-- from Moon Child Memoirs: Separated soul, pgs 26-27 Chapter 3
EScape to Ellse Where: Chapter 4
Katara passed the linen leaf she held to the king, who scanned it, then handed it to Hyllaell. Both turned a funny colour as they read the page. Katara saw this as a good sign.
"Daughter, do you propose that we actually use this as a defense?" Hyllaell asked as the king made gagging sounds in his throat.
"I do," Katara said. She looked down at Alberon, smiled, and then added. "I also propose that we use the arrows tipped with Crazy Crystals."
"Crazy Crystals?" Hyllaell asked of his grinning daughter. "What do you mean?"
"I mean the crystals that drive a person crazy as they destroy that person's nervous system." Her sapphire-hued eyes glinted as she looked at the king. "Like the crystal that killed Queen Allaella by causing her fall into that quarry. They're easy to find. Just search for a crystal that looks like Ellfstane's eyes."
"This weapon," Hyllaell asked, "what is it called?"
"Ellfshot," Alberon replied. "So your worships, what d'you say?"
"I vote aye," said Hyllaell.
"Then so do I," the king responded. "The king votes aye."
"Thanks, your worships," Alberon said, before Katara could answer. "Katara, can I play with your amethyst unicorn now?"
"Yes, you can," Katara said through her smile. "Pardon me, your Excellencies, but the child wishes his reward for his part of the discoveries."
"You may retire, Sorceress Katara," the king replied. Alberon tugged on Katara's hand hard enough to pull her off-balance.
Alberon and Katara ran back through the palace and up the twelve flights of stairs in the tower. By the time they had reached her door, she was certain that she had become a candidate for heart failure. Alberon made a dash for her down-filled chair and threw himself into it. Katara saw Ellfstane on her stool with a piece of linen in his hand. There was a frown on his face and the joyous violet colour disappeared from his eyes. When she thought her legs had recovered from her run, she walked over to the table.
"What's on that page?" she asked as she came up behind the king's second son.
"It is a spell," Ellfstane's voice was emotionless, a mere ghost of his usually vibrant tone. "The Burrowers created it in case the Traders refused the peace treaty. This spell turns a tunnel or cavern into a separate world. It seals the user into the earth. The person in this bubble has air to breath, grass beneath his feet, and a sky above his head, and all of it is below the ground."
"Why does that depress you?" she asked as she read the cryptic script on the linen square.
"What if we have to use this?" Ellfstane asked, as a small snore came from the vicinity of the chair.--pgs. 40-41 chapter 4 of Escape to Ellse Where, book one of the Ellfaerran Diaries.
"Daughter, do you propose that we actually use this as a defense?" Hyllaell asked as the king made gagging sounds in his throat.
"I do," Katara said. She looked down at Alberon, smiled, and then added. "I also propose that we use the arrows tipped with Crazy Crystals."
"Crazy Crystals?" Hyllaell asked of his grinning daughter. "What do you mean?"
"I mean the crystals that drive a person crazy as they destroy that person's nervous system." Her sapphire-hued eyes glinted as she looked at the king. "Like the crystal that killed Queen Allaella by causing her fall into that quarry. They're easy to find. Just search for a crystal that looks like Ellfstane's eyes."
"This weapon," Hyllaell asked, "what is it called?"
"Ellfshot," Alberon replied. "So your worships, what d'you say?"
"I vote aye," said Hyllaell.
"Then so do I," the king responded. "The king votes aye."
"Thanks, your worships," Alberon said, before Katara could answer. "Katara, can I play with your amethyst unicorn now?"
"Yes, you can," Katara said through her smile. "Pardon me, your Excellencies, but the child wishes his reward for his part of the discoveries."
"You may retire, Sorceress Katara," the king replied. Alberon tugged on Katara's hand hard enough to pull her off-balance.
Alberon and Katara ran back through the palace and up the twelve flights of stairs in the tower. By the time they had reached her door, she was certain that she had become a candidate for heart failure. Alberon made a dash for her down-filled chair and threw himself into it. Katara saw Ellfstane on her stool with a piece of linen in his hand. There was a frown on his face and the joyous violet colour disappeared from his eyes. When she thought her legs had recovered from her run, she walked over to the table.
"What's on that page?" she asked as she came up behind the king's second son.
"It is a spell," Ellfstane's voice was emotionless, a mere ghost of his usually vibrant tone. "The Burrowers created it in case the Traders refused the peace treaty. This spell turns a tunnel or cavern into a separate world. It seals the user into the earth. The person in this bubble has air to breath, grass beneath his feet, and a sky above his head, and all of it is below the ground."
"Why does that depress you?" she asked as she read the cryptic script on the linen square.
"What if we have to use this?" Ellfstane asked, as a small snore came from the vicinity of the chair.--pgs. 40-41 chapter 4 of Escape to Ellse Where, book one of the Ellfaerran Diaries.
Secret Sorcerer: Chapter 4
"I will require a spy in the southern Saxon's camp," Purrae replied, his voice lost its sing-song cadence and became very direct. "I have arranged for one to infiltrate York, so that will not be a problem. The best time to spy is at night, when they will be gathering to discuss their plans. I cannot do it as I am keeping watch over La Lune herself and Huge will be in the north, as he is my usual spy. Moon Child, you already know enough to act as my southern watcher; that is my point."
"You want me to spy on people?" Moon Child was aghast.
"If you would not mind," Purrae replied as his navy blue eyes became black once again, and a pink glow entered his pupils.
"You want me to become invisible and listen to their plans?" she pressed. "Or use the flowing waves to see if any are planning a rebellion, right?"
"That is most correct," Purrae's voice and expression were both sombre. He knew what he was asking of her and all it entailed. "I would not ask, except it is the only way to overturn L'Enfant de La Lune's attempts to destroy Uther, Ambrosius, and Merlinus Pendragon."
"Merlin!"
"Yes, great Moon Goddess, Merlin," Purrae sighed and looked up at the calcium cliffs. "My other pupil is the son of King Ambrosius, albeit an illegitimate one, incapable of ruling."
"Well, it's obvious your days as an ambassador have not been forgotten," Phoebe Artemis sneered.
"I'll do it, then," Moon Child replied.
"What?" the moon shrieked.
"I'll spy on the southern Saxons, on one condition," it hurt Moon Child to see Purrae's face fall from hope to caution the way it did, but she needed to take that one chance of returning her life to normal. "I'll be your watcher only if you agree to continue as my tutor."
"I beg your pardon?" Purrae stepped back as he turned, his sandy cloak in one hand, and stared at Moon Child.
"I said I'd do it only as long as you continue to instruct me in the ways of Sorcery," she was proud of the firmness in her voice, it didn't once betray her bone deep fear. "You stop teaching me and your source of southern Saxon information will dry up."
"Very well," he replied as he shook sand out of the black materiel and flung it over his right shoulder. "I will continue to tempt fate and the entity who rules Reality by being your sorcery master in exchange for information about the Saxons. I can see your realistic guardians have given you the mercenary edge all prosaic people possess when they deeal with Fantasy's enchanters."
"I'll do what I have to, Master Purrae," she replied as relief coursed through her. She got him back.--pgs. 48-49 Moon Child Memoirs book two: Secret Sorcerer chapter 4
Separated Soul Chapter 4
""Murdered?" Shadow's Dawn , who was Feline, could not keep the astonishment out of his voice as he spoke and bolted upright on the bed. "You mean you are dead?"
"Well, not exactly," La Lune replied, her voice sounded confused as if she herself did not truly comprehend what she was attempting to explain. "You see, it didn't work, not completely anyway. So, I'm stuck halfway between life and death with no way of completing the journey in either direction."
"You still eat and sleep," Feline said, in an attempt to force her into saying more.
"Only when you're here," She replied with a weary sigh. "Or when company is due. It puts them at ease somewhat, lowering some of their suspicions and their defenses. This way they don't realize they can't kill me."
"Because you are already dead?" Feline asked his voice soft in sympathy. Death was a state he never wanted to learn about first hand.
"Something like that," she smiled the sad smile Porpoise always used. It caused a terrible pain in Feline's chest to see it on La Lune's face.
"What about the Celt?" Feline asked, although he knew the answer. He just wanted to ease that pain in his heart and erase his late friend's expression from La Lune's lips. "Was he the one who tried to end your life?"
"No, he didn't and neither did any of his relations," she sighed, and then her face contorted with defiance. "But a Celt did try to steal my life and it's the thought that counts!"--from pages 34-35 of Moon Child Memoirs book 1: Separated Soul chapter 4.
"Well, not exactly," La Lune replied, her voice sounded confused as if she herself did not truly comprehend what she was attempting to explain. "You see, it didn't work, not completely anyway. So, I'm stuck halfway between life and death with no way of completing the journey in either direction."
"You still eat and sleep," Feline said, in an attempt to force her into saying more.
"Only when you're here," She replied with a weary sigh. "Or when company is due. It puts them at ease somewhat, lowering some of their suspicions and their defenses. This way they don't realize they can't kill me."
"Because you are already dead?" Feline asked his voice soft in sympathy. Death was a state he never wanted to learn about first hand.
"Something like that," she smiled the sad smile Porpoise always used. It caused a terrible pain in Feline's chest to see it on La Lune's face.
"What about the Celt?" Feline asked, although he knew the answer. He just wanted to ease that pain in his heart and erase his late friend's expression from La Lune's lips. "Was he the one who tried to end your life?"
"No, he didn't and neither did any of his relations," she sighed, and then her face contorted with defiance. "But a Celt did try to steal my life and it's the thought that counts!"--from pages 34-35 of Moon Child Memoirs book 1: Separated Soul chapter 4.
Escape to ellse where: chapter 5
The wielder of this spell could design the lower, or inner, world to his or her liking. Only human food crops could not be changed. This meant that said spell-caster could populate the underground world with purple ponies, rainbow rooks, and orange oysters. These bizarre creatures could stand in fields of crimson clover, on burgundy branches, and in saffron seas.
Thankfully, Katara did not get that carried away with her interior decorating, yet. I can only hope things stay just
mildly weird.
I read the sheet twice. One thought was at the top on my mind: we may have to use this. I also remembered the commands that Katara issued just before I left for my Majority Ritual. I had followed all but one of her orders--I had not taken refuge in a deserted mine or empty cave. I would like to say that my failure to comply was due to my compelling sense of duty to my people, but the simple truth is that I forgot. It completely slipped my mind until the moment that I read that spell sheet.
As I sat there remembering the instructions that I had forgotten, and my realization of Caraell's duplicity, Katara's scrying mirror came to life. The midnight black glass faded into a pearl gray. The center of the glass cleared and displayed a disheartening scene: I was using the Burrower's separate world spell.
The mage held for about a minute and thirty seconds, and then the glass went dark so suddenly that i dropped the linen sheet. While I was retrieving the square of unbleached linen, I became aware that this spell was important and that my people may have to use it. That thought was extremely depressing. With each passing second, my mood got darker and more forbidding. Not even the blur of Alberon throwing himself into Katara's only chair helped my mood. I was so wrapped up in my depression that I did not hear Katara enter the room.
I am sure I jumped a good six inches when I heard her voice behind me. My mood was so dark, I don't even know what was said except for the last part of the conversation. I am pretty sure that I gave voice to my fear concerning the spell I had found, for I definitely remember Katara answering my internal question.
"We already have two effective weapons. We won't need this," she said.
Katara sounded so sure of herself that I found myself nodding, despite my dark and depressing vision.
I hate to say it, but she did not dispel my mood. After the tower incident, I realized that I could not be suicidal. It was extremely selfish of me to feel that way. every day reports of more villages and towns falling to the Firbolgs and their Fomorii masters crossed my father's desk. Soon we wouldn't have as much as an acre to call our own. I should have been thinking of those poor Ellfs who were no more instead of myself.
Katara told me about her meeting with the king and her father. She told me how Caraell acted and how the impertinent Alberon handled his first encounter with a powerful man. I barely even smiled. I am certain now that Alberon changed my father's opinion of Katara. Her report cheered me up somewhat, especially when she told me to build a new palace that was all one level. In many ways, I am glad that my depression did not lift.
When I left Katara's workroom, my mind was still stuck on that spell I had found and the vision I saw in her mirror. Caraell was waiting for me at the base of the stairs. If I had not been so wrapped up in what had happened to me in that room while Katara was gone, I would probably have turned and tried to sprint back up the stairs. AS it was, all Caraell had to do was grab my elbow and steer me out of the palace. It was not until a drop of rain fell on my nose that I noticed I was no longer in my father's nice warm hall or in the spell-protected parameters of the castle grounds. When I came out of my fog, I realized that I could not even see it. I stopped walking.
This angered Caraell. After I had turned and started to walk back home, my brother grabbed both of my arms above the elbow, hauled me around, and forced me to walk in front of him up a little-used path. Just beyond the bend in the path stood the Firbolg who spat on my boot that first day; he held a rope and a canvas sack in one hand and a knife in the other. When he saw Caraell, he sheathed his knife and held out his hand.
Caraell pushed me toward the Firbolg and said, "I have kept my part of the bargain, now keep yours."
"Don't you worry, Caraell," the Firbolg replied as he grabbed the front of my jerkin. "A deal with Balor in always honored."
I did not wait to see or hear anything else. I pictured lovely ivy vines wrapping around both of them, ensuring my freedom. Neither man noticed me softly saying the release phrase, nor did the notice the vines that grew up their bodies until the vines tightened to a stranglehold. As soon as the Firbolg's grip on my jerkin loosened, I tore free and ran back down the path. As I ran, I spotted a crevice that would just barely allow me to enter. The rowan tree that stood next to it was a familiar one. The crevice opened up into a fair-sized cave that Katara and I used to play in as children. If it had been any other day, I would probably have run past the crevice and continued on to the dubious safety of the palace. Since the spell I had read and worried about was still fresh in my mind, it dictated my actions.
I squeezed myself into the crevice, through the tunnel, and into the dark, damp cave. When I heard my brother's voice just outside the crevice, I hastily built up an image in my mind and used the release word of the spell, which sealed the back of the crevice. It worked quite well, despite the purple ponies, rainbow rooks and red foliage.----from pgs. 54-57 chapter 5 Escape to Ellse Where, Book 1 of the Ellfaerran Diaries
Thankfully, Katara did not get that carried away with her interior decorating, yet. I can only hope things stay just
mildly weird.
I read the sheet twice. One thought was at the top on my mind: we may have to use this. I also remembered the commands that Katara issued just before I left for my Majority Ritual. I had followed all but one of her orders--I had not taken refuge in a deserted mine or empty cave. I would like to say that my failure to comply was due to my compelling sense of duty to my people, but the simple truth is that I forgot. It completely slipped my mind until the moment that I read that spell sheet.
As I sat there remembering the instructions that I had forgotten, and my realization of Caraell's duplicity, Katara's scrying mirror came to life. The midnight black glass faded into a pearl gray. The center of the glass cleared and displayed a disheartening scene: I was using the Burrower's separate world spell.
The mage held for about a minute and thirty seconds, and then the glass went dark so suddenly that i dropped the linen sheet. While I was retrieving the square of unbleached linen, I became aware that this spell was important and that my people may have to use it. That thought was extremely depressing. With each passing second, my mood got darker and more forbidding. Not even the blur of Alberon throwing himself into Katara's only chair helped my mood. I was so wrapped up in my depression that I did not hear Katara enter the room.
I am sure I jumped a good six inches when I heard her voice behind me. My mood was so dark, I don't even know what was said except for the last part of the conversation. I am pretty sure that I gave voice to my fear concerning the spell I had found, for I definitely remember Katara answering my internal question.
"We already have two effective weapons. We won't need this," she said.
Katara sounded so sure of herself that I found myself nodding, despite my dark and depressing vision.
I hate to say it, but she did not dispel my mood. After the tower incident, I realized that I could not be suicidal. It was extremely selfish of me to feel that way. every day reports of more villages and towns falling to the Firbolgs and their Fomorii masters crossed my father's desk. Soon we wouldn't have as much as an acre to call our own. I should have been thinking of those poor Ellfs who were no more instead of myself.
Katara told me about her meeting with the king and her father. She told me how Caraell acted and how the impertinent Alberon handled his first encounter with a powerful man. I barely even smiled. I am certain now that Alberon changed my father's opinion of Katara. Her report cheered me up somewhat, especially when she told me to build a new palace that was all one level. In many ways, I am glad that my depression did not lift.
When I left Katara's workroom, my mind was still stuck on that spell I had found and the vision I saw in her mirror. Caraell was waiting for me at the base of the stairs. If I had not been so wrapped up in what had happened to me in that room while Katara was gone, I would probably have turned and tried to sprint back up the stairs. AS it was, all Caraell had to do was grab my elbow and steer me out of the palace. It was not until a drop of rain fell on my nose that I noticed I was no longer in my father's nice warm hall or in the spell-protected parameters of the castle grounds. When I came out of my fog, I realized that I could not even see it. I stopped walking.
This angered Caraell. After I had turned and started to walk back home, my brother grabbed both of my arms above the elbow, hauled me around, and forced me to walk in front of him up a little-used path. Just beyond the bend in the path stood the Firbolg who spat on my boot that first day; he held a rope and a canvas sack in one hand and a knife in the other. When he saw Caraell, he sheathed his knife and held out his hand.
Caraell pushed me toward the Firbolg and said, "I have kept my part of the bargain, now keep yours."
"Don't you worry, Caraell," the Firbolg replied as he grabbed the front of my jerkin. "A deal with Balor in always honored."
I did not wait to see or hear anything else. I pictured lovely ivy vines wrapping around both of them, ensuring my freedom. Neither man noticed me softly saying the release phrase, nor did the notice the vines that grew up their bodies until the vines tightened to a stranglehold. As soon as the Firbolg's grip on my jerkin loosened, I tore free and ran back down the path. As I ran, I spotted a crevice that would just barely allow me to enter. The rowan tree that stood next to it was a familiar one. The crevice opened up into a fair-sized cave that Katara and I used to play in as children. If it had been any other day, I would probably have run past the crevice and continued on to the dubious safety of the palace. Since the spell I had read and worried about was still fresh in my mind, it dictated my actions.
I squeezed myself into the crevice, through the tunnel, and into the dark, damp cave. When I heard my brother's voice just outside the crevice, I hastily built up an image in my mind and used the release word of the spell, which sealed the back of the crevice. It worked quite well, despite the purple ponies, rainbow rooks and red foliage.----from pgs. 54-57 chapter 5 Escape to Ellse Where, Book 1 of the Ellfaerran Diaries
Secret Sorcerer: Chapter 5
A strange rushing sound filled Feline's ears and his spoon dropped from his nerveless fingers. A tickle ran over his scalp, as his hair tried to stand on end. A feeling like melted ice galloped through his body as he slumped in his chair. Feline's eyes began to lose focus as the lids descended over them and his head drifted backward. The touch of the Para's mind eased some of the disputed sorcerer's nervousness, but not all. It was not Morrigan, but it was someone else trying to take control of him.
"Let go, Feline," the Parapsychologist said hypnotically. "Give in. Return to us and be honoured. My masters have agreed no more cages. You will be treated as our guest."
"A great discovery," Sapphire's voice, thick with disgust, broke the hypnotic trance the alien was trying to weave. "They'd be crazy not to use any way they could to keep you in their hands, even honour."
"Don't listen to him, Feline," the Para said as he tried to recreate the web the other sorcerer severed. "You know we won't let you be hurt. You're very valuable to us. You know this."
"As a thing," Sapphire retorted.
"You know the truth is in my mind," the Para replied. "Look in my thoughts and you'll see the truth."
Feline hesitated to do as the alien asked. A memory from the first year the star man tormented the sorcerer surfaced. The extraterrestrial tormentor nearly abducted Feline simply by gaining a hold on the sorcerer's mind. If the alien tried that again Feline would lose all choice. He would be a prisoner on a strange planet once again.
"You are hesitating, why?" there was suspicion in the Para's voice. "What will happen if our minds touch?"
"Nothing," Feline and Sapphire were quick to reply.
"Then why hesitate?" The Para's voice became smooth and coaxing. " If nothing will happen, you have nothing to fear. Look into my thoughts, for they're open to you."
"Very well," Sapphire replied for Feline, "but only a quick touch. Feline is a very busy being and can't spend all day playing games with you.
Reluctantly, Feline sent out a tendril of thought and brushed against the Para's mind. The touch was tenuous, just as the last one had been. From what he could see, the Para was telling the truth, but his oath to the young one rang in Feline's mind. What would that little one do if ever the sorcerer broke his word and returned to that other galaxy?
"He wants you to come back, Feline," the hypnotic voice replied. "The answer's here, in my mind, you just have to look deeper."
As the experiment was free from any of the problems that occurred during the first attemp the sorcerer dared to dive just a little deeper within the Para's mind. What the Para said was indeed there. Still nervous of the alien's motives, Feline tried to pull back, only to find he could not. An overwhelming rush of memories and sensations washed over him as the net of thought sealed around Feline. The Sorcerer's very self began to be drawn into the Para's reality.
"So that's it!" the alien's voice was triumphant. "That's why the ghost sorcerer broke this net once before, and that's why you feared the touch of minds. Come Feline, stop struggling. You can't break this net."
Huge, meanwhile, had become aware that something was wrong. He grabbed Feline's hand and flinched at the icy laxness in the limp limb. A pale lavender haze began to emanate from Feline's body as he began to fade away. The sapphire rabbit, on the other hand, blazed with azure light. Shaking and shouting did nothing to draw Feline bak, and he was becoming less substantial with every shake huge gave him. Finally, the half-breed stopped. He didn't know what to do to reclaim Feline.
"Your friends don't have the power to free you," the voice continued to say in Feline's mind as it drew him away. "You're in too deep. I didn't want to do this to you, my dear Purrae Pollaer alias Feline, but you're not safe here. At least where I am, Reality wants you alive."
The psychic net was so firmly woven around Feline's mental self that he could not move. The alien was right, he could not escape. The last thing Feline wanted to do was go back to that dangerous culture with its spaceships and complex intrigues."
"I wonder," a voice, a very familiar voice, replied. It sounded like Moon Child but it was not and it used La Lune's tones, but it was not the witch either. It was Porpoise.
Aqua mist enveloped the net, dissolving it as a teal tendril wrapped around the sorcerer's soul. There was a mental wrench as the tendril, which was solidifying into a tentacle, pulled Feline out of the dissipating net and the mist of aquamarine.
"Oops, I broke your net," the impish voice of Porpoise, which both of her sides were missing, said gaily as she effortlessly removed her old friend from the Para's mental trap. "Naughty me."
Her sad laughter and twinkling melancholy wrapped around Feline as he returned to his body, which was solid once again. his deep lapis eyes opened to a teal haze, through which he saw the anxious face of his spy and one time friend.
"Feline?" Huge asked as he shook the small man once more. "Are you okay?...---from pgs. 56-58 Moon Child Memoirs book 2: Secret Sorcerer chapter 5.
Separated soul: chapter 5
At first nothing happened. Then, a few moments later, she felt an immense surge of power course through her and exit via the tip of the wand. She just barely felt her hand move to point the crystal tip at her master as the wave of magic crashed through her. The sensation continued for she didn't know how long. It could have been hours, or the merest of moments. When it finally stopped, and she opened her eyes, she found a small green tree frog in the sand by her head. There was something strange about the frog: he had bright pink eyes and they were glowing.
"Very good Moon Child," said the frog, but with Pollaer's voice. "You performed the spell correctly."
"M-master?" she stuttered as she stared at the tiny creature while she rolled onto her knees. "Is that really you? What's wrong with your eyes? Did I do that?"
"Yes, Moon Child, this is me," Pollaer replied solemnly from the lips of the amphibian. "Do not worry about the glow from my eyes, I am creating that. I told you I would prepare for all eventualities."
"So," she said, quite unsure of herself. "What now?"
"Now you shall attempt to change me back," Pollaer replied in a calm voice.
"Now?" her voice came out as a squeak as anxiety clutched at her throat. What if she couldn't change him back? When the frog nodded she took a deep breath and muttered to herself. "Well, I'll give it a try anyway."
"That is all I can possibly ask of you," the amphibious Pollaer said, as if he knew what she was feeling and thinking. "If all else fails I can repair the damage. Now, proceed, Moon Child, for I believe you can do it."
Master Pollaer's belief stilled her anxiety and she concentrated all of her mind on how Pollaer looked before, with his eyes closed and sitting in that awful position. The pulling on her spirit was even stronger than before and the power she felt in her body was stronger as well. She placed her wish for his return to his old form to the forefront of her mind and the power she felt grew even more. Just when she felt herself about to be torn asunder by the power she was tapping, she deliberately pointed her wand in the direction of the frog and practically screamed the keyword.
Even through her closed eyelids she could see the intense light which came from the tip of her wand, as the magical breakers crashed through her body once more. If anything the sensations she felt this time were even more intense. She suddenly understood how sorcerers could lose their minds so frequently. When the last wave of enchantment faded away Moon Child felt drained and spent. She opened her eyes to see Pollaer as he was before the experiment in transformation. The smoothness of his rising as he stood testified to his familiarity with that awful sitting position. His eyes still glowed with that inhuman pink light as he looked down at her and offered her a gloved hand."
"Well done, Moon Child," he smiled as he helped her back onto her feet then dropped her hand and stepped back. The glow from his eyes began to extend to the rest of his body. "I knew you could do it. Now, you wanted to know about stars, did you not? Very simply, they are immense ovoids of cosmic gas that are continually burning. Their heat is dispersed through space to all of the round rocks which orbit them. These rocks are called planets and, sometimes, they are populated by a variety of different beings, even some like us. Will that do child? I know you speak to them quite often. Now, I have something I want to ask you. I am trying to convince the southern Celts to abandon the plains and move west for their own protection. Will you help me to do this?"
"Yes, Master," the stunned, but happy, Moon Child replied. "I'll do whatever you ask of me."
"Thank you, Moon Child," Pollaer said as the light increased until it obscured his body and stung his pupil's eyes. After the light faded, Moon Child could see that Master Pollaer was no longer there.
"Well, Mother," she said as she looked up to the sky. "Is he so insane?"
"YES!" the moon shouted, her voice reeking with anger.
"Are you upset because he knew the answer?" Moon Child could not stop herself from asking. "Or because he spoiled your plan to humiliate him?"
"Both!" the moon said, her voice tinged with frigid anger. "You should've pressed him for an answer at the very beginning. He had time to read your mind the way you handled it. There was no way he could've known the answer on his own!"
"I wonder?" Moon Child said just as the solitary star voice said the same thing. Moon Child felt the oddest sensation in her chest as if some sort of sound was trying to get out, only she did not know what it could possibly be. She wondered if a small man in gold could tell her what it was, only she could put no name to the figure and she definitely did not know who he was.
"There is more to this sorcery than I thought," that lone voice continued. "Perhaps, just perhaps, we were wrong all, this time. He and his bear strict watching from now on."---from pg.s 53-55 Moon Child Memoirs Book I: Separated Soul, chapter 5.
Escape to ellse where: chapter 6
"What is so interesting, Ellf?" The Firbolg's voice was directly behind Caraell. "Why are you staring at the ground?"
"This tree with the crevice next to it was a meeting place for my brother and Katara when they were children," Caraell replied. He showed the Firbolg the tuft of velvet and pointed at the ground. "This tuft of material and small footprint hint that my brother has been this way. The footprint is about his size and the velvet is the same colour as his trousers."
"So then what?" the Firbolg asked. "Did he crawl into the crevice? Did he climb the tree? Did he continue on? How does this help us?"
"The footprints stop here. He did not go any farther on foot," Caraell replied. "He could never climb trees, so he is not there."
"What about the crevice?" the Firbolg demanded. "Could he have wriggled into that? He is incredibly small and that crevice is large."
The Firbolg's question startled Caraell. He hadn't thought about the importance of the crevice. It did look large enough for Ellfstane to enter comfortably. Before his sense of guilt could stop him, Caraell sent out a probing thought. The answer filled him with relief.
"No, he couldn't enter the crevice," Caraell reported his findings to the only sandy-haired Celt to serve the Fomorii. "It's only four inches deep. Not even Ellfstane clould fit into that."
"Then what is the answer?" the Firbolg demanded.
"Earlier I said that my brother had gone no farther on foot."
"So?" the Firbolg asked harshly.
"So, Katara must have changed his form and flown off with him. " Caraell's mind instantly latched onto that explanation. "He's probably back at the palace now. Possibly hidden in Katara's workroom with the child she brought back from the Emerald Isle."
"I shall be back in two days," The sandy-haired Celt waved his dagger under Caraell's nose as he issued his ultimatum. "If your brother has not returned or been found by that time then, to show your good faith to Balor, you shall accompany me back to the encampment of the Firbolgs and will fight alongside the Celts and Fomors that you have given promises to. If you do not do so, then you shall die. Do you understand?"
"It's understood. I shall have Ellfstane here in two days." Caraell's voice was firm and confident as he spoke to the Firbolg. Not a hint of his apprehension escaped to be seen or heard by the burly Celt before him.
"He had better be," the Celt replied, his voice resembled a growl, "or you shall join the fighting forces of the Celts."--- from pg.s 65-66 chapter 6 Ellfaerran Diaries book 1: Escape to Ellse Where.
"This tree with the crevice next to it was a meeting place for my brother and Katara when they were children," Caraell replied. He showed the Firbolg the tuft of velvet and pointed at the ground. "This tuft of material and small footprint hint that my brother has been this way. The footprint is about his size and the velvet is the same colour as his trousers."
"So then what?" the Firbolg asked. "Did he crawl into the crevice? Did he climb the tree? Did he continue on? How does this help us?"
"The footprints stop here. He did not go any farther on foot," Caraell replied. "He could never climb trees, so he is not there."
"What about the crevice?" the Firbolg demanded. "Could he have wriggled into that? He is incredibly small and that crevice is large."
The Firbolg's question startled Caraell. He hadn't thought about the importance of the crevice. It did look large enough for Ellfstane to enter comfortably. Before his sense of guilt could stop him, Caraell sent out a probing thought. The answer filled him with relief.
"No, he couldn't enter the crevice," Caraell reported his findings to the only sandy-haired Celt to serve the Fomorii. "It's only four inches deep. Not even Ellfstane clould fit into that."
"Then what is the answer?" the Firbolg demanded.
"Earlier I said that my brother had gone no farther on foot."
"So?" the Firbolg asked harshly.
"So, Katara must have changed his form and flown off with him. " Caraell's mind instantly latched onto that explanation. "He's probably back at the palace now. Possibly hidden in Katara's workroom with the child she brought back from the Emerald Isle."
"I shall be back in two days," The sandy-haired Celt waved his dagger under Caraell's nose as he issued his ultimatum. "If your brother has not returned or been found by that time then, to show your good faith to Balor, you shall accompany me back to the encampment of the Firbolgs and will fight alongside the Celts and Fomors that you have given promises to. If you do not do so, then you shall die. Do you understand?"
"It's understood. I shall have Ellfstane here in two days." Caraell's voice was firm and confident as he spoke to the Firbolg. Not a hint of his apprehension escaped to be seen or heard by the burly Celt before him.
"He had better be," the Celt replied, his voice resembled a growl, "or you shall join the fighting forces of the Celts."--- from pg.s 65-66 chapter 6 Ellfaerran Diaries book 1: Escape to Ellse Where.
Secret Sorcerer: Chapter 6
The garnets around her throat began to increase in temperature, almost as if they truly became droplets of her blood dripping around her neck. The scent of blood was in her nostrils as a feeling like cold seawater encased her chalk flesh.
"Is that so, little gryphon?" a male voice asked in La Lune's mind.
"Yes," she replied as she raised her other hand to the droplet shaped stones in her necklace, which were once her life fluid.
"Why is that, my gryphon?" the voice asked.
"I feel pain and I'm crying," La Lune replied as the hardness of the stones reassured her. "Next I shall probably blush. All are physically impossible for a witch."
"Did you not hear anything your familiar said to you all those years ago?" his voice was sad, but had a slight happy lilt to it, even though it did sound hesitant.
"About what?" the cold clamminess had her completely in its grasp at that point and everything was darkening. A sense that she went through this once before overwhelmed her.
"You are not a normal witch, my little gryphon," the voice said as La Lune tried to close out the watery darkness before her eyes.
"So he said," she whispered as her old scar began to burn, as if it was new opened and touched by salt.
"You can change sides at any time," the voice replied. "Once, long ago, you were a white witch in the service of others. You lived in opulence and splendour and you died to protect those others, or you would have if someone had not interfered."
"I don't remember that," La Lune replied as weakness leeched her body's resources.
"No, you cannot, as you lost your past with your life," the voice replied as before. "But ask yourself, La Lune, why you remained. Why did you not die when your life ended? The answer could very easily astound you, my gryphon."
The voice faded and disappeared as the words echoed in La Lune's mind. She completely forgot the other mental presence while speaking with the male voice in her mind. The twinkling sadness of the voice surprised her when it spoke.
"So now the Ancient Gryphon himself has entered the scene," the joyous melancholy voice said,
"What's happening?" La Lune whispered, as her consciousness seemed to fade. "Who's Ancient Gryphon?"
"As to the last, he is an archaic god of witchcraft, forgotten by most Ellfs," the joy was gone from the melancholy. "As for the first, you are reliving your death and this time you may actually die."
"No," she gasped as her thoughts began to fade.
"You have obviously not fulfilled your purpose," the voice replied in an unconcerned manner. "And it does not appear that you ever will. Now, you will die."
"What must I do to stop this?" La Lune asked as panic made an attempt to grab her mind. It missed.
"Learn about your past, La Lune," the voice was hard and so like La Lune's own. "You were not always what you are and long ago you had a name--a true name--of your own. You shall learn your purpose then, and perhaps you'll live."
"I'll try," La Lune mumbled. "Please, make this stop."
"Then have courage," the teal voice replied.--from pg.s 68-70 of Moon Child Memoirs Book 2: Secret Sorcerer Chapter 6.
"Is that so, little gryphon?" a male voice asked in La Lune's mind.
"Yes," she replied as she raised her other hand to the droplet shaped stones in her necklace, which were once her life fluid.
"Why is that, my gryphon?" the voice asked.
"I feel pain and I'm crying," La Lune replied as the hardness of the stones reassured her. "Next I shall probably blush. All are physically impossible for a witch."
"Did you not hear anything your familiar said to you all those years ago?" his voice was sad, but had a slight happy lilt to it, even though it did sound hesitant.
"About what?" the cold clamminess had her completely in its grasp at that point and everything was darkening. A sense that she went through this once before overwhelmed her.
"You are not a normal witch, my little gryphon," the voice said as La Lune tried to close out the watery darkness before her eyes.
"So he said," she whispered as her old scar began to burn, as if it was new opened and touched by salt.
"You can change sides at any time," the voice replied. "Once, long ago, you were a white witch in the service of others. You lived in opulence and splendour and you died to protect those others, or you would have if someone had not interfered."
"I don't remember that," La Lune replied as weakness leeched her body's resources.
"No, you cannot, as you lost your past with your life," the voice replied as before. "But ask yourself, La Lune, why you remained. Why did you not die when your life ended? The answer could very easily astound you, my gryphon."
The voice faded and disappeared as the words echoed in La Lune's mind. She completely forgot the other mental presence while speaking with the male voice in her mind. The twinkling sadness of the voice surprised her when it spoke.
"So now the Ancient Gryphon himself has entered the scene," the joyous melancholy voice said,
"What's happening?" La Lune whispered, as her consciousness seemed to fade. "Who's Ancient Gryphon?"
"As to the last, he is an archaic god of witchcraft, forgotten by most Ellfs," the joy was gone from the melancholy. "As for the first, you are reliving your death and this time you may actually die."
"No," she gasped as her thoughts began to fade.
"You have obviously not fulfilled your purpose," the voice replied in an unconcerned manner. "And it does not appear that you ever will. Now, you will die."
"What must I do to stop this?" La Lune asked as panic made an attempt to grab her mind. It missed.
"Learn about your past, La Lune," the voice was hard and so like La Lune's own. "You were not always what you are and long ago you had a name--a true name--of your own. You shall learn your purpose then, and perhaps you'll live."
"I'll try," La Lune mumbled. "Please, make this stop."
"Then have courage," the teal voice replied.--from pg.s 68-70 of Moon Child Memoirs Book 2: Secret Sorcerer Chapter 6.
Separated Soul: Chapter 6
"There is something Familiar about you," an unknown voice said in Feline's mind. "Familiar, and yet not."
"Who are you?" the shape-changing High Sorcerer asked of the voice. He spoke aloud as he did not know in which direction to aim his thoughts.
"You do know that the moon's child speaks to people from other worlds do you not?" the voice asked, in a very superior tone.
"I know she speaks to stars," he replied wearily. "I mean the people of other stars, but what does that have to do with who you are?"
"I am one of those people," was the star man's calm reply.
"I am sorry for being so dense," Feline replied, somewhat uncomfortably, "but why are you speaking to me?"
"You are a controversial issue amongst the star people and the moon deity herself," the star voice replied. "I have been wondering about you for a while, so I decided to get to know you. That is all."
"Controversial?" Feline asked as he stopped and looked up to the lightening sky.
"Many of us do not want you anywhere near the moon's offspring," the star man said, in a conversational tone. "I do not agree with them. I would like to know and understand you before I make any snap judgments about you, or your ability to instruct your moon's daughter in the psychic arts of your world."
"How do you intend to do that, may I ask?" Feline asked with genuine curiosity, although he hoped the alien would keep the explanations short. The sorcerer was very tired and was consumed with a need to sleep.
