Tag #amwriting

The Great Collection of the Elemental Families of Huphaea, anid 1830 #6

aimeredleaf, The Narrative Gardener Leave a comment

Hello Everyone! It’s a steamy, tropical day here, perfect for sitting with my words (as long as the computer doesn’t frazzle out with humidity) and reminiscing. There is so much about Huphaea I wish I could share with you in reality, though I hope our story sessions do inspire happy emotions and active imaginations 😊. Stories are intrinsic to us as humans and provide a little refuge when it all gets ‘a bit crazy out there.’ I hope you are all well and safe 💛. Nightingales, look for a new issue of Collata in your inbox soon!

When we last left Elahna, she had just had her world rocked by the Madrigal Bluebird troup’s mind-blowing performances and some tavern ale… let’s see how she is feeling the next day…~

Town of Cragbend, Seat of Scion Arborea, House Gaiist

Morning found me wrapped in a soft blanket in a pavilion. The sounds of an active camp and smells of sausage and eggs floated around me. I sat up and felt the dull pound I expected in my head. Ugh. This was gonna suck. The tavern ale had hit like good-natured boxer—hard, but with a jolly laugh. I remembered laughing a lot, and oh, jeeeyyyz my body felt battered, I just hoped I hadn’t acted too much a fool. Right then, Raga stuck his head in the door and grinned.

Bluebird camp*

“Ah! You live! I’ll call Poet in, I can imagine you need her services.”

What did that mean? “Oh, ah, I’m good, thanks,” but my attempt to stand up betrayed me. He chuckled again.

Poet ducked inside and knelt beside me. “Here, let’s see if I can help some.” She put one hand on the front of my head and one on the back and started to hum in a low tone. When she stopped after a minute or so, the pounding had subsided into a tolerable ache.

I gazed at her in wonder. “How did you do that? Are you a healer too?”

Vitae works wonders…*

“No, not as such, it’s just another aspect of my singing ability. I use my voice to create, but I can also draw away with it. The bits I can’t fix some food will. Come on. We saved some for you.”

As we walked through camp, I noticed many of the others watching us overtly. I caught the word ‘Passer’ several times in whispered tones and my self-consciousness came rushing back. I didn’t belong here. I had to find a way home.

“There’s the Passer. Is she staying here?”*

Did I want to go home? Well, that was the REAL question. Kinda yes, and kinda no. I definitely wanted to know more about this land of Huphaea, its amazing people, the magic, dragons(!), but would I be welcome to?

Fife greeted me heartily and Tango hugged my legs. “Well, fla, unfortunately the Orderly isn’t here at the moment, though I’ll say your head seemed fine last night, if a bit ale-addled. You sure have some stories to tell and some strange words. Hopefully Raga let you sleep once you were tucked away in the pavilion, eh?” He waggled his eyebrows and winked at me.

I felt my face burn crimson. Oh god, I had no memory of even walking back to camp—and Raga wasn’t there to save me. Oh no, what did I do? Would Poet hate me? She didn’t seem to, but that could be a front until later. Ugh.

I passed the day helping where I could to be useful, to keep my mind off what might have happened that I didn’t remember.

The cartwrights had indeed set up a mobile workshop of sorts out by the wagons and were busy fitting new wheels, replacing axle shafts, applying grease to hubs, repairing cracks in the walls and floors, and there was even a painter. The last two individuals held my attention for a while. They were absorbed in their work, but the lack of tools and jars normally seen with menders and painters was glaring to me.

The mender was a bearded man in a red vest. He ran his long fingers over every inch of the wagon box to my left. When he detected some unseen anomaly, he stopped and placed his opposite hand into the bucket he carried with him. Something would flow, seemingly from the fingers of his first hand, onto the wood. When he was satisfied, he removed the hand from the bucket and continued pressing and smoothing the spot. It made me think of applying caulking or glue to a crack. When he moved away, a bright spot of new wood shone. The more I watched, the more it became obvious that he was drawing on the contents of the bucket to fill the cracks—but through his hands and body? I didn’t want to stare too long, but I was mesmerized. At that moment, the painter approached the wagon to my right.

“Elements be. Did you paint these coaches? They are astoundingly beautiful. I’ve never seen anything like them.”

“Elements be. Oh, I did not paint them originally, but I have worked on them several times when the Bluebirds are in Cragbend. They are lovely pieces. All of the Madrigal caravans are stunning.” The woman was young, with shorter, straight black hair woven into rows of braids that were pulled back from her face. Her highly pointed ears poked out between the rows and corralled numerous paint brushes. She carried a flat palette with a large dollop of white paint on it. Her smile was small, perhaps shy, but her lavender eyes radiated confidence and warmth. She wore a white sleeveless shirt and not a spot of color marred it.

“Forgive me for asking, but can you tell me what he is doing? It looks like he is repairing cracks, but I can’t see how.”

She grinned now, it was lopsided but full of openness. “He is repairing cracks, yes. See how he finds the weaknesses with one hand by touch, and then applies the sawdust in the bucket to it. His talent is transformative. The sawdust becomes a form he can work into the anomalies to re-strengthen them. They appear as new wood, then I come along and color them to match. I’m guessing you are the Passer everyone is talking about.”

