The Elder Fig by Meredith Burton

You have a tale to tell of Goldstone Wood? You have read at least one of the novels, and now you have a fan fiction to share? Wonderful! If you would like to contribute to the ever growing world of the Wood, then please send in your story to us at dameimraldera@gmail.com.

Please keep in mind that the stories must involve the worlds in or surrounding Goldstone Wood. This requires that you have read at least one of the novels. Also, please keep story content clean. We have young knights in training here and we wish to edify them as best as possible.

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Enter now into the Wood where lost wander and voices beckon. Hear the tale of a predator and of a Presence whose truth cannot be denied...

THE ELDER FIG

by 

Meredith Burton

 

Author’s Note: This story is inspired by events in Shadow Hand.  If you have not read that particular novel, I thoroughly recommend that you do so.  This story will likely make more sense if you do.  God bless you all.

                Searching, always searching.  Tenacious hunger that never leaves.  Once more, all dying has been done, and no more life can be found.  So, the quest continues.  She? He? It? Moves onward, searching, searching and never finding …

                And, ever in the Mound’s presence is the persistent Other, the Presence that sings and that the searcher cannot understand.

                The young man moved stealthily through the Wood, and the Wood watched him with impassive indifference.  After all, this mortal had been in the Between for quite some time.  Of course, this fact was irrelevant to the Wood.  Time did not matter to it.

                The man suddenly stopped, raising his head and inhaling deeply.  His savage face, which once had been boyish and handsome, now shifted into an eager smile.  His right hand reached to his neck, clamping onto two woven cords that rested their.  A snarl escaped his lips, and he was running, pelting onto a Path that opened before him.  The Wood laughed in amusement at the man’s eagerness, for it knew where the Path would lead, and it was prepared to watch.

                The sun shone brightly, illuminating the lush jungle that spread in every direction.  The scent of mangoes and other lush fruits filled the air.  Dewdrop sighed as she trudged in the wake of her elder brother, the tall basket upon her back.  She grew so tired of the daily task that they must perform, the endless gathering of fruit and other necessities.  “Figroot, can’t we go to the river today?”

                Figroot tousled his little sister’s hair.  “We must do our work first.” He gestured to the pouch he carried.  Inside rested two wafers, and the first totem was near.

                “Mother said I might go with her when she visits the Eldest tomorrow.” Dewdrop bounced eagerly, so excited by the prospect.  Figroot was a wonderful brother, but sometimes Dewdrop wondered what it might be like to have sisters.

                Figroot smiled.  “You haven’t seen Meadowlark in quite some time, have you? How old is she? Eight now?”

                “Yes, and she’ll play what I say.  I’m older.” Dewdrop laughed and winked.

                Figroot laughed, too.  “Oh no you won’t.  You’ll treat her with respect, you hear?”

                The siblings approached the totem stone that rested beside the path.  The stone loomed before them and depicted the weathered face of a panther in repose.  Usually, Tocho reclined on the stone, content and rather indifferent to their approach.  He was quite easy to appease, being one who liked comfort.  Today, however, he was not there.  Dewdrop was rather disappointed about this fact, because as much as she disliked having to pay tribute, she did like the panther.  She would never admit this, however, and she never drew close enough to pet him.  Of course, this did not mean she did not want to do so.

                Figroot reached into the pouch and placed a wafer onto the totem stone.  Dewdrop  intoned the ritual words in a singsong manner:

“Tocho, Panther of our land,

Accept the tribute from our hand.

Eat your fill and be content,

Allow us friendship that can never be bent.”

                Dewdrop smiled at the rhyme.  It was not very poetic.  Nevertheless, it did the job.  She and Figroot waited a few moments, but the panther did not appear.  Should they move on?

                Suddenly, a scream rent the air in two.  The siblings gaped at one another, the high-pitched scream making their hearts pound in fear.  Then Dewdrop was running, heedless of her brothers screams for her to stop.

                Tocho had heard the screams only moments before the siblings arrival at his stone.  A plaintive, hysterical scream, so feral as to send shivers down the unwary hearer’s spine.  The cry was that of a she-panther, and he knew her well.  Talmasha, the Beast who reposed on the totem stone after his.  Talmasha’s screams sent terror through Tocho’s heart, for only one being could cause such agony.