"I intend to inhabit your mind," the star voice replied, quite calmly. "There is something you are hiding and I think I need to know exactly what it is. So, whether you mind or not, I will make it a habit of examining your deepest,innermost thoughts until I find the secret of your personality."
"What did you just say?!?" Feline exclaimed in shock...and fear. The last thing he wanted, or needed, was for that nosy entity to discover the truth about who Feline really was. It was a discovery that could steal Feline's very life.
"Very interesting, you fear me. You are afraid that I will discover exactly who you and your friends are. I wonder why you want that hidden?" with that statement uttered, the alien left Feline's weary and confused mind.
"What in the world is going on?" Feline asked no one in particular as he rubbed his eyes with the fingers of his right hand.
"Well, you're standin' in a field askin' yourself dumb questions when you're supposed t'be reuniting both halves of our dear departed Porpoise," a decidedly facetious voice replied telepathically. A very familiar voice.
"Shut up, Know-It-All," Feline sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "You do not have the answers to this scenario."
"What scenario?" Know-It-All asked eagerly.
"Someone spoke to me," Feline sighed again as he realized he had just set himself up as Know-It-All's straight man. He released his nose and looked up. He hands dropped to his hips and he shook his head in resignation.
"Someone spoke to you!?!" Know-It-All exclaimed in alarm. "Oh, wait half a sec that was me! I'm so glad we sorted that out."
"Tell me, has anyone ever laughed at these lame jokes of yours?" Feline could not help asking his friend's assistant. "I know Amethyst does not."
"Okay, so who spoke to you?" Know-It-All asked grumpily. "The moon?"
"No," Feline laughed then instantly became serious. "Actually, it was a distant star.
"Yeah, right," Know-It-All grumbled sulkily.
"It was an inhabitant of a distant star," Feline replied adamantly. "It appears Moon Child has become friends with certain members of the celestial bodies.
Just then he realized he was avoiding mentioning the actual conversation that took place. He wanted to talk about it. He needed to warn Amethyst and Rabbit in case that star man found out about them. He felt an overpoweringly desperate need to inform them of the latest turn of events.
"No you don't," that star voice whispered in the sorcerer's mind. "That conversation is just between us. Your friends need never know what we discussed this evening."
Feline felt the web of hypnotism wrap around his mind as the alien spoke. The mystic voice was soft and compelling as it entrapped his thoughts and pulled him away from Know-It-All. In an attempt to break the hypnotist's hold, Feline brought all his sorcery enhanced power to bear in shaving the voice away.
It worked. The hypnotic web of that extraterrestrial mystic's voice swiftly dissolved, but the alien's vocalization powers remained. The difference was that the alien was the one whose voice was shaky and confused.
"Such power," the voice breathed in awed tones, "and so unfamiliar. I must know more about you, but do not tell...Alberon. Know-It-All's true name is Alberon! I must think about this. Oh, and Feline--as you call yourself--I promise I shall not breathe a word of this momentous event to anyone until my study of you is completed. I expect the same professional courtesy from you."
The voice was gone again, but the unease remained. Feline could smell the star-person's victory as he stood frozen on the plain, staring at the jumbled heap of stones that was once a circular structure sacred to his people. It did not take him any time to realize exactly what the alien's victory alluded to. It discovered the identity of one of his friends and colleagues. Maybe even all of them. That voice probably even discovered the truth about his people, all aspects of them. Such information could answer all the extraterrestrial's questions and seal them off from Moon Child for eternity.
"Feline? Hey Feline," Know-It-All's voice broke into his musings. "Are you there? Ellfaera to Feline, come back to Ellse Where."
"Ellse Where," Feline repeated as a germ of a thought entered his mind.---from pg.s 64-67 of Moon Child Memoirs book 1: Separated Soul-- Chapter 6
"Who are you?" the shape-changing High Sorcerer asked of the voice. He spoke aloud as he did not know in which direction to aim his thoughts.
"You do know that the moon's child speaks to people from other worlds do you not?" the voice asked, in a very superior tone.
"I know she speaks to stars," he replied wearily. "I mean the people of other stars, but what does that have to do with who you are?"
"I am one of those people," was the star man's calm reply.
"I am sorry for being so dense," Feline replied, somewhat uncomfortably, "but why are you speaking to me?"
"You are a controversial issue amongst the star people and the moon deity herself," the star voice replied. "I have been wondering about you for a while, so I decided to get to know you. That is all."
"Controversial?" Feline asked as he stopped and looked up to the lightening sky.
"Many of us do not want you anywhere near the moon's offspring," the star man said, in a conversational tone. "I do not agree with them. I would like to know and understand you before I make any snap judgments about you, or your ability to instruct your moon's daughter in the psychic arts of your world."
"How do you intend to do that, may I ask?" Feline asked with genuine curiosity, although he hoped the alien would keep the explanations short. The sorcerer was very tired and was consumed with a need to sleep.
"I intend to inhabit your mind," the star voice replied, quite calmly. "There is something you are hiding and I think I need to know exactly what it is. So, whether you mind or not, I will make it a habit of examining your deepest,innermost thoughts until I find the secret of your personality."
"What did you just say?!?" Feline exclaimed in shock...and fear. The last thing he wanted, or needed, was for that nosy entity to discover the truth about who Feline really was. It was a discovery that could steal Feline's very life.
"Very interesting, you fear me. You are afraid that I will discover exactly who you and your friends are. I wonder why you want that hidden?" with that statement uttered, the alien left Feline's weary and confused mind.
"What in the world is going on?" Feline asked no one in particular as he rubbed his eyes with the fingers of his right hand.
"Well, you're standin' in a field askin' yourself dumb questions when you're supposed t'be reuniting both halves of our dear departed Porpoise," a decidedly facetious voice replied telepathically. A very familiar voice.
"Shut up, Know-It-All," Feline sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "You do not have the answers to this scenario."
"What scenario?" Know-It-All asked eagerly.
"Someone spoke to me," Feline sighed again as he realized he had just set himself up as Know-It-All's straight man. He released his nose and looked up. He hands dropped to his hips and he shook his head in resignation.
"Someone spoke to you!?!" Know-It-All exclaimed in alarm. "Oh, wait half a sec that was me! I'm so glad we sorted that out."
"Tell me, has anyone ever laughed at these lame jokes of yours?" Feline could not help asking his friend's assistant. "I know Amethyst does not."
"Okay, so who spoke to you?" Know-It-All asked grumpily. "The moon?"
"No," Feline laughed then instantly became serious. "Actually, it was a distant star.
"Yeah, right," Know-It-All grumbled sulkily.
"It was an inhabitant of a distant star," Feline replied adamantly. "It appears Moon Child has become friends with certain members of the celestial bodies.
Just then he realized he was avoiding mentioning the actual conversation that took place. He wanted to talk about it. He needed to warn Amethyst and Rabbit in case that star man found out about them. He felt an overpoweringly desperate need to inform them of the latest turn of events.
"No you don't," that star voice whispered in the sorcerer's mind. "That conversation is just between us. Your friends need never know what we discussed this evening."
Feline felt the web of hypnotism wrap around his mind as the alien spoke. The mystic voice was soft and compelling as it entrapped his thoughts and pulled him away from Know-It-All. In an attempt to break the hypnotist's hold, Feline brought all his sorcery enhanced power to bear in shaving the voice away.
It worked. The hypnotic web of that extraterrestrial mystic's voice swiftly dissolved, but the alien's vocalization powers remained. The difference was that the alien was the one whose voice was shaky and confused.
"Such power," the voice breathed in awed tones, "and so unfamiliar. I must know more about you, but do not tell...Alberon. Know-It-All's true name is Alberon! I must think about this. Oh, and Feline--as you call yourself--I promise I shall not breathe a word of this momentous event to anyone until my study of you is completed. I expect the same professional courtesy from you."
The voice was gone again, but the unease remained. Feline could smell the star-person's victory as he stood frozen on the plain, staring at the jumbled heap of stones that was once a circular structure sacred to his people. It did not take him any time to realize exactly what the alien's victory alluded to. It discovered the identity of one of his friends and colleagues. Maybe even all of them. That voice probably even discovered the truth about his people, all aspects of them. Such information could answer all the extraterrestrial's questions and seal them off from Moon Child for eternity.
"Feline? Hey Feline," Know-It-All's voice broke into his musings. "Are you there? Ellfaera to Feline, come back to Ellse Where."
"Ellse Where," Feline repeated as a germ of a thought entered his mind.---from pg.s 64-67 of Moon Child Memoirs book 1: Separated Soul-- Chapter 6
Escape to ellse where: Chapter 7
"There's just one thing that's bugging me." Alberon felt secure in asking his question as the traitor was now gone. "Where's Ellfstane?"
"Somewhere else."
"I know that Sorceress Lady," Alberon muttered. "I meant where is he?" Alberon looked up at the Ellfic Sorceress he'd conned into semi-adopting him. "Somewhere else doesn't help. Where in the world is he?"
"That's the point," Katara replied. "He isn't really in our world any longer. If I am right, he has built himself a new one."
"A new one?" Alberon's confusion was such that his mobile eye stopped moving. "How could he do that? Not to mention why?"
"The why is easy: I told him to do it. As for the rest," Katara paused. "That won't be easy. The how comes from a spell that he discovered while we were introducing the Ellfshot to my father and the king. The where is the difficult part. I have a few ideas about where he could be, but they all depend on the amount of power Ellfstane possesses, and that I don't know."
"Why do you need to know the full extent of Ellfstane's power?" Alberon asked as he searched the impassive face of his new guardian.
"It is likely that he would attempt to remove himself from the areas that are under the Celts' influence. Where he is depends on the amount of distance he can fly or translocate." The only expression that escaped from her statue-like composure was the tapping of her fingernails against the Rhodonite casement. "Prince Ellfstane has hiding places all through the Jeweled Isles. Unfortunately, I only know half of them."
"So what do we do now?" Alberon asked in a small voice.
"We tell King Caraedon that Ellfstane is safe," Katara replied, "and hope that is all he needs to hear. If he asks for more information, or if he needs more to recover from his collapse, then I shall think of some excuse to keep him from discovering our ignorance."
"What about Caraell?"
"I'll keep him from discovering the truth about the traitor until he is recovered from Ellfstane's disappearance," Katara's voice was brisk as she moved away from the window. "It will be time enough to tell him the truth when the younger prince returns. Until then, I don't think the information of that negative kind will help the king. We need Caraedon on his feet and in control. We can't allow him to be incapacitated and he dotes on Caraell--not as much as Ellfstane, but he does love the boy. I don't think he could handle the news that his eldest son had kidnapped and tried to deliver the youngest to the enemy. He certainly won't take the news of Caraell's desertion very well, especially after the disappearance of his youngest son. No, King Caraedon would not be able to handle it."
Alberon nodded slowly as he realized the truth of Katara's arguments. He had to fight his natural inclination to make a sarcastic or funny retort as he looked at her drawn face. The dark shadows under her eyes told him how little sleep she managed to scrounge since Ellfstane's disappearance. Alberon couldn't help wondering how much of her distress was caused by him. In a secluded corner of his mind, Alberon secretly hoped that she had worried about him as a mother is said to do.
"Hey, Sorceress Lady," Alberon called as he walked across the room to the door. "Don't worry, everything will work out in the end. You'll see."---from pg.s 77-79 of The Ellfaerran Diaries book one: Escape To Ellse Where, Chapter 7
"Somewhere else."
"I know that Sorceress Lady," Alberon muttered. "I meant where is he?" Alberon looked up at the Ellfic Sorceress he'd conned into semi-adopting him. "Somewhere else doesn't help. Where in the world is he?"
"That's the point," Katara replied. "He isn't really in our world any longer. If I am right, he has built himself a new one."
"A new one?" Alberon's confusion was such that his mobile eye stopped moving. "How could he do that? Not to mention why?"
"The why is easy: I told him to do it. As for the rest," Katara paused. "That won't be easy. The how comes from a spell that he discovered while we were introducing the Ellfshot to my father and the king. The where is the difficult part. I have a few ideas about where he could be, but they all depend on the amount of power Ellfstane possesses, and that I don't know."
"Why do you need to know the full extent of Ellfstane's power?" Alberon asked as he searched the impassive face of his new guardian.
"It is likely that he would attempt to remove himself from the areas that are under the Celts' influence. Where he is depends on the amount of distance he can fly or translocate." The only expression that escaped from her statue-like composure was the tapping of her fingernails against the Rhodonite casement. "Prince Ellfstane has hiding places all through the Jeweled Isles. Unfortunately, I only know half of them."
"So what do we do now?" Alberon asked in a small voice.
"We tell King Caraedon that Ellfstane is safe," Katara replied, "and hope that is all he needs to hear. If he asks for more information, or if he needs more to recover from his collapse, then I shall think of some excuse to keep him from discovering our ignorance."
"What about Caraell?"
"I'll keep him from discovering the truth about the traitor until he is recovered from Ellfstane's disappearance," Katara's voice was brisk as she moved away from the window. "It will be time enough to tell him the truth when the younger prince returns. Until then, I don't think the information of that negative kind will help the king. We need Caraedon on his feet and in control. We can't allow him to be incapacitated and he dotes on Caraell--not as much as Ellfstane, but he does love the boy. I don't think he could handle the news that his eldest son had kidnapped and tried to deliver the youngest to the enemy. He certainly won't take the news of Caraell's desertion very well, especially after the disappearance of his youngest son. No, King Caraedon would not be able to handle it."
Alberon nodded slowly as he realized the truth of Katara's arguments. He had to fight his natural inclination to make a sarcastic or funny retort as he looked at her drawn face. The dark shadows under her eyes told him how little sleep she managed to scrounge since Ellfstane's disappearance. Alberon couldn't help wondering how much of her distress was caused by him. In a secluded corner of his mind, Alberon secretly hoped that she had worried about him as a mother is said to do.
"Hey, Sorceress Lady," Alberon called as he walked across the room to the door. "Don't worry, everything will work out in the end. You'll see."---from pg.s 77-79 of The Ellfaerran Diaries book one: Escape To Ellse Where, Chapter 7
SEcret Sorcerer: Chapter 7
..."Look at all the facts, Feline," Marigold replied as he backed up Rabbit's statement. "Moon Child's side of her blackmailed you into remaining as her instructor, as for La Lune she's been fixated on you for a while."
"That has nothing to do with--"
"Yes, it does," Rabbit's voice was sharp as he cut Feline off. "The only way for Porpoise to come to your aid is for the two sides to amalgamate, partially at least, and they would bring their perceptions of you with them. As Porpoise, the La Lune side would know that Shadow's Dawn and Pollaer are both you, and she is obsessed with both of your identities."
"What are you trying to tell me Rabbit?" Feline asked as he slid down the side of one of the circle's standing stones.
"You will have to go back, I will not allow your replacement," Rabbit replied. "I know Amethyst will back me up on this. La Lune's obsession could easily result in the return of our dear friend and her entrance into the Spiritual Hall of Pearl's deceased sorcerers and other major enchanters."
"Is there a way to bring back a High Sorceress once she's dead?" the voice of Marigold broke through and entered Feline's mind.
"No," Rabbit sighed.
"Yes," Feline whispered as the words of Onyx the Moth God repeated in his mind,
"What?" Rabbit and Marigold asked in unison.
"There is a way, but it is most ancient," Feline's voice was distant as the memory played in his mind. "It would require at least one mortal whose emotions have been touched by the sorcerer in question. The only problem is how to use this to our advantage, and where to find the mortal we require."
Sapphire's strange request found its way into Feline's mind. There was a possible answer. If a sense of gratitude could be entered into the mind of his future godchild, then he could be used to retrieve Porpoise from the realm of death.
"And he might complete his destiny," the morbid tones of Onyx entered Feline's mind at that point.
"You said that he--"
"Would die before that point," Onyx answered. "There is the chance that he will accept your offer and will ask you to Take him. Once the time is right you would simply awaken him and return the man to his own people. If not, then you would have to resurrect him."
"Is that why Sapphire asked me--?"
"Yes," Onyx replied in grim tones. "Only Porpoise and yourself could ever do what must be done. Sapphire would not be able to resurrect the One Who Will Choose, nor convince him to be Taken."
"I guess I'm staying here then," Marigold sighed. "I have to admit that I really likes Porpoise, and I miss here like anything, but she'd never get fixated on me. Remember, she was walking out with you, Feline, before she was abducted and forcibly wed to that Celt. You two were practically engaged. Deep down, both La Lune and Moon Child know that and the emotions of life have spilled into the perceptions of the Separated Sorceress."
"The what?" Rabbit asked in confusion.
"That's the name Destiny gave Porpoise a long time ago," Marigold muttered. "Pearl told her that she was known to Destiny as the Separated Sorceress, just as Feline here is the Stolen Sorcerer."
The terms were familiar to Feline. Onyx of the Ancient Gods used them back on that distant world in the other fantasy realm... ---from Moon Child Memoirs Book Two: Secret Sorcerer chapter 7 pg.s 83-84
"That has nothing to do with--"
"Yes, it does," Rabbit's voice was sharp as he cut Feline off. "The only way for Porpoise to come to your aid is for the two sides to amalgamate, partially at least, and they would bring their perceptions of you with them. As Porpoise, the La Lune side would know that Shadow's Dawn and Pollaer are both you, and she is obsessed with both of your identities."
"What are you trying to tell me Rabbit?" Feline asked as he slid down the side of one of the circle's standing stones.
"You will have to go back, I will not allow your replacement," Rabbit replied. "I know Amethyst will back me up on this. La Lune's obsession could easily result in the return of our dear friend and her entrance into the Spiritual Hall of Pearl's deceased sorcerers and other major enchanters."
"Is there a way to bring back a High Sorceress once she's dead?" the voice of Marigold broke through and entered Feline's mind.
"No," Rabbit sighed.
"Yes," Feline whispered as the words of Onyx the Moth God repeated in his mind,
"What?" Rabbit and Marigold asked in unison.
"There is a way, but it is most ancient," Feline's voice was distant as the memory played in his mind. "It would require at least one mortal whose emotions have been touched by the sorcerer in question. The only problem is how to use this to our advantage, and where to find the mortal we require."
Sapphire's strange request found its way into Feline's mind. There was a possible answer. If a sense of gratitude could be entered into the mind of his future godchild, then he could be used to retrieve Porpoise from the realm of death.
"And he might complete his destiny," the morbid tones of Onyx entered Feline's mind at that point.
"You said that he--"
"Would die before that point," Onyx answered. "There is the chance that he will accept your offer and will ask you to Take him. Once the time is right you would simply awaken him and return the man to his own people. If not, then you would have to resurrect him."
"Is that why Sapphire asked me--?"
"Yes," Onyx replied in grim tones. "Only Porpoise and yourself could ever do what must be done. Sapphire would not be able to resurrect the One Who Will Choose, nor convince him to be Taken."
"I guess I'm staying here then," Marigold sighed. "I have to admit that I really likes Porpoise, and I miss here like anything, but she'd never get fixated on me. Remember, she was walking out with you, Feline, before she was abducted and forcibly wed to that Celt. You two were practically engaged. Deep down, both La Lune and Moon Child know that and the emotions of life have spilled into the perceptions of the Separated Sorceress."
"The what?" Rabbit asked in confusion.
"That's the name Destiny gave Porpoise a long time ago," Marigold muttered. "Pearl told her that she was known to Destiny as the Separated Sorceress, just as Feline here is the Stolen Sorcerer."
The terms were familiar to Feline. Onyx of the Ancient Gods used them back on that distant world in the other fantasy realm... ---from Moon Child Memoirs Book Two: Secret Sorcerer chapter 7 pg.s 83-84
Separated Soul: Chapter 7
"Offspring of the moon's chaste beam and a storm darkened sea, listen well. Pollaer contrived, with the aid of a friend, to bring word of the dark one's actions to the Southern Celts. Pollaer was exhausted, which was why his associate had to utilize such a dangerous illusion. They managed to evacuate the villagers and escorted them to the hollow mountains. The reason for the subterfuge and evacuation is a woman who calls herself Luna. She is setting the Picts, Romans and Saxons against one another with the Britons and Bretons as the losing parties. She promised to help the Picts, while entertaining offers from the Romans for her magical services, but has instead enticed whole fleets of Saxon pirates to muddy up the waters and create more turmoil in Britannia. She has some sort of hatred aimed at the inhabitants of the southern part of this isle. I do not know why."
"You said that she was a dark one," Moon Child said as a hint of memory tugged at her mind. "I've heard that phrase before. What does it mean?"
"An anti-Reality person, for lack of a better definition," the alien replied. "A dark one rarely follows the Rules of Reality and always embraces the madness of Fantasy."
"Like Pollaer," the moon piped in cheerfully.
"No," the alien's voice was firm as he reprimanded the moon. "Not like Pollaer. Master Pollaer has deeply hidden secrets that is true, but he does not fully embrace Fantasy, despite how much he claims otherwise. He chose the fantastic over the realistic because of the immense pressure he was under. The prejudices of your world drove him to the brink of insanity, which he fully admits. He has not, however fallen into the abyss yet. This other, this Luna is different. Her soul is as black as her gown. Evil resides in her, and nothing else. Master Pollaer is assuredly nothing like her."
"You like to call him 'Master Pollaer,' don't you?" the moon replied snippily.
"He is a master," the extraterrestrial answered in his passive voice. "His mastery is over sorcery, not any ceramic craft, but he is still a master and must be respected and addressed as such, whether you like him or not."
"What makes you an expert on Master Pollaer's mind?" the moon's query was tinged with malice. "Unless you've occasionally become unhinged yourself."
"I was wondering what he was really like, as he hides so much of himself whenever he is here," the alien's voice gave no indication of whether or not he heard the moon's question. "The prejudices of Reality and Fantasy were masking his personality, making it impossible for me to read. He is hiding something. Buried in his mind are the whereabouts of the mad sorcerers and a race of humans who have sought refuge with the insane disciples of Fantasy. Something must have convinced an entire nation of the sorcerers' kindness of heart. A vast amount of knowledge is missing from Reality's view of the sorcerers and Pollaer is the key."
"Why do you want to know about them?" Moon Child asked the celestial entity. "Why are you concentrating on Master Pollaer?"
"He is the only sorcerer we have access to," the star-voice replied in calm tones. "When there is a question raised it is necessary to do research to answer the unknown. Pollaer's mind is both the unknown quantity and the research equipment."
"Pollaer's mind is not just some scroll you can pick up and peruse in the Library of Alexandria," Moon Child retorted in the heat of anger. She felt a pressing desire to protect the honor of her Master, despite the slurs of the stars and her celestial parent. "His brain is that of a human being, an intelligent and sapient creature. How would you like it if someone came along and examined your innermost thoughts as if you were just an interesting play to be read?"
"My dear child," the alien chuckled softly. "My masters did so every chance they got. They claimed that it was necessary in determining advancement in my chosen field. I am of a sentient race, and highly intelligent, just like your friend. Such considerations did not stop my masters, and it will not stop me either."
"Why not?" Moon Child demanded.
"Pollaer holds many secrets that could reveal not only the nature of Fantasy, but Reality as well," the alien's voice was patient as he spoke. It was also cultured and refined; not too different from Pollaer's.
"Pollaer's mind knows nothing about Reality!" the moon replied in a tart voice. "He's insane. He has always been insane, and he will die insane. Everyone who has ever had the misfortune to come in contact with a sorcerer knows that."
"Are you trying to defend Master Pollaer from my research?" the alien's refined and beautifully modulated voice took on a sharp edge. "Or is it Reality you seek to protect? Which one is at fault I wonder?"---from Moon Child Memoirs Book 1: Separated Soul Chapter seven, pg.s 72-74
"You said that she was a dark one," Moon Child said as a hint of memory tugged at her mind. "I've heard that phrase before. What does it mean?"
"An anti-Reality person, for lack of a better definition," the alien replied. "A dark one rarely follows the Rules of Reality and always embraces the madness of Fantasy."
"Like Pollaer," the moon piped in cheerfully.
"No," the alien's voice was firm as he reprimanded the moon. "Not like Pollaer. Master Pollaer has deeply hidden secrets that is true, but he does not fully embrace Fantasy, despite how much he claims otherwise. He chose the fantastic over the realistic because of the immense pressure he was under. The prejudices of your world drove him to the brink of insanity, which he fully admits. He has not, however fallen into the abyss yet. This other, this Luna is different. Her soul is as black as her gown. Evil resides in her, and nothing else. Master Pollaer is assuredly nothing like her."
"You like to call him 'Master Pollaer,' don't you?" the moon replied snippily.
"He is a master," the extraterrestrial answered in his passive voice. "His mastery is over sorcery, not any ceramic craft, but he is still a master and must be respected and addressed as such, whether you like him or not."
"What makes you an expert on Master Pollaer's mind?" the moon's query was tinged with malice. "Unless you've occasionally become unhinged yourself."
"I was wondering what he was really like, as he hides so much of himself whenever he is here," the alien's voice gave no indication of whether or not he heard the moon's question. "The prejudices of Reality and Fantasy were masking his personality, making it impossible for me to read. He is hiding something. Buried in his mind are the whereabouts of the mad sorcerers and a race of humans who have sought refuge with the insane disciples of Fantasy. Something must have convinced an entire nation of the sorcerers' kindness of heart. A vast amount of knowledge is missing from Reality's view of the sorcerers and Pollaer is the key."
"Why do you want to know about them?" Moon Child asked the celestial entity. "Why are you concentrating on Master Pollaer?"
"He is the only sorcerer we have access to," the star-voice replied in calm tones. "When there is a question raised it is necessary to do research to answer the unknown. Pollaer's mind is both the unknown quantity and the research equipment."
"Pollaer's mind is not just some scroll you can pick up and peruse in the Library of Alexandria," Moon Child retorted in the heat of anger. She felt a pressing desire to protect the honor of her Master, despite the slurs of the stars and her celestial parent. "His brain is that of a human being, an intelligent and sapient creature. How would you like it if someone came along and examined your innermost thoughts as if you were just an interesting play to be read?"
"My dear child," the alien chuckled softly. "My masters did so every chance they got. They claimed that it was necessary in determining advancement in my chosen field. I am of a sentient race, and highly intelligent, just like your friend. Such considerations did not stop my masters, and it will not stop me either."
"Why not?" Moon Child demanded.
"Pollaer holds many secrets that could reveal not only the nature of Fantasy, but Reality as well," the alien's voice was patient as he spoke. It was also cultured and refined; not too different from Pollaer's.
"Pollaer's mind knows nothing about Reality!" the moon replied in a tart voice. "He's insane. He has always been insane, and he will die insane. Everyone who has ever had the misfortune to come in contact with a sorcerer knows that."
"Are you trying to defend Master Pollaer from my research?" the alien's refined and beautifully modulated voice took on a sharp edge. "Or is it Reality you seek to protect? Which one is at fault I wonder?"---from Moon Child Memoirs Book 1: Separated Soul Chapter seven, pg.s 72-74
EScape To Ellse where: Chapter 8
"How will we know that Ellfstane remains safe if we don't know where he is?"
"I'll know," Katara replied as the certainty struck her that she would indeed know.
"How?" her father demanded. "Has he perchance developed the obscure power of telepathy?"
"Yes," Katara answered despitte the fact that she believed otherwise. "He does have the power of telepathy." AS soon as she finished speaking a strange thought, which was almost like Ellfstane's voice, entered her mind.
"I do, you know," said the thought.
"Do what?" Katara asked in her mind.
"Have the power of telepathy," responded the mental voice, which was what that stray thought turned out to be. "So have you."
"Ellfstane, is that you?" Katara asked in her mind.
"Yes." The psychic voice replied.
"Where are you?"
"Somewhere else."
"Did you place that inhibition on the Separate World Spell?" Katara asked. "I tried to tell Hyllaell about it and something tried to hold the words back. The same something just completely erased the spell from my father's mind."
"It was not me," Ellfstane's mental voice replied. "Come to think of it, Alberon fell asleep when we were discussing it, and something made us decide to keep the spell a secret. A reserve, if you will, for a last ditch defense."
"What could it be?" Katara's mind asked Ellfstane's "Who could have put it there?"
"look into your sub-conscious mind and see if you can detect anything," Ellfstane replied. "Then look into your father's mind. Try to see if anything is different."
"All right, I'll try." Katara sent her thoughts into the depths of her mind, past conscious ideas and into the buried levels.----from pg.s 84- 85 chapter 8 of The Ellfaerran Diaries book 1 : Escape to Ellse Where.
"I'll know," Katara replied as the certainty struck her that she would indeed know.
"How?" her father demanded. "Has he perchance developed the obscure power of telepathy?"
"Yes," Katara answered despitte the fact that she believed otherwise. "He does have the power of telepathy." AS soon as she finished speaking a strange thought, which was almost like Ellfstane's voice, entered her mind.
"I do, you know," said the thought.
"Do what?" Katara asked in her mind.
"Have the power of telepathy," responded the mental voice, which was what that stray thought turned out to be. "So have you."
"Ellfstane, is that you?" Katara asked in her mind.
"Yes." The psychic voice replied.
"Where are you?"
"Somewhere else."
"Did you place that inhibition on the Separate World Spell?" Katara asked. "I tried to tell Hyllaell about it and something tried to hold the words back. The same something just completely erased the spell from my father's mind."
"It was not me," Ellfstane's mental voice replied. "Come to think of it, Alberon fell asleep when we were discussing it, and something made us decide to keep the spell a secret. A reserve, if you will, for a last ditch defense."
"What could it be?" Katara's mind asked Ellfstane's "Who could have put it there?"
"look into your sub-conscious mind and see if you can detect anything," Ellfstane replied. "Then look into your father's mind. Try to see if anything is different."
"All right, I'll try." Katara sent her thoughts into the depths of her mind, past conscious ideas and into the buried levels.----from pg.s 84- 85 chapter 8 of The Ellfaerran Diaries book 1 : Escape to Ellse Where.
Secret Sorcerer: Chapter Eight
"Yes, Moon Child I am Porpoise, " said the teal voice, "but I did not die."
"Master Purrae said you did," Moon Child replied as she wondered what to believe, and who to place her faith in.
"He thinks I did," Porpoise's teal voice dropped back into melancholy. "Reality was not that kind to me. If I had died, I would have joined the spirits of the deceased High Sorcerers from many millennia in the after-life of my people. Instead a lucky Briton deprived me of my life when he stabbed me up on that cliff, but Reality would not let me go. It held me fast in its net, just as it held me in the court of Eire's high King. I am its hostage and it won't release me until it gets what it wants, what it has never ceased to want."
"What is that?" Moon Child felt breathless as she asked her question of the morbid teal voice in her mind.
"Revenge," was the flat reply.
"What?"
"Reality seeks revenge against a High Sorcerer named Sapphire from another galaxy known as the Adlamar Spiral," this answer was unexpected. "He placed darkness in the power Reality made to replace sorcery, so she seeks a way to make him pay and she has hit on the very scheme to do it."
"What are you trying to say?" Moon Child asked, even though she didn't know if she actually wanted to hear the answer.
"Sapphire was a mineral, or earth, High Sorcerer," Porpoise explained. "Now, What is your good master?"
"The High Sorcerer of the...oh dear," a thought struck Moon Child's mind.
"Yes, Purrae Pollaer is her revenge," the voice of Porpoise said, confirming the thought Moon Child had. "With him in her power Sapphire's Sorcerer Spirit will be wracked with guilt until Feline's eventual demise."
"Which would be?" Moon Child asked as her throat grew tight. Somehow, she'd always thought Purrae was just like her.
"Never," was the calm reply. "Unless slain by violent means, Purrae Pollaer, also known as Feline, will never die and that is another reason why Reality both hates us, and wants him. She could hold him in torment for eternity."--pg.s 88-89 Chapter 8 from Moon Child Memoirs book two Secret Sorcerer
"Master Purrae said you did," Moon Child replied as she wondered what to believe, and who to place her faith in.
"He thinks I did," Porpoise's teal voice dropped back into melancholy. "Reality was not that kind to me. If I had died, I would have joined the spirits of the deceased High Sorcerers from many millennia in the after-life of my people. Instead a lucky Briton deprived me of my life when he stabbed me up on that cliff, but Reality would not let me go. It held me fast in its net, just as it held me in the court of Eire's high King. I am its hostage and it won't release me until it gets what it wants, what it has never ceased to want."
"What is that?" Moon Child felt breathless as she asked her question of the morbid teal voice in her mind.
"Revenge," was the flat reply.
"What?"
"Reality seeks revenge against a High Sorcerer named Sapphire from another galaxy known as the Adlamar Spiral," this answer was unexpected. "He placed darkness in the power Reality made to replace sorcery, so she seeks a way to make him pay and she has hit on the very scheme to do it."
"What are you trying to say?" Moon Child asked, even though she didn't know if she actually wanted to hear the answer.
"Sapphire was a mineral, or earth, High Sorcerer," Porpoise explained. "Now, What is your good master?"
"The High Sorcerer of the...oh dear," a thought struck Moon Child's mind.
"Yes, Purrae Pollaer is her revenge," the voice of Porpoise said, confirming the thought Moon Child had. "With him in her power Sapphire's Sorcerer Spirit will be wracked with guilt until Feline's eventual demise."
"Which would be?" Moon Child asked as her throat grew tight. Somehow, she'd always thought Purrae was just like her.
"Never," was the calm reply. "Unless slain by violent means, Purrae Pollaer, also known as Feline, will never die and that is another reason why Reality both hates us, and wants him. She could hold him in torment for eternity."--pg.s 88-89 Chapter 8 from Moon Child Memoirs book two Secret Sorcerer
Separated Soul: Chapter 8
"I sense something in you," the voice replied, although the tone was laced with confusion. "Something I cannot place. I feel it may prove impossible for anyone to identify the mysterious element that powers you from as great a distance as separates us."
"Why would you want to do such a thing?" Feline asked as he himself started to delve into the extraterrestrial's mind, looking for the source of the alien's curiousity. "I am not anything you could possibly consider important."
Feline felt the connection as it secured a tenuous hold. Remembering the mental powers of the unknown being, the sorcerer kept the attachment as tentative as possible, without disconnecting. After a few seconds of stressful waiting , with no reaction having come from the creature of the distant star, Feline started to probe into the being's mind. Initially the images were slow and indistinct. Then everything changed. A mental dam seemed to break and an overwhelming flood of visions swamped the High Sorcerer's perceptions. The visions seemed to be forming a web of light around him. A faint, almost spectral, thought voice broke into Feline's trapped consciousness.
"No!" the spectral voice cried. "No, release your hold!"
"Why should I do such a thing?" the extraterrestrial asked as triumph danced in his voice. "I shall finally attain my answers now."
"No, you shan't," the specter replied angrily. "Feline, release your hold. I shall break his web of Para-perception."
"Para what?" the exhausted, confused, and terrified Feline asked.
"Perception," the specter said patiently. "That is what they call this. I know how to sever his web. Please, for your own good, return to your own body."
Feline forced his mind away from the thoughts of the alien being. His retreat was initially blocked until a blue line rent the net asunder. The retreat was steady and sure after that, within a matter of eight seconds Feline was free.
He lay upon the dew dampened grass panting from exertion. The struggle to break free and return to himself took so much power the sorcerer was forced to revert back to his natural form. He was human once again, where earlier he was a large cat.---pg.s 90-91 from Moon Child Memoirs Book One: Separated Soul.
"Why would you want to do such a thing?" Feline asked as he himself started to delve into the extraterrestrial's mind, looking for the source of the alien's curiousity. "I am not anything you could possibly consider important."
Feline felt the connection as it secured a tenuous hold. Remembering the mental powers of the unknown being, the sorcerer kept the attachment as tentative as possible, without disconnecting. After a few seconds of stressful waiting , with no reaction having come from the creature of the distant star, Feline started to probe into the being's mind. Initially the images were slow and indistinct. Then everything changed. A mental dam seemed to break and an overwhelming flood of visions swamped the High Sorcerer's perceptions. The visions seemed to be forming a web of light around him. A faint, almost spectral, thought voice broke into Feline's trapped consciousness.
"No!" the spectral voice cried. "No, release your hold!"
"Why should I do such a thing?" the extraterrestrial asked as triumph danced in his voice. "I shall finally attain my answers now."
"No, you shan't," the specter replied angrily. "Feline, release your hold. I shall break his web of Para-perception."
"Para what?" the exhausted, confused, and terrified Feline asked.
"Perception," the specter said patiently. "That is what they call this. I know how to sever his web. Please, for your own good, return to your own body."
Feline forced his mind away from the thoughts of the alien being. His retreat was initially blocked until a blue line rent the net asunder. The retreat was steady and sure after that, within a matter of eight seconds Feline was free.
He lay upon the dew dampened grass panting from exertion. The struggle to break free and return to himself took so much power the sorcerer was forced to revert back to his natural form. He was human once again, where earlier he was a large cat.---pg.s 90-91 from Moon Child Memoirs Book One: Separated Soul.
EScape to Ellse Where: Chapter IX
"Do you remember when I was being so irritating about the unicorns?" Ellfstane asked her.
"You mean you figured it out that fast?"
"I guess I could say that," Ellfstane replied. "But no, I did not. I was told by Arra. In fact it was Arra who told me to be that irritating."
"Arra told you to give me those hints?" Katara could feel her temper rising.
"Yes," Ellfstane replied. "She said that since you are smarter than I am, all you needed was a few hints to point you in the right direction."
"Did she?" Katara asked her temper un-appeased. Irrationally she took Arra's actions as a slight instead of as a compliment to her intelligence.
"Yes," Ellfstane said, unaware of his friend's anger. "By the way, who is Hollae?"
"Hollae?"