“Oh, um, yes I am.” My eyes slid to the side, a bit embarrassed. Just then, she plucked a brush from an ear, dipped it into the white paint and touched up the design where the new wood gleamed. The paint brushed on in the exact colors necessary! My mouth fell open a bit and I drew a tiny sharp breath. She glanced back at me with that grin again.

white brushes leave color?*

“Creating color is my gift,” she said, before I could even splutter a question.

“But, how? How did you make something white into all those shades of blue just there? I don’t see any dyes or pigments on your board.”

“My talent is transformative, too. There is plenty of pigment all around us, in the form of light. It’s filled with color.”

“You use light? Like channeling it into the paint or something?” I didn’t care that I sounded like an idiot.

“Yes, very much like that! I see light and colors very differently when I invoke my talent. It allows me to see color in its parts so I can draw the light I need to create the exact colors.” She kept painting as she spoke, the strokes leaving color that blended perfectly with the surroundings.

“That’s amazing. Do others have that ability too?”

“Some, sure. There are others who are Herballs who have like ability, but they do work with the actual dyes and pigments in plants. Their work is best for garments and fabrics, candles, more softer materials. The coaches are always outside, so light-based color makes the most sense for their artwork. It’s constantly being refreshed that way.”

“Wow, I’m,… thank you. I don’t know what to say, there is nothing like that where I’m from. And this type of color makes so much more sense to me! Thank you for indulging my curiosity. I should get back and be useful. Enjoy your day! Elements be!” I raised my left palm and smiled as I turned away.

“Elements be, you’re welcome. Enjoy your stay.” She tipped her palette to me in goodbye and went back to embellishing wood with light.

I caught up with Fife next as I crossed the camp. He said he had spoken with Aymur Arborea last night about finding me some help to get home. I tried not to look too disappointed. He had been so generous, I didn’t want to be ungrateful, and I knew I couldn’t stay with the troupe as I had no talent to offer. I was going to miss them though.

The Bluebirds had been such a help to me over the past day—it was hard to believe I had only been in Huphaea for a day!

What was that? Oh, no, I never did get an answer that day from Raga about the night before. I lived with that question for quite a while, mind you. And Poet never said a word 🤷🏼‍♀️.

We’ll leave it here for today, the next post will take us to Rosewood Manor and the delights that await there!

What did you think about the mender’s and painter’s abilities? Amazing, right? Would you want to go home if you were in Elahna’s shoes? Leave a comment below and let us know!

Remember to subscribe to Collata, the Collection of Huphaea newsletter. The second issue will be out soon with some more exclusive content, from a youngster this time 😃. Hit the subscribe button below and become a Nightingale!

subscribe

*images other than Cragbend map from pxhere or unsplash as free for all use images

© 2020 Eleanorah Starr and Quill & Orb Press. All rights reserved.

The Great Collection of the Elemental Families of Huphaea, anid 1830 #5

aimeredleaf, The Narrative Gardener Leave a comment

Hello everyone! All the wishes to your health and sanity as we continue to cope with pandemic issues—stay strong! Can you believe we are about to enter June? We have had a taste of summer where I live, the sticky humid part of summer, after a looooonnnnng, very cool spring. It’s been quite a shock to the system, like Elahna going from insulated boots to summer sandals in one day. A hint of times to come, for sure.

So, when we last spoke, Elahna was just digesting the fact that there are dragons in this land. Raga, Poet, and Fife had a bit of a chuckle at her expense and she learned you do not have a dragon, ever. Dragons impart knowledge, but you should have a consarned good reason for speaking with one. Let’s continue on to Cragbend with the troupe, shall we?

closer to Cragbend…*

The homesteads on the nearer approach to Cragbend got a little smaller, but no less affluent.

*

Many had painted or carved wooden signs hanging by the road with various items depicted- chairs, bowls, cabinets, casks, wagons.

*

Vegetables grew in meticulous gardens and conical hay stacks populated shorn fields.

*

My nervousness returned as we entered the rustic town, but was forgotten in the activity of making camp in the field beside the Cleft Barrel. I was assigned to the horse lines with a young musician named Tenor. He pounded stakes for pickets while I secured the horses and doled out the feed.

By the time we finished, a fire roared in a central, stacked stone pit. Children’s laughter gamboled through the air as they peeled vegetables for stew and hurled the scraps at each other or the chickens.

cooking in the Bluebirds’ camp…*

Numerous brightly colored tents and pavilions now dotted the field.

Troupe members scurried around like ants, each with their own tasks to attend to in the familiar dance of pitching camp. The hulking shapes of the wagons formed an arc on the right side, nearer the road, like protective sphinxes crouched on their haunches. Tenor explained how, in towns where there wasn’t a Seat or large pub to perform in, they could fasten the wagons together by a series of collapsible panels to form a large stage.

Several times I caught myself studying the exquisite workmanship of the conveyances. Each wagon had a domed, retractable bonnet dyed mostly in shades of blue with other colors dancing through the swirls of ocean and sky. Ornate carvings of bluebirds perching on branches, clinging to rushes, and singing streams of notes adorned the sidewalls and rear panels. The skillful use of fire had fashioned the bas relief murals, which were painted to life in greens, browns, gold, and myriad blues. The heavy wooden wheels and fluted running gear paired seamlessly. Thick metal pins secured the junctures, but also meant the wheels could be taken off with ease for repairs or stage construction. They were rolling works of marvelous, versatile art.

