rs moonchild part 1

Crossbow Isle – Ithilhin Moonchild – Part 1

Irefenia Salgonda – Elensaár Gelindor

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IItthhiillhhiinn MMoooonncchhiilldd

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IItthhiillhhiinn –– MMoooonncchhiilldd PPaarrtt 11

IIrreeffeenniiaa SSaallggoonnddaa

EElleennssaaáárr GGeelliinnddoorr

EEddiittoorr –– KKLLJJ

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Copyright © 2011 Irefenia Salgonda & Elensaár Gelindor

All rights reserved.

Registered with the IP Rights Office Copyright Registration Service

Ref. [253510418]

Copyright © Irefenia Salgonda & Elensaár Gelindor

Published by ISEG Media®

Ithilhin Moonchild – Volume 1 – Part 1

First published 2011

Edition: 2nd published 2014

Illustrations & Cover © Elensaár Gelindor

ISBN-13: 978-1463707620

ISBN-10: 1463707622

Title ID: 3650100

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the authors.

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On a personal note: We like to thank Darrin Grimwood who as seasoned writer gave us not only a ‘little’ advice and his positive professional judgment because he shared our excitement to write Crossbow Isle. Peter P. who hosted our website and gave us a crash course how to set up and update our website, Carol B. for her positive professional judgment, and Tova W. who has relentlessly strived to eliminate typos and other mishaps, last but not least, Eileen T. and all those who made it possible that you, our readers hold the first volume of Crossbow Isle in your hands to join this incredible journey! Enjoy!

Irefenia Salgonda & Elensaar Gelindor

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PPrreeffaaccee Dear Reader and Elven friend. As Crossbow Isle spans over five volumes in fifteen parts, we found it most suitable to let you know what the entire tale holds in stock. Therefore, we have ‘conjured’ a very brief introduction to the tale of Crossbow Isle.

� About four-thousand-years ago, the Elven Planet Phaéthon was deliberately destroyed in a fiery inferno and a large number of its inhabitants were stranded between the times. From within this void, time did not anymore appear as a consecutive string of events but allowed their minds to access some of the many realities that are attributed to each planet. The lass Ithilhin or Moonchild was born and lived in one of those accessible realities of planet Earth on a place called Crossbow Isle. Here, Ithilhin, the Moonchild was raised by elves who had ‘somehow’ come to that island as well. As the ripples of the event that had led to the destruction of Phaéthon bounced back and struck the reality where Crossbow Isle was located, another part of the plot unfolds, coercing Ithilhin and her friends into an intriguingly planned plot, which is spiced with countless mantraps, hilarious to gut-wrenching situations and deadly fights that eventually will guide them to an event that changes this universe and its realities and reverses the adverse influences of the ‘One’ who had caused the destruction of Phaéthon. However, they are not yet able to influence the effects on the planet that the ‘One’ had isolated and occupied for himself, – the people and world he had changed to his liking – Earth!

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II PPHHAAÉÉNNÒÒRR - 2 -

IIII IITTHHIILLHHIINN - 10 -

VVIIII MMOOOONNLLIIGGHHTT OOVVEERR MMEENNOOMMEENNTTAA - 18 -

XX SSHHEELLAA - 26 -

XXIIIIII SSPPIIRRIITTSS OOFF TTHHEE DDEEAADDLLYY FFEENNSS - 46 -

XXVVIIII RRAASSMMUUSS - 60 -

XXVVIIIIII TTHHEE FFIIRRSSTT RREESSCCUUEE JJOOUURRNNEEYY - 64 -

XXXXIIII TTHHEE EELLVVEENNSSTTOONNEE - 68 -

XXXXVV FFIIRREESSTTOORRMM - 74 -

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II PPhhaaéénnòòrr

In the highest turret of the ancient Palace of Nargondopháar, Undomiêl, Son of the House of Perhanód, stood in front of a solid stone pedestal, which bore a shallow basin on its top. Four narrow windows in the wall of the round tower were arranged as the points of a compass rose, giving a stunning view over the vast green-golden forest that filled the entire vale. However, today, it was not Undomiêl’s concern to admire its beauty or to be embraced by the tranquil feeling that spread into the heart and soul of the beholder.

He somehow had felt compelled to come hither. It was as if something or someone had been commanding his legs to climb the many narrowly winding stairs to the high turret. For a moment, he pondered the queer feeling that still seemed to hold him in its grip but as fast as the notion had appeared that fast it was gone and he poured clear water from a crystal ewer into the silvery bowl on top of the sleek pedestal. Now he waited until the liquid had come to rest, held his hands over the surface, murmured an ancient formula and stooped over the shallow bowl to watch the gently twinkling surface.

First, he beheld only his own image on the bottom of the basin but then the water itself turned murky and thick and he


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beheld a dark and oddly shaped object, framed by a thin rim of golden light on its lower left side, and it seemed to tumble slowly through an even darker shade of blackness.

It was not clear to Undomiêl what he beheld, hence, his mind requested to see the future. Patiently he waited for a reaction to his wish but there was no change. The image with the slowly rotating object that the Phaénòrian Mirror showed remained unchanged.

He was not sure if his spell had worked well and tried it again. However, the scene that appeared was still the same. Now, as he patiently watched what developed, he realised that the view was indeed changing slowly.

Another object appeared from the upper left rim of the basin and took its place behind that ‘something’ that tumbled slowly into the centre of the bowl’s view. The new object grew steadily and soon enough he figured that it was a slowly rotating sphere, brightly coloured with large patches of blue, brown, grey, and dark green shapes. Not sure, what this revelation was supposed to tell, the Kings Counsellor watched with burning eyes what else the ancient device would reveal.

The small colourful shape grew slowly until it filled the background of the entire bowl but the tumbling object had not changed its size and Undomiêl realised that his view was riding along at speed with that queer object. At that moment, he began to understand that what he beheld was the scene of something massive approaching an object that looked like a world. A world that looked very much like the one he knew so well – Phaéthon, the world he called home.


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He still pondered that notion as the events on the surface of the water escalated and everything happened almost in the blink of an eye.