"Arra was giving me a lecture about self-sacrifice," Ellfstane elaborated. "Arra seems to think that Hollae will have to suffer the most."
"She's my cousin," The confused Katara replied, "From the Ruby Isle."
"Arra seems to think that Hollae is important, or at least very special." Ellfstane mused. "Do you know why?"
"No I don't." Katara replied huffily. "Why do you think I couldn't sleep? I couldn't think of a single thing that was special about Hollae. At least nothing worth suffering over."
"The Unicorn Goddess thinks there is."
"Well she's wrong." Katara replied her own anxieties and self-doubt slashing at Ellfstane's mental voice. "Hollae must make a sacrifice, in other words she must lose something or someone. That is all."
A painful mental wrench and the empty silence of a severed mind link were the only responses she received from Ellfstane. In the mood she was in she was very irrational and argumentative. She believed that the fact that all of her mental conversations with the younger prince were terminated by him was a measure of his supreme arrogance. She couldn't see that Ellfstane terminated them only because he had to or because Katara had hurt him emotionally. No one told her about the events that took place while she was gone or about Ellfstane's resultant emotional instability. Lost in bitter thought, she leaned against the granite wall, a splash of golden velvet and black silk against a gray back-drop. ---from pg.s 105-107 Ellfaerran Diaries Book I: Escape to Ellse Where
"You mean you figured it out that fast?"
"I guess I could say that," Ellfstane replied. "But no, I did not. I was told by Arra. In fact it was Arra who told me to be that irritating."
"Arra told you to give me those hints?" Katara could feel her temper rising.
"Yes," Ellfstane replied. "She said that since you are smarter than I am, all you needed was a few hints to point you in the right direction."
"Did she?" Katara asked her temper un-appeased. Irrationally she took Arra's actions as a slight instead of as a compliment to her intelligence.
"Yes," Ellfstane said, unaware of his friend's anger. "By the way, who is Hollae?"
"Hollae?"
"Arra was giving me a lecture about self-sacrifice," Ellfstane elaborated. "Arra seems to think that Hollae will have to suffer the most."
"She's my cousin," The confused Katara replied, "From the Ruby Isle."
"Arra seems to think that Hollae is important, or at least very special." Ellfstane mused. "Do you know why?"
"No I don't." Katara replied huffily. "Why do you think I couldn't sleep? I couldn't think of a single thing that was special about Hollae. At least nothing worth suffering over."
"The Unicorn Goddess thinks there is."
"Well she's wrong." Katara replied her own anxieties and self-doubt slashing at Ellfstane's mental voice. "Hollae must make a sacrifice, in other words she must lose something or someone. That is all."
A painful mental wrench and the empty silence of a severed mind link were the only responses she received from Ellfstane. In the mood she was in she was very irrational and argumentative. She believed that the fact that all of her mental conversations with the younger prince were terminated by him was a measure of his supreme arrogance. She couldn't see that Ellfstane terminated them only because he had to or because Katara had hurt him emotionally. No one told her about the events that took place while she was gone or about Ellfstane's resultant emotional instability. Lost in bitter thought, she leaned against the granite wall, a splash of golden velvet and black silk against a gray back-drop. ---from pg.s 105-107 Ellfaerran Diaries Book I: Escape to Ellse Where
Stolen Sorcerer: Chapter 24
Marigold landed on Feline’s shoulder as the Cat Sorcerer’s bias-tied cloak blew out behind him in the Sorcerous wind created by Feline’s rising power, which glowed deep pink from his body. Sapphire was also glowing a deep azure. It seemed things were about ready to get decidedly out of hand. Poor, wretched Prosaica. Phantallia’s Army was now unleashed, all four members.
“It is decided!” Feline replied as his voice became amplified through his rising power. “By me! Be gone Moribdus and ne’er show thy face on this world again or suffer the fury of Ellfaera!”
Very dramatic, but Feline was always prone to that. After years of dealing with the very theatrically-minded Tuatha de Dananns, Feline lost the straightforward approach of most Ellfs, which was what made him such a good spokesman in foreign matters and situations like this. Marigold and Porpoise were more likely to crack a joke. Suns, he did miss her.--from chapter 24 of Prosaica's Bane Book three: Stolen Sorcerer (unpublished)
“It is decided!” Feline replied as his voice became amplified through his rising power. “By me! Be gone Moribdus and ne’er show thy face on this world again or suffer the fury of Ellfaera!”
Very dramatic, but Feline was always prone to that. After years of dealing with the very theatrically-minded Tuatha de Dananns, Feline lost the straightforward approach of most Ellfs, which was what made him such a good spokesman in foreign matters and situations like this. Marigold and Porpoise were more likely to crack a joke. Suns, he did miss her.--from chapter 24 of Prosaica's Bane Book three: Stolen Sorcerer (unpublished)
Crystal Rescue (working title): Chapter Three
“I would rather say your greatest triumph,” Rabbit’s voice came from the statue itself, his real voice! “Or at least your greatest adventure.”
Sradna looked up. Rabbit, the small man she remembered with his large dark grey-brown eyes, straight black hair, slender body with long legs in comparison to his short torso, and the sharp cheekbones and straight sharp nose over sensually full lips lounged in the curve of the Maellodlyn’s tail directly above her. Navy velvet trousers and black leather boots to the knee covered his legs, while a pale blue loose silk shirt with full sleeves and vee neck under a snug belted navy velvet vest or sleeveless jerkin covered his torso. The ever present smile curved his mouth and his eyes sparkled like polished smoky quartz crystals...--From chapter 3 of Prosaica's Bane book Four: Crystal Rescue (unpublished)
Sradna looked up. Rabbit, the small man she remembered with his large dark grey-brown eyes, straight black hair, slender body with long legs in comparison to his short torso, and the sharp cheekbones and straight sharp nose over sensually full lips lounged in the curve of the Maellodlyn’s tail directly above her. Navy velvet trousers and black leather boots to the knee covered his legs, while a pale blue loose silk shirt with full sleeves and vee neck under a snug belted navy velvet vest or sleeveless jerkin covered his torso. The ever present smile curved his mouth and his eyes sparkled like polished smoky quartz crystals...--From chapter 3 of Prosaica's Bane book Four: Crystal Rescue (unpublished)
L'Enfant de la Lune: dark witch of the moors chapter 14
Not knowing what the woman in question had in mind, Alberon decided to start looking for her in the Occult section, except she was not there. He then tried Romance as she was a woman after all. Again he did not find her there or in Fantasy, where many thought she belonged. At a loss he turned down the Mystery aisle and stopped when he saw a four foot ten inch woman in a figured red georgette wizard’s robe; not the normal attire for shopping in a modern bookstore, especially in November. There was something fiery about that red gauze with its gold figuring and the faceted gold crystal trim. The robe was unstructured falling in a bell of folds to the floor. The semi-sheer material could not hide the hourglass shape encased in black velvet that was under the georgette. His accomplice may have a more oval than heart-shaped face designed specifically for frowns, but she had a good figure; a pity she was so bad-tempered. He was not yet forgiven for dawdling one day close to three thousand years before. She really knew how to hold a grudge.
Alberon crossed over to the figure in the C-D section of the Mystery Aisle. She did not turn as he came in, just continued to peruse the shelves of Agatha Christie mysteries and Arthur Conan Doyle books. Interesting man Doyle, Alberon had fun playing with his mind back in the day. The fall of red velvet and its trim of splattered garnets over the black bodice were tempered by a single hematite pendent shaped almost like a wand. The gruesome blood-trail necklace was gone from around her bloodless neck. Alberon knew there were some people, mostly called ‘Goths’ who would squeal over that trim and call it ‘cool.’ To him, however it was a grim reminder of why she refused to forgive him, for the red velvet and the garnets duplicated the pattern left on a teal bodice by her own blood; the night he dawdled, the night L’Enfant de La Lune was created by a druid’s sacrificial blade and a storm-tossed channel. He dragged his feet and she paid the price.
L’Enfant de La Lune’s attention was caught by the book she was perusing. The paper of a list peeked out of the deep vee of her neckline. She looked up at Alberon, disdain in her large teal eyes. She scanned him from head to toe then back up. She scowled at him.
“You have got to be kidding,” disdain practically dripped from her voice.
“Like my human disguise?” Alberon asked brightly. Would she never get out of that grumpy mood? Okay, so he made one tiny mistake that ended with her trapped between life and death, she didn’t have to let it ruin her life.
“Human?” her tone turned sarcastic. At least it was better than disdain. “What sort of humans outside of a ‘Carry On’ film would dress like that?”
“Hey, this is legit, “Alberon protested. He knew detectives dressed like that, he saw it in the cinema. “I went with Marigold to a film festival once and the main character always dressed like this.”
“Really,” La Lune gave him another head to toe appraisal then went back to scanning the book, her tone was still sarcastic. “So, where’s David Niven?”--from chapter 14 of Dark Witch of the Moors book one: L'Enfant de La Lune (unpublished) Happy Holidays!
Alberon crossed over to the figure in the C-D section of the Mystery Aisle. She did not turn as he came in, just continued to peruse the shelves of Agatha Christie mysteries and Arthur Conan Doyle books. Interesting man Doyle, Alberon had fun playing with his mind back in the day. The fall of red velvet and its trim of splattered garnets over the black bodice were tempered by a single hematite pendent shaped almost like a wand. The gruesome blood-trail necklace was gone from around her bloodless neck. Alberon knew there were some people, mostly called ‘Goths’ who would squeal over that trim and call it ‘cool.’ To him, however it was a grim reminder of why she refused to forgive him, for the red velvet and the garnets duplicated the pattern left on a teal bodice by her own blood; the night he dawdled, the night L’Enfant de La Lune was created by a druid’s sacrificial blade and a storm-tossed channel. He dragged his feet and she paid the price.
L’Enfant de La Lune’s attention was caught by the book she was perusing. The paper of a list peeked out of the deep vee of her neckline. She looked up at Alberon, disdain in her large teal eyes. She scanned him from head to toe then back up. She scowled at him.
“You have got to be kidding,” disdain practically dripped from her voice.
“Like my human disguise?” Alberon asked brightly. Would she never get out of that grumpy mood? Okay, so he made one tiny mistake that ended with her trapped between life and death, she didn’t have to let it ruin her life.
“Human?” her tone turned sarcastic. At least it was better than disdain. “What sort of humans outside of a ‘Carry On’ film would dress like that?”
“Hey, this is legit, “Alberon protested. He knew detectives dressed like that, he saw it in the cinema. “I went with Marigold to a film festival once and the main character always dressed like this.”
“Really,” La Lune gave him another head to toe appraisal then went back to scanning the book, her tone was still sarcastic. “So, where’s David Niven?”--from chapter 14 of Dark Witch of the Moors book one: L'Enfant de La Lune (unpublished) Happy Holidays!
SEcret Sorcerer: Chapter Nine
They were all there, dressed in formal attire. Cream was dressed in her jewel encrusted pink silk gown; Pearl in her shaded aqua and teal gauze; Unicorn in lavender gauze over violet silk, with her jagged gauze cape sleeves; and Blue-Stone in sapphire velvet. There was also a man of Ellfaerran blood, with dark curly hair that brushed his collarbone, a nearly feminine face, large violet eyes, and a slim build. He was dressed in cream coloured velvet trews and silk shirt, butter yellow boots to the knee and a gold jerkin. A large tawny topaz glowed warmly on his right hand.
“Marigold?” Feline asked as he looked at his old associate.
“As the examiner, he should be here,” Blue-Stone explained, then smiled. “Actually, he insisted on coming as he was Porpoise’s aide all through the time she hid within the Emerald Isle.”
“He is the only one here?” Feline asked warily as he looked around for Amethyst and Know-It-All. “I hope.”
“Pearl told me about the meeting,” Marigold said in his light tenor voice. It was easy to see why someone as doll-like as Kitten adored him. “None of the others were informed, just as you requested. It was unanimously felt that I should know.”
“True,” Feline laughed as his unease faded. “You once knew her better than anyone except myself and her brother, may his sword gleam in Valhalla.”
“Let’s just say that next to you, I miss her the most of all of us,” Marigold sighed. “We used to come up with some really crazy ideas.”
“You were the perfect assistant for her,” Feline chuckled as he thought back to some of the things Marigold did at Porpoise’s order. “Just as off-centre as she was at times, with just as strange a sense of humour.”
“We got along,” Marigold laughed as well and a dimple appeared in his cheek. The man really looked twelve, fourteen at most even though he truthfully had over a millennium under his belt.
“You did indeed,” Feline’s far more oval face and fuller mouth became brighter as he smiled in response.
“What momentous event occurred that made you call for this meeting?” Unicorn asked with ill-disguised disapproval.
“Moon Child remembered Ferdja,” Feline stated in a complete change of mood.
“Are you sure?” Marigold asked as his eyes developed a luminous quality.
“Images of Porpoise’s flame-haired Valkyrie mother were scattered all through Moon Child’s thoughts tonight.” Feline declared. “She saw her garbed in traditional Norse clothing, while holding a sword and a shield emblazoned with a depiction of Mjollnir in gold and burnished copper. She also recalled her mother’s name, and something else as well.”
“What?” there was a breathless quality to Pearl’s question.
“She remembered that Ferdja was her real mother,” Feline replied with a triumphant emphasis on real.
“Well, that’ll anger dusty old Prosaica,” Marigold laughed as he leaned against a sideboard. “She really doesn’t want Moon Child to remember that.”
“Prosaica?” Pearl asked as confusion gripped her permanently smiling face. “Who’s this Prosaica, anyway?”
“Reality,” Feline replied with a grim sigh. “Marigold and I had the dubious honour of meeting her on the planet of the Paras.”
“The personification of Reality anyway,” Marigold added as Unicorn opened her mouth to protest. “Whatever her connection to that realm is, she is extremely bad tempered, possessive, sour, and has incredibly bland-- and bad—taste in clothes. Let’s just say she’s an Ellf’s nightmare, okay?”
“Tell me about this sorcerer you found there,” Unicorn demanded after a quick glance at the grim expressions on the other goddesses’ faces.
“High Sorcerer,” Blue-Stone replied in her husky voice. “He’s one of mine.”
“More secrets?” Cream purred, as her jewelled bracelets clinked.
“Sapphire was the first one to test out the Separate World spell,” Blue-Stone replied. “He hid his wounded wife and mortally injured father in his fantasy world and asked your father to save both of them.”
“You don’t mean that boy of old Fallon’s, do you?” Unicorn asked in startled accents. “Why, the Conclave stated—”
“He truly is a High Sorcerer, my high sorcerer,” Blue-Stone declared as her eyes flashed.
“I haven’t seen him since the affair with the pearls,” Cream said wistfully. “I remember his face was full of character and his eyes were a…um blue?”
“Brownish grey,” Marigold replied. “Or were they greyish brown? Anyway, they certainly were not blue. He looks kind of ageless now.”
“Kendall had the blue eyes,” Blue-Stone replied with a sigh. “He was the younger of the Ellfaerran cousins, and the first Parapsychologist as well.”
“Wasn’t he part Thedholmian?” Pearl asked with a laugh.
“Kendall was,” Blue-Stone replied. “I think he was a wizard of Aunt Ethryll’s, although no one ever truly said.”
“So the son of my old High Sorcerer still lives and…” Unicorn paused then came to a decision. “We really should not use his name, or any of the Ellfaerrans’ identities, they’ll need code-names like Sapphire’s.”
“My dove of an aunt, your sweet mother, did use one for Sapphire’s wife,” Blue-Stone replied, as Marigold caught Feline’s eye and sighed. “She called her Seashell and I believe your sorcerer was nicknamed Violet, or was it Lavender? It could have been Heather—?”
Marigold rolled his eyes and shook his head as Blue-Stone talked. Feline understood his exasperation. The goddesses could continue in this vein for hours without deciding anything. The only course open to them was to tell them the old sorcerer’s new moniker. The only question was who would interrupt first.
“Twilight,” Marigold sighed, as Blue-Stone groped for Fallon’s new name and the golden sorcerer’s eyes concentrated on the painted ceiling. “The old sorcerer’s name is Twilight.”
“Yes, of course!” Blue-Stone exclaimed. “Thank you, Marigold.”
“Twilight and Seashell?” Cream purred, as she laughed. “How, um, unique.”
“Kendall’s is Cloud,” Marigold said, without once removing his gaze from the ceiling. Actually, Feline was rather proud of that. He painted it himself, shortly after Porpoise lost her life. “Can we get back to Moon Child’s memories now?”
“I guess that means he really was Mother’s then,” Pearl said as the others nodded their agreement, and Marigold dropped both his gaze and his head into his left hand and whimpered. Time to intervene.--from pg.s 103-106 Chapter nine of Moon Child Memoirs book 2: Secret Sorcerer
“Marigold?” Feline asked as he looked at his old associate.
“As the examiner, he should be here,” Blue-Stone explained, then smiled. “Actually, he insisted on coming as he was Porpoise’s aide all through the time she hid within the Emerald Isle.”
“He is the only one here?” Feline asked warily as he looked around for Amethyst and Know-It-All. “I hope.”
“Pearl told me about the meeting,” Marigold said in his light tenor voice. It was easy to see why someone as doll-like as Kitten adored him. “None of the others were informed, just as you requested. It was unanimously felt that I should know.”
“True,” Feline laughed as his unease faded. “You once knew her better than anyone except myself and her brother, may his sword gleam in Valhalla.”
“Let’s just say that next to you, I miss her the most of all of us,” Marigold sighed. “We used to come up with some really crazy ideas.”
“You were the perfect assistant for her,” Feline chuckled as he thought back to some of the things Marigold did at Porpoise’s order. “Just as off-centre as she was at times, with just as strange a sense of humour.”
“We got along,” Marigold laughed as well and a dimple appeared in his cheek. The man really looked twelve, fourteen at most even though he truthfully had over a millennium under his belt.
“You did indeed,” Feline’s far more oval face and fuller mouth became brighter as he smiled in response.
“What momentous event occurred that made you call for this meeting?” Unicorn asked with ill-disguised disapproval.
“Moon Child remembered Ferdja,” Feline stated in a complete change of mood.
“Are you sure?” Marigold asked as his eyes developed a luminous quality.
“Images of Porpoise’s flame-haired Valkyrie mother were scattered all through Moon Child’s thoughts tonight.” Feline declared. “She saw her garbed in traditional Norse clothing, while holding a sword and a shield emblazoned with a depiction of Mjollnir in gold and burnished copper. She also recalled her mother’s name, and something else as well.”
“What?” there was a breathless quality to Pearl’s question.
“She remembered that Ferdja was her real mother,” Feline replied with a triumphant emphasis on real.
“Well, that’ll anger dusty old Prosaica,” Marigold laughed as he leaned against a sideboard. “She really doesn’t want Moon Child to remember that.”
“Prosaica?” Pearl asked as confusion gripped her permanently smiling face. “Who’s this Prosaica, anyway?”
“Reality,” Feline replied with a grim sigh. “Marigold and I had the dubious honour of meeting her on the planet of the Paras.”
“The personification of Reality anyway,” Marigold added as Unicorn opened her mouth to protest. “Whatever her connection to that realm is, she is extremely bad tempered, possessive, sour, and has incredibly bland-- and bad—taste in clothes. Let’s just say she’s an Ellf’s nightmare, okay?”
“Tell me about this sorcerer you found there,” Unicorn demanded after a quick glance at the grim expressions on the other goddesses’ faces.
“High Sorcerer,” Blue-Stone replied in her husky voice. “He’s one of mine.”
“More secrets?” Cream purred, as her jewelled bracelets clinked.
“Sapphire was the first one to test out the Separate World spell,” Blue-Stone replied. “He hid his wounded wife and mortally injured father in his fantasy world and asked your father to save both of them.”
“You don’t mean that boy of old Fallon’s, do you?” Unicorn asked in startled accents. “Why, the Conclave stated—”
“He truly is a High Sorcerer, my high sorcerer,” Blue-Stone declared as her eyes flashed.
“I haven’t seen him since the affair with the pearls,” Cream said wistfully. “I remember his face was full of character and his eyes were a…um blue?”
“Brownish grey,” Marigold replied. “Or were they greyish brown? Anyway, they certainly were not blue. He looks kind of ageless now.”
“Kendall had the blue eyes,” Blue-Stone replied with a sigh. “He was the younger of the Ellfaerran cousins, and the first Parapsychologist as well.”
“Wasn’t he part Thedholmian?” Pearl asked with a laugh.
“Kendall was,” Blue-Stone replied. “I think he was a wizard of Aunt Ethryll’s, although no one ever truly said.”
“So the son of my old High Sorcerer still lives and…” Unicorn paused then came to a decision. “We really should not use his name, or any of the Ellfaerrans’ identities, they’ll need code-names like Sapphire’s.”
“My dove of an aunt, your sweet mother, did use one for Sapphire’s wife,” Blue-Stone replied, as Marigold caught Feline’s eye and sighed. “She called her Seashell and I believe your sorcerer was nicknamed Violet, or was it Lavender? It could have been Heather—?”
Marigold rolled his eyes and shook his head as Blue-Stone talked. Feline understood his exasperation. The goddesses could continue in this vein for hours without deciding anything. The only course open to them was to tell them the old sorcerer’s new moniker. The only question was who would interrupt first.
“Twilight,” Marigold sighed, as Blue-Stone groped for Fallon’s new name and the golden sorcerer’s eyes concentrated on the painted ceiling. “The old sorcerer’s name is Twilight.”
“Yes, of course!” Blue-Stone exclaimed. “Thank you, Marigold.”
“Twilight and Seashell?” Cream purred, as she laughed. “How, um, unique.”
“Kendall’s is Cloud,” Marigold said, without once removing his gaze from the ceiling. Actually, Feline was rather proud of that. He painted it himself, shortly after Porpoise lost her life. “Can we get back to Moon Child’s memories now?”
“I guess that means he really was Mother’s then,” Pearl said as the others nodded their agreement, and Marigold dropped both his gaze and his head into his left hand and whimpered. Time to intervene.--from pg.s 103-106 Chapter nine of Moon Child Memoirs book 2: Secret Sorcerer
Separated Soul: Chapter Nine
Within seconds Feline felt the probing of the other's mind as it sought the home of his fellow sorcerers. For some reason, as soon as the probing began, Feline could no longer recall where they made their dwelling, or who his friends were. Their names, their faces, even their race, were completely gone. They were hidden behind the lock his best friend placed over them. His people and his home were safe; at least for that day.
"You've sealed me out," the alien's voice was incredulous. "You actually sealed me out. This has never happened to me before. I have always managed to break down the strongest mental barriers. How did you do this?"
"There is no explanation," Feline said as his left hand curled into a fist upon the arm of the settee. "At least, there is none you could accept. I am different from you and your kind. Can you not just leave it at that and be happy?"
"No, Feline, I can't," the voice replied.
"Why not?" Feline asked as he slowly shifted his head until his chin rested upon his hand. "It is really most easy. You tell yourself I am different from you, so we shall leave it at that and you will go away."
"I am a scholar, Feline," the extraterrestrial replied coldly. "We do not stop our research just because it gets a little difficult. We persevere until we reach the answers to our questions. I will not give up my quest to learn more about you, for any reason."
"Why can you not just go away?" Feline asked as his face slid back down and his weeping eyes rested upon his hand once more. "Even if you do manage to discover the answers you seek, you would not be able to understand them. Your mind makes understanding me, my people, and my powers impossible; so please, do yourself a favour and just leave me in peace."
"Is that what you wish?" the extraterrestrial's voice became audible and an overwhelming presence filled the room. "Because I can't give in to it. My masters have agreed to back my research as much as possible and they have even begun to suggest ways for me to achieve my goals."
"You are obsessed," Feline whispered as he looked up and glanced all around the room. He was uncertain of what he would find and he did not know what to expect. He knew he would not be able to recognize the alien being even if he saw him. The sorcerer did not even know if his tormentor was humanoid. He could be anything up to and including a giant spider for all Feline knew. The faintest trace of heat just between the top of his pectoral muscles became discernible to the anxious, shocked, and fearful Feline. "There is nothing special about me. If you want special then go and abduct Moon-Child. I am most certain her mother would find a way to help you."
"I have no intention of doing such a thing," the voice replied patiently. "She has no true knowledge of Fantasy and is, therefore, of no use to me. She isn't you, either. There is something about your mind that cries out for discovery. It is my destiny to reveal the secrets you hide there, as it is yours to join the inhabitants of my world."
"You are crazy," Feline said as he nervously inched into the corner of the settee, "most assuredly insane. This is my world, my refuge, my home, and my life. Life here is my destiny. I have seen it. All my friends have seen it. We all know it as fact."
"The future is highly unstable, Feline," the voice said in soothing tones as a fine web of blue light started to form on the walls of the cozy little room. "You, of all people, should know that."
"You are the one who is unstable," Feline replied as he drew his knees up to his chin and rested his forehead against them. His arms were tightly wrapped around his legs. The sapphire rabbit's heat began to burn Feline's skin.
"My people, my world, need you," the voice continued to persuade, almost as if the owner had no wish to resort to kidnapping for the completion of his research. The web of light drew progressively inward and the spiritual presence of the alien seemed to touch Feline's back. "You cannot deny the will of Reality any longer. It desires your presence among my people. It has guaranteed your safety there."
"Rabbit, Cream, Blue-Stone," Feline called as he shrank further into himself in a futile effort to escape the advancing web. "Please, help me. I cannot win this encounter; not alone."
"You cannot doubt it any longer, either," the voice said as its invisible spirit hand grasped Feline's shoulder and massaged it, almost as if it was trying to offer comfort. "Give in Feline. You will not be persecuted or hunted where I am. My masters eagerly await your arrival and you will come to like the place where we gather. Have no doubts upon that score. You will see."
All Feline could do was weep harder and choke on the sobs he held back as the net drew closed and the presence tried to coax the fear out of him. His quest would fail, Porpoise would never return, and his friends were lost to him. As those thoughts scorched through his mind and heart, the pendant scorched his chest.
"I doubt it!" the voice of Feline's closest friend erupted into his mind. "Nor am I the only one to do so."
"Who are you?" the alien demanded in a very irritated voice.
"None of your business, Alien," the strong voiced Marigold added himself to the argument. Usually soft spoken, few ever expected such harshness from him. "All you need to know is that I am one of Feline's best friends and I refuse to allow this theft of yours to proceed. I will not allow him to be torn from the bosom of his people."
"Nor will I," the spectral voice from before replied sternly. "I hoped you would have realized that by now."
With that, an intense beam of deep sapphire light bisected the turquoise net and rent it asunder. The shock wave pushed the alien's presence away from Feline and dissolved the block the extraterrestrial placed on Feline's mind.--from Moon Child Memoirs Book I: Separated Soul Chapter 9 Pg.s 116-118
"You've sealed me out," the alien's voice was incredulous. "You actually sealed me out. This has never happened to me before. I have always managed to break down the strongest mental barriers. How did you do this?"
"There is no explanation," Feline said as his left hand curled into a fist upon the arm of the settee. "At least, there is none you could accept. I am different from you and your kind. Can you not just leave it at that and be happy?"
"No, Feline, I can't," the voice replied.
"Why not?" Feline asked as he slowly shifted his head until his chin rested upon his hand. "It is really most easy. You tell yourself I am different from you, so we shall leave it at that and you will go away."
"I am a scholar, Feline," the extraterrestrial replied coldly. "We do not stop our research just because it gets a little difficult. We persevere until we reach the answers to our questions. I will not give up my quest to learn more about you, for any reason."
"Why can you not just go away?" Feline asked as his face slid back down and his weeping eyes rested upon his hand once more. "Even if you do manage to discover the answers you seek, you would not be able to understand them. Your mind makes understanding me, my people, and my powers impossible; so please, do yourself a favour and just leave me in peace."
"Is that what you wish?" the extraterrestrial's voice became audible and an overwhelming presence filled the room. "Because I can't give in to it. My masters have agreed to back my research as much as possible and they have even begun to suggest ways for me to achieve my goals."
"You are obsessed," Feline whispered as he looked up and glanced all around the room. He was uncertain of what he would find and he did not know what to expect. He knew he would not be able to recognize the alien being even if he saw him. The sorcerer did not even know if his tormentor was humanoid. He could be anything up to and including a giant spider for all Feline knew. The faintest trace of heat just between the top of his pectoral muscles became discernible to the anxious, shocked, and fearful Feline. "There is nothing special about me. If you want special then go and abduct Moon-Child. I am most certain her mother would find a way to help you."
"I have no intention of doing such a thing," the voice replied patiently. "She has no true knowledge of Fantasy and is, therefore, of no use to me. She isn't you, either. There is something about your mind that cries out for discovery. It is my destiny to reveal the secrets you hide there, as it is yours to join the inhabitants of my world."
"You are crazy," Feline said as he nervously inched into the corner of the settee, "most assuredly insane. This is my world, my refuge, my home, and my life. Life here is my destiny. I have seen it. All my friends have seen it. We all know it as fact."
"The future is highly unstable, Feline," the voice said in soothing tones as a fine web of blue light started to form on the walls of the cozy little room. "You, of all people, should know that."
"You are the one who is unstable," Feline replied as he drew his knees up to his chin and rested his forehead against them. His arms were tightly wrapped around his legs. The sapphire rabbit's heat began to burn Feline's skin.
"My people, my world, need you," the voice continued to persuade, almost as if the owner had no wish to resort to kidnapping for the completion of his research. The web of light drew progressively inward and the spiritual presence of the alien seemed to touch Feline's back. "You cannot deny the will of Reality any longer. It desires your presence among my people. It has guaranteed your safety there."
"Rabbit, Cream, Blue-Stone," Feline called as he shrank further into himself in a futile effort to escape the advancing web. "Please, help me. I cannot win this encounter; not alone."
"You cannot doubt it any longer, either," the voice said as its invisible spirit hand grasped Feline's shoulder and massaged it, almost as if it was trying to offer comfort. "Give in Feline. You will not be persecuted or hunted where I am. My masters eagerly await your arrival and you will come to like the place where we gather. Have no doubts upon that score. You will see."
All Feline could do was weep harder and choke on the sobs he held back as the net drew closed and the presence tried to coax the fear out of him. His quest would fail, Porpoise would never return, and his friends were lost to him. As those thoughts scorched through his mind and heart, the pendant scorched his chest.
"I doubt it!" the voice of Feline's closest friend erupted into his mind. "Nor am I the only one to do so."
"Who are you?" the alien demanded in a very irritated voice.
"None of your business, Alien," the strong voiced Marigold added himself to the argument. Usually soft spoken, few ever expected such harshness from him. "All you need to know is that I am one of Feline's best friends and I refuse to allow this theft of yours to proceed. I will not allow him to be torn from the bosom of his people."
"Nor will I," the spectral voice from before replied sternly. "I hoped you would have realized that by now."
With that, an intense beam of deep sapphire light bisected the turquoise net and rent it asunder. The shock wave pushed the alien's presence away from Feline and dissolved the block the extraterrestrial placed on Feline's mind.--from Moon Child Memoirs Book I: Separated Soul Chapter 9 Pg.s 116-118
Escape to Ellse Where: Chapter X
Following Arra’s orders, I took the form of a hawk and flew past the royal palace to the inner horseshoe of the Solstice Stones. After I resumed my natural form, I turned to the central stone and spoke.
“What do I do now?” I asked of the trio of goddesses, or more specifically, of their spirits, for Arra told me that they would be there. Unfortunately, they were not alone.
“You can stop hiding,” a voice growled. “And come peacefully.”
I have to admit that I was almost paralyzed with fear. My mind was screaming at me to run, but all I could do was turn around slowly and swallow several times.
It was the sandy-haired Celt. He stood before me with his face contorted with rage and a knife caught in the punishing grip of his white-knuckled hand. I suppose I could say that I faced down my opponent bravely and triumphed over him, but I will not. The truth is that I stood there, shaking in my boots, too frightened to move. Being more than slightly egotistical, my assailant had to make some grand speech.
“You’ve failed, Ellf,” he snarled. “You have all failed. All of your magic can’t protect you from me.”
We were both surprised when his somewhat melodramatic speech was answered by a child-like female voice.
“Are you so sure of that?” asked the voice. A female Ellf from the Red Isles stepped out from behind the center stone. Like all of the Red Islanders, she was actually an Ellf/Norse half-breed with the Norse height, hair, and eyes, but the rest of her was Ellfic. In fact, she was a four-foot ten inch, red-haired, teal-eyed version of Katara.
She wore an aquamarine silk tulip dress with lavender and pink inner-petals. The bodice was square cut, and more daring than the Agate Isle vee. The neckline was trimmed with braided gold set with cabochon amethysts, aquamarines, and pink tourmalines. Her pendulum girdle was made of gold linked medallions studded with the same three stones that were on her bodice. Unlike Katara, she wore white leather boots and an aquamarine hennin with lavender and pink veils. As she was dressed in what I believed to be Arra’s colors, I deemed it safe to assume that she was an emissary of the three goddesses. The Celt was stunned, to say the least.
“I think we could change your mind, if not with our magic, then with our strength.” Her voice had a definite child-like quality and the rose quartz wand in her hand shone brightly. “I’m sure my brother can convince you if no one else can. Oh Balldaer...”
A huge mountain of a man stepped out from behind one of the stones. He towered almost a foot over the Celt and his golden blond hair was wild. His torso was covered by a fur jerkin that hung down over his woolen leggings. He also looked familiar. His arrival made it possible for me to identify the woman behind me, for he was Balldaer, which meant that his sister was the sorceress Hollae.
The sandy-haired Celt proved to be something of a fool, for he rushed the giant Balldaer. A short struggle ensued with Balldaer the victor.
“Hey Ellfstane, what’s new?” he shouted after his victory.
“Well, uh, these people called Celts...” I began to say, but Balldaer interrupted me, as usual. I always had a hard time finishing sentences around him.
“Hollae already told me about them, that’s why we’re here,” he said. “I meant, what is really new, as in just now?”
“Oh, well, I…” I looked at the crumpled Celt. “I think you just took care of it.”--from Pg.s 119-121 chapter ten of The Ellfaerran Diaries Book One : Escape to Ellse Where.
Secret Sorcerer: Chapter Ten
A sudden thought occurred to La Lune. Could the goldfinch be trying to tell her something? With curiosity eating at her—and suffering no ill effects at all—La Lune went over to the table, put the stained cloth on it, and began sorting through the spells.
Chirping for all he was worth, the golden feathered avian scratched a sheet free. La Lune picked it up to see the title: Witch’s Cloth Restorative.
Here was the spell! Written on the sheet was a list of ingredients for a potion practically all of which she had in the cottage except for sea water from the channel of the white cliffs, the juice of three lemons, and three tablespoons of ground gryphon claws. Where in the world would she find that? Gryphons were no longer as common as they once were.
The little bird flew over to a locked chest then back to the table. He chirped a couple of times then winged his way back to the dusty wooden box bound with tarnished brass strips, and then he returned to the stack of linen writing sheets. Curiosity began to feed upon La Lune like a hungry orca once again. The tiny goldfinch was correct before, so the dark witch went over to the trunk she’d never opened; gave the rusted lock a kick, which was enough to disintegrate the bar of the lock; and lifted the lid. A piece of beige burlap covered the contents. She lifted one corner to find two sealed phials, which were labelled ‘channel water’ and ‘juice of three lemons’ plus a stoppered jar that was filled with an ecru dust. The name on the container was ‘Powdered Gryphon claws.’ She began to feel a bit suspicious of the avian at that point. Two coincidences were a little too much for her. Not once did she notice that the words she read were neither Celtic nor Roman.
With a shrug, La Lune took out the phials and the jar, closed the box, went over to the table, and began to assemble the ingredients. Surprisingly enough, she did have a solid gold cauldron in which to mix the brew. The scent of the stuff was vile as it bubbled over the fire she hastily conjured in the hearth. The colour of the liquid was quite odd as well. The stuff was fuchsia, not clear or even silver, but a bright, purplish pink. She added the channel water last and the mixture turned transparent. Following the instructions, La Lune placed the shift and bodice in the cauldron and began to stir with a spoon made of rowan.
The result was immediate. The water began to stain with blood that looked fresh, it then picked up the hue of muddy water then the shade, and scent, of a peat bog. With her face twisted in a look of disgust, La Lune stirred the concoction for the required twenty-two minutes. When the time was up, she lifted each piece out with the implement of mountain ash. The colour was an awful coal black, then a bizarre thing happened. It began in the centre of each garment.
A spot of intense teal began to radiate out dissolving the black. The opaque gauze of the shift was a medium aquamarine, while the velvet bodice was a teal of the same colour value. She supposed that shade would be called peacock, but she wasn’t sure. The beading turned out to be a mixture of aquamarines and seed pearls. La Lune stumbled back in shock as more of the two colours were revealed. She turned away, only to have her eyes fall on the stained slippers in that wolf-skin. They were beaded velvet like the bodice. In a trance-like state she picked them up and put them in the cauldron, only to notice that the solution was clear again.
Stirring the shoes with the rowan spoon, La Lune kept her eyes averted from the magical garments on her cleared table. The implications of those clothes were confusing to La Lune making her question the melancholy voice. The voice was associated with teal in her mind; she could not help wondering if that meant the voice was the spirit of her mother. The image of a huge, big-boned, voluptuous redhead entered her mind. The woman had eyes of a particularly intense green, but her Germanic gown was the same shade as the bodice. Her mother was Germanic, possibly even a Saxon. She carefully lifted the blackened shoes out of the golden pot and placed them on the seat of her table’s chair, not on her demi-throne.