“Not only are they beautiful, but they are multi-functional? And I’ve never seen so many shades of blue.”

Tenor’s shy smile acknowledged the compliment before he spoke.

“They are all made here. In the morning, you’ll see a few men wandering around checking them over. They get maintained every time we are in Cragbend. Many of the other troupes get their coaches here too.” Tenor’s voice was rich and easy to listen to, I wondered why he played the lap harp instead of singing.

“How many other troupes are there?”

“Five others, each bearing a different color. Hence the predominance of blue with us, like Fife’s donjar torc.”

“Where is your home town? How long have you been on tour?”

“We are always home.” He waved at the wagons. “Our life is on tour. We may stay in one place for a bit if there is a festival, or bad weather, but only until a weather-worker restores the skies.”

I let out a deep breath, rolling my eyes to myself. Drinking was certainly in order tonight.

Of course, being from New England, the idea of a weather-worker was just too good to be true. People could control the weather? I’d have to see that to believe it, for sure. I had now lost count of all the crazy things that were commonplace here.

like the Cleft Barrel*

The Cleft Barrel was a large, two-story pub at the forkroad in the center of Cragbend. The first floor was large and comfortable for eating and social activity; the second floor held lodgings, judging by the many doors I glimpsed. This night, the center of the main floor had been cleared for the Bluebirds’ performance. The townsfolk filled tables and benches against the walls and children crowded the balcony that ringed the upper floor.

“Looks like they knew you were coming.”

“Of course. We sent a bird ahead when we left Irillo, to let the cartwrights know we would be here for maintenance for a couple days. They undoubtedly passed the word. It’s an event when the Madrigal troupes are in town,” Poet replied, putting Tango’s hand in mine. “Follow the young ones upstairs, you’ll have the best view from there.” She spun around and made for the convening Bluebirds before I could protest. Tango grinned up at me then pulled my arm out straight as he followed the rest of the troupe kids to the stairs.

They were right. We could see everything from our vantage, but the show included SO much more than visuals. I will never forget any of the Madrigal performances I saw.

I figured out quickly that Madrigals all have magical abilities according to their roles. The two storytellers began the night with a tale for the children akin to Jack and the Beanstalk.

ladybugs!*

Before I knew what was happening, I was high in the air, clinging onto a giant vine. A breeze blew through my hair with the scent of honeysuckle. The giant ladybugs pursuing me were far too close for comfort, I could see their beady red eyes and hear their scuttling legs. I turned around to continue climbing when an enormous black and yellow spider bearing the hero of the story on its back stepped over me. The prickly hairs on its legs brushed my back. The crowd cheered and the children around me whooped and yelled as the ladybugs were vanquished.

*

Then I was back on the balcony with Tango dancing in my lap.

Yeah, it was astounding. I still don’t really have words to describe it. The shows were always mind-blowing.

Some of that night I spent in bloody battles fighting vampire armies (yup, they exist here too), courtesy of Fife, and endured captivity in a lone tower until the shape-shifting farm boy rescued me. The singers caroled a tour of the continent, highlighting the abilities of the Elemental Families. Poet’s lilting voice wove color and sensation into my drone-like flight above a life-size map. Sometimes a Family would be cheered by members in the crowd, others garnered faint gibes or snickers. All I could think was that the virtual reality games I knew were a joke.

No, God no. Movies don’t even remotely come close. Even 3D motion rides can’t compare to the power of Madrigal magic. It’s beyond this world.

Players, like Raga, turned amazing acrobatic routines, juggled far too many and dangerous objects (even people!) effortlessly, and took mime to a new level. Puppeteer Calliope enlivened her hand-crafted minions from afar, no strings necessary. Poet provided the vocals for the Punch-and-Judyesque shorts, her bawdy banter had the ale-stoked crowd’s full attention and eager participation.

The Madrigals created playgrounds for ALL the senses and satisfied everyone, 100% of the time.

By the end of the evening, I was exhausted. I could barely carry a sleeping Tango downstairs to join the troupe. Fife took one look at my face and laughed until he cried, thrusting a tankard of something at me. “Here you go, Fla, that’ll fix you. Did you enjoy the show?”

I nodded, smiling wearily, and sampled the drink. I had read about tavern ale so much in fantasy books that I wasn’t surprised, but it was STRONG. Like the strongest craft beer on steroids. Between the ale and the interactive show, I was gonna pay tomorrow…

books don’t do tavern ale justice…*

Oh, and don’t you know I certainly did! We can leave off here for this episode, stay safe and I’ll see you next time!~

The Madrigal shows sound amazing, don’t they? Like virtual reality without the silly glasses. I bet she never looks at ladybugs or garden spiders the same! Would you enjoy a performance like that? Drop a comment below and let me know!