Undomiêl beheld wide lands with green pastures, forests with huge trees that spun out of view, blue waters with high waves branding onto sandy shores and then – his heart almost stopped – FIRE.

The whole image had burst in to a blinding flash of fire and a few moments later, which seemed to stretch endlessly, only deepest blackness behind a myriad of sparkling dots was all that remained to be seen ere the water cleared and his eyes met with the image of his own frightened-looking face at the bottom of the bowl. The tall figure straightened, but his body trembled. Had this vision shown the truth?

With shaking hands, he wiped his cold sweating brow and eyes. Could that be true what the Phaénòrian mirror had just shown? With a few shaky steps, he walked to the wall, where his knees gave way. His body slumped to the wooden floorboards where he silently sat for a while whilst his mind tried to cope with sheer disbelief what he had seen.

Undomiêl was sure beyond doubt that in the last sequence, he had recognised the unique trees of his world, the forests of the great Mallorns. No other world in this part of the universe known to his race bore those sorts of trees. Only here on Phaéton they grew in such large forests where the High King of the Eldar and the direct descendants of the mighty Phaénòrians and his household dwelled.

His heart was filled with fear and he recognised that at this moment, his legs were surely not able to bear him down the many narrow steps. For some time he closed his eyes and


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focused on his body until his mind had calmed and his legs felt strong enough to bear his weight.

The tall and willowy figure walked to the narrow window that opened to the west and he gazed over the vale, closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The cool and fragrant air refreshed his mind and he returned to the basin to ensure that all he had done had been right ere he would find for his King to break such bad tidings.

Once again, the sound of his voice murmuring the ancient formula filled the small chamber, anxiously spelt properly and once more, Undomiêl’s body stooped over the basin.

As it had happen before, the vision blackened, and once again, the same horrible scene unfolded clearly before his eyes. Once it had ended again in a fiery explosion, followed by deepest darkness, his fingers trembled, and so did his entire body.

Undomiêl collapsed twisting in front of the pedestal and his back came to rest on the cold stone of the column. With closed eyes he took a deep breath, felt the bold relief of ornaments and the coldness of the stone reassuringly on his back and his mind focused on the powers of his body to regain enough strength whilst his ruffled mind worked once again the scene he had watched.

Now he was certain that this was a vision of a disastrous event to come. How soon, he would not know but that it would happen Undomiêl was quite certain. Rarely had the ancient mirror shown something that had not come to pass sooner or later. He resolved to seek counsel with King


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Arandúrion, Son of the house of Tel’Anor Arator1 hoping that he would be able to find a solution.

It still took some time ere he was ready to get up, straightened his body and nervously walked down the flight of winding stairs to the upper aisle between the private rooms of the palace. His feet followed hastily the wide and dimly lit alley, which lay behind a large door to the even wider landing of the double stairs that wound around both sides of the impressive reception hall.

Once he had passed the door, he moved along the flight of tall sculptures, portraying the high elven kings of old that skilful artisans had captured for eternity in white stone. Now only the shadows of former grandeur stood on the pedestals along the walls. From here, he took the left stair downwards and at the next level, he entered the large hall where grand banquets were held when the Lords, the Elders and other noble guests gathered in the palace.

Tapestries with thick golden borders hung from the high ceiling, displaying lively scenes of the most enchanting places on Phaéthon and other worlds that the Phaénòrians and the Eldar used to visit. High and wide windows were framed by massive columns and golden sunlight flooded the room.

The floor with its intriguing patterns that the dwarfs of Aurian’s Clan had wrought from rare stones and precious metals glittered and sparkled as the Counsellor walked heedless to its beauty towards the end of the hall where the grand library was located. Here, Undomiêl hoped to find his King and friend of uncountable years.

1 The Lords of the Sun


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As he opened the heavy door with still trembling hands, he found King Arandúrion bent over a large folio, studying ancient scripts and politely but not much according to protocol he asked him for his time and attention.

Arandúrion, Son of the house of Tel’Anor Arator and High King of the Eldar was a tall and impressive-looking elf with long chestnut-brown hair that framed an aristocratic-looking face. He was unusually tanned for an elven king, giving account that he enjoyed to spend much of his time outdoors.

Arandúrion looked up and nodded as if his mind was still drawn to something he just had read. His eyes lay at the face of his friend of old and he realised that something caused great worry in Undomiêl’s mind. Turning around, he walked to the window that gave a view over the treetops of the Golden Valley with its countless Mallorns that were so high that no other trees had enough light to sustain life beneath the huge projecting crowns. For a brief moment, he watched how the rays of the afternoon sun played over the leaves ere he turned around.

With an inviting gesture, he motioned his friend to take a seat and asked what was troubling his heart and mind. Undomiêl took a deep breath, pondered for a moment how to break such grave tidings, just as if he was not sure how to tell what he had seen but then his full toning voice gave account of all details that the Phaénòrian Mirror had revealed and that he believed that the vision had shown the end of this world, the end of Phaéthon.

For a while, Arandúrion looked at him with furrowed brow. “This is truly a grave tiding my dear friend. I had expected something severe to come upon us since our races have declined the demand of those ominous forces. If it truly is


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their doing it will be hard on us but as of yet, I do not know the full account. However, we shall find out soon, and I will heed your findings. Hence, we shall prepare ourselves for the worst to come.

Send word that I wish to meet the Lords, Clan Heads, Elders and the Counsellors of all other races that dwell on our world. The meeting shall take place here in three days from now. We shall either find a way to escape doom, to foil this onslaught – or to prepare for the end of our stay if it is the will of the Eternal Forces. However, this we have to find out ere everyone arrives. Please make the necessary arrangements and this evening, my friend, we shall meet again”.

Undomiêl stood up, bowed his head, begged for his leave and went forth to give the necessary orders for this urgent event to be arranged. The Counsellor was surprised how calm and prepared his friend had taken the bad tidings.

Should that really be the end of their beautiful world, and perhaps many other worlds as well, – or was there a way to defeat or foil the plan of those forces?

�

No one who had lived through the times that followed Undomiêl’s discovery had obviously left any legacy of lore or tale and if at all, it had drifted into the realm of oblivion or had been lost otherwise.