Germanic, she thought as the shoes went through the same clarifying process as the clothes. She wondered if that was why she automatically went to the Saxons for help. Her blood began to heat as she recalled the execution of Hengist and the death of Rowena. Two more heinous acts committed by the Celts, which they were going to pay for. Looking up at the brightly glowing clothes and shoes, her eye fell on the singing bird. He revealed all of this to her. La Lune began to wonder if he was sent by her mother, and if he was to be her new familiar.
“No, La Lune,” replied that soft-spoken golden tenor. “You are destined to have only one familiar and the bird knows it.”
“Just as he knew about the contents of the old trunk?” La Lune snarled out. “Not to mention that restorative spell.”
“Your point, Dark Witch who will one day be no more?” the golden toned voice asked her. It was strange to think it sounded golden.
“He’s helping me,” La Lune replied as she stared at the preening finch. “Despite the fact that this may bring about the return of my cat, he has given me the answers to the question I had to ask. He must be a familiar for someone.”
“That he may be,” replied the golden voice.
“I want to know whose,” she replied, then stopped. Golden voice? Was it possible that the goldfinch belonged to the very person who was speaking to her mind? Was it the mystical helper of the soft-spoken tenor?
“No, La Lune,” replied said tenor. “I don’t have a bird for a familiar.”
“No bird?” she asked as the goldfinch sang.
“He is not mine,” the reply was firm.
She glanced at the clothes, then at the cauldron, and finally at the bird. The avian must belong to someone intent on helping her. Though a gentle speaker, the golden voiced male said some threatening things. His message was change or die. The goldfinch was joyous, but sad, and he helped her. A thought struck the witch. Around the waist of the redhead was a gold girdle that descended to her knees and her hair was held off her face by a simple circlet of the same metal. The bird was the familiar of the teal voice, not the tenor at all. A full-bodied laugh came from the man.
“In that you are correct,” he chuckled. “The bird was once the helper of the woman with the sadly joyful voice.”
“Is there anything else you can tell me?” she muttered.
“Yes, beware of Purrae Pollaer,” the voice replied as his chuckles died. “Especially as he has come into contact with an old accomplice. Between them, they will destroy the Dark Witch of the Moors while keeping Shadow’s Dawn from returning.”
“Moon Child!” fear began a Celtic reel in her belly.
“No, La Lune,” the golden tenor said as a serious hue coloured his tones. “Moon Child is only his apprentice. I am speaking of one who, though a sorcerer in his own right, is subordinate to Pollaer. The man I speak of is capable of foiling your schemes during daylight, for he is the Sorcerer of the Sun. Do not underestimate this new player.”
“Who is this sorcerer of the sun?” she didn’t like the feeling of her dancing anxiety one little bit, as her hands came to rest on her stomach.
“Marigold,” the answer was clear----from pg.s 114-117 Chapter ten of Moon Child Memoirs Book 2: Secret Sorcerer.
Chirping for all he was worth, the golden feathered avian scratched a sheet free. La Lune picked it up to see the title: Witch’s Cloth Restorative.
Here was the spell! Written on the sheet was a list of ingredients for a potion practically all of which she had in the cottage except for sea water from the channel of the white cliffs, the juice of three lemons, and three tablespoons of ground gryphon claws. Where in the world would she find that? Gryphons were no longer as common as they once were.
The little bird flew over to a locked chest then back to the table. He chirped a couple of times then winged his way back to the dusty wooden box bound with tarnished brass strips, and then he returned to the stack of linen writing sheets. Curiosity began to feed upon La Lune like a hungry orca once again. The tiny goldfinch was correct before, so the dark witch went over to the trunk she’d never opened; gave the rusted lock a kick, which was enough to disintegrate the bar of the lock; and lifted the lid. A piece of beige burlap covered the contents. She lifted one corner to find two sealed phials, which were labelled ‘channel water’ and ‘juice of three lemons’ plus a stoppered jar that was filled with an ecru dust. The name on the container was ‘Powdered Gryphon claws.’ She began to feel a bit suspicious of the avian at that point. Two coincidences were a little too much for her. Not once did she notice that the words she read were neither Celtic nor Roman.
With a shrug, La Lune took out the phials and the jar, closed the box, went over to the table, and began to assemble the ingredients. Surprisingly enough, she did have a solid gold cauldron in which to mix the brew. The scent of the stuff was vile as it bubbled over the fire she hastily conjured in the hearth. The colour of the liquid was quite odd as well. The stuff was fuchsia, not clear or even silver, but a bright, purplish pink. She added the channel water last and the mixture turned transparent. Following the instructions, La Lune placed the shift and bodice in the cauldron and began to stir with a spoon made of rowan.
The result was immediate. The water began to stain with blood that looked fresh, it then picked up the hue of muddy water then the shade, and scent, of a peat bog. With her face twisted in a look of disgust, La Lune stirred the concoction for the required twenty-two minutes. When the time was up, she lifted each piece out with the implement of mountain ash. The colour was an awful coal black, then a bizarre thing happened. It began in the centre of each garment.
A spot of intense teal began to radiate out dissolving the black. The opaque gauze of the shift was a medium aquamarine, while the velvet bodice was a teal of the same colour value. She supposed that shade would be called peacock, but she wasn’t sure. The beading turned out to be a mixture of aquamarines and seed pearls. La Lune stumbled back in shock as more of the two colours were revealed. She turned away, only to have her eyes fall on the stained slippers in that wolf-skin. They were beaded velvet like the bodice. In a trance-like state she picked them up and put them in the cauldron, only to notice that the solution was clear again.
Stirring the shoes with the rowan spoon, La Lune kept her eyes averted from the magical garments on her cleared table. The implications of those clothes were confusing to La Lune making her question the melancholy voice. The voice was associated with teal in her mind; she could not help wondering if that meant the voice was the spirit of her mother. The image of a huge, big-boned, voluptuous redhead entered her mind. The woman had eyes of a particularly intense green, but her Germanic gown was the same shade as the bodice. Her mother was Germanic, possibly even a Saxon. She carefully lifted the blackened shoes out of the golden pot and placed them on the seat of her table’s chair, not on her demi-throne.
Germanic, she thought as the shoes went through the same clarifying process as the clothes. She wondered if that was why she automatically went to the Saxons for help. Her blood began to heat as she recalled the execution of Hengist and the death of Rowena. Two more heinous acts committed by the Celts, which they were going to pay for. Looking up at the brightly glowing clothes and shoes, her eye fell on the singing bird. He revealed all of this to her. La Lune began to wonder if he was sent by her mother, and if he was to be her new familiar.
“No, La Lune,” replied that soft-spoken golden tenor. “You are destined to have only one familiar and the bird knows it.”
“Just as he knew about the contents of the old trunk?” La Lune snarled out. “Not to mention that restorative spell.”
“Your point, Dark Witch who will one day be no more?” the golden toned voice asked her. It was strange to think it sounded golden.
“He’s helping me,” La Lune replied as she stared at the preening finch. “Despite the fact that this may bring about the return of my cat, he has given me the answers to the question I had to ask. He must be a familiar for someone.”
“That he may be,” replied the golden voice.
“I want to know whose,” she replied, then stopped. Golden voice? Was it possible that the goldfinch belonged to the very person who was speaking to her mind? Was it the mystical helper of the soft-spoken tenor?
“No, La Lune,” replied said tenor. “I don’t have a bird for a familiar.”
“No bird?” she asked as the goldfinch sang.
“He is not mine,” the reply was firm.
She glanced at the clothes, then at the cauldron, and finally at the bird. The avian must belong to someone intent on helping her. Though a gentle speaker, the golden voiced male said some threatening things. His message was change or die. The goldfinch was joyous, but sad, and he helped her. A thought struck the witch. Around the waist of the redhead was a gold girdle that descended to her knees and her hair was held off her face by a simple circlet of the same metal. The bird was the familiar of the teal voice, not the tenor at all. A full-bodied laugh came from the man.
“In that you are correct,” he chuckled. “The bird was once the helper of the woman with the sadly joyful voice.”
“Is there anything else you can tell me?” she muttered.
“Yes, beware of Purrae Pollaer,” the voice replied as his chuckles died. “Especially as he has come into contact with an old accomplice. Between them, they will destroy the Dark Witch of the Moors while keeping Shadow’s Dawn from returning.”
“Moon Child!” fear began a Celtic reel in her belly.
“No, La Lune,” the golden tenor said as a serious hue coloured his tones. “Moon Child is only his apprentice. I am speaking of one who, though a sorcerer in his own right, is subordinate to Pollaer. The man I speak of is capable of foiling your schemes during daylight, for he is the Sorcerer of the Sun. Do not underestimate this new player.”
“Who is this sorcerer of the sun?” she didn’t like the feeling of her dancing anxiety one little bit, as her hands came to rest on her stomach.
“Marigold,” the answer was clear----from pg.s 114-117 Chapter ten of Moon Child Memoirs Book 2: Secret Sorcerer.
Separated Soul: Chapter 10
“Moon Child, divert him away from you for a small space of time,” the star man who was always wondering about the High Sorcerer whispered in her mind. “I must speak with you in absolute privacy.”
“Why?” she asked quietly.
“It has to do with Master Purrae,” the alien said its voice no more than a whisper. “It is very delicate and I don’t want him to overhear what I have to say. It has to do with my research of him.”
“Very well,” she sighed then purposefully began to shiver even harder.
“Are you most thoroughly chilled, Moon Child?” Purrae Pollaer asked; his voice filled with a concern that made her feel guilty.
“Y-yes, I-I am,” she stammered, unsure of what her ruse would achieve.
“Perhaps a fire would warm you more completely,” Master Purrae said in a thoughtful tone. “I shall gather some driftwood to build one. Remain here and keep rubbing your limbs. Your circulation requires that form of help. I shall not be long.”
High Sorcerer Purrae Pollaer stood up and started walking down the beach. He picked up the odd piece flotsam that had found its way to the dryer places on the shore. Most of it came from the Saxon ship that was somehow lured off course during one of the early sorcery lessons he gave her. Once her sorcery master was far enough away, she returned her attention to the extraterrestrial.
“Well, what is this very secret news you have to tell me?” she asked in her mind.
“You’ve piqued my curiosity.”
“He is not alone,” the voice practically whispered.
“What do you mean ‘he’s not alone?’” she asked sharply. “Has he got a wife he’s forgotten about? Or is there an accomplice lurking beyond the shore?”
“Neither,” the alien replied almost dismissively. “I mean there is more than one sorcerer and he is in contact with all of them.”
“Yes,” she was not surprised by this supposedly secretive news. “I know. He told me when we first met about the High Sorceress of the Air and about the dead one he wants me to replace, after I’m fully trained, of course.”
“That would be Porpoise,” the extraterrestrial voice said, much to Moon Child’s vast surprise. “The sorceress of the air must be Amethyst. What he did not tell you about were the sorcerers known as Rabbit, Blue-stone, Cream, Unicorn, Squirrel, Pearl, and Marigold. He was in communication with all of them earlier this evening, and he spoke about you.”
“Was he nice?” Moon Child asked, somewhat naively. “I mean, I know I’ve made some mistakes in my spell casting, but nothing major.”
“Child of Divine Diana,” the voice sighed. “That’s not the point.”
“Well, what is the point?” she asked, just a trifle snippily.
“The point is, he isn’t alone,” the star man patiently replied. The man’s voice became thoughtful, almost as if he was talking to himself. “His powers are also far greater than I first thought, but delicate; so very delicate.”
“You mean there are more of them on this island?” she asked in complete confusion. “Mother won’t like that. What d’you mean, he’s delicate?”
“The answer for the last is also the answer for the first,” he replied thoughtfully. “The others are not here. Purrae keeps up a telepathic link to them and they are always watching him. They watch him because he is fundamentally incapable of defending himself. When threatened, he curls into a ball and leaves himself defenseless, despite his incredible powers.”
“You mean, he never fights back?” Moon Child was amazed. She had the bad fortune to witness many fights and duels fought by moonlight near the ocean’s embrace. Not once did she ever see anyone who refused to defend himself.
“That is exactly what I mean,” the alien voice replied.
“Well,” Moon Child was having some difficulty understanding the alien’s logic.
She didn’t see the problem. “Okay, why’s that bad?”
“There are many reasons why it is bad,” the extraterrestrial replied. “It could be a statement of his dependency on Fantasy; it could mean he is a coward or a fraud. He is completely reliant on others, or he is using that supposed weakness to force us into dropping our guard. There is only one scenario in which his failing could be considered good, but you don’t need to know about that.”
“Why not?” she asked grumpily. That nosy alien was really starting to bother her.
“It has to do with a task of mine own,” he replied repressively. “It is between me and your sorcery master and none of your concern.”
“I think I disagree,” Moon Child felt anger, yes true anger, and hurt as well. How dare anyone say her master’s welfare was none of her business? He was her business. “Yes, I really disagree. He’s my instructor, my mentor. Whatever happens to him will affect me!”
“Moon Child, do you care about him?” the alien asked in a gentle, yet bewildered voice. “Your sense of loyalty is very strong.”
Loyalty? Was that what her anger and hurt were about? Was it normal to have such violent reactions to a mere slight? How strange, she never had such feelings for her mother. She laughed at jokes made at her parent’s expense. She became angry about her mother’s welfare once, but not completely and she never once felt such a compelling urge to protect her mother.
“Yes, Moon Child, you feel loyalty for him,” the star man’s voice was gentle now. “It is a new emotion for you, but do not become too close to him. Remember those others: the sorcerers he was in contact with, Marigold, Pearl, Squirrel, and the others. Not one possesses a true name.”
“I don’t know,” she said with a shrug as she removed her outer robe with its sodden sleeves. “I know of some women named Marigold.”
“This Marigold is a man,” the star man replied flatly. “So are Squirrel and Rabbit.”
“I’m sure there’s a simple and harmless explanation,” she said as she began to wring the moisture out of the thin silk bell sleeves of her long shift. “After all, we don’t really know the Code of the Sorcerers.”
“Does it include the use of code names?” he asked.
“Code what?” she stopped wringing the soaked material.
“In my experience, names such as they are using are strictly used to conceal the true identities of the users,” the alien replied matter-of-factly.
“Conceal?” she was stunned and horrified. Her loyalty was such a new acquisition that she didn’t feel it should be tested so soon. “What would Master Purrae want to conceal from me?”
“Not from you,” the star man was quick to say. “From me. He is up to something and he is afraid I will discover it.”
“So why tell me about it?” she snapped as she began wringing out the front panel of the shift’s divided skirts. The divisions ended just above the knee, forcing her to bend.
“Remember, he spoke to them of you,” the star man replied gently, “and not as his new pupil. There is something they wanted him to tell you, but he balked. He believed you would not listen to him and would even sever your connection with him if you learned about it too soon.”
“Learned about what?” she asked as she moved her attention to the side section.
“That I cannot tell you,” he sighed. “They did not once say what it was. The only way you can learn anything is to question him about his associates.”
“Do you think he’ll answer me?” she asked, as she felt sick to her stomach.
“He may,” the alien replied as Purrae, his arms full of broken pieces of driftwood, came strolling back. “Then again, he may not. Use caution, young one.”
“Yeah right,” she muttered as she viciously squeezed the sodden silk. “So much for a sense of loyalty.”
“What was that, Moon Child?” Purrae asked as he reached her. He promptly knelt a
foot away and piled the lumber in a haphazard cone shaped triangle. It was basically a rounded pyramid.
“I was just muttering about laundry,” she replied with a smile as the star-man silently urged her to use caution once again. “Master Purrae, are you alone here?”
“You call that caution?” the alien asked sharply.
“Alone?” Purrae asked as a confused expression came onto his face. He stood, walked closer, and crouched before her. “What do you mean by alone?”
“He could be dangerous,” the star man cautioned her.
“I mean, do you ever get lonely?” she said as she mentally told the alien to get stuffed. “Do you miss that other High Sorceress you told me about, the one for Air, or do you still communicate with her?”
“I am not sure I follow you,” he said with a sheepish smile.
“Do you communicate with her telepathically?” Moon Child asked bluntly. “If you do then how do you do it? How do you contact Amethyst?”
“How did you…?” his face betrayed both his shock and his guilt.
“The stars told me,” Moon-Child sighed; well so much for loyalty. “They told me about her, Pearl, Squirrel, Marigold and all the others.”
“I see,” he replied quietly as his gaze fell to his hands.
“Why do they have such strange—the stars said code—names?” she asked the subdued High Sorcerer. “What are you concealing?”
“Ourselves,” he sighed. In one fluid movement he stood, moved a step back, sat on the sand and threw a bolt of pure energy over his shoulder, which burst the wood into flame.
“Your friend, the nosy alien, is correct; the names are a form of code. A sorcerer’s code, if you will. We have been using it for a very long time.”
“Why?” she asked, confused once again. She desperately wanted him to be innocent of any wrong doing. “For how long, and who are they? Why are you hiding?”
“Why? We hide for self-preservation,” he sighed. “Sorcerers have been doing so for over a millennium, I think. As for the others, they are all sorcerers of one caliber or another, from the High Sorceress Amethyst all the way down to fifth rate Know-It-All. As for what we are hiding from, that is Reality.”
“Reality?” she asked as the warmth from the fire washed over her. “What does that have to do with the names?”
“Quite a bit actually,” Purrae replied reflectively. “To one with the skill, and the power, a name can be a powerful weapon. That is where you are lucky. You have no name, so no one can gain power over you and your will.”
“Is that what you’re afraid of?” she asked sympathetically. “Reality was using your names to control you? Is that why your friends changed their names?”
“Partially,” he sighed. He quickly looked into her eyes, and then shifted his gaze to the fire. “The other reason is Fantasy.”
“Fantasy?” she laughed outright at that. “You’re afraid Fantasy will control you?”
“No, it already does,” he didn’t move his gaze from the flickering flames. “It has the others so firmly in its grasp that they no longer recall their true names. They use descriptions instead. Amethyst has dark violet eyes, Marigold loves yellow, Squirrel is always climbing trees, and Blue-Stone is a blue eyed lady entranced with geology. Rabbit collects rabbits, Pearl wears naught but those jewels of the sea, and Cream, well she consumes a great amount of the specific product that comes from the bovine female.”
“What about you?” Moon Child asked abruptly. “Don’t you have one of those fantastical descriptions instead of a name?”
“Yes,” he said quietly, almost inaudibly. “My name is Purrae Pollaer, and I am told I am very cat-like in my expressions and movements. For those reasons my associates only know me as Feline. Sometimes I doubt if they even remember my real name.”
“I wondered when he would mention that,” the alien said calmly.--from pg.s 128-133 of chapter 10 Moon Child Memoirs Book 1: Separated Soul
“Why?” she asked quietly.
“It has to do with Master Purrae,” the alien said its voice no more than a whisper. “It is very delicate and I don’t want him to overhear what I have to say. It has to do with my research of him.”
“Very well,” she sighed then purposefully began to shiver even harder.
“Are you most thoroughly chilled, Moon Child?” Purrae Pollaer asked; his voice filled with a concern that made her feel guilty.
“Y-yes, I-I am,” she stammered, unsure of what her ruse would achieve.
“Perhaps a fire would warm you more completely,” Master Purrae said in a thoughtful tone. “I shall gather some driftwood to build one. Remain here and keep rubbing your limbs. Your circulation requires that form of help. I shall not be long.”
High Sorcerer Purrae Pollaer stood up and started walking down the beach. He picked up the odd piece flotsam that had found its way to the dryer places on the shore. Most of it came from the Saxon ship that was somehow lured off course during one of the early sorcery lessons he gave her. Once her sorcery master was far enough away, she returned her attention to the extraterrestrial.
“Well, what is this very secret news you have to tell me?” she asked in her mind.
“You’ve piqued my curiosity.”
“He is not alone,” the voice practically whispered.
“What do you mean ‘he’s not alone?’” she asked sharply. “Has he got a wife he’s forgotten about? Or is there an accomplice lurking beyond the shore?”
“Neither,” the alien replied almost dismissively. “I mean there is more than one sorcerer and he is in contact with all of them.”
“Yes,” she was not surprised by this supposedly secretive news. “I know. He told me when we first met about the High Sorceress of the Air and about the dead one he wants me to replace, after I’m fully trained, of course.”
“That would be Porpoise,” the extraterrestrial voice said, much to Moon Child’s vast surprise. “The sorceress of the air must be Amethyst. What he did not tell you about were the sorcerers known as Rabbit, Blue-stone, Cream, Unicorn, Squirrel, Pearl, and Marigold. He was in communication with all of them earlier this evening, and he spoke about you.”
“Was he nice?” Moon Child asked, somewhat naively. “I mean, I know I’ve made some mistakes in my spell casting, but nothing major.”
“Child of Divine Diana,” the voice sighed. “That’s not the point.”
“Well, what is the point?” she asked, just a trifle snippily.
“The point is, he isn’t alone,” the star man patiently replied. The man’s voice became thoughtful, almost as if he was talking to himself. “His powers are also far greater than I first thought, but delicate; so very delicate.”
“You mean there are more of them on this island?” she asked in complete confusion. “Mother won’t like that. What d’you mean, he’s delicate?”
“The answer for the last is also the answer for the first,” he replied thoughtfully. “The others are not here. Purrae keeps up a telepathic link to them and they are always watching him. They watch him because he is fundamentally incapable of defending himself. When threatened, he curls into a ball and leaves himself defenseless, despite his incredible powers.”
“You mean, he never fights back?” Moon Child was amazed. She had the bad fortune to witness many fights and duels fought by moonlight near the ocean’s embrace. Not once did she ever see anyone who refused to defend himself.
“That is exactly what I mean,” the alien voice replied.
“Well,” Moon Child was having some difficulty understanding the alien’s logic.
She didn’t see the problem. “Okay, why’s that bad?”
“There are many reasons why it is bad,” the extraterrestrial replied. “It could be a statement of his dependency on Fantasy; it could mean he is a coward or a fraud. He is completely reliant on others, or he is using that supposed weakness to force us into dropping our guard. There is only one scenario in which his failing could be considered good, but you don’t need to know about that.”
“Why not?” she asked grumpily. That nosy alien was really starting to bother her.
“It has to do with a task of mine own,” he replied repressively. “It is between me and your sorcery master and none of your concern.”
“I think I disagree,” Moon Child felt anger, yes true anger, and hurt as well. How dare anyone say her master’s welfare was none of her business? He was her business. “Yes, I really disagree. He’s my instructor, my mentor. Whatever happens to him will affect me!”
“Moon Child, do you care about him?” the alien asked in a gentle, yet bewildered voice. “Your sense of loyalty is very strong.”
Loyalty? Was that what her anger and hurt were about? Was it normal to have such violent reactions to a mere slight? How strange, she never had such feelings for her mother. She laughed at jokes made at her parent’s expense. She became angry about her mother’s welfare once, but not completely and she never once felt such a compelling urge to protect her mother.
“Yes, Moon Child, you feel loyalty for him,” the star man’s voice was gentle now. “It is a new emotion for you, but do not become too close to him. Remember those others: the sorcerers he was in contact with, Marigold, Pearl, Squirrel, and the others. Not one possesses a true name.”
“I don’t know,” she said with a shrug as she removed her outer robe with its sodden sleeves. “I know of some women named Marigold.”
“This Marigold is a man,” the star man replied flatly. “So are Squirrel and Rabbit.”
“I’m sure there’s a simple and harmless explanation,” she said as she began to wring the moisture out of the thin silk bell sleeves of her long shift. “After all, we don’t really know the Code of the Sorcerers.”
“Does it include the use of code names?” he asked.
“Code what?” she stopped wringing the soaked material.
“In my experience, names such as they are using are strictly used to conceal the true identities of the users,” the alien replied matter-of-factly.
“Conceal?” she was stunned and horrified. Her loyalty was such a new acquisition that she didn’t feel it should be tested so soon. “What would Master Purrae want to conceal from me?”
“Not from you,” the star man was quick to say. “From me. He is up to something and he is afraid I will discover it.”
“So why tell me about it?” she snapped as she began wringing out the front panel of the shift’s divided skirts. The divisions ended just above the knee, forcing her to bend.
“Remember, he spoke to them of you,” the star man replied gently, “and not as his new pupil. There is something they wanted him to tell you, but he balked. He believed you would not listen to him and would even sever your connection with him if you learned about it too soon.”
“Learned about what?” she asked as she moved her attention to the side section.
“That I cannot tell you,” he sighed. “They did not once say what it was. The only way you can learn anything is to question him about his associates.”
“Do you think he’ll answer me?” she asked, as she felt sick to her stomach.
“He may,” the alien replied as Purrae, his arms full of broken pieces of driftwood, came strolling back. “Then again, he may not. Use caution, young one.”
“Yeah right,” she muttered as she viciously squeezed the sodden silk. “So much for a sense of loyalty.”
“What was that, Moon Child?” Purrae asked as he reached her. He promptly knelt a
foot away and piled the lumber in a haphazard cone shaped triangle. It was basically a rounded pyramid.
“I was just muttering about laundry,” she replied with a smile as the star-man silently urged her to use caution once again. “Master Purrae, are you alone here?”
“You call that caution?” the alien asked sharply.
“Alone?” Purrae asked as a confused expression came onto his face. He stood, walked closer, and crouched before her. “What do you mean by alone?”
“He could be dangerous,” the star man cautioned her.
“I mean, do you ever get lonely?” she said as she mentally told the alien to get stuffed. “Do you miss that other High Sorceress you told me about, the one for Air, or do you still communicate with her?”
“I am not sure I follow you,” he said with a sheepish smile.
“Do you communicate with her telepathically?” Moon Child asked bluntly. “If you do then how do you do it? How do you contact Amethyst?”
“How did you…?” his face betrayed both his shock and his guilt.
“The stars told me,” Moon-Child sighed; well so much for loyalty. “They told me about her, Pearl, Squirrel, Marigold and all the others.”
“I see,” he replied quietly as his gaze fell to his hands.
“Why do they have such strange—the stars said code—names?” she asked the subdued High Sorcerer. “What are you concealing?”
“Ourselves,” he sighed. In one fluid movement he stood, moved a step back, sat on the sand and threw a bolt of pure energy over his shoulder, which burst the wood into flame.
“Your friend, the nosy alien, is correct; the names are a form of code. A sorcerer’s code, if you will. We have been using it for a very long time.”
“Why?” she asked, confused once again. She desperately wanted him to be innocent of any wrong doing. “For how long, and who are they? Why are you hiding?”
“Why? We hide for self-preservation,” he sighed. “Sorcerers have been doing so for over a millennium, I think. As for the others, they are all sorcerers of one caliber or another, from the High Sorceress Amethyst all the way down to fifth rate Know-It-All. As for what we are hiding from, that is Reality.”
“Reality?” she asked as the warmth from the fire washed over her. “What does that have to do with the names?”
“Quite a bit actually,” Purrae replied reflectively. “To one with the skill, and the power, a name can be a powerful weapon. That is where you are lucky. You have no name, so no one can gain power over you and your will.”
“Is that what you’re afraid of?” she asked sympathetically. “Reality was using your names to control you? Is that why your friends changed their names?”
“Partially,” he sighed. He quickly looked into her eyes, and then shifted his gaze to the fire. “The other reason is Fantasy.”
“Fantasy?” she laughed outright at that. “You’re afraid Fantasy will control you?”
“No, it already does,” he didn’t move his gaze from the flickering flames. “It has the others so firmly in its grasp that they no longer recall their true names. They use descriptions instead. Amethyst has dark violet eyes, Marigold loves yellow, Squirrel is always climbing trees, and Blue-Stone is a blue eyed lady entranced with geology. Rabbit collects rabbits, Pearl wears naught but those jewels of the sea, and Cream, well she consumes a great amount of the specific product that comes from the bovine female.”
“What about you?” Moon Child asked abruptly. “Don’t you have one of those fantastical descriptions instead of a name?”
“Yes,” he said quietly, almost inaudibly. “My name is Purrae Pollaer, and I am told I am very cat-like in my expressions and movements. For those reasons my associates only know me as Feline. Sometimes I doubt if they even remember my real name.”
“I wondered when he would mention that,” the alien said calmly.--from pg.s 128-133 of chapter 10 Moon Child Memoirs Book 1: Separated Soul
Escape to Ellse Where: Chapter XI
--
As they came down, the elegant and graceful movements of the Ellfs’ dance ceased, almost as if the dancers were rudely interrupted. As their descent brought them lower, Katara could see a small man in a pure white, billowy silk shirt; black velvet, jet studded jerkin, black velvet trews, and pure white leather thigh-high boots—the traditional garb worn by the male guardian of the initiate. He and a big man wearing pure black, except for a billowy silk shirt that looked to be royal blue, were trying to explain something to a tall, willowy woman in a rough woven gown held taut by a rope instead of a belt.
Behind these three stood the initiate. A small, open-faced young woman garbed in the traditional gauzy, white, knee-length dress with half-length bell sleeves and an aquamarine waist coat studded with assorted gemstones of all three colors arranged in a starburst pattern. On her delicate feet were flat white slippers made of kid leather and on her open face was fear and worry. The tall woman with the men was obviously unexpected.
A set look appeared on Arra’s face and as soon as Katara’s foot touched the dew dampened grass of the inner circle, Arra took control of the situation.
“Why do you interrupt the sacred dance, Celt?” Arra demanded, her amethyst eyes blazing. “This is the celebration of adulthood, sacred to the Ellfs and their gods. I repeat, why are you here?”
The four turned to the angry goddess, the men with relief on their faces and the willowy woman with shock on hers. Up close, Katara could see that the tall man was Haerryll, with his strong chiseled Nordic features softened and beatified by his Ellfic ancestry. The small man with his large dark blue eyes, thick black hair, and full lips, small nose and rounded, almost cat-like, face was just as obviously Llaeron. The initiate was Llaeron’s sister Ettania, but the tall willowy woman who stood a shade taller than the Ellfic ambassador—who was tall for an Ellf—was a stranger with her wild hair restrained only by a braided leather headband that bisected her forehead and tied at the back. Her simple dress was made of wool and her form resembled a fragile reed, which was at odds with the fierce expression on her face. The stranger broke the stunned silence.
“Who are you to ask such questions of me?” Suppressed violence rang in the woman’s deep and husky voice.
That made two Majority Rituals the Celts had disturbed. Katara thought it was a shame, but at least Ettania got part of the celebration; Ellfstane’s ceremony never went past the week before dinner.
“I am Arra,” the unicorn goddess said, her silvery voice tarnished with anger. “Who are you that you would question me?”
“I am called Blathnat, Chief Druidess of Dana.” Said the haughty stranger.
“You serve the one who openly covets my children?” Arra began to glow a soft violet. “Well tell your covetous mistress that the Absent Gods of the Ellfs are not as absent as she believes.”
The only reaction the Celtic woman betrayed was a widening of her eyes.
“I will tell her, but who is the insignificant female who stands behind you?” the insolently cheeky Blathnat replied. “Your maid, perhaps?”
“She is Katara, High Sorceress of the Unicorn Goddess,” Arra replied with some heat in her voice. “Therefore, she stands in my stead during my absence, as Hollae stands in Sellae’s stead during hers. Katara and Hollae are goddess substitutes and are therefore more important and higher ranking than you. Son of Norse and Ellf, escort this female back to the embassy and watch her carefully. She would cause you trouble where she could. “
Haerryll nodded and took a firm hold on Blathnat’s arm as Katara assimilated what she had heard. For a start, she didn’t know Arra could speak Celtic. Substitutes for the goddesses? If she was Arra’s substitute and Hollae was Sellae’s, then who was Llaella’s? Could it be the aptly-named Llaeron? Or perhaps his sweet faced sister? The Burrower lad Alberon? A logical choice. Could it even be Ellfstane, the sweet, but not too bright, younger prince? So wrapped up was she in her musings that she almost missed Haerryll’s departure.
“Oh, Hollae and Balldaer say hi,” Katara called to the large man’s back as he left the two rings, one human the other stone. Haerryll stopped and turned to Katara with a grin on his handsome face.
“Say hello to Balldaer for me.” Haerryll laughed. “And tell Hollae ‘rowr’.”
Unsure if Haerryll’s statement was a testament to the way Hollae looked or an obscure joke between the three half-breeds, Katara just nodded.
“Oh, and be sure that Balldaer is in the same room when you deliver the last message.” A twinkle appeared in Haerryll’s eyes, making Katara feel certain that it was indeed a joke between the three Red Islanders.
“I will,” she called. He waved as he continued to escort the willowy Blathnat back to the embassy building.
Llaeron turned his black-sapphire gaze upon the goddess and her sorceress as the two tall people left the ring of celebration.
“We are honored by your arrival at my sister’s Majority Ritual, graceful Arra.” Llaeron’s elegant words dripped off his tongue as he spoke in a sing-song cadence. “To what do we owe the extreme pleasure of seeing your elegant person with our own bedazzled eyes?”
Not bad, Katara mused as the cadence of Llaeron’s voice and his elegant wording showed signs of dulling her mind. One would hardly believe that his father was a middle-class textiles trader and his mother a Burrower with a talent for weaving exquisitely fine cloth. Pity they were both drowned in that freak storm that sunk their ship.
“You know, of course, about the Fomorii invasion, do you not?” Arra asked the silver-tongued diplomat.
“Yes, of course,” he replied.
“Things are coming to a head.” Arra’s tone was crisp. “If all else fails, it shall prove necessary to ask the De Dananns for help.”
“But, exquisite Arra,” Llaeron exclaimed, obviously shocked. “Dana Anu will demand all of the Jeweled Isles for such a favor. I could not agree to that!”
“You can and, if necessary, you will.” Arra’s tone took on a sharp quality. “Do not worry about the Ellfs, for you will grudgingly hand over all surface land of the Jeweled Isles, but that is all.”
“I still do not understand.” Llaeron’s confusion was evident in his voice. Katara could hear it. “How will that help us?”
“Remember I said surface land. The important word is surface.” Arra explained calmly as Llaeron’s face showed his confusion. “They may have the land that is open to the sky, but that underneath will remain closed to them. My high sorceress will explain.”
“There is a spell that Prince Ellfstane and I have found that is capable of opening a separate world under the surface of the earth.” Katara reached into her bodice and pulled out the folded linen square, shook it out, and handed the warm fabric to Llaeron. “This is the spell. Prince Ellfstane has tested it and it works. Not only will we be safely sealed off from the Tuatha De Danann and the Fomors, but they will not be able to sense our presence and our powers will increase ten-fold. In other words, Dana Anu shall have our land, but she will not have the Ellfic converts she so desperately desires.”
A slow smile spread across Llaeron’s face as the implications of the spell became clear to him.--From pg.s 146-150 of The Ellfaerran Diaries Book One: Escape to Ellse Where Chapter XI
As they came down, the elegant and graceful movements of the Ellfs’ dance ceased, almost as if the dancers were rudely interrupted. As their descent brought them lower, Katara could see a small man in a pure white, billowy silk shirt; black velvet, jet studded jerkin, black velvet trews, and pure white leather thigh-high boots—the traditional garb worn by the male guardian of the initiate. He and a big man wearing pure black, except for a billowy silk shirt that looked to be royal blue, were trying to explain something to a tall, willowy woman in a rough woven gown held taut by a rope instead of a belt.
Behind these three stood the initiate. A small, open-faced young woman garbed in the traditional gauzy, white, knee-length dress with half-length bell sleeves and an aquamarine waist coat studded with assorted gemstones of all three colors arranged in a starburst pattern. On her delicate feet were flat white slippers made of kid leather and on her open face was fear and worry. The tall woman with the men was obviously unexpected.
A set look appeared on Arra’s face and as soon as Katara’s foot touched the dew dampened grass of the inner circle, Arra took control of the situation.
“Why do you interrupt the sacred dance, Celt?” Arra demanded, her amethyst eyes blazing. “This is the celebration of adulthood, sacred to the Ellfs and their gods. I repeat, why are you here?”
The four turned to the angry goddess, the men with relief on their faces and the willowy woman with shock on hers. Up close, Katara could see that the tall man was Haerryll, with his strong chiseled Nordic features softened and beatified by his Ellfic ancestry. The small man with his large dark blue eyes, thick black hair, and full lips, small nose and rounded, almost cat-like, face was just as obviously Llaeron. The initiate was Llaeron’s sister Ettania, but the tall willowy woman who stood a shade taller than the Ellfic ambassador—who was tall for an Ellf—was a stranger with her wild hair restrained only by a braided leather headband that bisected her forehead and tied at the back. Her simple dress was made of wool and her form resembled a fragile reed, which was at odds with the fierce expression on her face. The stranger broke the stunned silence.
“Who are you to ask such questions of me?” Suppressed violence rang in the woman’s deep and husky voice.
That made two Majority Rituals the Celts had disturbed. Katara thought it was a shame, but at least Ettania got part of the celebration; Ellfstane’s ceremony never went past the week before dinner.
“I am Arra,” the unicorn goddess said, her silvery voice tarnished with anger. “Who are you that you would question me?”
“I am called Blathnat, Chief Druidess of Dana.” Said the haughty stranger.
“You serve the one who openly covets my children?” Arra began to glow a soft violet. “Well tell your covetous mistress that the Absent Gods of the Ellfs are not as absent as she believes.”
The only reaction the Celtic woman betrayed was a widening of her eyes.
“I will tell her, but who is the insignificant female who stands behind you?” the insolently cheeky Blathnat replied. “Your maid, perhaps?”