                He was off his stone in a moment, pelting toward the scream.  Talmasha was pinioned to the ground beside her stone, a brawny form lying atop her.  The bodies were locked together, writhing in a fierce struggle.  The figure atop Talmasha held a bronze stone poised at her throat.  His face was sweat-soaked and livid.  He’s a mortal, Tocho realized, yet the Faerie beast saw that all vestige of mortality was gone from the man’s face.  He was a raging animal, a determined animal desperate to accomplish a task at any cost.

                Tocho entered the fray, Talmasha’s screams spurring him onward.  He dove atop the man, his heart hammering in fear as his eyes were filled with the bronze stone.  Still the man continued to struggle, searching for the appropriate place to strike his prey.

                WHACK! WHACK! Two stones struck the man’s arm, and Tocho felt him jerk backward in surprise.  Tocho shifted his gaze in time to see, of all things, a little girl.  She stood several paces away, shaking and reaching to retrieve another stone from the ground.  “Let go of them!” she screeched, her voice so piercing that Tocho thought every Faerie beast from all lands could hear it.  “What are you doing?”

                The man untangled himself from beneath Tocho’s bulk, standing and turning to the girl.  His face was of stone, but he was breathing heavily, and his eyes were wild.  “The work is done, anyhow,” he rasped.  He held aloft the bronze stone, which was blood-soaked.  “A tithe is—“

                “Dewdrop! Confound it, you—“ A young man suddenly appeared, his face flushed.  He stopped dead, his eyes growing round with shock and his face assuming an ashy pallor.  “Silent Lady!”

                Dewdrop gazed first at the stoney-faced man and then at her brother.  All composure crumbled as she began to weep.  “I-Is she dead?” Her voice trembled.

                Figroot stooped before a blood-soaked form on the ground.  Suddenly, a howl rent the air as Tocho rushed past Figroot’s form.  He crouched before Talmasha’s lifeless body, using his great paws to pat Talmasha’s sides.  He was shaking in terror and anger.

                Figroot turned, bestowing a steely gaze on the stranger’s face.  “Who are you?” His voice trembled.

                “A savior,” the man murmured.  “A tithe is required for this work.”

                “Talmasha wouldn’t hurt anyone!” Dewdrop’s cry filled the air.  “Why did you have to kill her?” She lunged at the man, her face indignant and her fists raised.

                Figroot snatched his sister, pulling her back.

                The stranger surveyed the brother and sister for a long moment.  Something semed to stir in his eyes.  Could it possibly be a spark of compassion? Spasms shook his frame, and through his mind flashed an image of two sisters.  Their hands were moving in intricate signs that they alone could understand, and they were playing together.  The stranger clenched his teeth, forcing the image away from him.  He addressed Figroot, his voice a harsh growl.  “Send the child away.  It’s you I need.”

                Figroot gently released his sister, pushing her away from the stranger.  The little girl glared and stamped her foot, tears continuing to course down her cheeks.  “I won’t leave—“

                Mine.  The stranger’s mouth opened, and the single word emerged.  Yet the stranger’s voice was altogether different.  His face changed too, assuming an expression of deep hunger.  Home is near.  New life awaits.

                A huge shape suddenly loomed upward as Tocho’s form collided with the stranger, sending him sprawling to the ground.  “Mortals must run!” He growled these words even as his mighty claws raked across the stranger’s face.  The man, who’d been caught by surprise, struggled to grasp the Bronze stone even as the panther continued his attack.  Figroot and Dewdrop began running as the fight continued.

                Pain, a pain so excruciating that Tocho could not cry out, filled him.  It was not the pain of wounds but the sheer emptiness of loss.  He had never revealed his love for Talmasha.  Even so, that love had always lain dormant within him, a force which his comfort-loving nature did not know how to express.  Love, after all, brings pain along with joy.  Now he’d lost the one he loved forever.  He would have his revenge.

                He continued fighting, and even as he did, the stranger seemed to be growing stronger.  Mine.  Mine.  Ah! This is good.  This fills.  The stranger’s thoughts pummeled him, triumphant and voracious.  Continue fighting.  We like how you fight.  The voice was filled with triumph.