The only thing known to the wise is – that where once the beautiful world Phaéton had been orbiting the Sun, now an immensely large ring of debris is filling the void.


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However, those events are still echoing through the universe and its implications have somehow not ended yet. It is, as if some kind of eternal memory still orbits the Sun that remembers what once had filled this void.

�

Many thousands of years later, another part of those events unfolds at a large island by the name Crossbow Island, which was located on one of the intersecting realities of the third planet from the Sun by the name Sindora, and some people and beings who live on this island are entirely unaware of those bygone events, but somehow they are guided by a numinous will towards a meeting point with the past.


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IIII IItthhiillhhiinn

The tunes were flowing soothingly over the meadows, hovering like colourful butterflies over trees and flowers, gliding and swerving with the winds over hill and vale, then alighting on a small village amidst rich and well-tended fields and gardens. The village dogs were the first to hear the faint tunes and pointed their ears towards the fringe of the Old Forest to the south, not troubled – no, more as if in anticipation of an old friend – as if waiting for some friendly words and a gentle fondling between the ears.

It took only a short while and the people as well harkened the tunes. They ceased whatever they had been doing and it took only a moment until they were just listening to the dreamlike melody, as if nothing else seemed to matter or could be more important than listening.


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Nearer and nearer the sound drew and with that, the source of the enchanting melody appeared beneath the trees.

A tall and slender lass with vivid burgundy-red hair came towards the village, and it looked as if she was dancing on beams of light. The rays of the waning sun played with her hair and it looked as if little flames were gently caressing her brow.

The enchanting melody she played on her small flute created tunes, as the villagers had never heard before. The sound was as clear as a cool, sunny morning or the waters of a merry spring, finding their way directly into everyone’s heart.

She approached the village fountain as if she were floating on thin air and sat on its wall. Perhaps ten or twelve years of age she was, simply clad in a light-yellow coloured gown.

The folks however seemed to be enchanted by the tunes of the little instrument and obviously wanted nothing more than to listen.

After a while, all villagers had gathered around the fountain, enjoying the soothing melodies. Nobody disturbed her play; even the animals kept quiet as if under the spell of this enchanted melody.

Nobody dared to interrupt her; nobody asked where she had come from; nobody wondered how such a young lass would wander all by herself from somewhere just into the midst of their village.

However, since the young beauty had appeared, the Sun had drawn closer to the western boundaries of the world and as she ceased her play, the villagers rouse slowly as if waking from a beautiful dream.


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No one could explain what had caused those pleasant feelings, but if truth were told, no one wanted to think about the ‘why’; they just were happy as it was and felt content.

Nobody thought about the sorrows or small mishaps of the past day, as if those were memories of a time long gone by. No haste and no errands were on their minds, no chores to take care of – nothing seemed to matter more than just being content with the way it was.

After some time, the child slipped from the welt, bowed to the people and approached Morgan the healer of the village, who stood nearby with a huge grey deerhound. She as well had listened to the tunes as captured as everyone.

The child looked with a bright smile into the eyes of the older woman and said with silvery-bright voice, “Hullo seanmhair2, I am glad to be here.”

The surprised-looking villagers turned heads to their neighbours, pondering the meaning. How could their healer have a granddaughter without having a daughter?

For long, they had known Morgan quite well and held their breath in anticipation of what would happen next. However, the young-looking woman laid her hand gently on the lass’s shoulder and said joyously, “My heart sings to see thee my dear child, long have I been waiting for this moment to come. Let us go home for much we have to talk.”

The surprise of the villagers could not have been greater and that no explanation was given at all, was even more mystifying the matter.

2 The Celtic word for grandmother is seanmhair. It is pronounced shen-u-ver


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The group of three walked quietly to the house at the fringe of the village where Morgan lived. The lass opened the garden door to let her grandmother and the big grey dog in to vanish inside the house.

The moment they had disappeared, the people began chattering as if triggered by an inaudible signal – questioning their neighbours if they had understood what just had happened and it sounded very much like the commotion in the chicken pens at feeding time. Actually, no one really heeded what the others were saying because they were as excited as not in years. They simply were unable to express a clear thought about Morgan’s unexpected visitor and her joyful reaction.

Where did that child come from? Why did she call Morgan, ‘seanmhair’? Why did nobody in the whole village know anything about it and if it truly was Morgan’s grandchild, where then was her daughter and why had she never talked about that matter?

So many questions – but no answers at all. It took long ere the excitement subsided and the people returned to their homes.

�

The same evening, Liam O’Connor the old blacksmith sat deep in thoughts in his armchair on the front porch of his house. He was a tall man with broad shoulders, strong arms and white hair that flowed down his neck and his white beard was carefully shingled. Though age and hard labour had bent his back, his mind was keen and his will unbroken. However, the most remarkable features were his smile that won peoples heart in the blink of an eye and the merry


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glittering of his brown eyes that always twinkled as if the fire of his forge were still flickering in it.

A while ago, the Sun had silently slipped beneath the horizon and whilst he gazed at the stars that appeared one by one, the last golden sunrays painted the edges of clouds high above in soft colours against the fabric of a dark velvet-blue sky.

It looked as if he was waiting for something special to happen. A faint smile played across his wrinkled face as if he knew something secret whilst all others were still at a loss.

Did he really know something?

For a long time he sat in his rocking chair gazing at the sky. Corran, his son came to the porch and asked him to come inside but he replied musingly, “Well, not yet, I have to wait for the Moon to appear”.

Corran shook his head, gave him a puzzled look and thought; “Now he’s really getting queer of his old days. He has to wait for the Moon to come out ere he can come in. Well, since it is a warm and pleasant summer night, he will be fine”.

He bade good night, returned to the room where his mother asked, “Where is Liam? Is he not coming in?”

“Hmm, queer enough, – he is waiting for the Moon to appear”, Corran answered, shrugging his shoulders. Martha gave him a puzzled look but had also no answer to the queer behaviour of her husband of many years.

Corran went to the open fireplace that was set to the northern wall of the large room, taking place besides his wife Sira. A few weeks ago, the young woman with the long chestnut brown hair and eyes as gentle as a fawn had borne


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him the son he had been longing for and therefore he loved her dearly. His wife Sira and his son Sean – that was his peaceful and well-arranged world.