“She is Katara, High Sorceress of the Unicorn Goddess,” Arra replied with some heat in her voice. “Therefore, she stands in my stead during my absence, as Hollae stands in Sellae’s stead during hers. Katara and Hollae are goddess substitutes and are therefore more important and higher ranking than you. Son of Norse and Ellf, escort this female back to the embassy and watch her carefully. She would cause you trouble where she could. “
Haerryll nodded and took a firm hold on Blathnat’s arm as Katara assimilated what she had heard. For a start, she didn’t know Arra could speak Celtic. Substitutes for the goddesses? If she was Arra’s substitute and Hollae was Sellae’s, then who was Llaella’s? Could it be the aptly-named Llaeron? Or perhaps his sweet faced sister? The Burrower lad Alberon? A logical choice. Could it even be Ellfstane, the sweet, but not too bright, younger prince? So wrapped up was she in her musings that she almost missed Haerryll’s departure.
“Oh, Hollae and Balldaer say hi,” Katara called to the large man’s back as he left the two rings, one human the other stone. Haerryll stopped and turned to Katara with a grin on his handsome face.
“Say hello to Balldaer for me.” Haerryll laughed. “And tell Hollae ‘rowr’.”
Unsure if Haerryll’s statement was a testament to the way Hollae looked or an obscure joke between the three half-breeds, Katara just nodded.
“Oh, and be sure that Balldaer is in the same room when you deliver the last message.” A twinkle appeared in Haerryll’s eyes, making Katara feel certain that it was indeed a joke between the three Red Islanders.
“I will,” she called. He waved as he continued to escort the willowy Blathnat back to the embassy building.
Llaeron turned his black-sapphire gaze upon the goddess and her sorceress as the two tall people left the ring of celebration.
“We are honored by your arrival at my sister’s Majority Ritual, graceful Arra.” Llaeron’s elegant words dripped off his tongue as he spoke in a sing-song cadence. “To what do we owe the extreme pleasure of seeing your elegant person with our own bedazzled eyes?”
Not bad, Katara mused as the cadence of Llaeron’s voice and his elegant wording showed signs of dulling her mind. One would hardly believe that his father was a middle-class textiles trader and his mother a Burrower with a talent for weaving exquisitely fine cloth. Pity they were both drowned in that freak storm that sunk their ship.
“You know, of course, about the Fomorii invasion, do you not?” Arra asked the silver-tongued diplomat.
“Yes, of course,” he replied.
“Things are coming to a head.” Arra’s tone was crisp. “If all else fails, it shall prove necessary to ask the De Dananns for help.”
“But, exquisite Arra,” Llaeron exclaimed, obviously shocked. “Dana Anu will demand all of the Jeweled Isles for such a favor. I could not agree to that!”
“You can and, if necessary, you will.” Arra’s tone took on a sharp quality. “Do not worry about the Ellfs, for you will grudgingly hand over all surface land of the Jeweled Isles, but that is all.”
“I still do not understand.” Llaeron’s confusion was evident in his voice. Katara could hear it. “How will that help us?”
“Remember I said surface land. The important word is surface.” Arra explained calmly as Llaeron’s face showed his confusion. “They may have the land that is open to the sky, but that underneath will remain closed to them. My high sorceress will explain.”
“There is a spell that Prince Ellfstane and I have found that is capable of opening a separate world under the surface of the earth.” Katara reached into her bodice and pulled out the folded linen square, shook it out, and handed the warm fabric to Llaeron. “This is the spell. Prince Ellfstane has tested it and it works. Not only will we be safely sealed off from the Tuatha De Danann and the Fomors, but they will not be able to sense our presence and our powers will increase ten-fold. In other words, Dana Anu shall have our land, but she will not have the Ellfic converts she so desperately desires.”
A slow smile spread across Llaeron’s face as the implications of the spell became clear to him.--From pg.s 146-150 of The Ellfaerran Diaries Book One: Escape to Ellse Where Chapter XI
Secret Sorcerer: Chapter Eleven
“Look at La Lune and Moon Child for your answer,” the gaze in those brown eyes was clear and hard. “Beware Feline, that fate follows all of thy power. If Prosaica can attain you no other way, then she will steal your life, but will use her grey net to ensnare you before death comes. You will become just like your pupil and the witch. Trapped between life and death forever.”
“Delicious,” confusion left Feline as fear and disgust began their dance on the ice in his veins. “I do not think the pallor of the living dead suits me. Is there absolutely no way to avoid such a fate?”
“Only one, but it is depressing,” she replied as sapphire lashes dropped once more. “You must give yourself up to Onyx before you lose your life and hasten death to you before Reality’s net can be cast. In death you will remain as you are, a powerful High Sorcerer and servant of myself, not so in my sister’s net.”
“You mentioned something about Marigold,” Feline changed the subject. “You inferred that Prosaica wanted to abduct him as well.”
“She does, but she wants him alive,” her reply was terrifying. “With High Sorcerers she can take them just before death claims them, but a secondary sorcerer—”
“Becomes a wraith,” Feline finished for her. “Capable of touching and aiding, but still visibly a spirit of some kind.”
“Exactly,” Phantallia’s grim voice did not match her vibrant attire. “Only the lack of blood can show any hint of a High Sorcerer’s dead state, so they are still of use to my cold sister in the middle stage of a being’s demise. A secondary sorcerer is only of use, and value, if he is very much alive and healthy. This is how she intends to take our friend Marigold from us.”
“Does she have any plans centered upon him?” Feline asked as fear began a solo.
“She learned something from the Skethryll known as Keldrean,” Phantallia’s glow began to dim. “She realised that she must have some magic in her domain or the people around her will give up on life. That is why she has contacted another galaxy and another group she created. To them, and the source of their realistic power, she will feed legends of Marigold and will entice them to question his existence. The debate will grow until one will be trying to answer the question of Marigold once and for all, just as our golden sorcerer teleports.”
“Which will lead to his abduction,” Feline said for her.
“Exactly,” her voice matched the sadness on her face. “What befell you will then happen to him, but he has no pendant to protect him from the event, nor will he willingly wear one. He is over-sensitive about anything even remotely feminine.”
“What about a ring?” Feline asked as an idea from his past came to him.
“Isn’t that a bit, well,” the glow fluttered.
“Clichéd?” Feline asked as his mood brightened. “Very much so, which is why Marigold will agree to my terms and will then be protected.”
“Could you explain that?” Phantallia’s voice now danced with confusion.
“Everyone knows about the cursed ring of Charlemagne, correct?” Feline asked as his mind expanded on his original thought.
“All Christians will, at any rate,” Phantallia replied.
“Just as all Germanics know about the Norse tradition of ring lords,” Feline asked as his black-sapphire eyes twinkled. “I served in the Ellfic Embassy in the lands of the Norse for six years, and in that time I noticed that generals and thanes were called ring lords because they gave valuable finger ornaments to their warriors.”
“Where is this leading?” Phantallia queried.
“The more precious the gems and metals used, the more beloved the ring lord was,” Feline explained, “also the more generous. Marigold served in that Nordic Embassy as well, though he was only there for about a year prior to being sent into my orbit. One of the things we used to discuss was the strange custom the Norse thanes had of giving rings instead of money to their men.”
“So?” Phantallia sounded unimpressed.
“So I will become Marigold’s ring lord,” Feline replied with a smile, “and I shall gift him with a plain band that holds the same powers as my pendant.”
“A magic ring?” Phantallia laughed. “That is clichéd!”
“I shall give him more than one ring, each with a meaning,” Feline replied with a grin. “Silver holding a band of mother-of-pearl, for Porpoise’s return; hematite, for Onyx’s aid; and a band made entirely of jade, in which the magic will rest.”
“Jade?” Phantallia’s laugh died as she stared at Feline. “I thought you said you would give him a simple band for this magic ring.”
“So I shall, a simple band,” Feline’s smile was almost feral, “of green jade.”
“Delicious,” confusion left Feline as fear and disgust began their dance on the ice in his veins. “I do not think the pallor of the living dead suits me. Is there absolutely no way to avoid such a fate?”
“Only one, but it is depressing,” she replied as sapphire lashes dropped once more. “You must give yourself up to Onyx before you lose your life and hasten death to you before Reality’s net can be cast. In death you will remain as you are, a powerful High Sorcerer and servant of myself, not so in my sister’s net.”
“You mentioned something about Marigold,” Feline changed the subject. “You inferred that Prosaica wanted to abduct him as well.”
“She does, but she wants him alive,” her reply was terrifying. “With High Sorcerers she can take them just before death claims them, but a secondary sorcerer—”
“Becomes a wraith,” Feline finished for her. “Capable of touching and aiding, but still visibly a spirit of some kind.”
“Exactly,” Phantallia’s grim voice did not match her vibrant attire. “Only the lack of blood can show any hint of a High Sorcerer’s dead state, so they are still of use to my cold sister in the middle stage of a being’s demise. A secondary sorcerer is only of use, and value, if he is very much alive and healthy. This is how she intends to take our friend Marigold from us.”
“Does she have any plans centered upon him?” Feline asked as fear began a solo.
“She learned something from the Skethryll known as Keldrean,” Phantallia’s glow began to dim. “She realised that she must have some magic in her domain or the people around her will give up on life. That is why she has contacted another galaxy and another group she created. To them, and the source of their realistic power, she will feed legends of Marigold and will entice them to question his existence. The debate will grow until one will be trying to answer the question of Marigold once and for all, just as our golden sorcerer teleports.”
“Which will lead to his abduction,” Feline said for her.
“Exactly,” her voice matched the sadness on her face. “What befell you will then happen to him, but he has no pendant to protect him from the event, nor will he willingly wear one. He is over-sensitive about anything even remotely feminine.”
“What about a ring?” Feline asked as an idea from his past came to him.
“Isn’t that a bit, well,” the glow fluttered.
“Clichéd?” Feline asked as his mood brightened. “Very much so, which is why Marigold will agree to my terms and will then be protected.”
“Could you explain that?” Phantallia’s voice now danced with confusion.
“Everyone knows about the cursed ring of Charlemagne, correct?” Feline asked as his mind expanded on his original thought.
“All Christians will, at any rate,” Phantallia replied.
“Just as all Germanics know about the Norse tradition of ring lords,” Feline asked as his black-sapphire eyes twinkled. “I served in the Ellfic Embassy in the lands of the Norse for six years, and in that time I noticed that generals and thanes were called ring lords because they gave valuable finger ornaments to their warriors.”
“Where is this leading?” Phantallia queried.
“The more precious the gems and metals used, the more beloved the ring lord was,” Feline explained, “also the more generous. Marigold served in that Nordic Embassy as well, though he was only there for about a year prior to being sent into my orbit. One of the things we used to discuss was the strange custom the Norse thanes had of giving rings instead of money to their men.”
“So?” Phantallia sounded unimpressed.
“So I will become Marigold’s ring lord,” Feline replied with a smile, “and I shall gift him with a plain band that holds the same powers as my pendant.”
“A magic ring?” Phantallia laughed. “That is clichéd!”
“I shall give him more than one ring, each with a meaning,” Feline replied with a grin. “Silver holding a band of mother-of-pearl, for Porpoise’s return; hematite, for Onyx’s aid; and a band made entirely of jade, in which the magic will rest.”
“Jade?” Phantallia’s laugh died as she stared at Feline. “I thought you said you would give him a simple band for this magic ring.”
“So I shall, a simple band,” Feline’s smile was almost feral, “of green jade.”
Separated Soul: Chapter 11
She stewed about his refusal to lead his people against the Saxons and the Picts and even more about his refusal to fear her more than his sorcerer. No one was more powerful than she was! Anyone who claimed otherwise was a charlatan who was trying to bamboozle the ignorant. She would show that Celt real power. Not the fair tricks of his so-called sorcerer, but magic at its purest. But which spell? She knew of several.
As angry as she was, she decided against killing him. That was too permanent a lesson. It had to be something he could learn from. A transformation spell? She knew of many, but without Shadow’s Dawn she would have to actually follow the recipe to make it work, as opposed to just reciting it. If that was the case then she had one that was perfect. Granted it was a bit clichéd. Every witch eventually pulled off a similar spell but it was effective and she had all the ingredients in her hovel just in case.
By the time she reached her sorry excuse for a home, La Lune decided on the perfect spell. With little fuss and less ado, she landed her besom and propelled the entranced Celt into her single room. She left him to stand in the very center of the chamber as she sought out the sheet that held a written copy of the spell. She read it through once and discovered she had to recite the spell as she followed the steps and then placed it back on the table. She grabbed two leather thongs from said writing surface and approached the man. She quickly bound him hand and foot and pushed him to the floor. The snap of her fingers released him from her earlier spell as she assembled her ingredients.
“What happened?” he asked as his fear overtook his voice. “Where am I? How did I get here?”
“I brought you here,” she answered as she assembled the required elements. “You are in need of a lesson about true power.”
“What are you go-going t-to do wi-with m-me?” he practically squeaked as his voice broke and he struggled on the floor.
“I am going to give you a taste of pure magic,” she replied. “That will teach you to fear fake sorcerers before a witch of the Dark Forces. There! All is ready. Now we shall begin the lesson.”
She placed a trio of candles and a plate on the table, a small granite mortar and pestle, and several clay pots and glass phials. Her eyes began to gleam wickedly and a fierce look appeared on her face. The man began to struggle even harder against his bonds as she began to caress a small dark gray crystal ball, which matched the large globe behind her. Then in her harsh, cruel voice she began to recite the spell as she assembled, mixed, burned and applied the concoction.
“Take Holly leaves
Thorn of Bramble
And root of nettle
Ring of Rosemary
Pease pods three
Rend to ash and add
Blood of adder and
tongue of toad
Spread upon the face
of him you most hate
Add a sprinkle of dried woad
then he shall be a tiny toad.”
The Celt screamed as the mixture from the small stone pot was applied to his face; however that ceased as she sprinkled the dry flakes of the Picts’ favorite dye over the grayish red mixture and a black light formed around him. The brilliant blackness shrank and then ceased when she pronounced the last word. The Celt stood before her in amphibian splendor and in a body no larger than the ruby that adorned her favorite headdress. L’Enfant de La Lune began to laugh with her unnatural cackle as she picked up the warty body and placed him in a wire cage. Her mood improved dramatically.
“Now, my fine Briton, whom do you fear most?’ she asked as she paused in her cackling. “Certainly it is not your precious sorcerer.”--From Chapter 11 of Moon Child Memoirs Book One: Separated Soul pg.s 147-149.
As angry as she was, she decided against killing him. That was too permanent a lesson. It had to be something he could learn from. A transformation spell? She knew of many, but without Shadow’s Dawn she would have to actually follow the recipe to make it work, as opposed to just reciting it. If that was the case then she had one that was perfect. Granted it was a bit clichéd. Every witch eventually pulled off a similar spell but it was effective and she had all the ingredients in her hovel just in case.
By the time she reached her sorry excuse for a home, La Lune decided on the perfect spell. With little fuss and less ado, she landed her besom and propelled the entranced Celt into her single room. She left him to stand in the very center of the chamber as she sought out the sheet that held a written copy of the spell. She read it through once and discovered she had to recite the spell as she followed the steps and then placed it back on the table. She grabbed two leather thongs from said writing surface and approached the man. She quickly bound him hand and foot and pushed him to the floor. The snap of her fingers released him from her earlier spell as she assembled her ingredients.
“What happened?” he asked as his fear overtook his voice. “Where am I? How did I get here?”
“I brought you here,” she answered as she assembled the required elements. “You are in need of a lesson about true power.”
“What are you go-going t-to do wi-with m-me?” he practically squeaked as his voice broke and he struggled on the floor.
“I am going to give you a taste of pure magic,” she replied. “That will teach you to fear fake sorcerers before a witch of the Dark Forces. There! All is ready. Now we shall begin the lesson.”
She placed a trio of candles and a plate on the table, a small granite mortar and pestle, and several clay pots and glass phials. Her eyes began to gleam wickedly and a fierce look appeared on her face. The man began to struggle even harder against his bonds as she began to caress a small dark gray crystal ball, which matched the large globe behind her. Then in her harsh, cruel voice she began to recite the spell as she assembled, mixed, burned and applied the concoction.
“Take Holly leaves
Thorn of Bramble
And root of nettle
Ring of Rosemary
Pease pods three
Rend to ash and add
Blood of adder and
tongue of toad
Spread upon the face
of him you most hate
Add a sprinkle of dried woad
then he shall be a tiny toad.”
The Celt screamed as the mixture from the small stone pot was applied to his face; however that ceased as she sprinkled the dry flakes of the Picts’ favorite dye over the grayish red mixture and a black light formed around him. The brilliant blackness shrank and then ceased when she pronounced the last word. The Celt stood before her in amphibian splendor and in a body no larger than the ruby that adorned her favorite headdress. L’Enfant de La Lune began to laugh with her unnatural cackle as she picked up the warty body and placed him in a wire cage. Her mood improved dramatically.
“Now, my fine Briton, whom do you fear most?’ she asked as she paused in her cackling. “Certainly it is not your precious sorcerer.”--From Chapter 11 of Moon Child Memoirs Book One: Separated Soul pg.s 147-149.
EScape To Ellse Where: Chapter 12
“Unless the report of the sorcerers is better, I am afraid that we’ll have to alert Ambassador Llaeron to the possibility of asking the Tuatha De Danann for help. They know how to fight; we do not.”
“Such an act would be sheer folly!” Hyllaell exclaimed, visibly angry. “Once the people of Dana arrive, they will not leave.”
“Better an oppressor who covets us than an oppressor who kills us,” Katara replied calmly.
“Covets us?” Hyllaell’s voice was filled with scorn. “Covets our land you mean.”
“No, us.” Katara replied firmly. “Recently, the spy Haerryll discovered that the supreme mother and queen of the De Dananns had developed the desire to annex not only our land, but us as well. Apparently she is motivated by the absence of our gods and an infatuation aimed at one of the staff in the embassy.”
“Dana Anu is infatuated with one of the embassy staff!” Hyllaell exclaimed, clearly shocked. “Do you know which one?”
“Haerryll didn’t say.” Katara’s voice was as tranquil as ever. “But the number of male staff members is limited. It could be anyone from the lowest servant to Llaeron himself.”
“Surely not Llaeron!” Hyllaell’s shock was palpable.
“Do you remember the mysterious deaths of Llaeron’s predecessor and his secretary?” Katara asked. She barely gave Hyllaell and Caraedon time to nod before she continued. “They weren’t so mysterious if you acknowledge that they were poisoned.”
“Poisoned?” Hyllaell’s eyes were bulging. “Those are the people you would ask to help us? Those murderers?”
“The murderer was the former head priestess of Dana,” Katara continued. “She was found with a knife buried in her back, still pulsing with Dana’s own energy when the dead woman was finally found. The only survivor of her assassination plan was Llaeron, and only because he happened to be a sorcerer. The priestess poisoned the meat. Dana was not amused.”
“I should think not,” Hyllaell stated firmly. “Such an act would have dissolved all cordial relations between the Ellfs and the De Dananns. We would have been forced to evacuate all of our people from those lands and sever all ties to those killers.”
“Which would have given Dana the excuse she needed to invade our isles.” All signs of poetry were gone from Caraedon’s words, proving Katara’s secret theory. “Katara’s correct, Dana Anu must’ve had another reason for killing her head priestess, and it had to be personal. It does seem to point to Llaeron. Does our ambassador know about this?”
“No,” Katara replied. “Haerryll has no solid proof that Llaeron is the object of Dana’s infatuation. The Norse/Ellf spy will not give this information to Llaeron until it has been proven true. He knows Llaeron better than we do and is positive that he will resign his post and return to our isles if such a theory was ever uttered in his hearing.”
“That would be disastrous!” the king exclaimed. “Not only is Llaeron the best ambassador we’ve ever had, but if he’s the object of Dana’s passion, she will invariably send warriors here to abduct and drag him back to her grasp, conquering our lands in the process.”
“This is exactly why Haerryll has never mentioned this to Llaeron.” Katara replied, gratified by the king’s reaction. “By the way, Llaeron knows about the poisonings and he felt the pulse of Dana’s power emanating from the hilt of that knife. His first act as ambassador was to conceal those facts from us in an attempt to protect us from Dana’s ruthless people.”
“I think my choice of ambassador has proven to be exemplary.” The king grinned. “Wouldn’t you say, Hyllaell?”
“Only time will tell, my king,” Hyllaell said. --from pg.s 164-166 of Ellfaerran Diaries Book I: EScape to Ellse Where, chapter XII
“Such an act would be sheer folly!” Hyllaell exclaimed, visibly angry. “Once the people of Dana arrive, they will not leave.”
“Better an oppressor who covets us than an oppressor who kills us,” Katara replied calmly.
“Covets us?” Hyllaell’s voice was filled with scorn. “Covets our land you mean.”
“No, us.” Katara replied firmly. “Recently, the spy Haerryll discovered that the supreme mother and queen of the De Dananns had developed the desire to annex not only our land, but us as well. Apparently she is motivated by the absence of our gods and an infatuation aimed at one of the staff in the embassy.”
“Dana Anu is infatuated with one of the embassy staff!” Hyllaell exclaimed, clearly shocked. “Do you know which one?”
“Haerryll didn’t say.” Katara’s voice was as tranquil as ever. “But the number of male staff members is limited. It could be anyone from the lowest servant to Llaeron himself.”
“Surely not Llaeron!” Hyllaell’s shock was palpable.
“Do you remember the mysterious deaths of Llaeron’s predecessor and his secretary?” Katara asked. She barely gave Hyllaell and Caraedon time to nod before she continued. “They weren’t so mysterious if you acknowledge that they were poisoned.”
“Poisoned?” Hyllaell’s eyes were bulging. “Those are the people you would ask to help us? Those murderers?”
“The murderer was the former head priestess of Dana,” Katara continued. “She was found with a knife buried in her back, still pulsing with Dana’s own energy when the dead woman was finally found. The only survivor of her assassination plan was Llaeron, and only because he happened to be a sorcerer. The priestess poisoned the meat. Dana was not amused.”
“I should think not,” Hyllaell stated firmly. “Such an act would have dissolved all cordial relations between the Ellfs and the De Dananns. We would have been forced to evacuate all of our people from those lands and sever all ties to those killers.”
“Which would have given Dana the excuse she needed to invade our isles.” All signs of poetry were gone from Caraedon’s words, proving Katara’s secret theory. “Katara’s correct, Dana Anu must’ve had another reason for killing her head priestess, and it had to be personal. It does seem to point to Llaeron. Does our ambassador know about this?”
“No,” Katara replied. “Haerryll has no solid proof that Llaeron is the object of Dana’s infatuation. The Norse/Ellf spy will not give this information to Llaeron until it has been proven true. He knows Llaeron better than we do and is positive that he will resign his post and return to our isles if such a theory was ever uttered in his hearing.”
“That would be disastrous!” the king exclaimed. “Not only is Llaeron the best ambassador we’ve ever had, but if he’s the object of Dana’s passion, she will invariably send warriors here to abduct and drag him back to her grasp, conquering our lands in the process.”
“This is exactly why Haerryll has never mentioned this to Llaeron.” Katara replied, gratified by the king’s reaction. “By the way, Llaeron knows about the poisonings and he felt the pulse of Dana’s power emanating from the hilt of that knife. His first act as ambassador was to conceal those facts from us in an attempt to protect us from Dana’s ruthless people.”
“I think my choice of ambassador has proven to be exemplary.” The king grinned. “Wouldn’t you say, Hyllaell?”
“Only time will tell, my king,” Hyllaell said. --from pg.s 164-166 of Ellfaerran Diaries Book I: EScape to Ellse Where, chapter XII
Secret Sorcerer: Chapter Twelve
“Is this a full-time job?” Moon Child demanded, she didn’t know why.
“What?” Kitten asked, her voice filled with confusion.
“Examining sorcerer candidates,” Moon Child replied. “I was just wondering how much you and Marigold get paid for this.”
“We don’t,” Kitten laughed. “It doesn’t come up often enough to justify payment.”
“Then what do you do for a living?” Moon Child was confused.
“I’m a weaver and dress designer,” Kitten replied as she opened her robe to display the dress underneath. “See, this is one of my designs.”
A pink dress, like a flower, was displayed. A square neckline trimmed with bead fringe showcased her bosom; the bodice was smooth, flowing tightly over her waist and hips to her knees. The skirt was divided like the petals of a bloom called a tulip. Under the rose velvet petals was a fuchsia silk petal in the centre. A series of gold medallions rode her hips, connected just under the place where her navel would be, then descended in one line to mid-thigh. Each medallion had a piece of rose quartz set in the middle, except for the two oversized gold discs. They each held a stone, like the one in Feline’s belt buckle, surrounded by just a minimum of gold. A rose quartz wand dangled from the strange girdle. Kitten then pulled up the sleeve of her robe to show the snug velvet that encased her arm to the elbow and the rose and gold silk fringe on the edge of the sleeve.
“This is called a three petal tulip dress,” Kitten stated in a casual manner as if they were old friends instead of strangers. “There’s another velvet petal in the back covering two overlapping silk petals. This style is very popular during the winter as it goes with heeled boots.”
“I see,” Moon Child said as she stared at the gold boots that stopped just below Kitten’s knees and the pink beaded tassels just under her kneecaps. “What does Marigold do when he isn’t testing wizards and sorcerers?”
“He’s an interpreter and a translator,” the reply was prompt. “Marigold speaks five languages and can read twelve more. He spends most of his time translating the literary works of various cultures into Ellfaerran so that future generations can learn about the outside world. Occasionally he’s used as an interpreter when Purrae goes to train a sorcerer in a land whose language my brother can’t speak. Although, brother dearest is fluent in three tongues Marigold only knows as text, and vice versa.”
“So they have two languages in common?’ Moon Child asked as Marigold and Purrae came out of the cottage.
“They both speak the ancient Norse that’s still used by the Vikings and both know the various dialects of Celtic on these Isles,” Kitten’s response was whispered as her brother and fiancé came closer. “Purrae can speak Greek, Latin and Saxon as well, but Marigold is fluent in Prussian, all dialects of Chinese and Mongolian, plus the more common dialects of India.”
“And he can read even more of them?” Moon Child whispered.
“Yes, he can,” there was a deep pride in Kitten’s tones. “He can read the forgotten Egyptian hieroglyphs, Sumerian and Akkadian Cuneiform, Aramaic, ancient Assyrian, Hittite, and several others too.”
“Beautifully done,” Purrae enthused as the two men came up to them. “Marigold is speechless in amazement.”
“Hmm,” Moon Child replied as a whisper of thought came to her.
“Now create something out of thin air,” Kitten said in a silvery tone that allowed for no argument. “It can be anything you like.”
Moon Child smiled as an idea came to her. She knew her celestial parent would not approve of Kitten’s garment, as it bared some of her female flesh, especially if worn by Moon Child herself. It would be very practical though in the spying game Purrae had her playing. She wondered if Marigold was another of Purrae’s spies and if he was the one assigned to La Lune. As she wondered this, she built up a black velvet and silver silk version of Kitten’s dress. The rush of power flowed through her as she imagined the silver beads around the u-shaped neck, as Moon Child felt the square to be a touch too daring for her. She added silver boots to the ensemble with hematite beads fringing the tops. She uttered the keyword and opened her eyes.
There on the white gate lay the dress and the boots stood against the fence plaque. The silver silk fringe on the cuffs and the silver beads around the neckline caught the moonlight, throwing it back in gleams and sparkles. A silver sheen rose up from the black bead fringe that rested against the fantastical leather of the boots.
“Looks like you’ve provided yourself with a new outfit, as well as a new home,” Marigold muttered. His mood definitely deteriorated. “I think we can pass judgement at this point.”
“I thought it requires three spells,” Purrae said in a tone that held a definite reprimand. “Does she not need one more?”
“She’s done three,” his mood was getting really bad.
“The first two were related,” Feline, the ambassador and professional spy, not Moon Child’s beloved Master Purrae retorted. “She must perform on more.”
“Very well,” Marigold’s tones were impatient as he snapped out his reply.
“She can do a spell of her own choice, so long as it belongs solely to the sorcerer’s domain in the spell book.”
“You really have a huge chip on your shoulder for such a tiny man,” Moon Child said, figuring that Marigold couldn’t get any shorter of temper. “Surely something can be done to fix it.”
“You—” Marigold began to say, but his apparent anger made it impossible for him to say what he wanted to.
Moon Child smirked as her idea took form. In her mind’s eye she saw him standing shoulder to shoulder with Purrae. No one would ever mistake him for a little girl again, although they might think him an adolescent on the verge of womanhood. He really was too beautiful for Moon Child’s taste. Once she had him at a similar height to her master, mentally speaking anyway, she summoned her power and released it at him. She whispered the keyword to hide her intentions from the two sorcerers.
Moon Child felt, rather than saw, the intense beam of silver light as it sprang from her to strike Marigold. She opened her eyes to see him encased in the orb of artificial moonlight. His violet eyes were even wider than usual, his greenish-black hair was highlighted, and his somewhat crooked teeth were visible as waves of fear came from the centre of the ball of luminescence. It gradually grew taking him with it until he stood five feet and five inches. A nice neat height and it was a smidge more than Purrae’s. The light winked out, leaving Marigold the size of a short man. Once again, he was speechless.--From pg.s 141-143 of Moon Child Memoirs Book 2: Secret Sorcerer, chapter 12
“What?” Kitten asked, her voice filled with confusion.
“Examining sorcerer candidates,” Moon Child replied. “I was just wondering how much you and Marigold get paid for this.”
“We don’t,” Kitten laughed. “It doesn’t come up often enough to justify payment.”
“Then what do you do for a living?” Moon Child was confused.
“I’m a weaver and dress designer,” Kitten replied as she opened her robe to display the dress underneath. “See, this is one of my designs.”
A pink dress, like a flower, was displayed. A square neckline trimmed with bead fringe showcased her bosom; the bodice was smooth, flowing tightly over her waist and hips to her knees. The skirt was divided like the petals of a bloom called a tulip. Under the rose velvet petals was a fuchsia silk petal in the centre. A series of gold medallions rode her hips, connected just under the place where her navel would be, then descended in one line to mid-thigh. Each medallion had a piece of rose quartz set in the middle, except for the two oversized gold discs. They each held a stone, like the one in Feline’s belt buckle, surrounded by just a minimum of gold. A rose quartz wand dangled from the strange girdle. Kitten then pulled up the sleeve of her robe to show the snug velvet that encased her arm to the elbow and the rose and gold silk fringe on the edge of the sleeve.
“This is called a three petal tulip dress,” Kitten stated in a casual manner as if they were old friends instead of strangers. “There’s another velvet petal in the back covering two overlapping silk petals. This style is very popular during the winter as it goes with heeled boots.”
“I see,” Moon Child said as she stared at the gold boots that stopped just below Kitten’s knees and the pink beaded tassels just under her kneecaps. “What does Marigold do when he isn’t testing wizards and sorcerers?”
“He’s an interpreter and a translator,” the reply was prompt. “Marigold speaks five languages and can read twelve more. He spends most of his time translating the literary works of various cultures into Ellfaerran so that future generations can learn about the outside world. Occasionally he’s used as an interpreter when Purrae goes to train a sorcerer in a land whose language my brother can’t speak. Although, brother dearest is fluent in three tongues Marigold only knows as text, and vice versa.”
“So they have two languages in common?’ Moon Child asked as Marigold and Purrae came out of the cottage.
“They both speak the ancient Norse that’s still used by the Vikings and both know the various dialects of Celtic on these Isles,” Kitten’s response was whispered as her brother and fiancé came closer. “Purrae can speak Greek, Latin and Saxon as well, but Marigold is fluent in Prussian, all dialects of Chinese and Mongolian, plus the more common dialects of India.”
“And he can read even more of them?” Moon Child whispered.
“Yes, he can,” there was a deep pride in Kitten’s tones. “He can read the forgotten Egyptian hieroglyphs, Sumerian and Akkadian Cuneiform, Aramaic, ancient Assyrian, Hittite, and several others too.”
“Beautifully done,” Purrae enthused as the two men came up to them. “Marigold is speechless in amazement.”
“Hmm,” Moon Child replied as a whisper of thought came to her.
“Now create something out of thin air,” Kitten said in a silvery tone that allowed for no argument. “It can be anything you like.”
Moon Child smiled as an idea came to her. She knew her celestial parent would not approve of Kitten’s garment, as it bared some of her female flesh, especially if worn by Moon Child herself. It would be very practical though in the spying game Purrae had her playing. She wondered if Marigold was another of Purrae’s spies and if he was the one assigned to La Lune. As she wondered this, she built up a black velvet and silver silk version of Kitten’s dress. The rush of power flowed through her as she imagined the silver beads around the u-shaped neck, as Moon Child felt the square to be a touch too daring for her. She added silver boots to the ensemble with hematite beads fringing the tops. She uttered the keyword and opened her eyes.
There on the white gate lay the dress and the boots stood against the fence plaque. The silver silk fringe on the cuffs and the silver beads around the neckline caught the moonlight, throwing it back in gleams and sparkles. A silver sheen rose up from the black bead fringe that rested against the fantastical leather of the boots.
“Looks like you’ve provided yourself with a new outfit, as well as a new home,” Marigold muttered. His mood definitely deteriorated. “I think we can pass judgement at this point.”
“I thought it requires three spells,” Purrae said in a tone that held a definite reprimand. “Does she not need one more?”
“She’s done three,” his mood was getting really bad.
“The first two were related,” Feline, the ambassador and professional spy, not Moon Child’s beloved Master Purrae retorted. “She must perform on more.”
“Very well,” Marigold’s tones were impatient as he snapped out his reply.
“She can do a spell of her own choice, so long as it belongs solely to the sorcerer’s domain in the spell book.”
“You really have a huge chip on your shoulder for such a tiny man,” Moon Child said, figuring that Marigold couldn’t get any shorter of temper. “Surely something can be done to fix it.”
“You—” Marigold began to say, but his apparent anger made it impossible for him to say what he wanted to.
Moon Child smirked as her idea took form. In her mind’s eye she saw him standing shoulder to shoulder with Purrae. No one would ever mistake him for a little girl again, although they might think him an adolescent on the verge of womanhood. He really was too beautiful for Moon Child’s taste. Once she had him at a similar height to her master, mentally speaking anyway, she summoned her power and released it at him. She whispered the keyword to hide her intentions from the two sorcerers.
Moon Child felt, rather than saw, the intense beam of silver light as it sprang from her to strike Marigold. She opened her eyes to see him encased in the orb of artificial moonlight. His violet eyes were even wider than usual, his greenish-black hair was highlighted, and his somewhat crooked teeth were visible as waves of fear came from the centre of the ball of luminescence. It gradually grew taking him with it until he stood five feet and five inches. A nice neat height and it was a smidge more than Purrae’s. The light winked out, leaving Marigold the size of a short man. Once again, he was speechless.--From pg.s 141-143 of Moon Child Memoirs Book 2: Secret Sorcerer, chapter 12
Ellfs' Enchantments: Chapter One
I was about to do something incredibly stupid; I just knew it. Unfortunately, my friend and co-conspirator did not agree with me and would not consider forgetting the entire endeavor. That was why I was back in the Real World, preparing to meet the most fearsome of the Tuatha De Danann. A De Danann I had no wish to meet. My scrying ball told me all I needed to know.
“Ellfstane,” Llaeron—my friend and ambassador to the De Danann—said around a sigh, “hurry up. Katara will be back shortly, and we cannot allow her to catch us sneaking out.”
“Llaeron, are you sure about this?” I asked my black-sapphire-eyed friend as a light breeze pulled at my cloak.
“Most positive,” Llaeron said as he strode into the woods. Once on the fringe of that expanse of trees and shrubs, his eyes changed to feral gold as he started his transmutation into his favourite alternate form, that of a thirty-six-pound black-and-white cat. “Dagda is most enthusiastic about this meeting. He is already predisposed to love you.”
“This Dagda is a giant, Llaeron. He even makes Balldaer look short. Someone like that could love me to death,” I said, although Llaeron was not listening. I could tell by the distracted twitching of his tail. “One good hug, and I would be crushed.”
“Hurry up and change.” Llaeron’s voice seemed to be tinged with a hint of panic. “Katara’s on her way back to the palace. We do not want her to know about this situation yet. Besides, if you do not show up today, Dagda will take your absence as a personal affront. Then where will we be?”
I shall now state that it was Llaeron’s idea to leave Katara a note detailing our destination and intentions. Now, to be fair to my occasionally furry long-lost friend, the note was our only means of escape if this meeting turned out to be a trap. In Llaeron’s experience, it was never wise to trust a Celt.
With a sigh, I gathered the sides of my cloak in my hands and transformed myself into a male song sparrow. With a cheep of feigned fright, I flew into the trees where Llaeron and I began our little production of a desperate bird and a hungry cat. I flew haphazardly through trees as Llaeron ran after me. Occasionally, he had to wriggle or jump past an obstacle, so I took that time to rest on a branch while he was so occupied. After a while, we began to enjoy our game of tag. All too soon, we were at the edge of the clearing where we were to meet the De Danann’ Celts. Unfortunately, the Celts were already there waiting for us. That killed any hope of leaving and then claiming they were late. We were compelled to return to our original forms a bit further back in the woods. We both assumed that no one could see us there.
We walked out of the woods and into the circle of grass in the middle of the forest, which was filled with fur-garbed bronze-wielding Celts. I suppose I could say that I fearlessly faced that fierce crowd and spoke to them in a firm, clear voice, but I will not.
The simple truth is that Llaeron did all of the talking. He actually walked up to that great giant of a Celtic god known as Dagda and spoke to him as I cowered behind my silver-tongued friend.
“Great Dagda,” said my friend, “as always, your presence is a boon of such magnitude that the sun must hide his face with shame.”