                “Release him, Tocho.” The voice cut through the triumphant, hunger-filled ecstasy of the stranger’s rants, a voice that Tocho could not disobey.  He rose from the attack, only then realizing that his body burned with fire.  He took a faltering step and collapsed, his sides heaving.  He felt the sticky warmth of oozing blood.  Ah!! He was hurting so very much!

                As in a hazy dream, he saw a brown speckled bird hovering above him.  The bird’s wings fluttered, and tears dampened it’s feathers.  He saw the bird fly to where the stranger lay in a fetal position , his face a mottled mass of blood from Tocho’s attack.  Even so, the hungry gleam remained in his eyes.  We will claim this land.  We will bring it under our protection, and then we shall gain what we seek.

                “What do you seek, Cren Cru?” The bird’s voice was so gentle, and its tones washed over Tocho like cold water from a silver brook and like the gold of elder figs.

                We seek—The thoughts ceased, and the stranger’s face assumed its savage demeanor.  “You,” he whispered.  “The one that brings me pain.  A tithe is due, and I will claim it.”

                “Not today,” the bird’s voice was so very sad.  “Your entrance into this land is barred, Sun Eagle, until the appropriate time.” Tears once again soaked the bird’s plumage, and Tocho watched as he transformed into a shimmering man.  Bending down, he gathered Sun Eagle into his arms, carrying him away from the village.  As he left, a song traveled to Tocho.  As he listened, he felt strength surge within him:

“Beyond the Final Water falling,

The Songs of Spheres recalling.

When the time arrives for you to fight,

Won’t you fight with me?”

                In that moment, Tocho resolved that he would do so.  Yes, his weakness for mortal pampering would always be a driving force within him, but, in the end, he would take a stand against the Parasite.  In doing so, if the Lumil Eliasul willed it, he would cross the Final Water.  There he would see Talmasha again.

                Dewdrop and Figroot emerged from their hiding place, their faces ashen.  They would never forget what they had seen, and, within a year’s time, that memory would give Dewdrop the strength to do what was needed.  For her resolve not to leave her brother was strong, and it was she who would enter the Mound when the time came.  Of course, she did not know that right now.  She only knew that she was glad that she had a brother, and she loved him so fiercely that the Parasite could not take that love away.

                Now, the siblings stared at Tocho.  The panther was struggling to his feet.  His breathing was labored, yet he slowly approached them, his head lowered.  “Mortal girl was foolish yet brave,” he chided, his voice a rumbling purr.  He stopped before Dewdrop, waiting expectantly.  The little girl blinked in confusion.  “Mortal girl always wanted to touch me.  She may do so.” Tocho’s tone was impatient, but his eyes were kind.  Tentatively, Dewdrop ran her hands along the panther’s glossy back.  She was the only mortal child ever permitted to pet a Faerie Beast.

                Tocho endured the petting, gradually realizing that, though he had lowered his dignity considerably, he truly did not mind.  In fact, he allowed the petting to last a great deal longer than he had originally intended.

                Tocho finally removed himself from beneath Dewdrop’s hand.  He loped away toward his totem.  As he went, he called, “Tribute will no longer be needed from you two.  But you will stop and say hello?”

                Of course, it was impetuous Dewdrop who answered an emphatic yes to his question.  The brother and sister turned toward their home only to gape at what stood before them.  In the place where Talmasha’s body had lain, now a colossal elder fig tree stood, its branches spread to the sky.  Golden fruit trembled on the out-spread branches, its luscious fragrance permeating the air.  A song traveled to the siblings’ ears, “Death is not the end.  Life will spring forth when Death dies.”

                Sun Eagle awoke within the Wood Between.  The pain of emptiness tore through him, and he surged to his feet.  Why was he back here? Hadn’t a tithe been demanded? Hadn’t he—

                Mine.  Mine.  We must find life.  The words surged through him, and he did not know if he spoke them or not.  He only knew that his hands clutched the cord around his neck.  He thought of the one who he would probably never see again.  He thought of home and hearth.  “Master! Master! Help me!” The cry was a keening wail as the plea burst from his throat.