The door opened after a while and his father’s huge figure filled the doorframe, whilst a contented smile played all over his face. His big figure was lit by the nearly full moon from behind, which shone brightly from the dark-blue sky. He looked at his wife and said gently, “What an outstanding beautiful night that is. Come my dear let us go to bed right now, for tomorrow will be a beautiful day”.

With those words, he nodded to his puzzled-looking son and Sira and opened the door to their bedroom. Martha wished ‘good night’ as well and followed him with a baffled expression.

Liam stood at the lavatory and watched Martha’s image in the mirror as she entered the room. The two had been together for a long time but he still loved and enjoyed those intimate moments in the evening. Once they were lying side by side, she looked into his eyes and beheld something different that night. A gleam seemed to come from inside that twinkled with joy like stars, just as if they had gathered some moonlight. She snuggled to him and asked why he was so happy?

For a long time of silence, his eyes seemed to gaze into the world of his memories. As if his mind were digging deeply for something in the lore of old. Just at the moment as she thought that he would not answer at all, he said, “Well Martha, albeit I almost had forgotten about it, suddenly those memories have welled up as if it were yesterday and I want to tell you about something that I have learnt from my grandmother a very long time ago. The appearance of the


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lass must have stirred those forgotten memories and I think they are worthwhile to share it with you”.

Martha looked wondering at him, settled comfortably on her pillows and listened to his beloved deep voice as his softly spoken words unfolded a tale to reveal a well-kept secret.

…


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VVIIII MMoooonnlliigghhtt oovveerr MMeennoommeennttaa

Night had fallen over the land and the Moon drew closer to the summit of his path as Morgan hovered with Enyana and Gandalf under the cover of the night through the dark Old Forest towards the glade where they had been all afternoon. The keen eyesight that the elves had bestowed on the two women made the use of torches obsolete and as soon as they had reached the entrance to the glade, Enyana realised that all her friends of Rialian Yldannan had already arrived and Queen Deirdre stood engaged in a lively conversation not far away with a group of her more matured elves. As she beheld a movement near the entrance to the glade, her head turned around and with a bright smile, she looked at the lass that had grown so much to her heart.

The small group approached the elven queen and Deirdre embraced Morgan and Enyana heartily. “It is so nice to see you so soon again my dear. Not long have you gone but we already miss you a lot”, she said smiling and looked at


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Enyana ere she turned to Morgan. “Have you figured out who or what this presence in your house is or was?”

“Actually no, it comes and goes and even now, I can feel it, don’t you?” Morgan replied and Deirdre closed her eyes.

“Yes my dear, you are right. It is the same mind pattern as it was in your house. Faint but undoubtedly – it is here as well. I really wonder about that since such thing has never happened before.”

“Yes, that is right, but since it is not malicious, I don’t think we need to be worried. Just let us have an eye on it and perhaps we might find out what it is”.

“Yeah, you are right. If it would not have been for that feeling of intense curiosity, we might have missed it entirely.”

Now she turned again to Ithilhin. “You look very nice in your dress and it fits you perfectly. Do you like it?”

“Oh yeah, it is so beautiful and it sways around my ankles like a flower in the wind,” Enyana exclaimed happily whilst she made her gown swing and sway.

“Well then, if that is the case then we are more than pleased with our work. How do you like your new name?” Deirdre asked with a questioning look at Enyana.

“Oh yeah, I really do like it. It sounds fair and sweet to me and I cannot think of any name that I would like better,” she replied brightly smiling. “Deirdre, do you know what I have to do now?”

“Well, you don’t have to worry about anything. You just go to the western side of that stone and wait until the Moon has


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reached the right position. From that moment onwards, everything will go as it has been foreseen long time ago”, she said, smiling, and directed her to the short side of the massive table stone.

Enyana was a bit nervous about what was supposed to come her way but she knew that Deirdre, her seanmhair and all her friends had come, which was reassuring enough that nothing bad would happen and confidently she walked to the place where Deirdre had asked her to wait.

For a moment she looked down to her feet, beheld the beautiful white gown that played around her ankles like the foaming crests of a white-water river. She was girded with a wide belt of starflowers, patterned with lovely blue blossoms that the elves had sent whilst a silvery circlet sat on her brow. That way she stood at the western end of the table stone waiting for the moment that the Moon would have reached the highest point over Menomenta.

Her long red hair was loose and many white blossoms were woven into it – she looked as beautiful as a dream as the bright light of the full moon enshrouded her frail body. The wind in the trees and hedges around the glade rustled softly with the leaves but within the circle of sentinel stones – only quietness lingered.

Once the Moon had reached its apex point, he sent a powerful beam of white light down to the ancient stones to embrace his beloved goddaughter. The elves who had gathered within the ring of Menomenta intoned one of those unique ancient songs, which told the Moon about the earthly name of Ithilhin.


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Whilst the Moon stood at his apogee, he wrapped her into his bright light and looked with delight at her gentle nature and fair appearance. He listened to the elven song that revealed the name of his beloved goddaughter …

‘E N Y A N A’,

… and with great love, he caressed her body with his beam of light and spoke to her from mind to mind.

It was the first time that Enyana was able to understand all his words. He told her, that he loved her dearly for her gentleness and her love for the people in her care and that he would always watch over her by day and night.

Whilst the Moon held Enyana with his moonbeam, her white dress shone from within and filled the whole area around Menomenta with a silvery and tranquil light.

No other sounds were heard than the softly singing voices of the elves that lingered like a carpet of ceremonial tunes over the glade. It took a while ere he released the young woman from his embrace and his light dimmed as he continued his way over the firmament.

From that moment onwards, Ithilhin’s new name Enyana was official and tomorrow, everyone in the village would know it and accept her as the latest member of the small community. The Moon vanished not much later behind a thin veil of clouds, the elves came one by one to congratulate Enyana and much laughter and giggling echoed through the night.