Dagda appeared to take this as a great compliment; however, I knew that Llaeron meant it as an insult. What he was actually implying was that the sun was hidden behind Dagda’s swollen head. The result of Llaeron’s words was Dagda’s smile and puffed out chest. The Celt certainly possessed a large dose of pride. I must admit to a sense of nervousness as I stood there, especially after seeing the strange gleam that came into Dagda’s eyes.
“Llaeron, did you bring him?” Dagda demanded, somewhat curtly I thought. “Ellfstane, I mean. Is that him?”
“Yes, great Dagda, I have brought the Ellfs’ new king into your august presence, as you demanded in your amendments to our treaty.” Llaeron’s voice was soft and fluid, almost like a sing-song, and it hid the displeasure I knew he felt. “As you can see, he is overwhelmed to be in your vicinity, and his natural shyness makes him somewhat timid and nervous. You are like no other he has seen before.”
As soon as Llaeron admitted who I was, that gleam intensified; Dagda jerked his head once, and then continued the conversation.
“Llaeron, I thought you were small,” Dagda said as he advanced toward my friend slowly. “Your king is even smaller. Than you, I mean. Quite tiny. I thought he was a child. At first, I mean.”
“To be honest, great Dagda son of Dana, I am one of the tallest members of my race, while my king is among the smallest. Only the half-breeds are anywhere close to the Celts in height and build.” Llaeron was concentrating on using his language to befuddle the Celts, but he still noticed the closing circle of Celts around us and the advancing Dagda. In fact, Dagda was close enough to touch my ambassadorial friend. “The closeness of my height to that of your chosen ones is most uncommon in my people, although the Ellf–Norse mixed breeds of the Red Isles are quite similar to the Celts in look.”
“Such as your spying friend, Haerryll?” Dagda asked as he stopped just a breath away from Llaeron, forcing my friend to crane his neck to look Dagda in the eye. “He’s half Norse and half Ellf. Blathnat said so. And he’s your friend. No wonder Darling Dana could never catch you. He always told you her plans. Haerryll, I mean.”
The contrast between Dagda and Llaeron was very evident as they stood opposite each other. Dagda stood in a hooded tunic that looked as though it was made from two rough woven sacks. His legs were covered only by leather-wrapped felt boots.
Llaeron was garbed in his usual choice of clothes. He wore a velvet sleeveless jerkin belted at the waist with a bejewelled belt. His full, lace-trimmed shirt was of the finest moth silk and was worn open at the neck. His legs were covered by velvet trews and immaculate white kid leather boots that covered his knees. The effect was completed by a rose-pink silk-lined black velvet cape secured diagonally across his chest, and a rose silk ribbon that tied back his thick, shoulder-length blue-black hair. In comparison to the rough appearance of Dagda, Llaeron looked like a dandy. Come to think about it, he always dressed like one.
“Well, yes, I suppose,” Llaeron uncharacteristically responded.
Dagda’s actions and words unnerved him and threw him off his ambassadorial stride.
“Dagda,” Llaeron said in an attempt to recover the situation, “was there a definite reason behind your desire to meet my king? -- pg.s 1-4 from Chapter 1 of The Ellfaerran Diaries Book Two: Ellfs' Enchantments
“Ellfstane,” Llaeron—my friend and ambassador to the De Danann—said around a sigh, “hurry up. Katara will be back shortly, and we cannot allow her to catch us sneaking out.”
“Llaeron, are you sure about this?” I asked my black-sapphire-eyed friend as a light breeze pulled at my cloak.
“Most positive,” Llaeron said as he strode into the woods. Once on the fringe of that expanse of trees and shrubs, his eyes changed to feral gold as he started his transmutation into his favourite alternate form, that of a thirty-six-pound black-and-white cat. “Dagda is most enthusiastic about this meeting. He is already predisposed to love you.”
“This Dagda is a giant, Llaeron. He even makes Balldaer look short. Someone like that could love me to death,” I said, although Llaeron was not listening. I could tell by the distracted twitching of his tail. “One good hug, and I would be crushed.”
“Hurry up and change.” Llaeron’s voice seemed to be tinged with a hint of panic. “Katara’s on her way back to the palace. We do not want her to know about this situation yet. Besides, if you do not show up today, Dagda will take your absence as a personal affront. Then where will we be?”
I shall now state that it was Llaeron’s idea to leave Katara a note detailing our destination and intentions. Now, to be fair to my occasionally furry long-lost friend, the note was our only means of escape if this meeting turned out to be a trap. In Llaeron’s experience, it was never wise to trust a Celt.
With a sigh, I gathered the sides of my cloak in my hands and transformed myself into a male song sparrow. With a cheep of feigned fright, I flew into the trees where Llaeron and I began our little production of a desperate bird and a hungry cat. I flew haphazardly through trees as Llaeron ran after me. Occasionally, he had to wriggle or jump past an obstacle, so I took that time to rest on a branch while he was so occupied. After a while, we began to enjoy our game of tag. All too soon, we were at the edge of the clearing where we were to meet the De Danann’ Celts. Unfortunately, the Celts were already there waiting for us. That killed any hope of leaving and then claiming they were late. We were compelled to return to our original forms a bit further back in the woods. We both assumed that no one could see us there.
We walked out of the woods and into the circle of grass in the middle of the forest, which was filled with fur-garbed bronze-wielding Celts. I suppose I could say that I fearlessly faced that fierce crowd and spoke to them in a firm, clear voice, but I will not.
The simple truth is that Llaeron did all of the talking. He actually walked up to that great giant of a Celtic god known as Dagda and spoke to him as I cowered behind my silver-tongued friend.
“Great Dagda,” said my friend, “as always, your presence is a boon of such magnitude that the sun must hide his face with shame.”
Dagda appeared to take this as a great compliment; however, I knew that Llaeron meant it as an insult. What he was actually implying was that the sun was hidden behind Dagda’s swollen head. The result of Llaeron’s words was Dagda’s smile and puffed out chest. The Celt certainly possessed a large dose of pride. I must admit to a sense of nervousness as I stood there, especially after seeing the strange gleam that came into Dagda’s eyes.
“Llaeron, did you bring him?” Dagda demanded, somewhat curtly I thought. “Ellfstane, I mean. Is that him?”
“Yes, great Dagda, I have brought the Ellfs’ new king into your august presence, as you demanded in your amendments to our treaty.” Llaeron’s voice was soft and fluid, almost like a sing-song, and it hid the displeasure I knew he felt. “As you can see, he is overwhelmed to be in your vicinity, and his natural shyness makes him somewhat timid and nervous. You are like no other he has seen before.”
As soon as Llaeron admitted who I was, that gleam intensified; Dagda jerked his head once, and then continued the conversation.
“Llaeron, I thought you were small,” Dagda said as he advanced toward my friend slowly. “Your king is even smaller. Than you, I mean. Quite tiny. I thought he was a child. At first, I mean.”
“To be honest, great Dagda son of Dana, I am one of the tallest members of my race, while my king is among the smallest. Only the half-breeds are anywhere close to the Celts in height and build.” Llaeron was concentrating on using his language to befuddle the Celts, but he still noticed the closing circle of Celts around us and the advancing Dagda. In fact, Dagda was close enough to touch my ambassadorial friend. “The closeness of my height to that of your chosen ones is most uncommon in my people, although the Ellf–Norse mixed breeds of the Red Isles are quite similar to the Celts in look.”
“Such as your spying friend, Haerryll?” Dagda asked as he stopped just a breath away from Llaeron, forcing my friend to crane his neck to look Dagda in the eye. “He’s half Norse and half Ellf. Blathnat said so. And he’s your friend. No wonder Darling Dana could never catch you. He always told you her plans. Haerryll, I mean.”
The contrast between Dagda and Llaeron was very evident as they stood opposite each other. Dagda stood in a hooded tunic that looked as though it was made from two rough woven sacks. His legs were covered only by leather-wrapped felt boots.
Llaeron was garbed in his usual choice of clothes. He wore a velvet sleeveless jerkin belted at the waist with a bejewelled belt. His full, lace-trimmed shirt was of the finest moth silk and was worn open at the neck. His legs were covered by velvet trews and immaculate white kid leather boots that covered his knees. The effect was completed by a rose-pink silk-lined black velvet cape secured diagonally across his chest, and a rose silk ribbon that tied back his thick, shoulder-length blue-black hair. In comparison to the rough appearance of Dagda, Llaeron looked like a dandy. Come to think about it, he always dressed like one.
“Well, yes, I suppose,” Llaeron uncharacteristically responded.
Dagda’s actions and words unnerved him and threw him off his ambassadorial stride.
“Dagda,” Llaeron said in an attempt to recover the situation, “was there a definite reason behind your desire to meet my king? -- pg.s 1-4 from Chapter 1 of The Ellfaerran Diaries Book Two: Ellfs' Enchantments
Separated Soul: Chapter 12
“How do you measure your power?” the inquisitive boy asked, much to the sorcerer’s amusement. Somehow, it was not quite so annoying anymore.
“We do not measure it,” Feline replied with a chuckle. “It is impossible to do so. The best we can do is to stretch the parameters of a magic user’s power. If he or she cannot do a spell, then they have reached their limit.”
“Really?” the old/young voice asked, almost eagerly.
“No,” Feline chuckled softly. “We actually use a form of test. The hand is buried overnight while the one being tested is watched to make certain nothing untoward happens, nor any cheating. What lies in the applicant’s hand in the morning gives the answer. Witches hold no more than a single seed pearl, wizards hold a clear crystal, and sorcerers hold gemstones. The amount of pearls and the sizes decree the amount of sorcery the applicant holds. Three pink tourmalines and one giant pink pearl declared my High Sorcerer status.”
“That’s the only way you can measure it?” he asked, almost dumbfounded. “No scientific analysis, no graphs of mental activity, no trace elements in the marrow? Just the ability to hold a certain number of jewels?’
“No, just the ability to create a certain number of stones,” Feline replied sternly.
“And the creation must be subconscious, it cannot be contrived. That is one of the things a watcher must stop during a test.”
“I see,” the star boy replied. “Tell me, if I hadn’t told you my true age would you have answered my question?’
“No,” Feline said without a pause. “I would have skated around it and given you no answer at all. It is easier to answer a young person of your scientific background than a mature one."
“I did notice that tendency in you,” the alien sighed. “That was why I decided to take the risk of revealing my years. My instructor would be very disappointed in me if he found out you know the truth, so don’t tell the moon’s child. You see, all trainees my age are supposed to come across to strangers as middle-aged men. We are all trained to be mature beyond our years.”
“How strange,” Feline replied with sympathy. He could not imagine losing his childhood years to premature adult behavior. Feline thought about what happened earlier concerning his sapphire rabbit and his voice turned sly. “Almost as strange as the attempted removal of my pendant earlier this evening.”
“Was it a pendant?” the alien asked with pure curiosity.
“Yes, it was a thumbnail-sized rabbit carved from a deep blue sapphire,” Feline said slowly. “It is suspended from a silver chain, which someone tried to remove.”
“I was having my telekinesis tutorial,” the voice explained almost guiltily. “I decided to try and remove the physical guard that protects your highly unusual mind from me. I thought I was succeeding; only someone pushed me away. I didn’t realize it was a pendant. By the way, what’s a rabbit?”
“A rabbit is a small furry mammal with long ears, a powder puff tail, and a pudgy body,” Feline replied with a laugh. He sent out a mental picture of the shape his best friend preferred. “This is a rabbit.”
“Oh, I see,” he replied. “What a cute creature.”
“I hope there will not be a repeat of this attempt,” Feline said sternly.
“I only have tutorials six days a week,” he replied easily. “I get three days for myself, one at the beginning, middle, and end of each week.”
“You have nine day weeks?” Feline asked.
“Yes, forty-one in a year,” he replied. “What kind of weeks do you have?”
“Fifty-two seven day weeks comprise one of our years,” Feline replied evenly.
“That makes our years only fifty-five days longer than yours,” the adolescent replied,
“And let me see, that would make me the equivalent to one of your sixteen year olds.”
“So it does,” Feline replied as he hid his relief. It was less embarrassing to feel threatened by a boy of sixteen years, than one of merely fourteen.
“Feline, I know you aren’t from my galaxy,” the youth said with a shading of hope in his voice. “And you certainly are not from my world.”
“Most definitely not,” Feline replied adamantly.
“But you are a sorcerer,” the youthful alien continued, “So, you might know the answer to this question. It’s for my ancient history class, but none of us, not even people like me, can find the answer.”
“What is your question?” Feline asked aloud. He was amused by the fact the Parapsychologist thought a sorcerer could find the lost answer.
“My instructor wants to know what happened to the ancient civilization of Ellfaera,” was the second startling sentence to emerge from the alien’s thoughts. “It’s kind of a trick question. No one’s been able to answer it yet.”
“Then why do you want to know?” a chill went down Feline’s spine as he asked. He suddenly felt it was safer to switch from psychic communication to vocal speech.
“Well, there’s always a pre-eminent Parapsychologist in the classroom whenever the answers are due and rumor has it that he is there to select a promising student, but no one has ever been selected,” was the boy’s answer. “Not even the teachers know the answer; all they know is the symbol of that lost culture: two multi-colored wings surrounding a round ball of solid color.”
“I see,” Feline chuckled as relief swept through him. “Just say that the culture was ravaged by an international witch hunt because it was the only country to base its foundations in sorcery. The non-magical survivors were assimilated into the annexing country. The root cause of all this was a drought that devastated everyone except Ancient Ellfaera. That should make them notice you.”
“Is that what happened?” the youth asked, and then a new question emerged. “How did you find the answer to Ellfaera’s past so quickly?”
“It is a common pattern,” Feline sighed. “I am a survivor of just such a witch hunt on my own world; the only survivor.”
“Well, I shall try it,” the star youth said as hesitancy entered his voice. “If that is the correct answer and I am chosen, I will not be able to contact you as much as I have been doing. The most I will have time for is chatting with the moon’s child, and you, whenever I have the time.”
“I shall miss our discussions, but not necessarily your mind traps,” Feline replied diplomatically. “Good fortune to you in this endeavor.”
“Thank-you, Master Feline,” the adolescent Parapsychologist said sadly. “I will never forget you.”
He left. Feline stood for a while and thought about what the youthful alien said.
He doubted the boy would remember him, just as he knew he would not miss the boy’s thoughts.--from pg.s 162-165, Chapter 12 of Moon Child Memoirs Book One: Separated Soul
“We do not measure it,” Feline replied with a chuckle. “It is impossible to do so. The best we can do is to stretch the parameters of a magic user’s power. If he or she cannot do a spell, then they have reached their limit.”
“Really?” the old/young voice asked, almost eagerly.
“No,” Feline chuckled softly. “We actually use a form of test. The hand is buried overnight while the one being tested is watched to make certain nothing untoward happens, nor any cheating. What lies in the applicant’s hand in the morning gives the answer. Witches hold no more than a single seed pearl, wizards hold a clear crystal, and sorcerers hold gemstones. The amount of pearls and the sizes decree the amount of sorcery the applicant holds. Three pink tourmalines and one giant pink pearl declared my High Sorcerer status.”
“That’s the only way you can measure it?” he asked, almost dumbfounded. “No scientific analysis, no graphs of mental activity, no trace elements in the marrow? Just the ability to hold a certain number of jewels?’
“No, just the ability to create a certain number of stones,” Feline replied sternly.
“And the creation must be subconscious, it cannot be contrived. That is one of the things a watcher must stop during a test.”
“I see,” the star boy replied. “Tell me, if I hadn’t told you my true age would you have answered my question?’
“No,” Feline said without a pause. “I would have skated around it and given you no answer at all. It is easier to answer a young person of your scientific background than a mature one."
“I did notice that tendency in you,” the alien sighed. “That was why I decided to take the risk of revealing my years. My instructor would be very disappointed in me if he found out you know the truth, so don’t tell the moon’s child. You see, all trainees my age are supposed to come across to strangers as middle-aged men. We are all trained to be mature beyond our years.”
“How strange,” Feline replied with sympathy. He could not imagine losing his childhood years to premature adult behavior. Feline thought about what happened earlier concerning his sapphire rabbit and his voice turned sly. “Almost as strange as the attempted removal of my pendant earlier this evening.”
“Was it a pendant?” the alien asked with pure curiosity.
“Yes, it was a thumbnail-sized rabbit carved from a deep blue sapphire,” Feline said slowly. “It is suspended from a silver chain, which someone tried to remove.”
“I was having my telekinesis tutorial,” the voice explained almost guiltily. “I decided to try and remove the physical guard that protects your highly unusual mind from me. I thought I was succeeding; only someone pushed me away. I didn’t realize it was a pendant. By the way, what’s a rabbit?”
“A rabbit is a small furry mammal with long ears, a powder puff tail, and a pudgy body,” Feline replied with a laugh. He sent out a mental picture of the shape his best friend preferred. “This is a rabbit.”
“Oh, I see,” he replied. “What a cute creature.”
“I hope there will not be a repeat of this attempt,” Feline said sternly.
“I only have tutorials six days a week,” he replied easily. “I get three days for myself, one at the beginning, middle, and end of each week.”
“You have nine day weeks?” Feline asked.
“Yes, forty-one in a year,” he replied. “What kind of weeks do you have?”
“Fifty-two seven day weeks comprise one of our years,” Feline replied evenly.
“That makes our years only fifty-five days longer than yours,” the adolescent replied,
“And let me see, that would make me the equivalent to one of your sixteen year olds.”
“So it does,” Feline replied as he hid his relief. It was less embarrassing to feel threatened by a boy of sixteen years, than one of merely fourteen.
“Feline, I know you aren’t from my galaxy,” the youth said with a shading of hope in his voice. “And you certainly are not from my world.”
“Most definitely not,” Feline replied adamantly.
“But you are a sorcerer,” the youthful alien continued, “So, you might know the answer to this question. It’s for my ancient history class, but none of us, not even people like me, can find the answer.”
“What is your question?” Feline asked aloud. He was amused by the fact the Parapsychologist thought a sorcerer could find the lost answer.
“My instructor wants to know what happened to the ancient civilization of Ellfaera,” was the second startling sentence to emerge from the alien’s thoughts. “It’s kind of a trick question. No one’s been able to answer it yet.”
“Then why do you want to know?” a chill went down Feline’s spine as he asked. He suddenly felt it was safer to switch from psychic communication to vocal speech.
“Well, there’s always a pre-eminent Parapsychologist in the classroom whenever the answers are due and rumor has it that he is there to select a promising student, but no one has ever been selected,” was the boy’s answer. “Not even the teachers know the answer; all they know is the symbol of that lost culture: two multi-colored wings surrounding a round ball of solid color.”
“I see,” Feline chuckled as relief swept through him. “Just say that the culture was ravaged by an international witch hunt because it was the only country to base its foundations in sorcery. The non-magical survivors were assimilated into the annexing country. The root cause of all this was a drought that devastated everyone except Ancient Ellfaera. That should make them notice you.”
“Is that what happened?” the youth asked, and then a new question emerged. “How did you find the answer to Ellfaera’s past so quickly?”
“It is a common pattern,” Feline sighed. “I am a survivor of just such a witch hunt on my own world; the only survivor.”
“Well, I shall try it,” the star youth said as hesitancy entered his voice. “If that is the correct answer and I am chosen, I will not be able to contact you as much as I have been doing. The most I will have time for is chatting with the moon’s child, and you, whenever I have the time.”
“I shall miss our discussions, but not necessarily your mind traps,” Feline replied diplomatically. “Good fortune to you in this endeavor.”
“Thank-you, Master Feline,” the adolescent Parapsychologist said sadly. “I will never forget you.”
He left. Feline stood for a while and thought about what the youthful alien said.
He doubted the boy would remember him, just as he knew he would not miss the boy’s thoughts.--from pg.s 162-165, Chapter 12 of Moon Child Memoirs Book One: Separated Soul
Escape to Ellse Where: Chapter 13
What was he doing here? Why wasn’t he at home making Ellfstane miserable? Why was he in this situation? Caraell didn’t know. No matter how many times he asked himself those questions, the answers were still the same: He didn’t know. Oh, deep down in his own heart he knew, but it was an answer he didn’t like. To confess to our personality defects, even to ourselves, is practically impossible. Caraell refused to see that he was a vicious, greedy, jealous, mean, bad-tempered, grasping, back-stabbing throwback to the ancient Traders. He was not comfortable with that knowledge, but then, who would be?
Caraell looked down at his bandaged hand as he tortured himself with what he could be doing. Trust the Firbolgs to forget to mention which end of a sword was the sharp one. How was he, an Ellf, supposed to instinctively know which end he shouldn’t hold? How did he end up with them? The sandy-haired Celt was absolutely no help at all. The man had been in a bad mood for ten days, but today he was even worse. Caraell suspected it might have something to do with the ugly purple bruise on the burly blond Celt’s jaw, but he wasn’t sure.
“Ellf!” The sandy-haired Celt’s voice broke through Caraell’s reverie. “Ellf, where are you, you blasted creature?”
“I’m here,” Caraell called from the hut the Firbolgs gave him. None told him their names. “And I can hear you very well.”
Caraell sighed as the man burst into his hut. The bruise looked even worse and the Celt’s icy blue eyes were filled with an intense fiery emotion.
“What happened to your hand?” the sandy-haired Celt demanded.
“Because of the difference between our two cultures, no one thought to tell me which end of a sword is sharp,” Caraell said with a trace of his natural bitterness in his voice. “They all assumed I would automatically know which end not to grab. Not one considered that Ellfs have no knowledge of swords, or any other form of weapon, and that I did need to be told.”
“Ellf, you are a prize idiot,” the Firbolg growled. “If you had delivered what I asked for, you wouldn’t be here.”
“I told you he would seek out the Solstice Stones,” Caraell began to say as panic crept into his mind.
“Yes, but you forgot to mention that a golden-haired giant and a child-voiced red-head would also be there.” The burly Celt gingerly touched the bruise on his jaw. “Who are they, Ellf, and what are they doing here? Why are they protecting Ellfstane?”
“Balldaer and his sister Hollae.” Caraell swallowed as panic entered his voice. “They’re half-casts. Their mother is the fire-haired daughter of a Norse man, while their father is the Ellfic duke of the Red Isles and elder brother to Hyllaell. They’re Katara’s cousins and friends of my brother’s. Balldaer seems to think it’s his mission in life to protect Ellfstane from everything. Obviously, Hyllaell must have contacted his brother, who then sent his formidable children to help their peaceful cousins and instruct them in the favorite Norse pastime.”
“Are you saying they are actually related to the miniature sorceress you covet?” The Celt was incredulous. “They know about war and felt it their duty to protect my prize from me?”
“Yes.” Caraell was appalled at the squeak that passed his lips. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Yes, I’m afraid so. Does this alter your plans that much?”
“Yes, I’d say it does.” The sandy-haired man’s growl rose to a shout as he paced the small hut. “With those two around, my prize is lost to me. I tell you this; I wish the worst fates upon those two that I can think of, especially for that impertinent little red-head.”
“I know one thing about Hollae, but I doubt you are all that interested to know that her hair is really a copper-brown,” Caraell smirked as the irate Celt glared at him. “However, I also know that Hollae is just as passionless and cold as Katara, and twice as reclusive. The worst thing that could ever occur in her life would be becoming the prize of anyone, especially a Celt.”
“What are you saying, Ellf?” the sandy-haired Celt’s voice returned to its natural growl.
“I’m saying that neither Katara nor her cousin Hollae possess the breeding instincts of other women.” Caraell’s smile widened as he saw comprehension dawning on the sandy-haired Celt’s face. “Katara is more social and has the ability to stay in command, no matter where she is, as for Hollae, remove her from her family and friends and toss her into an unknown environment, and she folds in on herself. What few impulses that exist direct her notice to small men with pure Ellf coloring. She is not attracted to fions, of any shade.”
“I thought you said that she didn’t possess enough of those instincts to be attracted to anyone.” The Celt’s eyes were piercing.
“She doesn’t,” Caraell said, with just a hint of a sneer, “at least not in the way you mean. She has friends and acquaintances, nothing else, nor does she want anything else. She’s not that way inclined. A word to the wise, though; when Hollae’s a friend, she’s a friend for life. She’s very loyal and protective, and she’s also a sorceress. By the by, she’s a very good friend to Ellfstane and Ambassador Llaeron.”--from pg.s 173-174 chapter XIII of Escape to Ellse Where: Ellfaerran Diaries book one.
Caraell looked down at his bandaged hand as he tortured himself with what he could be doing. Trust the Firbolgs to forget to mention which end of a sword was the sharp one. How was he, an Ellf, supposed to instinctively know which end he shouldn’t hold? How did he end up with them? The sandy-haired Celt was absolutely no help at all. The man had been in a bad mood for ten days, but today he was even worse. Caraell suspected it might have something to do with the ugly purple bruise on the burly blond Celt’s jaw, but he wasn’t sure.
“Ellf!” The sandy-haired Celt’s voice broke through Caraell’s reverie. “Ellf, where are you, you blasted creature?”
“I’m here,” Caraell called from the hut the Firbolgs gave him. None told him their names. “And I can hear you very well.”
Caraell sighed as the man burst into his hut. The bruise looked even worse and the Celt’s icy blue eyes were filled with an intense fiery emotion.
“What happened to your hand?” the sandy-haired Celt demanded.
“Because of the difference between our two cultures, no one thought to tell me which end of a sword is sharp,” Caraell said with a trace of his natural bitterness in his voice. “They all assumed I would automatically know which end not to grab. Not one considered that Ellfs have no knowledge of swords, or any other form of weapon, and that I did need to be told.”
“Ellf, you are a prize idiot,” the Firbolg growled. “If you had delivered what I asked for, you wouldn’t be here.”
“I told you he would seek out the Solstice Stones,” Caraell began to say as panic crept into his mind.
“Yes, but you forgot to mention that a golden-haired giant and a child-voiced red-head would also be there.” The burly Celt gingerly touched the bruise on his jaw. “Who are they, Ellf, and what are they doing here? Why are they protecting Ellfstane?”
“Balldaer and his sister Hollae.” Caraell swallowed as panic entered his voice. “They’re half-casts. Their mother is the fire-haired daughter of a Norse man, while their father is the Ellfic duke of the Red Isles and elder brother to Hyllaell. They’re Katara’s cousins and friends of my brother’s. Balldaer seems to think it’s his mission in life to protect Ellfstane from everything. Obviously, Hyllaell must have contacted his brother, who then sent his formidable children to help their peaceful cousins and instruct them in the favorite Norse pastime.”
“Are you saying they are actually related to the miniature sorceress you covet?” The Celt was incredulous. “They know about war and felt it their duty to protect my prize from me?”
“Yes.” Caraell was appalled at the squeak that passed his lips. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Yes, I’m afraid so. Does this alter your plans that much?”
“Yes, I’d say it does.” The sandy-haired man’s growl rose to a shout as he paced the small hut. “With those two around, my prize is lost to me. I tell you this; I wish the worst fates upon those two that I can think of, especially for that impertinent little red-head.”
“I know one thing about Hollae, but I doubt you are all that interested to know that her hair is really a copper-brown,” Caraell smirked as the irate Celt glared at him. “However, I also know that Hollae is just as passionless and cold as Katara, and twice as reclusive. The worst thing that could ever occur in her life would be becoming the prize of anyone, especially a Celt.”
“What are you saying, Ellf?” the sandy-haired Celt’s voice returned to its natural growl.
“I’m saying that neither Katara nor her cousin Hollae possess the breeding instincts of other women.” Caraell’s smile widened as he saw comprehension dawning on the sandy-haired Celt’s face. “Katara is more social and has the ability to stay in command, no matter where she is, as for Hollae, remove her from her family and friends and toss her into an unknown environment, and she folds in on herself. What few impulses that exist direct her notice to small men with pure Ellf coloring. She is not attracted to fions, of any shade.”
“I thought you said that she didn’t possess enough of those instincts to be attracted to anyone.” The Celt’s eyes were piercing.
“She doesn’t,” Caraell said, with just a hint of a sneer, “at least not in the way you mean. She has friends and acquaintances, nothing else, nor does she want anything else. She’s not that way inclined. A word to the wise, though; when Hollae’s a friend, she’s a friend for life. She’s very loyal and protective, and she’s also a sorceress. By the by, she’s a very good friend to Ellfstane and Ambassador Llaeron.”--from pg.s 173-174 chapter XIII of Escape to Ellse Where: Ellfaerran Diaries book one.
Secret Sorcerer: Chapter 13
“I have discovered a slight threat to one of my watchers,” Feline replied.
“What sort of threat could possibly endanger Huge?” Amethyst snorted. “Do you know when Kitten and Marigold are coming back here?”
“Kitten will be returning shortly,” Feline’s tones were sharp as he replied.
“What of Marigold?” Amethyst demanded.
“He shall be staying here to keep a sharp eye on La Lune, as I have temporarily left her domain,” Feline replied as he felt his teeth grind together.
“What?” Amethyst’s mental shriek lanced through Feline’s mind. “Have you lost what little remains of your senses? You have to stay with La Lune! That’s how we intend to reclaim her. Marigold’s worth absolutely nothing in that respect.”
“He was once her aide,” Feline pointed out, knowing he would be yelled at for it.
“Oh, we should’ve given your job to Know-It-all,” Amethyst muttered. “You’re just an acquaintance, but Know-It-All’s her second cousin, his connection to her is closer than yours, and it is infinitely closer than Marigold’s.”
“Then explain why Moon Child replicated Rainbow Cottage precisely during the first two tests,” Feline demanded as the last shreds of good humour gave way, and his temper turned foul.
“She created Rainbow Cottage to begin with,” Amethyst retorted. Feline could almost visualise her shrugging nonchalantly.
“Yes, but she did not name him,” Feline growled like the cats whose form he borrowed.
“The cottage?”
“Marigold,” the grating of his own tooth enamel was starting to annoy Feline.
“That was Huge who did that,” the sorceress’s voice took on that self-satisfied air of importance she was so good at using to patronise people.
“Here I thought it was his parents,” Feline snarled like the feral cat he impersonated on the moors.
“What’s your problem today, anyway?”
“She called him Epaen,” Feline replied, after taking a deep breath to smooth out his emotions. “I also had a small disagreement with Merlin about the Sacred Circle Porpoise died to destroy.”
“I see,” Amethyst replied with that annoying self-importance of hers.
“All of this occurred after I was informed of a threat against Marigold,” Feline replied, feeling all his anger exiting his mind as he exhaled. “I have begun to take steps to give protection to him.”
“What kind of threat?” her academic curiosity annoyed Feline.
“Marigold followed me to the world of the Paras,” a sense of guilt swamped the High Sorcerer. “He came to the notice of Reality while he was helping me escape from Kaltriss, the head Para, on the world Ellfaera used to exist on. I think Blue-Stone called it Bllerritallia, anyway he has come under the eye of that spiteful realm.”
“So give him a magic pendant,” Amethyst replied in that dismissive tone of hers.
“He will not wear one,” Feline sighed. “He will not use anything even remotely feminine in any way, thanks to the taunts of Huge, I might add.”
“So make him.”
“It is not that simple,” Feline replied repressively. “I have come up with a plan, but I must have the time to set up the protection around Marigold and create something that he will wear. I need peace for this and I cannot visit La Lune while I am making the safety net my sister’s future husband must keep on his person.”
“Is that your way of saying ‘get lost,’ Feline?” Amethyst asked then went back to her earlier question. “What good will Marigold do near La Lune?”
“If Moon Child can recall her aide, so can La Lune,” Feline enunciated. “Moon Child told him his true name after one meeting. We have arranged it so the witch will have even more contact with him than her good side did. It is possible that Marigold will prove to be a key into her past identity. Remember, she spent more time with him than with anyone else.”
“What’s your plan for protecting Marigold?” she demanded.
“I am working on that,” he muttered, “or more precisely, I am trying to work on it at this moment. Now, if it is not too much trouble Amethyst—”
“Very well,” Amethyst’s voice sounded offended. “I can take a hint you know.”
“Since when?” Feline muttered aloud, though he was careful to keep the sentiment out of his thoughts. Amethyst was an emotionally unstable sorceress.---from pg.s 156-157 chapter 13 of Secret Sorcerer: Moon Child Memoirs Book 2
“What sort of threat could possibly endanger Huge?” Amethyst snorted. “Do you know when Kitten and Marigold are coming back here?”
“Kitten will be returning shortly,” Feline’s tones were sharp as he replied.
“What of Marigold?” Amethyst demanded.
“He shall be staying here to keep a sharp eye on La Lune, as I have temporarily left her domain,” Feline replied as he felt his teeth grind together.
“What?” Amethyst’s mental shriek lanced through Feline’s mind. “Have you lost what little remains of your senses? You have to stay with La Lune! That’s how we intend to reclaim her. Marigold’s worth absolutely nothing in that respect.”
“He was once her aide,” Feline pointed out, knowing he would be yelled at for it.
“Oh, we should’ve given your job to Know-It-all,” Amethyst muttered. “You’re just an acquaintance, but Know-It-All’s her second cousin, his connection to her is closer than yours, and it is infinitely closer than Marigold’s.”
“Then explain why Moon Child replicated Rainbow Cottage precisely during the first two tests,” Feline demanded as the last shreds of good humour gave way, and his temper turned foul.
“She created Rainbow Cottage to begin with,” Amethyst retorted. Feline could almost visualise her shrugging nonchalantly.
“Yes, but she did not name him,” Feline growled like the cats whose form he borrowed.
“The cottage?”
“Marigold,” the grating of his own tooth enamel was starting to annoy Feline.
“That was Huge who did that,” the sorceress’s voice took on that self-satisfied air of importance she was so good at using to patronise people.
“Here I thought it was his parents,” Feline snarled like the feral cat he impersonated on the moors.
“What’s your problem today, anyway?”
“She called him Epaen,” Feline replied, after taking a deep breath to smooth out his emotions. “I also had a small disagreement with Merlin about the Sacred Circle Porpoise died to destroy.”
“I see,” Amethyst replied with that annoying self-importance of hers.
“All of this occurred after I was informed of a threat against Marigold,” Feline replied, feeling all his anger exiting his mind as he exhaled. “I have begun to take steps to give protection to him.”
“What kind of threat?” her academic curiosity annoyed Feline.
“Marigold followed me to the world of the Paras,” a sense of guilt swamped the High Sorcerer. “He came to the notice of Reality while he was helping me escape from Kaltriss, the head Para, on the world Ellfaera used to exist on. I think Blue-Stone called it Bllerritallia, anyway he has come under the eye of that spiteful realm.”
“So give him a magic pendant,” Amethyst replied in that dismissive tone of hers.
“He will not wear one,” Feline sighed. “He will not use anything even remotely feminine in any way, thanks to the taunts of Huge, I might add.”
“So make him.”
“It is not that simple,” Feline replied repressively. “I have come up with a plan, but I must have the time to set up the protection around Marigold and create something that he will wear. I need peace for this and I cannot visit La Lune while I am making the safety net my sister’s future husband must keep on his person.”
“Is that your way of saying ‘get lost,’ Feline?” Amethyst asked then went back to her earlier question. “What good will Marigold do near La Lune?”
“If Moon Child can recall her aide, so can La Lune,” Feline enunciated. “Moon Child told him his true name after one meeting. We have arranged it so the witch will have even more contact with him than her good side did. It is possible that Marigold will prove to be a key into her past identity. Remember, she spent more time with him than with anyone else.”
“What’s your plan for protecting Marigold?” she demanded.
“I am working on that,” he muttered, “or more precisely, I am trying to work on it at this moment. Now, if it is not too much trouble Amethyst—”
“Very well,” Amethyst’s voice sounded offended. “I can take a hint you know.”
“Since when?” Feline muttered aloud, though he was careful to keep the sentiment out of his thoughts. Amethyst was an emotionally unstable sorceress.---from pg.s 156-157 chapter 13 of Secret Sorcerer: Moon Child Memoirs Book 2
Ellfs' enchantments: Chapter 2
"Ten to one, Dagda convinced Llaeron that he could find a way into our hidden Reality and kill him if he so chose,” Katara continued to say in the same scathing tones. “No doubt Llaeron chose to believe him. So what does he do? He sells out his king! Where has his loyalty gone?”
“Probably the same place as yours,” Hollae muttered under her breath.
“What did you say?” Katara was aghast at Hollae’s accusation. “I’ll have you know that there’s no one in this Reality who is more loyal to our half-witted moron of a king than I am!”
“If you’re so loyal, then why do you always insult him?” Hollae asked as she conjured a ruler to make sure all the pages were even. “If he’s as stupid as you say, then how did he become a sorcerer at all? That in itself requires a certain amount of intelligence. If he’s a half-witted moron, then how did he create this alternate world?”
“Any sorcerer could open up another Reality, as we are going to prove,” Katara replied as calmly as her displeasure allowed. “After all, it’s just an alternate Reality.”
“Excuse me, but did you actually read that spell?” Hollae asked as she looked into Katara’s violet eyes. “We aren’t on an alternate plane of Reality. We’ve left it completely. The realm Ellfstane constructed is outside the boundaries of Reality. Could any old sorcerer do that?”
“If we aren’t in Reality, then where are we?” Katara’s confusion poured into her voice as she spoke. “There is nowhere else.”
“Ellse Where.” Hollae’s reply was calm.
“I know we call it ‘Ellse Where,’” Katara fumed, “but where is Ellse Where?”
“I don’t know,” Hollae replied as she stared out her stained glass window. “It has no name that I’m aware of. It isn’t Reality because Reality no longer wants us. It must be Reality’s opposite.”
“What is Reality’s opposite?” Katara asked as she took a seat on the stool Hollae kept in there specifically for Katara.