                Mine.  Mine.  We must find—

                “Always you say the same thing, but nothing changes!” Sun Eagle began to run, little caring where he went.  What difference did it make? Everywhere, the gates were barred to him.  He could not find what he sought.

                Finally, Sun Eagle collapsed on the ground.  He rocked to and fro, and tears that had lain dormant for so long burst forth.  Words traveled to him on the breeze, not in the voice of his master but in another voice he knew but did not understand.  “Let it go, Sun Eagle.”

                He struggled to his feet and began running yet again.  The Wood watched him as before.

                The search continues.  She? He? It? Pushes onward, driven by desire.  Often, things it cannot understand reach out to offer assistance, but it does not stop.  A home beckons, and the hunger is insistent.  Will the hunger never cease? The Parasite wanders on, and its followers do likewise, seeking and never finding.  Time moves on, and the Wood waits for unsuspecting travelers to stumble into its embrace.

                And, ever above it all, a Presence sings and never ceases, and Paths of this presence open for those destined to find them.  In the end, all true stories converge upon this Presence, and the Darkness will die.

Limericks of Goldstone Wood by ghost ryter

You have a tale to tell of Goldstone Wood? You have read at least one of the novels, and now you have a fan fiction to share? Wonderful! If you would like to contribute to the ever growing world of the Wood, then please send in your story to us at dameimraldera@gmail.com.

Please keep in mind that the stories must involve the worlds in or surrounding Goldstone Wood. This requires that you have read at least one of the novels. Also, please keep story content clean. We have young knights in training here and we wish to edify them as best as possible.

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Now, presenting a series of limericks sent by a wanderer of the Halflight Realm...

Limericks of Goldstone Wood

ghost ryter

 

There once was bird
Who became quite perturbed
When a flower entered her domain.
For before that her reign
Over a cat been quite undisturbed.


There was a girl with wings, they say,
Who did the most terrible things, they say.
She gave into fire, 
And then, to her ire,
Her wings were taken away.


Once there was a maid
Who long ago stayed
In a land that was not her own.
(Though few have known 
The price she paid.)


There was a cat who most always lied,
Though I do wish he had tried
To tell her the truth.
But, ah, it's no use - 
He'll never show what's inside.


There once was a sweet rose,
Who was stolen, and those
Who hid her will face
A terrible place
When the King is allowed to dispose.


A goat paced the gate,
Unhappy with the wait.
Inside were two flowers,
Trapped for many long hours;
One was prey, the other bait.

Ashes and Dreams by Allison

You have a tale to tell of Goldstone Wood? You have read at least one of the novels, and now you have a fan fiction to share? Wonderful! If you would like to contribute to the ever growing world of the Wood, then please send in your story to us at dameimraldera@gmail.com.

Please keep in mind that the stories must involve the worlds in or surrounding Goldstone Wood. This requires that you have read at least one of the novels. Also, please keep story content clean. We have young knights in training here and we wish to edify them as best as possible.

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Presenting a poem inspired by Veiled Rose...
 

Ashes and Dreams

Allison

 

I wear a coat of dreams.

It glistens and it gleams.

It catches lives and begs for them

To join in its grand dance.

Though the wise refuse and wander on,

It always will give them the chance.

The stars are caught up in its weave.

The galaxies combine.

It stirs its broth of life and death

Into a mix refined.

Sometimes it weighs me down.

It pinches and it twists.

It drags my shoulders to the floor.

It strains and hurts my wrists.

Sometimes it shows me dreams

That are too grand for me,

And though I cry and though I beg,

It will not let me be.

I wore my coat of dreams.

It glistened and it gleamed

Until I tore it off.

 

And now that it is gone,

I wonder if I’m wrong.

But though it gave me dreams,

It never gave me life.

Although it gave me beauty,

I though it not the price.

It never gave me love,

Although it dearly tried.

For all its wild grandeur,

My coat could only lie.

So listen to my warning:

Do not scorn the idle dream.

Be wary of your coat

Although it glistens and it gleams.

If it ever asks you for your life,

Be sure to throw it out.

For I’ve had my dreams fulfilled,

And they’re ashes in my mouth.