Once all well-wishers had fulfilled their merry obligations, Queen Deirdre embraced her once again; said farewell and the Ithil’quessir returned to their realm ere the first light of


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the new morning would appear at the eastern rim of the world. Now, Morgan, Enyana and Gandalf hovered back to the village and great happiness filled their hearts.

�

That night – all villagers had the same dream. They beheld Morgan standing on a brightly lit meadow with Gandalf the grey one on her side and a mighty eagle circled high above in the blue sky. A young woman approached the small group and the villagers learnt about Samira, Morgan’s beloved daughter. They learnt that Samira had passed away after she had laid her daughter into Morgan’s arms. They felt the pain and grief that had overwhelmed their friend and almost wrestled the healer to her knees. They felt the torment of her soul near the realm of dead as eternity had spread its wings over the immortal being to cease her plight and they felt the sadness of Morgan’s loss as if it had been their own. However, they also felt the joy about her grandchild that had helped her to cope with the shadows of the endless nights.

During the many years that Morgan had spent with the elves, much had she learnt about their lore and magic, which now paid off quite well. She had learnt how to send dreams to the people, which made it easier for her friends to understand the matters as they were and she knew there would be no questions asked about Enyana and her mother Samira, because that dream had answered all question well enough. Tomorrow everybody would know, understand and accept the realities as they were, and it was good as it was. Morgan fell into a deep and peaceful sleep to wake next morning as the young and radiant looking ‘grandmother’ of Enyana.

�


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This night, the villagers had slept well and as they woke, they remembered that they had a dream. That was nothing that was unusual enough to talk about and no one heeded it over the measures. It was Enyana who noticed the changes instantly.

As she went to the village fountain to fetch water, she found Seanna the innkeeper’s wife with some other women who had gathered at the fountain for their morning ritual of chitchatting.

Cheerfully they cried, “Hullo good morning Enyana. Are you also an early bird? How do you like it here?” Merrily they talked with her as if they all knew her quite well and had known her for some time. No one seemed to remember the surprise of her sudden appearance anymore. Now it was more a surprise for Enyana and as she returned home and told Morgan about it, she laughed and told her that she had a hand in that matter.

However, she did not want to elaborate on it, just said, “Well my dear, everything has its own time and soon you will learn all that you need”. No matter how inquisitive Enyana tried to learn more about it now, Morgan just kept smiling.

Anyway, much work was waiting to be accomplished because a cold wind blew that morning down the northern hills. The lindens along the road and the birches that grew in dense patches near the road to Crumbleton had lost all leaves and heavy clouds were veiling the sky, painting the world below in dreary shades of grey.

For the people in Willowbee it was like the warning signal of an early winter to come. Now the villagers had to prepare for the time of scarcity and everyone was in the fields for


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harvesting the last crops. It seemed that autumn had arrived much before time this year and everyone felt that they had to put extra effort and haste into their work. The lads and lasses had to take part as well because during harvesting season every hand that could be spared was needed.

Enyana was sent with some of the younger children to gather the fruits that had fallen from the trees and in the afternoon, they returned heavy laden with baskets of apples, pears and nuts they had gathered.

The men had cut the last grains and for the next day they planned to bring in the roots and the last barley had to be cut in as well. All goods were stowed away in the big barn where the supplies for the winter were stored.

The next few days, all children were sent out to collect dry twigs and branches for fashioning fagots to light the fireplaces during the approaching wintertime and after harvesting, the men went into the forest to fell lifeless and dry trees to get more firewood for the time to come.

The older lasses with Enyana and Morgan sorted tidily all goods in the huge barn so that nothing would be spoiled. Men and beast needed to be well supplied during the coming time of scarce.

�

The wind hunted dark clouds over the sky and at night, no stars and no moon lit the sky. Strange it was – many people thought about what it could forebode so early the year. Yesterday not even golden autumn, barely the end of summer, and today already winter?


- 25 -

The wind turned freezing cold and blew straight from north. Was that already the beginning of winter? Martha wore one of her thick winter jackets but she shivered of cold and Liam wrapped lovingly his arm around her shoulders and hugged her close to his body to give her some warmth. “No matter my dear what the meaning of this sudden change of weather foretells, in the care of Morgan and Enyana we do not have to fear any winter or peril to come”. With those convincing words he turned her gently around to vanish inside the house.

Martha trusted Liam’s judgement. She knew very well that she had nothing to fear with him on her side and she was glad that he had shared the Moonchild’s tale with her. It showed that he trusted her also then when it came to share very uncommon tales and thoughts. Therefore, she loved him even more.

…


- 26 -

XX SShheellaa

Dense fog lay over Willowbee and the surrounding meadows and forests. No sounds interrupted the eldritch silence as a little shadow moved silently amongst deep shadows from cover to cover. Anxiously avoiding any noise that could give away its presence. The shadow rushed quickly towards a stable, opened slowly the door in hope that the hinges would not make any perfidious noise, which would wake the animals and alarm the people in the farmhouse.

For the shadow’s luck, it had found a stable that was well tended. The hinges were greased and made no noise at all. The shadow moved nimbly on, heading for the darkest corner and hoping that the horses would not neigh to reveal its presence. In the last large box of the left row, bales of straw where stacked up along the wall and here the shadow found enough space on top of the first layer of bales.


- 27 -

It drew its hood back to reveal the pale and skinny face of a little lass that hoped to spend a night in a sheltered place, a night in the warmth and security of this stable and on a layer of straw rather than on the hard and rough grounds of the woods. She had slept under deep hanging branches of firs, under the twigs of bushes and had crawled for shelter into the thorny thickets of the wild since the day she had left her home many weeks ago. She had avoided any contact to human beings on her cumbersome journey, always afraid that someone might have spotted her when she had to move over glades or open countryside.

With her age of sixteen years, she was very courageous and not afraid to spend some nights under the trees in the deep forest, only one thing was terrifying her – and that was falling into the hands of ‘Kimball Caradoc’ her Liege Lord and the master of her parents.

The Caradoc family had owned much land in the north-farthings of Crossbow Isle where she came from, but the currently ruling Liege lord, Kimball Caradoc had expanded his realm to almost every piece of land from the Tylesion River to the northern shores and he treated his peasants and anyone else as if they were his property that he could treat and dispose of at his own whims and fancies.