“I haven’t a clue,” Hollae replied with a shrug. “It could be Fantasy, I guess. Although I don’t believe that Fantasy is a place.”
“Fantasy?” Skepticism dripped from Katara’s voice as she spoke. “Are you out of your half-caste mind? Fantasy’s a state of mind; it’s not a place! Fantasy isn’t real. It can’t exist. Only Reality can.”
“It’s as close as we can come to a name for this place,” Hollae replied in her calm childlike voice. “It certainly isn’t real; therefore, it can’t be Reality. It must be Fantasy, or some aspect of it. As a man who has yet to be born once said, ‘For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction.’ He will be from these isles, by the way.”
“Fantasy,” Katara muttered and then looked up into the murky depths of her cousin’s smoky teal eyes. “Well, even so, that would just make us even safer from the Celts. Llaeron should never’ve allowed himself to be swayed by Dagda into taking Ellfstane out of here.”
“Haerryll says that he’s found an aide for me,” Hollae said.
“No Celt could ever follow us into this secure world,” Katara said, refusing to allow Hollae to change the subject. Again.
“His name’s Epaen. He was a member of Llaeron’s embassy,” Hollae explained with quiet determination in her voice.
“Llaeron acted irresponsibly.”
“He’s a mid-range sorcerer.”
“Llaella should demote him to wizard for this.”
“He speaks fluent Celtic,” Hollae replied quietly. “I could use him as an interpreter if necessary.”
“How anyone as irresponsible as Llaeron could be an ambassador is beyond me,” Katara replied. Just this once, she was going to prove more stubborn about a subject than Hollae. Even if it killed her.
“Epaen works for Bllerabon,” Hollae answered.
“Hollae!” Katara actually raised her voice to interrupt her cousin. “Enough about Epaen, the wonder aide. What about Llaeron’s irresponsible act?”
After a silence that stretched for six seconds, Hollae replied, “It wasn’t that irresponsible. You just don’t know the whole tale.”--from pg.s 21-24 chapter 2 of Ellfaerran Diaries Book II : Ellfs' Enchantments
“Probably the same place as yours,” Hollae muttered under her breath.
“What did you say?” Katara was aghast at Hollae’s accusation. “I’ll have you know that there’s no one in this Reality who is more loyal to our half-witted moron of a king than I am!”
“If you’re so loyal, then why do you always insult him?” Hollae asked as she conjured a ruler to make sure all the pages were even. “If he’s as stupid as you say, then how did he become a sorcerer at all? That in itself requires a certain amount of intelligence. If he’s a half-witted moron, then how did he create this alternate world?”
“Any sorcerer could open up another Reality, as we are going to prove,” Katara replied as calmly as her displeasure allowed. “After all, it’s just an alternate Reality.”
“Excuse me, but did you actually read that spell?” Hollae asked as she looked into Katara’s violet eyes. “We aren’t on an alternate plane of Reality. We’ve left it completely. The realm Ellfstane constructed is outside the boundaries of Reality. Could any old sorcerer do that?”
“If we aren’t in Reality, then where are we?” Katara’s confusion poured into her voice as she spoke. “There is nowhere else.”
“Ellse Where.” Hollae’s reply was calm.
“I know we call it ‘Ellse Where,’” Katara fumed, “but where is Ellse Where?”
“I don’t know,” Hollae replied as she stared out her stained glass window. “It has no name that I’m aware of. It isn’t Reality because Reality no longer wants us. It must be Reality’s opposite.”
“What is Reality’s opposite?” Katara asked as she took a seat on the stool Hollae kept in there specifically for Katara.
“I haven’t a clue,” Hollae replied with a shrug. “It could be Fantasy, I guess. Although I don’t believe that Fantasy is a place.”
“Fantasy?” Skepticism dripped from Katara’s voice as she spoke. “Are you out of your half-caste mind? Fantasy’s a state of mind; it’s not a place! Fantasy isn’t real. It can’t exist. Only Reality can.”
“It’s as close as we can come to a name for this place,” Hollae replied in her calm childlike voice. “It certainly isn’t real; therefore, it can’t be Reality. It must be Fantasy, or some aspect of it. As a man who has yet to be born once said, ‘For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction.’ He will be from these isles, by the way.”
“Fantasy,” Katara muttered and then looked up into the murky depths of her cousin’s smoky teal eyes. “Well, even so, that would just make us even safer from the Celts. Llaeron should never’ve allowed himself to be swayed by Dagda into taking Ellfstane out of here.”
“Haerryll says that he’s found an aide for me,” Hollae said.
“No Celt could ever follow us into this secure world,” Katara said, refusing to allow Hollae to change the subject. Again.
“His name’s Epaen. He was a member of Llaeron’s embassy,” Hollae explained with quiet determination in her voice.
“Llaeron acted irresponsibly.”
“He’s a mid-range sorcerer.”
“Llaella should demote him to wizard for this.”
“He speaks fluent Celtic,” Hollae replied quietly. “I could use him as an interpreter if necessary.”
“How anyone as irresponsible as Llaeron could be an ambassador is beyond me,” Katara replied. Just this once, she was going to prove more stubborn about a subject than Hollae. Even if it killed her.
“Epaen works for Bllerabon,” Hollae answered.
“Hollae!” Katara actually raised her voice to interrupt her cousin. “Enough about Epaen, the wonder aide. What about Llaeron’s irresponsible act?”
After a silence that stretched for six seconds, Hollae replied, “It wasn’t that irresponsible. You just don’t know the whole tale.”--from pg.s 21-24 chapter 2 of Ellfaerran Diaries Book II : Ellfs' Enchantments
Separated Soul: Chapter 13
--a furrow appeared between his thick, black eyebrows. “Is there something you have not told me?”
“What do you mean?” she asked as her sense of guilt flared.
“You were most proficient at that spell, for a first timer,” he replied thoughtfully. “Have you stumbled across it accidentally, or did you find it in the book and practiced it before today?”
“It’s how I communicate with the star people,” she replied quietly as she released his arm and clutched her hands together.
“I see,” he said with a reassuring smile. “In that case, I think we can most easily skip ahead to another spell tonight.”
“Thank-you, Master,” she replied with a sigh.
“You are most welcome,” he replied as he once more removed his cloak. He then turned it white side out. “The spell I shall teach you now is the wizard’s invisibility spell.
This version requires a specially woven cloak, such as this one, and a strong desire to be unseen. It is a variation of the witch’s illusion of invisibility, except the cloak makes it a reality. Try it.”
Purrae wrapped the cloak, black side in, around Moon Child’s shoulders. He then stepped back and bowed to her. Swallowing her fear she concentrated on the cloak hiding her from view. When she opened her eyes she saw Purrae frowning. She wondered what she’d done wrong.
“Master?” her voice came out as an insecure squeak.
“I can still see your head,” he replied. “I should not be able to see any part of you at all. What did you concentrate on?”
“I concentrated on the cloak obscuring me from view,” she replied in a small voice as the fear she wasn’t really a sorceress gripped her. She saw Purrae shake his head and was sure he would leave in disgust, never to return. “Should I try again, Master?”
“Yes, Moon Child,” he said while a laugh danced around his voice. “How about you concentrate on the desire to be unseen, and leave the cloak out of the equation?”
“O-okay, Master Purrae,” she swallowed, and then changed her focus. This time she did as he asked. In her mind she was invisible. No one, not even the moon, could see her. She was gone. When she opened her eyes it was to see Purrae’s smile.
“Are you still here, Moon Child?” he asked around his smile.
“Of course I am, Master,” she replied, her confusion clear in her voice.
“Ah, but there is no ‘of course’ about it,” he replied with a soft chuckle. “How can I tell if you are there if I cannot see you?”
“You mean it worked?” excitement, and relief, heightened Moon Child’s voice as she exclaimed both audibly and telepathically.
“Yes, Moon Child,” he laughed. “This time it did indeed work. You have my most joyful congratulations. That spell is difficult and often takes four or six tries before it is done correctly.”
“Why so many tries?” she asked her happy mentor.
“Many trainees do as you did the first time.” he replied in a more serious tone. “They place their faith in the cloak, instead of themselves. Quite often they will cover their entire bodies with their cloaks, deflecting the purpose of the spell. It is supposed to make freedom of movement possible in even the most dangerous of situations. Such freedom is impaired if one is obliged to see through a very narrow slit in the cloth’s seam. You had enough faith in your own powers to discard the dependency on the cloak.”
“Thank-you, Master,” she said nervously. “Now how do I dissolve the spell?”
“That is most simple,” he replied lightly. “Wish to be visible once again and remove the cloak from your shoulders.”
Moon Child did not have to concentrate on that wish. It is very disconcerting to stand in front of someone who does not see you. She whipped off the cloak and handed it back to her master, who promptly returned it, black side out, to his own shoulders.
“Most well done, my dear,” he replied with a smile. “Your transition into sight from invisibility was exceptionally smooth and well executed. Most extraordinary result, for a first attempt. There are some wizards who are still jerky in their return, and they have many years of practice under their jerkins.”
“Thank-you, Master,’ she replied, relieved to get that spell over with.
“Now, I hate to teach and run; however, I have been battling a lack of sleep of late and am most fatigued,” he said as he secured the cloak once more. “I find I really must dash off. I think I would most assuredly benefit from at least one early night. Fare-thee-well and do not forget about your promise to help me with the Witch of the Moors, if need there be.”
“Do not worry, Master Purrae,” she called as he turned and strode up the beach. “I won’t forget. Good-night.”
“Well, well, well,” the Parapsychologist said in a very satisfied voice. “It appears you were correct. Your master did request your help.”
“I never thought I’d see the day a denizen of Fantasy asked for Reality’s help against one of his own,” the moon’s voice sounded surprised, but pleased; very pleased. “I think I may have been wrong in believing he would be a bad influence. He appears to have enough of a grasp on the truth to realize when he needs help.”
“I think it is safe to say that your offspring knows, and understands, Purrae much better than either of us possibly could,” the alien replied serenely. “Now that I think about it, he has always been very honest about the pitfalls of sorcery and its mistress: Fantasy.”
“You’re right,” the moon sighed, and her pleased tones became sad. “I must admit I’ve judged him harshly from the very beginning. I even missed all those admissions of his because of my prejudice. He is a very worthy man and not completely lost. It may even be possible to reclaim him from Fantasy’s cage of insanity.”
“I have always believed that,” the Parapsychologist replied evenly. “Why do you suppose I have such a keen interest in his welfare?”
“We may be able to reclaim him before you take him away,” the moon replied with a chuckle. “You may not be necessary.”
“I wonder?” he said, although there was a teasing lilt to his voice. “In my vision he was a mature male, but not all that old.”
“In that case you’d better nab him while you can,” Moon Child grumbled. She hated it when her master was discussed so dispassionately.
“Why do you say that?” the star man asked good-naturedly.
“Because he looks to be in his thirties now,” she replied snippily. “Wait any longer and he’ll be old and gray.”
“Perhaps not,” the moon replied sweetly. Too sweetly, she was in a strange mood again. “You see, I just remembered his face, although I never knew his name. It dates back over eleven hundred years.”
“What?” Moon Child and the star man said in unison.
“Purrae’s face,” the moon replied, with a hint of excitement. “His thirty-year-old face.
It roamed these isles over eleven hundred years ago. He is the exact image of the High Sorcerer from before. His hair may be a shade longer, but two men could never look so identical and dress so exactly alike at all times. Not even relations do that; and he kept cropping up. Every so many centuries he’d appear in Thrace or Rome, Denmark then India; always the same, and always a sorcerer. It could not possibly be a coincidence. I don’t believe he ages at all.”
“It is possible,” the star man mused. “There are very strong Parapsychologists on my world who live for more than a millennium and still do not look like they could be so old. There is also that untapped well of pure power in Purrae’s mind. He is so strong he could easily retain his youthful appearance until well into his third millennium.”
“Well,” Moon Child muttered, still upset with her celestial associates. “Even if, and that’s a big if, you manage to abduct him, how do you plan on keeping Master Purrae? His friends are bound to rescue him.”
“They will try,” the alien replied serenely. “However, they will fail. Your people have no knowledge of space flight, and therefore, cannot follow Purrae Pollaer to my world. In case you are thinking about his sapphire safety net, I can assure you it will be removed at the earliest possible moment. Purrae will remain with my people and he will be reclaimed.” --from pg.s 175-179 Chapter 13, Moon Child Memoirs Book I: Separated Soul.
“What do you mean?” she asked as her sense of guilt flared.
“You were most proficient at that spell, for a first timer,” he replied thoughtfully. “Have you stumbled across it accidentally, or did you find it in the book and practiced it before today?”
“It’s how I communicate with the star people,” she replied quietly as she released his arm and clutched her hands together.
“I see,” he said with a reassuring smile. “In that case, I think we can most easily skip ahead to another spell tonight.”
“Thank-you, Master,” she replied with a sigh.
“You are most welcome,” he replied as he once more removed his cloak. He then turned it white side out. “The spell I shall teach you now is the wizard’s invisibility spell.
This version requires a specially woven cloak, such as this one, and a strong desire to be unseen. It is a variation of the witch’s illusion of invisibility, except the cloak makes it a reality. Try it.”
Purrae wrapped the cloak, black side in, around Moon Child’s shoulders. He then stepped back and bowed to her. Swallowing her fear she concentrated on the cloak hiding her from view. When she opened her eyes she saw Purrae frowning. She wondered what she’d done wrong.
“Master?” her voice came out as an insecure squeak.
“I can still see your head,” he replied. “I should not be able to see any part of you at all. What did you concentrate on?”
“I concentrated on the cloak obscuring me from view,” she replied in a small voice as the fear she wasn’t really a sorceress gripped her. She saw Purrae shake his head and was sure he would leave in disgust, never to return. “Should I try again, Master?”
“Yes, Moon Child,” he said while a laugh danced around his voice. “How about you concentrate on the desire to be unseen, and leave the cloak out of the equation?”
“O-okay, Master Purrae,” she swallowed, and then changed her focus. This time she did as he asked. In her mind she was invisible. No one, not even the moon, could see her. She was gone. When she opened her eyes it was to see Purrae’s smile.
“Are you still here, Moon Child?” he asked around his smile.
“Of course I am, Master,” she replied, her confusion clear in her voice.
“Ah, but there is no ‘of course’ about it,” he replied with a soft chuckle. “How can I tell if you are there if I cannot see you?”
“You mean it worked?” excitement, and relief, heightened Moon Child’s voice as she exclaimed both audibly and telepathically.
“Yes, Moon Child,” he laughed. “This time it did indeed work. You have my most joyful congratulations. That spell is difficult and often takes four or six tries before it is done correctly.”
“Why so many tries?” she asked her happy mentor.
“Many trainees do as you did the first time.” he replied in a more serious tone. “They place their faith in the cloak, instead of themselves. Quite often they will cover their entire bodies with their cloaks, deflecting the purpose of the spell. It is supposed to make freedom of movement possible in even the most dangerous of situations. Such freedom is impaired if one is obliged to see through a very narrow slit in the cloth’s seam. You had enough faith in your own powers to discard the dependency on the cloak.”
“Thank-you, Master,” she said nervously. “Now how do I dissolve the spell?”
“That is most simple,” he replied lightly. “Wish to be visible once again and remove the cloak from your shoulders.”
Moon Child did not have to concentrate on that wish. It is very disconcerting to stand in front of someone who does not see you. She whipped off the cloak and handed it back to her master, who promptly returned it, black side out, to his own shoulders.
“Most well done, my dear,” he replied with a smile. “Your transition into sight from invisibility was exceptionally smooth and well executed. Most extraordinary result, for a first attempt. There are some wizards who are still jerky in their return, and they have many years of practice under their jerkins.”
“Thank-you, Master,’ she replied, relieved to get that spell over with.
“Now, I hate to teach and run; however, I have been battling a lack of sleep of late and am most fatigued,” he said as he secured the cloak once more. “I find I really must dash off. I think I would most assuredly benefit from at least one early night. Fare-thee-well and do not forget about your promise to help me with the Witch of the Moors, if need there be.”
“Do not worry, Master Purrae,” she called as he turned and strode up the beach. “I won’t forget. Good-night.”
“Well, well, well,” the Parapsychologist said in a very satisfied voice. “It appears you were correct. Your master did request your help.”
“I never thought I’d see the day a denizen of Fantasy asked for Reality’s help against one of his own,” the moon’s voice sounded surprised, but pleased; very pleased. “I think I may have been wrong in believing he would be a bad influence. He appears to have enough of a grasp on the truth to realize when he needs help.”
“I think it is safe to say that your offspring knows, and understands, Purrae much better than either of us possibly could,” the alien replied serenely. “Now that I think about it, he has always been very honest about the pitfalls of sorcery and its mistress: Fantasy.”
“You’re right,” the moon sighed, and her pleased tones became sad. “I must admit I’ve judged him harshly from the very beginning. I even missed all those admissions of his because of my prejudice. He is a very worthy man and not completely lost. It may even be possible to reclaim him from Fantasy’s cage of insanity.”
“I have always believed that,” the Parapsychologist replied evenly. “Why do you suppose I have such a keen interest in his welfare?”
“We may be able to reclaim him before you take him away,” the moon replied with a chuckle. “You may not be necessary.”
“I wonder?” he said, although there was a teasing lilt to his voice. “In my vision he was a mature male, but not all that old.”
“In that case you’d better nab him while you can,” Moon Child grumbled. She hated it when her master was discussed so dispassionately.
“Why do you say that?” the star man asked good-naturedly.
“Because he looks to be in his thirties now,” she replied snippily. “Wait any longer and he’ll be old and gray.”
“Perhaps not,” the moon replied sweetly. Too sweetly, she was in a strange mood again. “You see, I just remembered his face, although I never knew his name. It dates back over eleven hundred years.”
“What?” Moon Child and the star man said in unison.
“Purrae’s face,” the moon replied, with a hint of excitement. “His thirty-year-old face.
It roamed these isles over eleven hundred years ago. He is the exact image of the High Sorcerer from before. His hair may be a shade longer, but two men could never look so identical and dress so exactly alike at all times. Not even relations do that; and he kept cropping up. Every so many centuries he’d appear in Thrace or Rome, Denmark then India; always the same, and always a sorcerer. It could not possibly be a coincidence. I don’t believe he ages at all.”
“It is possible,” the star man mused. “There are very strong Parapsychologists on my world who live for more than a millennium and still do not look like they could be so old. There is also that untapped well of pure power in Purrae’s mind. He is so strong he could easily retain his youthful appearance until well into his third millennium.”
“Well,” Moon Child muttered, still upset with her celestial associates. “Even if, and that’s a big if, you manage to abduct him, how do you plan on keeping Master Purrae? His friends are bound to rescue him.”
“They will try,” the alien replied serenely. “However, they will fail. Your people have no knowledge of space flight, and therefore, cannot follow Purrae Pollaer to my world. In case you are thinking about his sapphire safety net, I can assure you it will be removed at the earliest possible moment. Purrae will remain with my people and he will be reclaimed.” --from pg.s 175-179 Chapter 13, Moon Child Memoirs Book I: Separated Soul.
EScape to Ellse Where: Chapter 14
. “You see, we choose our sorcerers, and their rank, when they’re born. Hyllaell’s sponsor felt that he owed it to him to give him such a vast amount of power as there was no one else. Until nine years ago one High Sorcerer a generation was enough; however, Sellae, Llaella, and I decided that we had to reassert our presence, and the original custom. Apparently, your sponsor felt the same way. Like us, she felt the need to gift a fourth member of this generation with an incredible portion of her powers.”
“But why would she do that?” I asked the translucent goddess.
“Guilt perhaps.” Arra shrugged in her violet nimbus. “Your mother did die when you were being born. Perhaps your sponsor felt that she could’ve prevented the incident, or perhaps she felt neglectful. Or maybe she remembered, never mind. Whatever the reason, she chose you just before you were born. That could be one of the reasons why your mother gave birth to you prematurely.”
“So, you do not think her fall had anything to do with it then?” I asked the glowing divinity.
“Of course it did,” Arra exclaimed. “By rights your mother should have been, well, let’s skip that. Besides, your birth was too flawless. Between the two medical miracles, it becomes obvious that divine intervention was involved.”
“Wait a minute,” I said as a thought occurred to me. “You said high sorcerers were chosen at birth or just after. Why was I chosen before I was born?”
“Your sponsor has always been good at seeing the future.” Arra sighed. She paused as if she was remembering something very sad before she continued. “That’s why she refused to leave with the rest of us. In fact, she even refused to vote, not that it would’ve made much of a difference. She’s known your personality for generations, but unlike us, she didn’t let you know, even subliminally, about her affection for you. I’m afraid the three of us—Sellae, Llaella, and myself—allowed our affection to be known to our chosen three.”
“I know that Katara is your chosen High Sorceress now,” I said. “Who are Llaella and Sellae’s chosen?”
“The High Sorcerer of Llaella is to remain a mystery until she chooses to divulge his identity,” Arra said. She smiled. “Actually, I think Llaella’s doing it just so she can keep some knowledge to herself. Cats love secrets, especially the cat goddess of the Ellfs. As for Sellae, she told me to tell the world that she has chosen Hollae to be her High Sorceress. She even wants the Tuatha De Danann to know, for what reason I can’t imagine.”
“Maybe Hollae is going to have extended contact with some of the De Dananns,” I suggested timidly (after all, Arra was a goddess).
“I doubt it,” she muttered. “As for Llaella’s, I know he’ll have extended contact since he is in their lands.”
“Llaella’s High Sorcerer is attached to the embassy?” I asked as an idea suddenly occurred to me. “Who is it?”
“Blast it,” Arra muttered. “Forget I said that. I have to go now.”
She disappeared as suddenly as she came. The purple velvet settee was empty, without even a dent in the cushions to prove she was ever there. Her statements reminded me that Katara was thoroughly tested by the Conclave of Sorcerers, although the results were not made public. When I thought about it, the Conclave of Sorcerers was just as secretive as their sponsors. I suppose it was that secrecy, coupled as it was with the Firbolg invasion that eliminated the question of my powers. Not even Hyllaell, after the toad incident, ever questioned me about my power level, or gave me any of the myriad tests that Katara had to submit to.
Personally, I am glad my father changed his mind about Katara. That decree of his was a load of nonsense, but the sorcerers were compelled to follow it despite the results of the strenuous tests the Conclave subjected Katara to. The Conclave was largely symbolic and all sorcerers were included in those days, but after the departure of the gods, they were known as the Conclave of High Sorcerers and only the most powerful sorcerer of each god was allowed past its doors. In the early days, the High Sorcerer of Arra was always in charge, as it is now, but in the century before the Firbolgs’ invasion, it deteriorated to who had the most power and the best connections. I think the most telling piece of evidence was that Katara was the first High Sorceress of Arra in at least two-hundred and ninety-six years.
That was why my father and Hyllaell were so surprised by the announcement proclaiming the identity of Katara’s sponsor. The last sorcerer chosen by Arra, high or otherwise, had passed away two hundred and ninety years before. She had not chosen any more sorcerers after him. To hide this discrepancy, the gods refused to announce their sponsorship to their chosen ones. Despite their efforts, all the Ellfs knew that the unicorn goddess of sorcery had pulled away, it was believed forever. Sellae and Llaella appeared to follow suit, although Llaella returned to us much earlier when she chose to give her full sponsorship to the man from the embassy, four years before Arra and Sellae finally chose Katara and Hollae.--from pg.s 193-196 of chapter 14 Ellfaerran Diaries book I: Escape to Ellse Where
“But why would she do that?” I asked the translucent goddess.
“Guilt perhaps.” Arra shrugged in her violet nimbus. “Your mother did die when you were being born. Perhaps your sponsor felt that she could’ve prevented the incident, or perhaps she felt neglectful. Or maybe she remembered, never mind. Whatever the reason, she chose you just before you were born. That could be one of the reasons why your mother gave birth to you prematurely.”
“So, you do not think her fall had anything to do with it then?” I asked the glowing divinity.
“Of course it did,” Arra exclaimed. “By rights your mother should have been, well, let’s skip that. Besides, your birth was too flawless. Between the two medical miracles, it becomes obvious that divine intervention was involved.”
“Wait a minute,” I said as a thought occurred to me. “You said high sorcerers were chosen at birth or just after. Why was I chosen before I was born?”
“Your sponsor has always been good at seeing the future.” Arra sighed. She paused as if she was remembering something very sad before she continued. “That’s why she refused to leave with the rest of us. In fact, she even refused to vote, not that it would’ve made much of a difference. She’s known your personality for generations, but unlike us, she didn’t let you know, even subliminally, about her affection for you. I’m afraid the three of us—Sellae, Llaella, and myself—allowed our affection to be known to our chosen three.”
“I know that Katara is your chosen High Sorceress now,” I said. “Who are Llaella and Sellae’s chosen?”
“The High Sorcerer of Llaella is to remain a mystery until she chooses to divulge his identity,” Arra said. She smiled. “Actually, I think Llaella’s doing it just so she can keep some knowledge to herself. Cats love secrets, especially the cat goddess of the Ellfs. As for Sellae, she told me to tell the world that she has chosen Hollae to be her High Sorceress. She even wants the Tuatha De Danann to know, for what reason I can’t imagine.”
“Maybe Hollae is going to have extended contact with some of the De Dananns,” I suggested timidly (after all, Arra was a goddess).
“I doubt it,” she muttered. “As for Llaella’s, I know he’ll have extended contact since he is in their lands.”
“Llaella’s High Sorcerer is attached to the embassy?” I asked as an idea suddenly occurred to me. “Who is it?”
“Blast it,” Arra muttered. “Forget I said that. I have to go now.”
She disappeared as suddenly as she came. The purple velvet settee was empty, without even a dent in the cushions to prove she was ever there. Her statements reminded me that Katara was thoroughly tested by the Conclave of Sorcerers, although the results were not made public. When I thought about it, the Conclave of Sorcerers was just as secretive as their sponsors. I suppose it was that secrecy, coupled as it was with the Firbolg invasion that eliminated the question of my powers. Not even Hyllaell, after the toad incident, ever questioned me about my power level, or gave me any of the myriad tests that Katara had to submit to.
Personally, I am glad my father changed his mind about Katara. That decree of his was a load of nonsense, but the sorcerers were compelled to follow it despite the results of the strenuous tests the Conclave subjected Katara to. The Conclave was largely symbolic and all sorcerers were included in those days, but after the departure of the gods, they were known as the Conclave of High Sorcerers and only the most powerful sorcerer of each god was allowed past its doors. In the early days, the High Sorcerer of Arra was always in charge, as it is now, but in the century before the Firbolgs’ invasion, it deteriorated to who had the most power and the best connections. I think the most telling piece of evidence was that Katara was the first High Sorceress of Arra in at least two-hundred and ninety-six years.
That was why my father and Hyllaell were so surprised by the announcement proclaiming the identity of Katara’s sponsor. The last sorcerer chosen by Arra, high or otherwise, had passed away two hundred and ninety years before. She had not chosen any more sorcerers after him. To hide this discrepancy, the gods refused to announce their sponsorship to their chosen ones. Despite their efforts, all the Ellfs knew that the unicorn goddess of sorcery had pulled away, it was believed forever. Sellae and Llaella appeared to follow suit, although Llaella returned to us much earlier when she chose to give her full sponsorship to the man from the embassy, four years before Arra and Sellae finally chose Katara and Hollae.--from pg.s 193-196 of chapter 14 Ellfaerran Diaries book I: Escape to Ellse Where
Secret sorcerer: Chapter 14
...there was a sternness to the voice that just didn’t seem right, somehow. “You aren’t really yelling at him, you’re just occupying your mind to keep from seeing a compelling, and familiar, face out on the moors, or to ask how a face you can’t give a name to, nor a prior sighting, can actually be familiar. Just as you seek to avoid looking at that chest and its clues to your past.”
“Which that little girl is not from,” La Lune sneered. “She is far too young, but perhaps her parents were known to me, or even her ancestors?”
“How do you know that face belongs to a little girl?” the question was asked in an academic tone.
“Well, I assume so,” she replied. “What else could such a small and beautiful face belong to aside from a female child?”
“Never assume, La Lune,” he rejoined. “What makes you even think the little one is even out on the moors right now? Your hovel is hidden from common sight and you surely cannot believe that you are an object of fascination for an innocent of the northern marshes.”
“You think she might be gone?” La Lune pondered.
“That is an answer I can’t give,” was the less than satisfactory reply of the sorcerer. “You may not have noticed, but I’m not actually in your hovel. I can give no answers to what is happening without.”
“So you think I should look outside instead of—”she began to say.
“Cowering in here while cursing at Uther?” Marigold finished for her.
“I’m not cowering!” La Lune replied through gritted teeth.
“Prove it.”
“What?”
“Look out the window,” Marigold taunted. “Prove you aren’t afraid of seeing the small face that startled you before.”
“Fine, I shall,” La Lune replied as she crossed to the casement. “I shall.”
Therein lay her mistake. La Lune flung open the shutters in a fury of defiance. She would prove Marigold wrong. She wasn’t afraid of that little girl, she wasn’t. Triumphant eyes scanned the horizon until they met the clear violet gaze of the child’s oversized eyes, but they were no longer set in a child’s tiny face. It was still the face of the overly pretty—even beautiful—girl, but it grew to adult size and the eyes grew along with the head. She could clearly see the depths of knowledge hidden within those strange orbs and the intensity of the compellingly sculpted face.
“Well?” asked Marigold in her mind. “Is the child still there?”
“Yes, but she’s no longer a child,” La Lune said in a dazed voice.
“Your assumption shows,” the topaz tenor laughed. “How do you know the face you see now is the same one as before?”
“The eyes,” she replied. “I still know them, how I can’t say, but I know there’s a wealth of secrets hidden behind those amethysts, secrets I had a hand in forging long years before.”
As she spoke, La Lune crossed over to the trunk, untied the knots, opened it, and pulled out the rent silk shift. She caressed the soft stuff spun by a moth’s larva. Cocoon silk felt different from that spun for a butterfly’s chrysalis. Even as she allowed the feel of the silk to soothe her, she picked up the feeling that it wasn’t time to don the garb yet. She must be whole first. What that meant she didn’t know. What had she lost to not be complete? Was it the memory of before the stabbing that she must regain? The dark witch held the mysterious shift close to her bosom and wondered what it all could mean. The singing of the goldfinch interrupted her thoughts, followed by the tenor’s golden tones.
“Uh, oh, you’ve got company,” he said just before a knock fell on the door. “That one can trace me and she seeks always to entrap those of my blood. I must leave you for the nonce.”
He did. He disappeared so fast from her mind that he left a painful void behind. Soon after a tapping came from the door. The other witch must not see the shift, La Lune was sure of that. She hurried over to the trunk, dumped the aqua garment in it, slammed the lid, and hastily retied the string. Once the trunk was secure as she could make it, La Lune dashed over to the door and flung it open.
“What?” she feigned exasperation, then put on a false apologetic tone. “Oh, Queen of Ghosts and Shadows I didn’t realise it was you.”
“Obviously,” the red and black garbed Celtic witch sneered as her eyes scanned the room. “Whom were you expecting?”
“Another messenger from Octa and Eosa,” she gave a grim-voiced reply. La Lune used them because they sent a plea to her the night before. “Why they think I would help them after they surrendered to Ambrosius and Uther is beyond me. I gave them express orders to hold the Celts back until I got there, but did they do it—”
“Will you be helpin’ them?” the Queen of Ghosts and Shadows asked as she entered the room, then her eye fell on the goldfinch. “New pet?”
“They blew any chance of gaining my aid when they disobeyed my orders in York,” La Lune replied with a snort. “Oh, that is a strange creature, a bird I believe it is called. Undernourished little thing, I’m feeding it to keep it around so I can use it in one of my upcoming experiments.”
“Like that toad?” she asked as she stopped in front of the transmogrified Celt’s cage. “What d’you intend t’do with him?”
“There are all manner of spells that use toad’s blood and none of them specify that the toad must be dead,” La Lune cackled, sort of anyway. “Every so many months, I collect some blood from him. Soon I shall have enough to use and I shall see if the amphibians must be deceased. If that isn’t required—”
“You shall have a permanent supply of the stuff,” the chestnut-eyed witch answered for La Lune. “That your reasoning for the bird as well?”
“Of course,” La Lune did her best to cackle as she used to but it didn’t work as well as before. “Only it’s easier with that, as all I need are its feathers, maybe even its eggs if it’s the correct gender.”
“No eggs, girl,” the very Gaelic brogue was back in the witch’s voice. “You’re not after getting any from him. That’s a male that is.”
“No, really?” La Lune allowed a tinge of sarcasm to edge her voice. “And all this time I thought it was a girl. I guess that eliminates the second part of the experiments with the little guy.”
“Yes it does,” the Queen of Ghosts and Shadows said in a flat tone. “It’s strange I’m feelin’, but that bird seems familiar. I recall seein’ it a couple o’ times after losin’ a sorcerer what always wore gold.”
“Really?” La Lune replied, realising the other witch meant Marigold. For some reason she couldn’t explain, even to herself, La Lune felt an urge to hide her knowledge of him from the other. “I heard a teal garbed magic worker once possessed a bird like that for her familiar.”
“Did she?” a certain amount of disbelief coloured the other’s voice. “If we speak of the same one she had no need of a familiar.”
“I know it was her servant,” La Lune declared.
“Her eyes and ears then,” a smirk disfigured the other’s sultry face. “Such would be hard to mark. The sorcerers always watched each other, which makes sense when one thinks about it. Speaking of sorcerers, a gold garbed one has arrived in these isles.”
“Will he be a problem?” La Lune pressed. What if the other already knew of La Lune’s tenuous contact with Marigold?
“On the contrary, he will be a blessing once I take him,” the other’s laugh was cold and dark. “Once in my hands he will become bait to draw out Moon Child’s master. The two are old and close friends. The swarthy-skinned one will not abandon his brother-in-law to my mercies.”
“Brother-in-law?” La Lune asked, recalling what Marigold said about a previous engagement.
“Last time I took him the golden sorcerer was betrothed to the sister of our mutual enemy,” a dark shadow seemed to infuse the Gaelic enchantress’s face. “He must be wedded to her by now.”
“When was that?”
“Over a millennium ago now,” the Gaelic witch snarled.
“What?” La Lune shrieked. She assumed that Marigold was an adolescent because of his reactions to certain statements; also he stated he was engaged and no one remained in such a situation for that long.
“Sorcerers are notoriously long lived,” she snarled. “Even more so than us witches. I doubt a little thing like a thousand years means much to them in any way. He probably still thinks of himself as a stripling.”
“Now that I doubt,” she replied immediately. “A sorcerer would, of necessity, have a very strong and serious mind.”
“My naive friend,” this time the other’s laugh held a harsh edge. “Sorcerers are the most infantile people in the world. Due to the length of their lives and the depths of their power, they view the world as their private playground. Mortals are but toys to them. Play pieces to be moved around on a board until one or another wins. If those they use die in the process, they just go out and get more.”
“Hah!” replied the toad.
“Who said that?” the other witch demanded.
“An eagle,” La Lune’s reply was too quick. “There’s a goldie that circles this moor from time to time.”
“It did seem like something other than an eagle,” she snarled. “More human than animal.”
“Who could’ve said it then?” La Lune demanded, not asking herself why she defended the Briton. She assumed it was because any doubt would then centre upon Marigold.
“The bird perhaps,” the other replied, then bent her will on the golden hued avian. The only result was a spate of singing. “Bah, such creatures are useless. How could it aid a sorceress at all?”
“Perhaps if we spoke its tongue,” La Lune’s reply was strange even to her own ears.
“For an Ellf such could in truth be possible,” the other’s reply was curt.
“What of the Celts?” La Lune asked in an attempt to alter the course of the discussion. “I know Uther is chasing every female that moves.”
“Because of your additions to his lusts,” the other replied. “He will not be tied down to any female until he meets Ygraine.”
“What of the geas placed upon them about the sorcerer?” she asked as she recalled that particular spell.
“Ambrosius has rejected it,” the other sneered as she saw La Lune’s face fall. “Uther believes it came from the Celtic goddess of Death of the Battlefield. He willingly hunts Purrae Pollaer.”
“Good, once he’s out of the way I can stop worrying,” La Lune sighed. “He will no longer be there to help either Merlin or Moon Child.”
“Or Marigold,” the other witch grated.
“What?” La Lune was shocked.
“My original plans for him weren’t that great,” the other gave her shocking reply. “I was far too obsessed with the elder to notice the younger, but the golden sorcerer is extremely beautiful and it would be a waste of good material to sacrifice him.”
“Is he so truly to your tastes?” La Lune rushed to ask.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Do you intend to keep the golden one, or would you gift him to another if you thought she might have a use for him?” La Lune had no idea why she asked, she just didn’t want Marigold in that one’s hands.
“Moon Child’s master is the one I desire, the other is just too beautiful to waste,” the queen replied. “If I thought another would make,” she laughed, “good use of him, I would have no problem giving him up. Why, do you want this one you claim to have never seen?”
“True, I have never seen him,” La Lune cackled. “But I would have no qualms about imprisoning a specimen of great beauty strictly for my private use, always supposing I could, uh, control him.”
“That is easily arranged, as I have a potion that can force certain reactions,” the other smirked. “It comes in handy during all manner of physical pastimes, especially for torture. Do you have a partner who would object to the arrangement?”
“There are none who dare,” La Lune declared. “They all fear me so much that the thought of coming near me is repellent to all.”
“Then I see the reason behind your question,” genuine amusement coloured the other’s voice. “I will gladly give toothsome Marigold to you and a supply of that deliciously controlling potion. I see you will indeed make good use of him.”