Eshkan's Plea by Meredith Burton

  You have a tale to tell of Goldstone Wood? You have read at least one of the novels, and now you have a fan fiction to share? Wonderful! If you would like to contribute to the ever growing world of the Wood, then please send in your story to us at dameimraldera@gmail.com.

Please keep in mind that the stories must involve the worlds in or surrounding Goldstone Wood. This requires that you have read at least one of the novels. Also, please keep story content clean. We have young knights in training here and we wish to edify them as best as possible.

Please use Follow by Email to be notified of all new stories.

And now, a poem inspired by the events in Veiled Rose...

 

ESHKHAN’S PLEA

By Meredith

(To the Tune of “Tomorrow Shall be my Dancing Day”)

I sang her to sleep with my melody sweet.

On lonely nights my watch did keep.

Now I stand within Death’s ballroom of hate

To rescue my daughter from his poisonous embrace.

Sing Rosie fair,

Rosie fair

Rosie, Rosie,

I wait for her call of broken despair.

Another repines in Death’s cold dark chair.

So torn and wretched beyond all compare.

A wise yet rash daughter with intentions so kind

I wait for her answer, her choice to be mine.

Oh, Daylily fair,

Daylily fair,

Lily, Lily,

I wait for her call of broken despair.

The one who stands gloating is bound as well.

So empty and starved for a kernel of love.

He does not know, for he does not hear

My plea to release him from his Path of Tears.

Oh, Death so bound,

Death so bound

So bound, so bound

You will not reach for my helping hand.

My daughter has fallen.

Her strength is spent.

In broken despair she is at her wits’ end.

Mor lovely is she in her helpless dark plight,

For now I stand ready to lift her to life.

Oh, Rosie fair,

Rosie fair,

Rosie, Rosie.

At last Death’s chamber is flooded with light.

My Name flutters forth upon wings so dear.

What joy to hear its tones ring clear.

I cradle my children and blot their tears

As Death-In-Life flees in tumultuous fear.

Oh, children fair,

Children fair,

So fair,

So fair,

I’ve answered your call of broken despair.

Oh, children of mine as the ages roll by,

Remember this story that never shall die.

Death holds out his arms full of poisoned delights

And seeks to trample and throttle pure life.

Oh, call to me now.

Call to me now.

Right now, right now.

I wait for your call of broken despair.

Imraldera Cleans House by Missy

You have a tale to tell of Goldstone Wood? You have read at least one of the novels, and now you have a fan fiction to share? Wonderful! If you would like to contribute to the ever growing world of the Wood, then please send in your story to us at dameimraldera@gmail.com.

Please keep in mind that the stories must involve the worlds in or surrounding Goldstone Wood. This requires that you have read at least one of the novels. Also, please keep story content clean. We have young knights in training here and we wish to edify them as best as possible.

Please use Follow by Email to be notified of all new stories.

Now, enter into the Haven and discover a charming tale of what happens when..

Imraldera Cleans House

by

Missy

The Haven was the sanctuary for all who needed one.  It was simultaneously forest and dwelling.  It was kept by a Knight of the Farthest Shore, and she took this responsibility very seriously.

           Imraldera, or the Lady of the Haven, kept it neat and tidy.  She minded the Faerie building well, and it was always peaceful and comforting for those who by some fate found themselves there or who were led there by followers of the Prince to this place of safety where they might bring their Master’s beloved when weary and in much need of rest.

This was the case with Bard Eanrin, a fellow Knight of Imraldera, and in her opinion somewhat of a nuisance at times.  Only, he had not brought a weary traveler on some quest or other, rather he had come there for a visit.  He came often to the Haven for no apparent reason.  When he was there, he would try out a stanza or two about his lovely Lady Gleamdrene, and always ask how Imraldera liked it.  Usually, she said nothing, but this only encouraged the Cat more!

“With eyes gazing toward the sun,

Don’t you know my love is more than fun?

My love is true, can’t you see,

How, Lady Gleamdrene, I love thee?

With golden hair, so silky fine,

How I wish I could come up with the next line!”

“Well, that’s what I’ve got so far,” Eanrin said.  He was standing with his hand over his heart, serenading Imraldera yet again.  “I’m still having trouble coming up with the next line, though.”  He left his stance and joined Imraldera where she was sorting beautifully bonded tomes.  “I’ve had a few ideas,” he continued, “like: there is no other like your kind, or your eyes are like a very green pine, but they don’t seem to really fit, do they? What do you think about it?”