He had made it to his sport and ‘compulsory law’ that all young women on their sixteenth birthday had to be sent to his castle to be at his will as long as he was pleased to ‘play’ with them. Shela’s father Christof had known unerringly what his beloved daughter’s fate would be and had spoken with his wife Ursela and Shela about that matter.

Deep in his heart, he knew that no man had the right to rule over people – in his believe, only the gods or the powers of


- 28 -

the universe had that right and he was sure that Caradoc was no God but a Devil who did not have any rights on his daughter at all. He told Shela what happened to all other lasses that had been forced to ‘obey’ to the ‘rules’ under the pressure of Caradoc’s thugs. That Caradoc had taken their virginity the day of their birthday and that often enough they had become pregnant if it had pleased Caradoc to keep them for a while.

When that had come to pass, then he would return them in shame to their families who usually had not even enough food to sustain themselves after all the levies that Caradoc was demanding had been taken away. He left it to the young mothers to raise his bastards, no matter if their families or they themselves had even a chance to spare some of the scarce supplies that his thugs had left.

Shela was glad that her father had spoken so openly to her about this matter and she took her parents advice to evade such fate. However, they also knew very well that Caradoc’s wrath would be terrible as soon as he would become aware that someone had slipped his ‘laws’ and he would not rest ere he had his vengeance. Therefore, they had packed a bundle with some provision for the road. A scanty loaf of bread, a few strips of dry meat, a tiny lump of cheese, a small leather flask with water and an old blanket. That was all what they could give to her daughter because they simply had nothing else to give.

Heavy at heart they said farewell, knowing well enough that it was quite certain that they would never see their beloved daughter again during their lives as long as Caradoc was ruling the lands. They even feared that Caradoc’s wrath and


- 29 -

vengeance would not allow them to live long enough to see her ever at all.

All those gloomy thoughts were on Shela’s mind as she sat down in the dark corner of the large stable and heavy tears welled up in her eyes. It was not much comfort for her that she knew that her parents had wished that she had gone away to escape that awful destiny. However, every thought about her parents moved her deeply since she did not even know if they were still alive.

The horses stirred a bit with their hoofs, snorted softly in their sleep but besides that, they were very calm, just as if they felt that she needed some help. Only now she became aware of the pitch-black stallion nearby, looking at her with watchful eyes – but luckily, the horse was not afraid of her. It seemed that it felt that here was a being in dire need.

Once the strain and anguish had eased, Shela felt how hungry she was and unfolded the small bundle that was holding all what was left of her provisions for a last meagre meal. Thanks to the berries, nuts, apples and other edibles that she had found and gathered in the woods, her provisions had lasted until today.

However, no matter how little she had eaten; her provisions were now running out. Only a few crumps of hard and dry bread, a tiny morsel of cheese, and a sip of water, were left from what she has had. It was not enough at all to feel satisfied at any rate but once again, its taste reminded her of her parents and she was fighting down the tears that once more welled up in her eyes.

She knew, from tomorrow onwards, she would have to find other means to make a living on her own. She spread her old


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and worn-out cloak over the straw, hoping to find some rest and that Caradoc’s riders that she had seen in the waning light of the day and from afar would not be able to follow her during night and through the dense fog.

Dusk had deepened the shadows beneath the trees where she had been hiding and she was sure that the host of riders was send from Caradoc to bring her back – not only that he would not easily sacrifice his pleasures with her but he would even more want to punish her for disobeying his ‘rules’. He simply could not allow anyone – let alone a little lass – to disregard his laws without fearing severe punishment or else everyone would begin to go his own ways and undermine his authority.

She did not want to think about what would happen if they ever would get hold of her. Caradoc must be a creature that hell had thrown up directly onto their lands.

�

His most beloved entertainment was to question people about some queer things, which should have happened a long time ago and if they could not answer, he first would humiliate them and then beat them with his horrible cat-o’-nine-tails until they were lying helplessly on the ground. Once his victims were begging for mercy and their blood were staining the ground, Caradoc would stand spread legged above them with an evil grin in his handsome face to query them once again. If they still could not answer, he would beat them to dead or do something that drove them crazy.

Shivers run through her body just thinking about him but then she lay down on the thick layer of fresh straw and her weary body and mind came finally to a nervous rest.


- 31 -

�

At least for this night she was spared from the peril that still followed her invisible tracks and she wondered not only a little how they had been able to track her down at all. However, even Caradoc’s thugs had to wait for the morning to break and to hope that the dense fog would dissolve under the rays of the waking sun for finding her faint tracks in the wet and soft soil of the ground.

Whoever was in league with those riders – someone in the universe must have had some mercy with Shela as in the wee hours of the waning night, it began softly to rain. Not very much just enough that the grasses bend by her feet and the tracks she had left in the soft mud were vanishing from the face of the Earth forever. As the Sun had risen far enough, Caradoc’s rabble was heading in a different direction and it seemed that Shela was spared – at least for the moment.

�

Early the next morning, the stable door opened without a sound and a tall, sturdy and handsome young man with curly brown hair and kind-hearted brown eyes came in, softly speaking to the horses with soothing voice whilst he brought fresh water and oatmeal. The black stallion in the last box snorted softly as Cyric approached but did not move as exited and stormy as it usually did. Cyric wondered and approached the box. Then he saw why his horse had moved so careful and much different from the usual when it greeted Cyric with much joy.

Here on the bales of hay and straw lay a little lass, looking lovely with her long wheaten blond hair that covered her neck and face like a waterfall of old gold. Cyric drew gingerly


- 32 -

closer; beheld the strained look on her face and the tightly clenched lips like a thin red line. Her clothes were stained with mud and other debris of the woods and her bare feet were mud crusted with something that looked like dried blood. One could see that they had carried her over a long distance and rough terrain. They needed to be mended soon or she would not be able to walk ever again.

Cyric’s heart cramped at the sight and quietly he went out and into the house. He woke his wife Sarina and told her what he had found in the stable. Sarina got up quickly. “I think it will be better if a woman is sitting next to her the moment she awakes. I will take care of that”.