Collata, the Collection of Huphaea newsletter has had it’s first issue! If you want to get in on exclusive anecdotes, out-takes, and graphics from Eleanorah’s journey once or twice a month, hit the subscribe button below. Become a Nightingale!

subscribe

*All photos with asterisk and the pavilion photo from pxHere or Unsplash for free use.

©2020 Eleanorah Starr and Quill & Orb Press. All Rights Reserved.

The Great Collection of the Elemental Families of Huphaea, anid 1830 #4

aimeredleaf, The Narrative Gardener Leave a comment

Hello all, Elements be! Hard to believe it’s been two weeks since I was here last, I hope the situations in your corner of the world are improving. Or that you are managing it as best you can 🙂. Let’s head back to Huphaea now, continue the adventure and forget about restrictions and pandemics for a bit. Ready?

We left off with the Bluebird troupe making their way toward Cragbend, and Elahna discovering she was in the company of Elves! They wanted to take her to an Orderly, and she wasn’t so sure about that…

leaving Venrood Forest behind…*

I spent the rest of the ride to Cragbend observing my new companions and surroundings. The Bluebird troupe numbered twenty and included four musicians, a bard (Fife), three singers (including Poet), two storytellers, a puppeteer, three players (Raga), and six children. They were not family per se, though some were related. My desire to know begged to ask a thousand questions, but I restrained them to whatever the topic at hand was.

Fife returned with a loose linen shirt in bright kelly green and gray leggings obviously made of a plant fiber, but as durable as doeskin. I was thrilled to discard my hot, waterproof hikers for soft but sturdy leather sandals adorned with colored metal rivets and hoops.

Winter to summer, boots to sandals all in one day?—if you know me, you know I was in heaven!

After the wardrobe change, I found it much easier to unwind. Just feeling like I was part of, instead of an outsider, even if it was only temporary, quelled my anxiety for a time. Raga explained that when we arrived at the Cleft Barrel, the troupe would see to the horses, arrange the wagons, and erect the sleeping pavilions first, before going in.

“I’d be happy to help wherever I can.”

“My thanks. We’ll work you in. Ah, there’s the town, there in the valley. Another erdur or so til we arrive.”

“Did you say ‘erdur’? Do you mean hour?”

“Oww-horr. What is that to you?”

The way he rolled the word ‘hour’ made me laugh and then stop, afraid of being rude, but he was laughing as well.

“It’s a unit of time, a larger unit. It’s made up of sixty smaller units.” Would he even know what sixty was?

“Yes, I think an erdur would be like an oww-horr.”

We continued our discussion about time, and even numbers, which thankfully we did share, but not the names of them. With the help of Tango, who was learning his numbers too, Raga and I established that decca equaled ten, so I could go from there in a Latin-esque fashion. Phew.

*

The caravan left the forest behind during that exchange and we traveled through long, sedate hills of farmsteads.

farmsteads on the way to Cragbend*

Well off to the left, a long arm of the forest curled around and ended in a massive stand of trees. Those trees stood tens of feet above any others; they reminded me of the faux cellphone tower trees along the highways. But I was pretty sure these were not artificial. Smoke trails puffed from the stand in three dark ribbons.

“Is that forest on fire?” I pointed, getting a bit nervous.

“What? Oh, no. That’s Rosewood, the Arborea Seat. See how the trees are so much larger? The Arborea scion has tree magic, and their Seat shows their capabilities. It’s one of my favorite Seats to visit in all of Huphaea. Wait til you see it!” Raga’s enthusiasm was palpable, and Tango started clapping again. Poet joined us on the bench.

“I’ll be glad to get out of this wagon, for sure.” she said. “I agree. Rosewood is spectacular. They say the building was built long ago like any other, but Arboreans have infused the wood and the trees with so much of their vitae over the generations that the two are indistinguishable. They live IN the trees. And it’s always changing. It’s never the same as when we were here last.”

“What do you mean by vitae? I mean, I know a word like that, but what does it mean here?”

My heart started beating a bit faster- portals, elves and now magic tree houses?

vitae streams*

“Vitae is the energy that flows through Huphaea, and in the Elemental Families, it gives them their abilities. Well, and us Madrigals, too.”

“And the dragons and the other First Ones.” Raga added.

I know my face fell—he did just say dragons. Both Poet and Raga laughed, and Tango joined in. “Dragons? Like how big? Dragons?” I stammered.

Fife reined back at all the noise, reaching for Tango as he drew alongside. “What’s all the crac about back here? Are they havin’ a go at you, fla?” Tango stood on the saddle swell, encircled in one of Fife’s huge arms, grinning like he owned the world.

“They just said there are dragons here. Is that true?”

“Ha Ha! Of course it is! We don’t generally see them up close, unless you go seek one out, and you’d better have a consarned good reason to do that. But there’re plenty here. You don’t have dragons, I’m guessing?” His amusement was only a bit less restrained than the other two.

“Only in books. They’re a really popular subject. A lot of people think it would be cool to have one.”

“Have one? Oh, fla, you don’t HAVE a dragon. Dragons have Riders, they are about the only ones the Great Ones allow around them. You can seek them for a piece of knowledge, if you’re desperate, or for the Scholar’s Final Telling, but they are best left to themselves. They find us when the Balance needs us.”