“I will not quibble about it if you decide to try him out first, of course,” La Lune said with great dignity. “After all, such a thing is simply the spoils of the victor in such a contest. All I care about is whether or not I get him at all.”
“You will, La Lune,” the other’s voice dripped with purpose. “You will indeed. With luck you shall have him when next we meet.”
“I shall look forward to seeing you,” La Lune smirked, “and to finally seeing this paragon of beauty you’ve spoken about.”
“Until then, La Lune.”
“Until then,” the Dark Witch replied as she opened the door and ushered the Queen of Ghosts and Shadows out of the house.
“Thanks a lot,” bitterness laced Marigold’s voice as soon as the door was shut behind the other witch. “I thought I told you I was engaged?”
“For over a millennium?” La Lune snarled back.
“She wants her brother at the wedding,” he snapped. “Until he’s finished here, he can’t come home to give her away. We’re just waiting on him.”
“You mean she is,” La Lune laughed.
“Oh shut up,” Marigold replied. “Besides, I’m too pale for you.”
“Meaning?”
“I’m rather pale,” he enunciated. “Milky even. I bet you’ve envisioned a man of about five foot three, with long blue-black hair, eyes so blue they’re black, and skin so swarthy it stands out against white. I bet you see defined muscles in arms and chest, leg muscles so strong the thighs bunch up and a taut torso.”
“Am I drooling?” La Lune queried.
“Well, that’s not me,” he replied. “I fade into white, my eyes aren’t that blue, and though there, my muscles are not prominent. I have a languid kind of look about me, not a powerful one.”
“Hmm, pity,” La Lune replied. “Although you did not debate the hair or the size in any way.”
“I don’t have blue highlights to my hair,” he declared.
“Look, do you really want to be that witch’s pampered pet for eternity?” La Lune demanded as she placed her hands on her hips.
“No!” disgust was treacle-thick in his voice. “How could you suggest such a future for me to my very mind?”
“Because that is her intention,” La Lune sighed. “At least here you’ve got a good chance of escape.”
“I didn’t think about that,” Marigold replied in a considering tone.
“But I did,” La Lune smirked.
“Why?” Marigold demanded. “You don’t like me, so why would you offer to take me as your prize to then plan my escape?”
“Because I don’t like the Queen of Ghosts and Shadows!” La Lune yelled back. “That accent of hers keeps slipping. She’s pretending to be something she’s not, trying to get something past me!”---from pg.s 159-166 of Moon Child Memoirs book II: Secret Sorcerer (chapter 14)
“Which that little girl is not from,” La Lune sneered. “She is far too young, but perhaps her parents were known to me, or even her ancestors?”
“How do you know that face belongs to a little girl?” the question was asked in an academic tone.
“Well, I assume so,” she replied. “What else could such a small and beautiful face belong to aside from a female child?”
“Never assume, La Lune,” he rejoined. “What makes you even think the little one is even out on the moors right now? Your hovel is hidden from common sight and you surely cannot believe that you are an object of fascination for an innocent of the northern marshes.”
“You think she might be gone?” La Lune pondered.
“That is an answer I can’t give,” was the less than satisfactory reply of the sorcerer. “You may not have noticed, but I’m not actually in your hovel. I can give no answers to what is happening without.”
“So you think I should look outside instead of—”she began to say.
“Cowering in here while cursing at Uther?” Marigold finished for her.
“I’m not cowering!” La Lune replied through gritted teeth.
“Prove it.”
“What?”
“Look out the window,” Marigold taunted. “Prove you aren’t afraid of seeing the small face that startled you before.”
“Fine, I shall,” La Lune replied as she crossed to the casement. “I shall.”
Therein lay her mistake. La Lune flung open the shutters in a fury of defiance. She would prove Marigold wrong. She wasn’t afraid of that little girl, she wasn’t. Triumphant eyes scanned the horizon until they met the clear violet gaze of the child’s oversized eyes, but they were no longer set in a child’s tiny face. It was still the face of the overly pretty—even beautiful—girl, but it grew to adult size and the eyes grew along with the head. She could clearly see the depths of knowledge hidden within those strange orbs and the intensity of the compellingly sculpted face.
“Well?” asked Marigold in her mind. “Is the child still there?”
“Yes, but she’s no longer a child,” La Lune said in a dazed voice.
“Your assumption shows,” the topaz tenor laughed. “How do you know the face you see now is the same one as before?”
“The eyes,” she replied. “I still know them, how I can’t say, but I know there’s a wealth of secrets hidden behind those amethysts, secrets I had a hand in forging long years before.”
As she spoke, La Lune crossed over to the trunk, untied the knots, opened it, and pulled out the rent silk shift. She caressed the soft stuff spun by a moth’s larva. Cocoon silk felt different from that spun for a butterfly’s chrysalis. Even as she allowed the feel of the silk to soothe her, she picked up the feeling that it wasn’t time to don the garb yet. She must be whole first. What that meant she didn’t know. What had she lost to not be complete? Was it the memory of before the stabbing that she must regain? The dark witch held the mysterious shift close to her bosom and wondered what it all could mean. The singing of the goldfinch interrupted her thoughts, followed by the tenor’s golden tones.
“Uh, oh, you’ve got company,” he said just before a knock fell on the door. “That one can trace me and she seeks always to entrap those of my blood. I must leave you for the nonce.”
He did. He disappeared so fast from her mind that he left a painful void behind. Soon after a tapping came from the door. The other witch must not see the shift, La Lune was sure of that. She hurried over to the trunk, dumped the aqua garment in it, slammed the lid, and hastily retied the string. Once the trunk was secure as she could make it, La Lune dashed over to the door and flung it open.
“What?” she feigned exasperation, then put on a false apologetic tone. “Oh, Queen of Ghosts and Shadows I didn’t realise it was you.”
“Obviously,” the red and black garbed Celtic witch sneered as her eyes scanned the room. “Whom were you expecting?”
“Another messenger from Octa and Eosa,” she gave a grim-voiced reply. La Lune used them because they sent a plea to her the night before. “Why they think I would help them after they surrendered to Ambrosius and Uther is beyond me. I gave them express orders to hold the Celts back until I got there, but did they do it—”
“Will you be helpin’ them?” the Queen of Ghosts and Shadows asked as she entered the room, then her eye fell on the goldfinch. “New pet?”
“They blew any chance of gaining my aid when they disobeyed my orders in York,” La Lune replied with a snort. “Oh, that is a strange creature, a bird I believe it is called. Undernourished little thing, I’m feeding it to keep it around so I can use it in one of my upcoming experiments.”
“Like that toad?” she asked as she stopped in front of the transmogrified Celt’s cage. “What d’you intend t’do with him?”
“There are all manner of spells that use toad’s blood and none of them specify that the toad must be dead,” La Lune cackled, sort of anyway. “Every so many months, I collect some blood from him. Soon I shall have enough to use and I shall see if the amphibians must be deceased. If that isn’t required—”
“You shall have a permanent supply of the stuff,” the chestnut-eyed witch answered for La Lune. “That your reasoning for the bird as well?”
“Of course,” La Lune did her best to cackle as she used to but it didn’t work as well as before. “Only it’s easier with that, as all I need are its feathers, maybe even its eggs if it’s the correct gender.”
“No eggs, girl,” the very Gaelic brogue was back in the witch’s voice. “You’re not after getting any from him. That’s a male that is.”
“No, really?” La Lune allowed a tinge of sarcasm to edge her voice. “And all this time I thought it was a girl. I guess that eliminates the second part of the experiments with the little guy.”
“Yes it does,” the Queen of Ghosts and Shadows said in a flat tone. “It’s strange I’m feelin’, but that bird seems familiar. I recall seein’ it a couple o’ times after losin’ a sorcerer what always wore gold.”
“Really?” La Lune replied, realising the other witch meant Marigold. For some reason she couldn’t explain, even to herself, La Lune felt an urge to hide her knowledge of him from the other. “I heard a teal garbed magic worker once possessed a bird like that for her familiar.”
“Did she?” a certain amount of disbelief coloured the other’s voice. “If we speak of the same one she had no need of a familiar.”
“I know it was her servant,” La Lune declared.
“Her eyes and ears then,” a smirk disfigured the other’s sultry face. “Such would be hard to mark. The sorcerers always watched each other, which makes sense when one thinks about it. Speaking of sorcerers, a gold garbed one has arrived in these isles.”
“Will he be a problem?” La Lune pressed. What if the other already knew of La Lune’s tenuous contact with Marigold?
“On the contrary, he will be a blessing once I take him,” the other’s laugh was cold and dark. “Once in my hands he will become bait to draw out Moon Child’s master. The two are old and close friends. The swarthy-skinned one will not abandon his brother-in-law to my mercies.”
“Brother-in-law?” La Lune asked, recalling what Marigold said about a previous engagement.
“Last time I took him the golden sorcerer was betrothed to the sister of our mutual enemy,” a dark shadow seemed to infuse the Gaelic enchantress’s face. “He must be wedded to her by now.”
“When was that?”
“Over a millennium ago now,” the Gaelic witch snarled.
“What?” La Lune shrieked. She assumed that Marigold was an adolescent because of his reactions to certain statements; also he stated he was engaged and no one remained in such a situation for that long.
“Sorcerers are notoriously long lived,” she snarled. “Even more so than us witches. I doubt a little thing like a thousand years means much to them in any way. He probably still thinks of himself as a stripling.”
“Now that I doubt,” she replied immediately. “A sorcerer would, of necessity, have a very strong and serious mind.”
“My naive friend,” this time the other’s laugh held a harsh edge. “Sorcerers are the most infantile people in the world. Due to the length of their lives and the depths of their power, they view the world as their private playground. Mortals are but toys to them. Play pieces to be moved around on a board until one or another wins. If those they use die in the process, they just go out and get more.”
“Hah!” replied the toad.
“Who said that?” the other witch demanded.
“An eagle,” La Lune’s reply was too quick. “There’s a goldie that circles this moor from time to time.”
“It did seem like something other than an eagle,” she snarled. “More human than animal.”
“Who could’ve said it then?” La Lune demanded, not asking herself why she defended the Briton. She assumed it was because any doubt would then centre upon Marigold.
“The bird perhaps,” the other replied, then bent her will on the golden hued avian. The only result was a spate of singing. “Bah, such creatures are useless. How could it aid a sorceress at all?”
“Perhaps if we spoke its tongue,” La Lune’s reply was strange even to her own ears.
“For an Ellf such could in truth be possible,” the other’s reply was curt.
“What of the Celts?” La Lune asked in an attempt to alter the course of the discussion. “I know Uther is chasing every female that moves.”
“Because of your additions to his lusts,” the other replied. “He will not be tied down to any female until he meets Ygraine.”
“What of the geas placed upon them about the sorcerer?” she asked as she recalled that particular spell.
“Ambrosius has rejected it,” the other sneered as she saw La Lune’s face fall. “Uther believes it came from the Celtic goddess of Death of the Battlefield. He willingly hunts Purrae Pollaer.”
“Good, once he’s out of the way I can stop worrying,” La Lune sighed. “He will no longer be there to help either Merlin or Moon Child.”
“Or Marigold,” the other witch grated.
“What?” La Lune was shocked.
“My original plans for him weren’t that great,” the other gave her shocking reply. “I was far too obsessed with the elder to notice the younger, but the golden sorcerer is extremely beautiful and it would be a waste of good material to sacrifice him.”
“Is he so truly to your tastes?” La Lune rushed to ask.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Do you intend to keep the golden one, or would you gift him to another if you thought she might have a use for him?” La Lune had no idea why she asked, she just didn’t want Marigold in that one’s hands.
“Moon Child’s master is the one I desire, the other is just too beautiful to waste,” the queen replied. “If I thought another would make,” she laughed, “good use of him, I would have no problem giving him up. Why, do you want this one you claim to have never seen?”
“True, I have never seen him,” La Lune cackled. “But I would have no qualms about imprisoning a specimen of great beauty strictly for my private use, always supposing I could, uh, control him.”
“That is easily arranged, as I have a potion that can force certain reactions,” the other smirked. “It comes in handy during all manner of physical pastimes, especially for torture. Do you have a partner who would object to the arrangement?”
“There are none who dare,” La Lune declared. “They all fear me so much that the thought of coming near me is repellent to all.”
“Then I see the reason behind your question,” genuine amusement coloured the other’s voice. “I will gladly give toothsome Marigold to you and a supply of that deliciously controlling potion. I see you will indeed make good use of him.”
“I will not quibble about it if you decide to try him out first, of course,” La Lune said with great dignity. “After all, such a thing is simply the spoils of the victor in such a contest. All I care about is whether or not I get him at all.”
“You will, La Lune,” the other’s voice dripped with purpose. “You will indeed. With luck you shall have him when next we meet.”
“I shall look forward to seeing you,” La Lune smirked, “and to finally seeing this paragon of beauty you’ve spoken about.”
“Until then, La Lune.”
“Until then,” the Dark Witch replied as she opened the door and ushered the Queen of Ghosts and Shadows out of the house.
“Thanks a lot,” bitterness laced Marigold’s voice as soon as the door was shut behind the other witch. “I thought I told you I was engaged?”
“For over a millennium?” La Lune snarled back.
“She wants her brother at the wedding,” he snapped. “Until he’s finished here, he can’t come home to give her away. We’re just waiting on him.”
“You mean she is,” La Lune laughed.
“Oh shut up,” Marigold replied. “Besides, I’m too pale for you.”
“Meaning?”
“I’m rather pale,” he enunciated. “Milky even. I bet you’ve envisioned a man of about five foot three, with long blue-black hair, eyes so blue they’re black, and skin so swarthy it stands out against white. I bet you see defined muscles in arms and chest, leg muscles so strong the thighs bunch up and a taut torso.”
“Am I drooling?” La Lune queried.
“Well, that’s not me,” he replied. “I fade into white, my eyes aren’t that blue, and though there, my muscles are not prominent. I have a languid kind of look about me, not a powerful one.”
“Hmm, pity,” La Lune replied. “Although you did not debate the hair or the size in any way.”
“I don’t have blue highlights to my hair,” he declared.
“Look, do you really want to be that witch’s pampered pet for eternity?” La Lune demanded as she placed her hands on her hips.
“No!” disgust was treacle-thick in his voice. “How could you suggest such a future for me to my very mind?”
“Because that is her intention,” La Lune sighed. “At least here you’ve got a good chance of escape.”
“I didn’t think about that,” Marigold replied in a considering tone.
“But I did,” La Lune smirked.
“Why?” Marigold demanded. “You don’t like me, so why would you offer to take me as your prize to then plan my escape?”
“Because I don’t like the Queen of Ghosts and Shadows!” La Lune yelled back. “That accent of hers keeps slipping. She’s pretending to be something she’s not, trying to get something past me!”---from pg.s 159-166 of Moon Child Memoirs book II: Secret Sorcerer (chapter 14)
Ellfs Enchantments: Chapter Three
“When I noticed Ellfstane’s absence, I turned to see if Llaeron was also gone. He wasn’t,” Dagda replied. “He was still sitting on the grass where I’d pushed him during Caraell’s attack. His tanned skin was unnaturally pale, and he was swallowing repeatedly. His eyes were closed, and his face was twisted into a grimace. The first thing I did was clean my blood-stained hand. He wears a lot of white, Llaeron does. I didn’t want to stain his shirt. I didn’t wait for my hand to dry. I just grabbed Llaeron’s arm and hauled him to his feet. When I demanded to know where Ellfstane was, Llaeron just shook his head. He kept his eyes averted from the three corpses. Anyone who wears snowy white would have an aversion to blood, I guess. Anyway, I signalled for my last two guards to hold Llaeron. That included covering his mouth. Just in case he decided to warn the little king.”
“Well?” Morrigan demanded. “Where was the tiny twit?”
“He was only a yard or so into the forest, leaning against a fallen ash tree.” Dagda smiled as he remembered the exact scene. “He’d just emptied his belly of its contents. He looked as though he’d used all his energy to be violently ill. I had Llaeron translate my explanation into the Ellfs’ gibberish. While I was doing this, an unusual dark green-blue cloud started to wrap itself around Llaeron. It was the work of a magic maker. I sent my men to find the wizard responsible. As I gave the order, an icy pale green-blue bolt of lightning struck my hand. Once the tiny king was freed from my grasp, the cloud enclosed Ellfstane as well. When it finally dissipated, Llaeron and Ellfstane were gone.”
“Are you saying that the Ellfs were sickened by something as common-place as a punishment killing?” Nuada asked. His eyes were quite bright.
“They’re upset by just the sight of blood,” Dagda said as he fingered his dagger. “They have no notion of punitive violence.”
“Well, well.” Nuada smiled as he looked at his equally bright-eyed wife. “It sounds like Dagda and Supreme Dana have discovered the perfect pets.”
“Perfect pets, indeed,” Morrigan said with her face twisted in disgust.
“I say we should swear an oath to wipe out the Fomor vermin and their misguided followers,” Dana announced in ringing tones. “From this day forward, we shall hunt down all Ellf murderers to ensure the safety of our Celts’ chosen pets.”
All of the Tuatha De Danann, including the disgruntled Morrigan, clasped hands and repeated Dana’s words.
“From this day forward, we shall hunt down all Ellf murderers to ensure the safety of our Celts’ chosen pets!” they cried, their voices triumphant.
Just after the oath, Dana looked up and winked at Dagda. That reminded him of one obstacle that remained in their path: Ellfstane and Llaeron were still sealed off from them. The escaped Ellfs of the palace managed to leave that world. Dagda wondered if Dana had a solution, or maybe a powder, for his problem. All he needed was one good spell.--from pg.s 38-39, chapter three of Ellfs Enchantments: Ellfaerran Diaries book II
“Well?” Morrigan demanded. “Where was the tiny twit?”
“He was only a yard or so into the forest, leaning against a fallen ash tree.” Dagda smiled as he remembered the exact scene. “He’d just emptied his belly of its contents. He looked as though he’d used all his energy to be violently ill. I had Llaeron translate my explanation into the Ellfs’ gibberish. While I was doing this, an unusual dark green-blue cloud started to wrap itself around Llaeron. It was the work of a magic maker. I sent my men to find the wizard responsible. As I gave the order, an icy pale green-blue bolt of lightning struck my hand. Once the tiny king was freed from my grasp, the cloud enclosed Ellfstane as well. When it finally dissipated, Llaeron and Ellfstane were gone.”
“Are you saying that the Ellfs were sickened by something as common-place as a punishment killing?” Nuada asked. His eyes were quite bright.
“They’re upset by just the sight of blood,” Dagda said as he fingered his dagger. “They have no notion of punitive violence.”
“Well, well.” Nuada smiled as he looked at his equally bright-eyed wife. “It sounds like Dagda and Supreme Dana have discovered the perfect pets.”
“Perfect pets, indeed,” Morrigan said with her face twisted in disgust.
“I say we should swear an oath to wipe out the Fomor vermin and their misguided followers,” Dana announced in ringing tones. “From this day forward, we shall hunt down all Ellf murderers to ensure the safety of our Celts’ chosen pets.”
All of the Tuatha De Danann, including the disgruntled Morrigan, clasped hands and repeated Dana’s words.
“From this day forward, we shall hunt down all Ellf murderers to ensure the safety of our Celts’ chosen pets!” they cried, their voices triumphant.
Just after the oath, Dana looked up and winked at Dagda. That reminded him of one obstacle that remained in their path: Ellfstane and Llaeron were still sealed off from them. The escaped Ellfs of the palace managed to leave that world. Dagda wondered if Dana had a solution, or maybe a powder, for his problem. All he needed was one good spell.--from pg.s 38-39, chapter three of Ellfs Enchantments: Ellfaerran Diaries book II
Separated Soul: Chapter 14
“You…won’t win,” the toad finally said in human speech. “Even I know about the rescue of the two sons of Constantine. When they come of age, your plans will fall apart. They’ll come back and crush your Saxon Invasion, and Usurping Vortigern, you shall see, you Witch.”
“Those boys are dead by now, so spare me your melodramatic macho mutterings,” she sneered to cover up her insecurity. No matter how hard she searched for them, Ambrosius and Uther remained beyond her grasp. She couldn’t sense them anywhere in Europe. The only explanation she could come up with for her failure was their deaths. “But that explains the stubborn actions of the Southern Britons. Just like you, the fools await Ambrosius and his infant brother. Well they will have a long vigil, and the Saxons will win, unless the Britons ask for my help, of course. Then I shall be forced to intercede.”
“As if they would,” he muttered as he rolled back onto his webbed feet. “They know of your involvement with both Vortigern and the Saxons. They also know about your overtures to the Gaels and Picts. They would not approach you if their lives depended upon it. No they’d seek out the Sorcerer.”
“Charlatan you mean,” she snorted as her small hand perched upon her round hip. “There is none to match me. I will be feared by all who hear of me!”
“You will be mocked by them you mean,” he retorted in the coarse tones of his altered form. “A sorcerer out-ranks a witch. That is known.”
“Hah!” was La Lune’s reply as the flame of anger rekindled in her fingertip.” There is no such thing; simply fakery. This is real magic.”
Once again the green flame licked out to strike the stunted toad, throwing him against the wire of his cell. La Lune’s smile was cruel and feral. Silent chuckles danced in her throat as the nerves of the poor Celt jerked in thorough pain. The spell was her best. It required neither words nor potions. Once one knew how to spin fire from the air it was so easy to adapt. This variation created the most intense pain any living creature could stand, as it took the being it struck to the very portal of death without actually allowing passage through. She loved the very terror of it reflected in her victims’ eyes. Terror, horror, dread were all music to her insensitive ears.
Once the Celt’s screams stopped, La Lune turned away from him and resumed her angry pacing. The Celts all despised the Roman masters, yet the Britons of the South were in full support of two boys whose grandfather was a Roman Centurion, and a mercenary. The wretches were even trying to preserve the way of life the Romans introduced. It was unconscionable. The people who lived on the isle before the Celts’ invasions didn’t accept the invaders' culture so rabidly. They despised it, even ran from their beloved homes to escape it. La Lune couldn’t make heads or tails of the situation. It completely perplexed her.
Suddenly she stopped pacing. How did she know about the people who preceded the Celts? She couldn’t help wondering if it was possibly a sign of remembrance; the return of her lost memory. Was she a member of that old race? No, she decided she wasn’t.
Memories of the few Old Ones she’d seen flashed through her mind. All were small, like her, but they were dark. They had great sapphires and amethysts for eyes and hair the color of a raven’s beak. They also possessed skin that showed a morbid talent for tanning with just the merest hint of the sun. They were no relation of hers, but how did she know of their true feelings? What of the ones who left? How did she know about them?--from pg.s 183-184, Chapter 14 of Moon Child Memoirs Book I: Separated Soul
“Those boys are dead by now, so spare me your melodramatic macho mutterings,” she sneered to cover up her insecurity. No matter how hard she searched for them, Ambrosius and Uther remained beyond her grasp. She couldn’t sense them anywhere in Europe. The only explanation she could come up with for her failure was their deaths. “But that explains the stubborn actions of the Southern Britons. Just like you, the fools await Ambrosius and his infant brother. Well they will have a long vigil, and the Saxons will win, unless the Britons ask for my help, of course. Then I shall be forced to intercede.”
“As if they would,” he muttered as he rolled back onto his webbed feet. “They know of your involvement with both Vortigern and the Saxons. They also know about your overtures to the Gaels and Picts. They would not approach you if their lives depended upon it. No they’d seek out the Sorcerer.”
“Charlatan you mean,” she snorted as her small hand perched upon her round hip. “There is none to match me. I will be feared by all who hear of me!”
“You will be mocked by them you mean,” he retorted in the coarse tones of his altered form. “A sorcerer out-ranks a witch. That is known.”
“Hah!” was La Lune’s reply as the flame of anger rekindled in her fingertip.” There is no such thing; simply fakery. This is real magic.”
Once again the green flame licked out to strike the stunted toad, throwing him against the wire of his cell. La Lune’s smile was cruel and feral. Silent chuckles danced in her throat as the nerves of the poor Celt jerked in thorough pain. The spell was her best. It required neither words nor potions. Once one knew how to spin fire from the air it was so easy to adapt. This variation created the most intense pain any living creature could stand, as it took the being it struck to the very portal of death without actually allowing passage through. She loved the very terror of it reflected in her victims’ eyes. Terror, horror, dread were all music to her insensitive ears.
Once the Celt’s screams stopped, La Lune turned away from him and resumed her angry pacing. The Celts all despised the Roman masters, yet the Britons of the South were in full support of two boys whose grandfather was a Roman Centurion, and a mercenary. The wretches were even trying to preserve the way of life the Romans introduced. It was unconscionable. The people who lived on the isle before the Celts’ invasions didn’t accept the invaders' culture so rabidly. They despised it, even ran from their beloved homes to escape it. La Lune couldn’t make heads or tails of the situation. It completely perplexed her.
Suddenly she stopped pacing. How did she know about the people who preceded the Celts? She couldn’t help wondering if it was possibly a sign of remembrance; the return of her lost memory. Was she a member of that old race? No, she decided she wasn’t.
Memories of the few Old Ones she’d seen flashed through her mind. All were small, like her, but they were dark. They had great sapphires and amethysts for eyes and hair the color of a raven’s beak. They also possessed skin that showed a morbid talent for tanning with just the merest hint of the sun. They were no relation of hers, but how did she know of their true feelings? What of the ones who left? How did she know about them?--from pg.s 183-184, Chapter 14 of Moon Child Memoirs Book I: Separated Soul
EScape to Ellse Where:Chapter 15
Katara and Hollae watched as the younger prince proceeded to the main staircase, knowing that he was going to his chambers. The two sorceresses, one with a mane of midnight hair and the other with a mane of mahogany, looked at each other and ascended the stairs of the Sorcery Tower. As soon as they reached Katara’s workroom door, Hollae removed her shoes and took off her tiara. Katara tried to hide her smile as her large, but still lady-like, cousin entered her low ceilinged study. Once the door was closed behind them and Hollae took a seat on the floor (Katara created a large cushion for her to sit on), Arra and Sellae appeared. This was the first time Sellae ever made her presence known, as far as Katara knew, so both sorceresses took a good look at Hollae’s unusual patron goddess.
Sellae was quite a surprise. She was thinner than her sister and her midnight hair was wilder. Instead of the gentle curls of Arra, Sellae had long ringlets that had a habit of going in every direction. The biggest surprise was her teal eyes, not the smoky teal of Hollae, but a true teal, the darkest shade of blue-green. She also wore an odd gown. It was a dark violet verging on plum at the waist that slowly paled out as it went in both directions. The flounce on the hem of her skirt was the palest icy lavender, as were her strange sleeves. These fluted sleeves resembled bell flowers in their shape and they were made of silk so thin the merest whisper of a breeze made them flutter.
Her voice was another surprise. Instead of the musical modulations of Arra, Sellae’s voice was breathy, lyrical, and tinged with a hint of dolphin’s chatter. Sellae had a permanent smile on her face and laughing eyes. Tiny shells dangled from her ears, her diadem, her wrists, and her waist. Around her neck, she wore a necklace of aquamarines and pearls and her feet were bare. Katara couldn’t see why this exuberant goddess chose to lavish her affection on the somber Hollae.
“Hollae isn’t somber, Katara,” Sellae laughed. “She’s just winsome.”
“Winsome?” Katara was confused. She turned to the lively goddess “I agree that she’s pretty, but I don’t see how that changes things.”
“No, no, Katara,” Sellae said as the chattering of dolphins invaded her speech. “Not comely, that’s the wrong version. I mean content but rarely joyous, that winsome. Hollae isn’t really sad all the time, she just looks that way.”
“Yes, well, that isn’t why we are here,” Arra said, interrupting the light-hearted debate. “We’re here because of Ellfstane. I’m afraid both of your visions are going to come true. The vision you two shared of Ellfstane in that cave and his vision of using that separate world spell.”
“That’s already happened,” Katara said. She felt confusion race through her mind.
“No, it hasn’t.” Arra’s voice was sad. “He believes that it has already happened and, even though I knew differently, I encouraged that belief. You two are different; you have to know the truth. If the Ellfs fail, Ellfstane must be here to open the earth to them.”
“Is there anything you can tell us about where he should open the earth?” Hollae said. Her voice sounded like a somber child.
“Yes, avoid hills,” Sellae said in chipper tones. “Hills and caves will be the first place that the Fomors and their Celts will look. Have him open up a farmer’s field and journey down through the earth’s crust.”
“There is something else.” Arra’s voice sounded like a sad flute. “The elder prince, Caraell, will do something that will give the Celts an even bigger advantage over us, or rather over you, but we are not permitted to know what it is.”
“If he does this, then the Tuatha De Danann must be brought in,” said Sellae as her voice took on the mournful cadence of humpback whales. “The High Sorcerers must be gathered and dispersed around our isles.”
“Wait a minute,” Hollae said. A thoughtful expression stole over her oval face “Why don’t we invite the Norse instead? We know we can trust them to leave when the war is over. We won’t even have to recall Llaeron.”
“Odin has refused to help.” Arra sighed. “The Frost Giants are acting up again and the Norse are still devastated over Baldur’s death. It has to be the Tuatha De Danann. Besides, you’ll need Llaella’s High Sorcerer and he’s in the De Danann’s lands right now.”
“Poor Ith.” Hollae sighed.
“Who’s that?” Katara asked simultaneously.
“Only Llaella is permitted to say.” Sellae replied.
“Who’s Ith?” Arra and Katara asked as they looked at Hollae.
“He’s the tower dweller of Milesia, or at least he will be.” Hollae’s voice was sad as she spoke. So that was why she was prone to melancholy, her visions were so depressing. “He will journey to the Emerald Isle. If we’re there, he will have a pleasant visit and return home with happy memories of shy, gentle people, but if a group of Celts are there, any Celts, he will be killed and his kinsman Mil will invade the Emerald Isle to punish Ith’s murderers.”
“How do you know this, Hollae?” Arra asked Sellae’s sorceress.
“I just know.” Hollae sighed. “I saw it.”
That effectively broke up the impromptu meeting. Neither goddess nor sorceress had any reply to Hollae’s conviction. Why she had these visions of this Ith person was an unanswerable question. After all, not only was he not an Ellf, he wasn’t even born to the isles. This was very confusing.
The next day, the Firbolgs attacked and received a nasty shock. The Celts and Fomors were prepared for almost anything, except what they got. The arrows were a minor inconvenience—until the wounded started to rave, weaken, and then die. The weapon of the sorcerers was the biggest shock. Several Firbolgs faltered in their animalistic attack as their companions silently disintegrated beside them. It didn’t take long for the chieftain of the Firbolgs to realize what the Ellfic sorcerers were capable of doing. The chieftain sent for Caraell. Unfortunately, the prince did possess enough power and knowledge to steal iron from his people.
Katara saw him as he took a piece of quartz and held it in his hands, filling the stone with his minimal power. Caraell then had the sandy-haired Celt slice open the traitorous Ellf’s right index finger. When the blood flow was at its height, Caraell painted the lump of quartz with the blood from his wound and he began to chant. Then, the scrying mirror went dark.
Grabbing the white and gold silk petals of her dress, Katara ran out of her workroom and down to the Green Chamber. Hyllaell and Caraedon were talking with Ellfstane and Hollae when she burst in.
“I think we should post some watchers on Caraell,” Katara said as she gasped for breath. “He’s just coated a piece of quartz with his blood and has begun to chant the incantation of repulsion.”
“How do you know, Daughter?” Hyllaell asked. He cast a side-long glance at King Caraedon.
“I saw him in my scrying mirror.” Katara said as she fought to regain her regular breathing pattern. “If he has not done it already, then he will do so soon. We must be prepared.”
“Caraedon?” Hyllaell said.
“Do it,” the king replied curtly. --from pg.s 218-222 of The Ellfaerran Diaries Book One: Escape to Ellse Where, chapter 15.
Sellae was quite a surprise. She was thinner than her sister and her midnight hair was wilder. Instead of the gentle curls of Arra, Sellae had long ringlets that had a habit of going in every direction. The biggest surprise was her teal eyes, not the smoky teal of Hollae, but a true teal, the darkest shade of blue-green. She also wore an odd gown. It was a dark violet verging on plum at the waist that slowly paled out as it went in both directions. The flounce on the hem of her skirt was the palest icy lavender, as were her strange sleeves. These fluted sleeves resembled bell flowers in their shape and they were made of silk so thin the merest whisper of a breeze made them flutter.
Her voice was another surprise. Instead of the musical modulations of Arra, Sellae’s voice was breathy, lyrical, and tinged with a hint of dolphin’s chatter. Sellae had a permanent smile on her face and laughing eyes. Tiny shells dangled from her ears, her diadem, her wrists, and her waist. Around her neck, she wore a necklace of aquamarines and pearls and her feet were bare. Katara couldn’t see why this exuberant goddess chose to lavish her affection on the somber Hollae.
“Hollae isn’t somber, Katara,” Sellae laughed. “She’s just winsome.”
“Winsome?” Katara was confused. She turned to the lively goddess “I agree that she’s pretty, but I don’t see how that changes things.”
“No, no, Katara,” Sellae said as the chattering of dolphins invaded her speech. “Not comely, that’s the wrong version. I mean content but rarely joyous, that winsome. Hollae isn’t really sad all the time, she just looks that way.”
“Yes, well, that isn’t why we are here,” Arra said, interrupting the light-hearted debate. “We’re here because of Ellfstane. I’m afraid both of your visions are going to come true. The vision you two shared of Ellfstane in that cave and his vision of using that separate world spell.”
“That’s already happened,” Katara said. She felt confusion race through her mind.
“No, it hasn’t.” Arra’s voice was sad. “He believes that it has already happened and, even though I knew differently, I encouraged that belief. You two are different; you have to know the truth. If the Ellfs fail, Ellfstane must be here to open the earth to them.”
“Is there anything you can tell us about where he should open the earth?” Hollae said. Her voice sounded like a somber child.
“Yes, avoid hills,” Sellae said in chipper tones. “Hills and caves will be the first place that the Fomors and their Celts will look. Have him open up a farmer’s field and journey down through the earth’s crust.”
“There is something else.” Arra’s voice sounded like a sad flute. “The elder prince, Caraell, will do something that will give the Celts an even bigger advantage over us, or rather over you, but we are not permitted to know what it is.”
“If he does this, then the Tuatha De Danann must be brought in,” said Sellae as her voice took on the mournful cadence of humpback whales. “The High Sorcerers must be gathered and dispersed around our isles.”
“Wait a minute,” Hollae said. A thoughtful expression stole over her oval face “Why don’t we invite the Norse instead? We know we can trust them to leave when the war is over. We won’t even have to recall Llaeron.”
“Odin has refused to help.” Arra sighed. “The Frost Giants are acting up again and the Norse are still devastated over Baldur’s death. It has to be the Tuatha De Danann. Besides, you’ll need Llaella’s High Sorcerer and he’s in the De Danann’s lands right now.”
“Poor Ith.” Hollae sighed.
“Who’s that?” Katara asked simultaneously.
“Only Llaella is permitted to say.” Sellae replied.
“Who’s Ith?” Arra and Katara asked as they looked at Hollae.
“He’s the tower dweller of Milesia, or at least he will be.” Hollae’s voice was sad as she spoke. So that was why she was prone to melancholy, her visions were so depressing. “He will journey to the Emerald Isle. If we’re there, he will have a pleasant visit and return home with happy memories of shy, gentle people, but if a group of Celts are there, any Celts, he will be killed and his kinsman Mil will invade the Emerald Isle to punish Ith’s murderers.”
“How do you know this, Hollae?” Arra asked Sellae’s sorceress.
“I just know.” Hollae sighed. “I saw it.”
That effectively broke up the impromptu meeting. Neither goddess nor sorceress had any reply to Hollae’s conviction. Why she had these visions of this Ith person was an unanswerable question. After all, not only was he not an Ellf, he wasn’t even born to the isles. This was very confusing.
The next day, the Firbolgs attacked and received a nasty shock. The Celts and Fomors were prepared for almost anything, except what they got. The arrows were a minor inconvenience—until the wounded started to rave, weaken, and then die. The weapon of the sorcerers was the biggest shock. Several Firbolgs faltered in their animalistic attack as their companions silently disintegrated beside them. It didn’t take long for the chieftain of the Firbolgs to realize what the Ellfic sorcerers were capable of doing. The chieftain sent for Caraell. Unfortunately, the prince did possess enough power and knowledge to steal iron from his people.
Katara saw him as he took a piece of quartz and held it in his hands, filling the stone with his minimal power. Caraell then had the sandy-haired Celt slice open the traitorous Ellf’s right index finger. When the blood flow was at its height, Caraell painted the lump of quartz with the blood from his wound and he began to chant. Then, the scrying mirror went dark.
Grabbing the white and gold silk petals of her dress, Katara ran out of her workroom and down to the Green Chamber. Hyllaell and Caraedon were talking with Ellfstane and Hollae when she burst in.
“I think we should post some watchers on Caraell,” Katara said as she gasped for breath. “He’s just coated a piece of quartz with his blood and has begun to chant the incantation of repulsion.”
“How do you know, Daughter?” Hyllaell asked. He cast a side-long glance at King Caraedon.
“I saw him in my scrying mirror.” Katara said as she fought to regain her regular breathing pattern. “If he has not done it already, then he will do so soon. We must be prepared.”
“Caraedon?” Hyllaell said.
“Do it,” the king replied curtly. --from pg.s 218-222 of The Ellfaerran Diaries Book One: Escape to Ellse Where, chapter 15.