She went down to the kitchen, took a mug of fresh milk, a big slice of freshly baked bread and went quietly to the horse stable where she sat at a straw bale near the still sleeping lass. The black stallion did not disturb the sleep of that small bundle in his box, much as if it was well aware that she needed all the rest she could get.

Not for long had Sarina to wait until Shela woke with a fearful cry, raising her little hands as if to protect her face from a hail of tormenting fists, hoping that it was only a bad dream that she had. Her flickering eyes showed the immense fear that shook her whole body.

With calm and comforting voice Sarina said, “Good morning my dear, don’t be afraid, I will not harm you. Here, have something to eat and to drink”. She reached her bread and milk. “I hope you had a good nights rest. Have a breakfast and then you tell me about your fears”.

After the first shock of waking to see someone sitting next to her, Shela understood that she had nothing to fear from that


- 33 -

young woman with brown hair and gentle eyes who calmly sat next to her, offering something that she had not had for a long time.

Shela sat up and after a moment of hesitation she took the slice of bread and the mug of milk and begun to gobble it down as someone does who is starving to dead. The bread tasted heavenly after the old and hard bread that she had for the last couple of weeks and the milk was heavy with cream and tasted very good as well.

Sarina sat there and watched the lass eating as she had not seen anyone eating before. It looked as if the little one was afraid that someone would come and take that morsel away from her if she would not gobble it down quickly enough.

Sarina gave her a scrutinising look that revealed a thin and frail-looking maiden with a lovely fair face. A pair of eyes with the colour of forget-me-not’s and long golden hair, much as the colour of wheat looks before harvesting. By her build, she seemed not to be much older than fourteen or fifteen years and looked quite famished. Her hair, face and clothes gave account that she must have been on her way for quite some time. The worst part she noticed were the lass’s feet. They looked as if the contacts with sharp stones and roots had left deep cuts and bruises whilst soil mixed with dry blood was covering the wounds beneath.

Once the lass had finished her breakfast – which did not take very long – she seemed to feel somewhat better and found fair words to thank the women, told that her name was Shela and apologized for intruding the stable during the night.

“Well, looking at you, I guess that you had a very good reason, isn’t it? So tell me, what is troubling a young maiden


- 34 -

who for sure is not from around here. If my guess is right, then you have been travelling long and far. If I knew about your troubles we perhaps could help you.”

Shela looked straight into Sarina’s dark brown eyes and beheld an encouraging look in the young woman’s face, which made her feel comfortable enough to pour out her little heart.

Sarina sat silently on the bale of straw – listening with an expression of disbelief to the lass’s account – because everything she learnt was way over her wildest imaginations of misery. She hardly could believe that someone could be that evil that he was the reason that someone did not only lose its livelihood, its home, its family but often enough his life.

Sarina needed not long to ponder what had to be done. Slow and cautiously, she led Shela from the stable to the house where the grownups of the Lennard family had gathered in the kitchen, only the children were still asleep.

Sarina guided Shela into the kitchen were her husband’s mother and his sisters were working together, just saying, “I need your help”.

Cyric had briefly told them what he had found in the stable and that Sarina was taking care of it. As Sarina entered the room with the lass leaning on her arm, a glance over her famished body and seeing the frightful look of her eyes was enough. They knew that the young woman had lost her belief in kindness and goodness and that their help was bitterly needed.


- 35 -

The men went out to do their chores. Feeding the cows, the poultry and other animals of the farm whilst Sarina went with Shela up to her bedroom to set up a warm bath for the lass. She looked with twinkling eyes at her. “Now a warm bath is the first thing that you need because you can be smelled from far away and we don’t want Caradoc’s thugs to be led here by their noses – won’t we?”

Shela smiled faintly – the first time since she had come hither. It all seemed to be so unreal after her long and perilous journey and the long time that she had spent all by herself. Never before in her life had someone taken much care of her, besides her beloved mother Ursela and her father Christof but the two had not much time to spare as they had to toil from early morning to late in the night to satisfy Caradoc’s headmen.

Now, and literally in the blink of an eye, all that had changed. Just last night had she pondered about how to go on with her life without knowing where to take the next meagre meal from and here she was taken on by strangers that she never had seen before. They had already shown so much empathy and interest in her plight that she was still very confused. Never would she have expected that anyone would care for her the way those people did. A tiny flame of hope kindled in her heart and gave her mind some rest in the turmoil of thoughts and feelings.

Sarina had hung the huge caldron on the gibbet, rekindled the fire to a blaze, filled the copper with water and swung the gibbet over the fire. She asked Shela to undress whilst she were busying herself. Then took the dirty clothes and handed it to Mary because the Lennard Family had anyway their washing day and the few more pieces did not make much of a difference at all. Now she went up to Shela where the water


- 36 -

was meanwhile warm enough and she ordered the lass into the tub where she gave her a nice scrub to clean her from the stains and strains of the long and perilous journey.

Once her feet had been soaked in the warm water, all injuries could be seen clearly. They were far more severe than it could have been guessed under the thick crusts of mud and blood that had hidden it. After Sarina had finished bathing the lass, she washed the filth from the nice golden hair and told Shela that once she had finished her bath, she should lay down for a while since she had to find some clothes for her.

Sarina went down to tell the others briefly what she had learnt from Shela. No one in the room could believe what they heard. “I have seen her feet and there is no way that she can walk with them any farther. Megan, please go to Morgan and tell her that we need her help”.

Megan said that she could not believe that the gods allowed such an evil creature to roam the Earth and with those words, she went out to fetch Morgan.

Sarina thought for a moment and said to Mary and Ronja, “We cannot send her back to the woods. Winter is drawing close and she would not know from what to live. We simply cannot let her go”.

After a moment of consideration Mary replied, “What do you think of letting her stay here with us until we have found a suitable solution? For the time being, she could stay in the chamber below the roof. We will have to talk to our men about that matter and what we have to do to protect her. We cannot permit to let any human being in our care to live such a life in pain, horror and anguish. Always on the run,


- 37 -

nowhere to turn, no shelter, no food, no place to lay her head to rest. What a horrible thought”.