“Oh. I see.” I had to let that sink in. Dragons.

Yeah, dragons! You can imagine my mind was pretty much on overload at this point. I just sat back and watched the landscape pass for a while. Cragbend was visible up ahead and I still had a night to get through. What else would I encounter in this day?

I’ll leave off here for now, before we make it into Cragbend. That will be next time. See you then!~

What would you be thinking now if you were in Elahna’s place? Drop a comment below for Eleanorah, let us know!~

If you’d like exclusive snips from Eleanorah’s story, subscribe to Collata, The Collection of Huphaea newsletter. The current issue will have an introduction to the Known Trees of Huphaea. Don’t miss it! Become a Nightingale!~

subscribe

*Photo credits to pxhere, Unsplash, and Canva.

Copyright © 2020 Eleanorah Starr and Quill & Orb Press, All Rights Reserved

World Indie Warriors Spring Directory

aimeredleaf, The Narrative Gardener Leave a comment

World Indie Warriors is an author community with members around the globe.

Their Spring Directory links to members’ work, and to businesses that provide services with Indie authors specifically in mind.

Quill & Orb Press has a listing here!

Follow the link to the file and check out their Facebook page – World Indie Warriors – to become a part of a supportive author community!

World Indie Warriors Spring Directory

From a Fellow Rebel Author– ————— How To: Beta Readers — Val Neil

aimeredleaf, The Narrative Gardener Leave a comment

Compiled from experience, this is a great article on everything to do with beta readers. Follow the link to Val’s page and the entire piece. Enjoy!~

What are they? People who read your polished manuscript (do not send them your shitty first draft) and give you feedback. Ideally they should be readers, NOT other writers, though that can be harder to come by. How many do you need? Depends on where you are in your writer journey. If you’re a newbie, […]

How To: Beta Readers — Val Neil

The Great Collection of the Elemental Families of Huphaea, anid 1830 #3

aimeredleaf, The Narrative Gardener Leave a comment

Hi Folks, welcome back! I hope you are all staying safe and making the best of the twists and turns the world is throwing at us. I’m glad you came by here briefly to hear the story about my time in Huphaea. I’m happy to help bring a little smile to your day 😊, I hope.

When we last left Elahna, she had just met a group of travelers in a forest, on the way to a town called Cragbend…

the road through Venrood Forest…

“Cragbend?”

“Sure, the town’s up ahead, that’s where we’re headed. You’re in the Venrood Forest, where did you think you were?”

“I have no idea. I’m not from here.” (Oh shit, probably shouldn’t have said that). “I mean, I just don’t know where I am.”

He was peering at me more closely now, no doubt noticing my strange clothing. “As you said. Well, hey— Raga! Hold a moment! We’ll take this one into town with us. She’s had a long go of it, by the looks.” One of the wagons slowed at his call and the driver turned in his seat. “I’m Fife, donjar of the Bluebird troupe you see here. We can at least get you to town, so you can start finding your folk.” He smiled and waved toward the stopped wagon. “Just hop up there aside Raga, he won’t bite, though Poet might! Ha ha!”

Fife’s easy jocularity put me at ease, and Raga was no different. I climbed up onto the driving seat, stuffing my bundle of long underwear and coat underneath.

Raga raised his left hand, palm out, and said “Elements be, well met. I’m Raga, as you know. Poet is in back there with her and my son Tango. Did someone leave you out here?” I noted the humor in Raga’s tone, perhaps this was a common occurrence.

“Ah, no. I just…”

Fife reined in alongside the wagon as we started to move again, clearly interested in what I had to say. Being eye level now, I got a better look at him. His pleasant broad face reflected curiosity, but his marbled blue and green eyes were intent and observant. Long, dark hair was bound at his neck and a leather thong held a large, cerulean blue, teardrop-shaped pendant just below his throat.

“It’s gonna sound really stupid, but I arrived here somehow. I don’t know how. Please, what state are we in, or what country?”

“Hmmm, well now, I’m not sure what a ‘state’ is, but the country is Eflary. These are House Gaiist lands, and we are headed to Cragbend, the Seat of the Arborea scion. What’s your name, Fla?”

I didn’t know what ‘Fla’ was, but Fife made it sound nice, and not threatening.

“Elahna. Elahna Starr.” I made a last second decision to shorten my first name. If I was in a new place, why not have a new name? I had always wanted a nickname, and Elahna was easier to say. They all seemed to have short names, so it made sense in that moment. I didn’t regret the choice.

“Oh, Starr! Are you from Astros, Solarelle or Lunad lands, then?” Fife leaned forward a bit to look at the side of my head, at my ear, maybe? ”Or maybe Zenidd or Fairmoon is a better guess?”

That was when I noticed his ears formed a graceful point at the top. Woah! No way, an elf?

I know my eyes widened, though I tried to keep them steady.

He recoiled a bit, thinking I was offended, and held up his palm, “I’m sorry, Helican, then? Though Starr would certainly have one think Fairmoon, but you see all kinds.” He chuckled trying to recover. “Do you know what lands you hail from, at least?”