“I think,” Imraldera said, as she put the last book where it belonged, “that you spend way too much time thinking about your Gleamdrene Fair, and not enough time about what’s more important.”

“What could be more important than my beloved?”

“For starters, your chamber here in the Haven.”

“What’s wrong with my temporary dwelling?” asked the Cat-man.

“It’s a mess, that’s what!” Imraldera exclaimed.  “And it’s not your ‘temporary’ dwelling any more, considering how much time you spend here lately.”

“There’re a lot of important things in there that can’t be disturbed!” Eanrin explained.

“More important than Gleamdrene?”

Eanrin paused and then said with conviction, “Yes, much more important than her.”

“Well, whatever’s in there, it needs cleaned up because it’s beginning to smell.  And if you don’t do it soon, I will,” Imraldera warned.

“Alright, alright, I’ll get to it sometime, but right now I must continue on my newest tribute to you-know-who!”  And with that he strode off, singing as he went:  “With golden hair so silky fine, you, my love, are truly divine!”

Imraldera watched him go, making a mental note to stop by his chamber later to clean it.  There was no doubt in her mind that the Cat wouldn’t so much as touch one thing in an effort to make his room neater.

Imraldera was wrong.  In fact, the Cat did make his bed a little neater by removing some articles of clothing and some nutshells from an earlier snack.  He dropped the clothes on the floor, and threw the nutshells into a pile with others from previous snacks that was now becoming a mountain.  All this was done so he might sit on the bed and write his newest ballad for Lady Gleamdrene.  As he wrote, he wondered how long he would have to keep this up?  Would he ever be able to tell Imraldera how he really felt?  As he thought about his fellow Knight, he remembered about their conversation.  He looked about the room.  There was crumpled paper and old, half-eaten pieces of fruit as well as his mountain of nutshells and other odds and ends.  Maybe Imraldera was right.  It was pretty messy and did smell a little.  “Most of the stuff in here is rubbish!”  thought Eanrin.  But not the letters!  Oh, no, not the letters!  Eanrin looked at the desk where he kept them.  They sat, at least a dozen of them, waiting to be read by a certain woman.  But no, she would never read them!  It would be the death of the poet!  So thinking, the bard got up and left the chamber, half-heartedly promising to clean it more thoroughly sometime.

As soon as Imraldera saw Eanrin leave the Haven and enter the Wood, she knew her chance had come.  Swiftly, she made her way to his room.  When she opened the door she gasped.  She almost shut it again to give it up as a lost cause, but she realized that if she didn’t clean it no one would, so she got to work.  She started with the half-eaten fruit and nutshells.  Putting these in a large sack, she began to see the floor once more.   

That’s when Eanrin walked in to fetch his cap that he’d forgotten.  He let out a yowl that seemed more cat than man and asked, flabbergasted, “What are you doing?!”

“I’m doing what you should be doing.  I’m cleaning up this mess!”

“No, what are you doing with my fruit and nutshells?!”

“I’m throwing them away of course,” came her reply.

“But those are my collections!”

“Oh, grow up, Eanrin!”

            “Fine, but don’t touch my crumpled paper collection!”

Imraldera didn’t say anything, but grabbed some folded parchment off the desk, which she assumed was part of Eanrin’s ridiculous collection.  However, she discovered that they were folded letters and they were addressed:  “To my Dearest Imraldera.”  Not just one, but all were addressed to her.  She was speechless for a moment and then said, “What is this?” She held up the letter.

“Aughhh!  Look away!”  Eanrin screamed and snatched the letter from her hand and gently, but swiftly pushed her from the room.  She let him, and once they were out, Eanrin shut the door behind them and said, “You don’t have to worry any more, old girl; I’ll clean my chamber right now and shall henceforth keep it that way!” And that’s what he did.  He threw away the unnecessary things he had, and even got rid of his crumpled paper collection.

Something he did keep though was the letters.  However, he now hid them in a place where he was sure his dearest Imraldera could never find and read them… at least not yet.