I took a quick look at Raga, and there too! Poking out from his wavy russet hair, his ears were pointed, though not as sharply as Fife’s. His eyes were an ochre brown and his face was finer in structure, but still smiling. He quirked the side of his mouth a bit more at me, and I turned away, embarrassed. This was getting crazy, now I was in the company of elves?

“It’s fine, Fla, you don’t need to tell us if you don’t want to. Do you have the coin to get yourself back home, though? The Zenidd lands are several days ride from here, at least.” Fife’s voice held some concern, while my angst continued to grow.

“No, I, –I only have my clothes and this bundle of heavier clothes. I, –what am I gonna do when we get to town? I fell through some kind of portal and ended up in a stone chamber back there in the woods. I tried to go back through, but nothing happened. So I have no way to pay for anything… and nowhere to go.” The words tumbled out in a flood and I noticed the din of conversation around us had died, most likely in response to the rising pitch of my voice. Reality settled around me like a cloak.

But still, was this real?

A firm, but gentle hand rested on my forearm. I turned and was met by a stunning, heart-shaped face framed by white-blonde hair. The intermittent lavender braids made her blue and green eyes stand out all the more. They were the same eyes as Fife’s.

“Don’t worry, Fla. You can stay among us for the night, and tomorrow we can figure out what to do. We have most of the day before we are due at Rosewood to perform in the evening.” She smiled, but I was entranced by her melodic voice. Poet. That was the only word for her.

“I’m Poet. Fife won’t leave you berift, will you, Donjar? You can see our show tonight at the Cleft Barrel. The food is excellent and it’s always a right show.” She squeezed my arm a bit, and the small, ruddy-cheeked boy in her lap clapped his hands and laughed. He had hair more coppery than Raga but with the same rounder face, finely pointed ears that almost curled back into themselves at the tips, and dark blue eyes marbled with amber instead. He grinned at me, never taking his eyes from my face. This child was NOT shy.

“Of course you will stay with us.” Fife’s deep voice broke my wordless exchange with Tango. “We have plenty of room, no one will know you aren’t part of the troupe. Well, except for those clothes… Let me see if some of the other girls have extras you can borrow ’til tomorrow. There’s more to you than Poet. Maybe we can find an Orderly as well, sort you out straight.” He touched his horse’s neck and they moved on ahead toward the other members of the troupe.

I sat a bit more upright. An Orderly? That didn’t sound so good to me, though he spoke as if it was nothing. “What’s an Orderly?”

But I didn’t get an answer.

God, yes! My mind WAS freaking out. But all of the troupe members were so unconcerned and jovial, I couldn’t help but relax also. It’s hard to be uptight when everyone around you is laughing and talking.

This is a great place to break for today, next time we will make it into Cragbend, and see if Elahna meets an Orderly… Thank you for stopping by, I will see you soon!

Don’t forget to leave a comment about the story so far, how would you feel being in a strange land?

Remember to subscribe to Collata, Eleanorah Starr’s newsletter about The Collection of Huphaea. You will get exclusive outtakes and info about the adventure, become a Nightingale!

subscribe

Re-blogging ‘Cause Writers Love Scrivener ❤🖋📝 ———————————-Scrivener Quick Tips: A Roundup of Handy Features — Writer Unboxed

aimeredleaf, The Narrative Gardener 1 Comment

Hope everyone is staying safe and making the best of the challenging situation we are facing. You can find the full article on Writer Unboxed by following the link below, ’cause who can’t use a Scrivener refresher? I’m taking a mini-course this afternoon myself!

Do you use Scrivener when you write? Do you like it, love it, feel vulnerable when you use it? Let me know in the comments below. I’m in the 🧡🧡🧡🧡 category myself 🥰.

Stop by later for the next installment in Eleanorah Starr’s Collection of Huphaea post series, you won’t want to miss it!

Whether your home office has been invaded and you have little time to write, or you suddenly find yourself with nothing but writing time, I’ve pulled together a motley collection of handy features that every Scrivener user should know about. NOTE: When the process differs between versions, I’m using S1, S2, and S3, to denote…

Scrivener Quick Tips: A Roundup of Handy Features — Writer Unboxed

The Great Collection of the Elemental Families of Huphaea, anid 1830. #2

aimeredleaf, The Narrative Gardener Leave a comment

Moss and Color

When we left off, Eleanorah had just stepped into the ancient monolith on that early spring day in Vermont. Check out episode #1 if you want to refresh your memory…

But then there was a tiny, framed window opposite me with the sun streaming in.

Wait, what? I turned a quick circle and saw lush, green moss covering the rocks in the doorway. There hadn’t been any moss by the door, it was too early for moss to be green in Vermont. And why is the doorway round now…

I stood frozen to the spot, only my eyes moved around the space I was in. This wasn’t the same chamber I had stepped into.

I dropped into a protective crouch, looking about wildly. Thankfully, I was alone in the tiny room. Then I started becoming aware of the environment. It smelled green and moist, like moss and deep leaf litter. The air was quite warm, far warmer than March in Vermont, and the colors I could see outside the door were more vibrant than I was used to, even in high summer. I heard a rushing noise also, perhaps water of some sort. My curiosity began to grow, but if I moved, would I be able to get back here?

I stood up and stepped one foot in a circle around the spot I had landed on, trying to trigger a return trip, but nothing worked.

Omg, where was I?

With that thought, curiosity won and I left the chamber. Greens in shades out of a painter’s color book assaulted my eyes and they started to burn with the intensity. I wished I had brought my sunglasses, yes, it was that vivid.

A fallen tree that had succumbed to the moss carpet pointed in the direction of the water noise, so I headed that way. The stream I found rambled through a rocky bed. I couldn’t resist touching the water, it was so crystal clear. Each time I dipped my hands in, for suddenly I was quite thirsty, I got pricked, as if by a thorn or a needle, though I couldn’t see anything there to touch. It was very strange. But the water was cool and sweet, so I had my fill and crossed the stream on a few rocks and headed down a hill.

I wondered what direction I was heading in and reached for my phone for the compass app.

But there was no phone. No Fitbit on my wrist either.

It was starting to feel like some of the fantasy stories I love to read. Portals to another land, technology can’t make the trip.

What was going to be next? Elves? Forest spirits? Dragons? (Actually, I did learn later it was water sprites who had pricked me in the stream, I must have offended them somehow, but how was I to know? I couldn’t see them.)

I kept walking through the forest since it was the only thing I could do. Most of the tree species looked familiar, but at one point I entered a clearing with a huge, silvery-white barked tree in the center. It was magnificent, taller and with a canopy broader than any of the grand beech trees I knew. The trunk width rivaled a redwood (and yes, I have seen the giant redwoods). The canopy traced a perfect circle and the rest of the forest began just at its edge, almost forming an enclosed, round room.

I could only imagine it was some kind of sacred tree and place, so I didn’t linger long. Scenarios of being killed for treading on sacred ground started playing in my mind and I decided it was best to go.

Eventually I came to a road, a wide dirt road, that is. I decided to go left. The road was well-used with evidence of horses everywhere. The colors of the land still astounded me-rich, multi-layered browns, stark grays, and those vibrant greens. Everything thrummed with energy and vitality, even the air. And I was still under cover of the forest, I hadn’t seen the actual sun yet, though I could feel it.

I was waaaaay overdressed.

Photo by LaNuez07 from PxHere

I don’t know how long I walked for, but by the time the end of the forest came into view, it appeared evening was falling. I thought it best to make some sort of camp not far from the road, and was scouting for something shelter-like when I heard hoofbeats and wooden wagon wheels approaching from behind me. A group of riders trotted past, followed by several large wagons with brightly colored canvas tops.

I had stopped and moved off the road a bit, but I kind of wanted to be seen to try to determine where I was. Would I even be able to communicate with people here?

“Woaaah there, Strider. Hallo.” A man in a deep blue shirt slowed his horse and drifted toward me. “Are you here alone?”

Oh thank God, he spoke English! “Um, yes. Where is here, exactly?”

“You don’t know where you are? Oh, that must have been a consarned good night then!” He slapped his thigh as he laughed at me. “Well how did you get here? It’s a good distance to Cragbend, should have sobered you up just walkin’, never mind whatever else you did!”

“Cragbend?”

Who are these strangers, and what awaits in Cragbend? Stay tuned for the next post to find out! Let me know what you think happens next in the comments below. Elements be ! ✋~

If you would like to follow the tale of Eleanorah’s adventure as soon as it comes out, and get some bonus content about Ereth and Huphaea, subscribe to Collata, The Collection of Huphaea Newsletter here:

Subscribe

The Great Collection of the Elemental Families of Huphaea, anid 1830. #1

aimeredleaf, The Narrative Gardener 2 Comments

told by Eleanorah Starr

Trespassing

Up a hillside off a dirt road…
Photo by form PxHere

I stumbled into the world of Ereth by accident. Completely by accident.

I left my mountain bike around the backside of a copse of spruce trees where it would be hidden, since my search involved trespassing. And though I didn’t expect to be there long, I preferred to avoid disgruntled property owners. The hillside sloped upward ahead of me, dotted with other evergreens I could use to hide from the few cars that might drive by while I was visible. The noisy, early-spring gravel road would warn me anyway.

Oh, I’m sorry, I thought I had mentioned that before. I was in Vermont, mid-Vermont I guess you would say, searching for a megalith site I read about online. I had visited some megaliths during my time in Ireland many years ago, and they were fascinating; so full of history and energy.

That winter had been a long, cold, icy affair and I needed an adventure. So I headed north to investigate what I had read.

No, this site wasn’t like Stonehenge, or Newgrange, but it was reported to have some similar components: a stacked stone structure built into a hillside, a calendar chamber that admitted light on the winter equinox, and a menhir stone.

(Photo by Jon Tyson on Unsplash)

I headed up the hillside hoping I had chosen the right location.

Photo by form PxHere

After about ten minutes of hiking and marking my trail for the return, I came upon a tall, jagged, triangular-shaped stone encircled by large maple trees. Gnarled, weathered roots crawled and stretched toward the stone creating a ray-like sculpture on the ground. As I stepped between the trunks, a humming vibration danced along my skin, raising the hair on my neck.

(Photo by form PxHere)

It was as if the trees were protecting the menhir.

Crossing the lumpy ground to the stone, I reached out to touch the gouged surface. It felt warm. Wait—how? There was no sun, it was a cloudy day.

Something rustled behind me. Startled, I lurched on the roots underfoot, trying not to twist an ankle. I leaned onto the nearest trunk for stability and cover. Later I recalled the tree was warm too, but I was too spooked to acknowledge it then. I peered around in the direction of the noise and there was the stone chamber.

It looked ancient. The dry-laid rock walls framed a typical megalith doorway of three much larger, flat rectangular stones. I stopped several paces from the structure, thoughts racing through my head—

How old is this?

Who built it?

This is amazing, I can’t believe I found it!

Do I dare go inside?

Trees grew all over the top of the chamber, nestling it further into the hillside and the forest. I decided to go in. I only had this one opportunity, most likely. About three paces from the door, the humming started again, this time more in my head. My skin tingled and I recalled that feeling I had at the sites in Ireland. I passed under the lintel into an earthy, warm interior.

Well of course it would be, I was out of the chilly wind.

What was in that ancient chamber? Let me know what you think is there in the comments below. Then look for my next post this weekend!

If you’d like to stay current with The Collection of Huphaea and get some cool extras, subscribe to Eleanorah’s newsletter here:

subscribe

The Great Collection of the Elemental Families of Huphaea, anid 1830. #0

aimeredleaf, The Narrative Gardener 2 Comments

Hello! I’m Eleanorah Starr. I have been asked by

…my friend to come by a couple times a month and tell the tale of my time in the world of Ereth.

We were talking a while back about fantasy books, which she loves to read, and I just couldn’t help myself.

The story started coming out.

She, of course, was hooked, and always wants to know more, I can’t write it fast enough for her <eye rolls>, Lol.

“Do other worlds exist, you ask? Yes, they do.

I know this for a fact because I have been to another world; one not of this time and nothing like this one.

Perhaps that’s why I am so disenchanted with this world. I didn’t mean to return to Earth. I would have gladly stayed on Ereth for the rest of my life (which incidentally would have been much longer than it will be here), despite the dragons and unexplained happenings that were causing uncertainty in Huphaea.

Listen to the author narrate the accompanying text! Begin the journey with audio!

I have no idea how I ended up in London that hateful day. One moment I was making camp in the Scarmagne Forest with my companions,

…the next I was standing on a street edge in Chelsea—looking totally ridiculous, mind you, in Robin Hood-like garb.

Thankfully, ComicCon was in town, so I didn’t seem too out of place, just a bit lost.

And I was so looking forward to seeing Irillo again.

Oh yes, I certainly did try to get back. Immediately.

I spent an hour searching for the exact spot where the portal was, but had no luck.

I can’t even imagine what I must have looked like to the passers-by, some sort of deranged, strung-out, role-player frantically slapping the brick wall in an alley aside The Split Chevron pub, muttering to herself.

I remember a dog growled behind me, and that stopped me searching. The guy spoke sternly to the dog and kept moving quickly when I turned around. That’s when I saw the sign across the way for Fulham Road, in The Royal Borough of Kensington and Chelsea. And I realized I was in London.

No. There was no warning the portal was there at all.

Portals weren’t ever talked about. I asked questions once or twice about them, where they were, how does someone find them? But my questions were ignored or shrugged off. I kind of got the feeling it was something that wasn’t discussed.

What was I doing there?

Adele, Solon and I were making camp for the evening. We were on our way back to Irillo from the last stop on our tour of Huphaea gathering family histories. Solon was tending to the horses, Adele was sorting food for the meal, and I was gathering wood for the fire.

And then I wasn’t.

I always wondered what they thought, how long they looked for me that night.

Irillo is the capital of the elven half of the island of Huphaea, the capital of Eflary. It’s where we started out from all those anos ago. I lived there with Adele until we were commissioned to go on the Collection.

Irillo, capital of Eflary, the elven lands.

No, I said anos. That would be the equivalent of a month in Huphaea, but it has five weeks of five days instead.

Well, sure, I can tell you all about my time there, if you have the time to listen. It’s not a short story.

There are eighteen Houses, each with two Scions, so we visited thirty-six places. Half in Eflary, half in Maarran, which is the human half of Huphaea. And that was after I had been with Adele for a while.

Yes, yes, humans and elves lived together.

They even had families together, most individuals were well-mixed, honestly. Finding a pure human, or a pure elf was very rare.

The purest were the Fosters, for reasons I will tell when I get to them.

You sure you want to hear all of this? It doesn’t mean anything except to me, and you’re probably gonna think I’m nuts…

OK, well then, maybe we can break it up over a few sessions, sound good?

Where shall I start, I guess at the very beginning, right?”

ID726045 copyright Dragen Cvetanovic|Dreamstime.com

Curious about the Elemental Families? Click on these two links for diagrams outlining the hierarchies. Which one do you want to hear most about?

elven-elemental-families-1Download
human-elemental-families-2Download

Subscribe here to the Collection of Huphaea newsletter and get notified when Eleanorah posts next! Exclusive content will be included too!

What kind of world would you want to be transported to? Comment your answer below!

Photos by form PxHere, unless otherwise attributed.