Ronja looked at her. “Yes, you are absolutely right and some clothes she needs as well. I just thought of that blue dress of mine, which is not fitting me anymore but I think with a small girdle it would fit her quite nicely”.

�

By now, Megan had reached Morgan’s house and she knocked on the heavy oaken door without hesitation. Morgan opened. “One moment Megan, I am just getting my basket”. Megan was not surprised for even a heartbeat that Morgan knew why she had come. In the last few years, she had given up wondering about anything that involved Morgan. Too often had she reached Morgan’s place heavily panting after a brisk run, just to find Morgan ready to leave her house packed with everything she needed or walking already towards her house ere she even had the chance to tell what she wanted.

Many of times had Megan thought that Morgan must have the gift to read her mind but she did not find the thought disturbing at all. Even not now, as Morgan stood next to her with her huge wicker basket hooked to her arm. With Gandalf at her side, they were on the way to the Lennard’s farm ere Megan had had the chance to tell Morgan why she had come.

�

Meanwhile, Shela had finished her bath and got dressed up in Ronja’s blue dress and Mary came in to let them know that Morgan would come soon to have a look at Shela’s feet. Slowly they walked down to the living room where Shela had


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to sit in an armchair, resting her sore feet on the footstool of old Rob – the head of the Lennard family.

The seventy-year-old Rob was very compassionate as he learnt about Shela’s ordeal and had a look at her sore feet, shaking his head with pity. “With such sore feet my dear lass, I am wondering that you have made it to our place at all – I admire your strength to fight pain”.

That moment, Morgan opened the door to the kitchen with a cheerful, “Good morning dear friends”.

Megan had told her on the way all she knew and Morgan said softly to the others in the room, “We will keep her here. Because we are able to protect her and we will send a message to her parents, provided they are still alive, letting them know that their daughter is here with us and that she is well taken care of. I will take care of that message myself but now her wounds are more important – and not only the ones on her feet”.

Morgan entered the common room where Shela was sitting on the chair. Still uncertain but with much more hope in her young heart than she had known for a very long time. At the first moment, Shela’s fear returned as Morgan crossed the threshold but once she had looked into Morgan’s eyes, all her worries and uncertainties wore away as if they had gone into the water of the bathtub with all the dirt that her body had been laden.

Patiently and gratefully, she endured the long and often painful treatment of her wounds and as Morgan had finished her work, Shela thanked her as well as she could. Never before in her short life had she felt so much love and care for her plight as from the mysterious woman she just had


- 39 -

met. Once Morgan had finished her work, Ronja took Shela onto her strong arms and carried her up to the chamber under the roof, which Sarina and Mary had meanwhile prepared for her to stay.

It was a small chamber with the roof as ceiling and a round window to the east, opening up to a nice view over the meadows of Willowbee – the town, whereto good fortune had guided her.

The chamber was sparsely furnished. Just a narrow bed, a few plugs in the wall for hanging the clothes, and a very small table with a chair, but a bouquet of colourful dried autumn flowers arranged with twigs bearing golden leaves hung at the wall and gave that tiny place a homely touch.

That was all but it was much more than she ever has had as long as she could remember back in time. “So my dear, now you should sleep and give yourself and your feet some rest to heal nicely – since that will even with all of Morgan’s skills – not happen in one day. Later I will come up to bring you something to eat but for now, you have to drink this herbal juice from Morgan. That will help your body to heal and give you some strength. Have pleasant dreams my dear, because nobody can harm you in our care”.

Ronja turned around and went down the stairs to join the other members of the Lennard family. The children had taken their breakfast and had gone out to help or to play because now the men of the Lennard household sat at the breakfast table and discussed how they could protect the lass at their best. They all agreed that under no circumstances should Shela ever get into the hands of Caradoc’s thugs. Old Rob said, “Let her get well first. As long as she is under our roof, nothing can happen to her and then we shall see.”


- 40 -

�

It took a while until Shela was able to walk without pain. The whole Lennard family had lovingly cared for her as if she were their own daughter. From time to time, some of the children had come up and told her much about Willowbee, their friends and many other tales and little adventures they found worthwhile to be told. That way, Shela had learnt a lot about Willowbee and its people and it crossed her mind that something was quite unusual in that village where obviously everyone was caring for everybody, no stories of quarrels had been told and anyone who came to visit her had been friendly and helpful.

Although she had made that observation, she did not yet realise how much that would mean to her future. It was nice to live in a community where everyone cared so much for each other. Morgan, that woman with the incredible red hair and the emerald green eyes had come every day to apply new balms and ointments and gave her that bitter herbal juice to drink. She had also asked about Shela’s parents, the plight of their lives under the shadow of Caradoc and the permanent dread of his thugs.

Whenever they had those conversations, thereafter Shela felt much better. It was as if a huge burden was slowly melting away from her little heart.

�

Meanwhile Morgan had spread word that she sought a lasting solution for Shela to stay and as often before in Willowbee; the answer to her quest was found ere words had gone very far. The village inn was always highly frequented because the people here liked to sit together, talk, laugh, eat and drink. In


- 41 -

times where all hands were needed as in spring and autumn, all families contributed whatever was needed for cooking and drinking – and usually – they brought much more than needed.

During that time, they all took their meals at the inn, as it was easier for the families to work the fields, because even the women and children of the households had to help wherever they could. In the evenings, all villagers came to the inn to supper, chitchat or to seek some advice from a friend – because friends – they all were.

The McMullan family, who long time ago had established this inn, was usually very busy and although the two sons helped as much as they could and wherever needed, Seanna, Stuart McMullan’s wife, had to take the lion share of all the work.

On one of these mornings, Morgan met Seanna at the village fountain and asked her if not Shela could become the house daughter of her family. Without even a blink of an eye Seanna replied, “Yes, well of course, I would be more than glad. – Lastly I would have someone to help me in the kitchen and in the household and I would not have to talk always to myself”, she smiled. “I am already afraid that one fine day I will become quite queer and odd if I have to continue like that. Yes indeed, I am looking forward to have that nice lass around me”. Therefore, it was agreed that Shela would move to the McMullan Inn as soon as her wounds were healed.

�

As Morgan and Ronja broke the news to Shela – tears of joy ran down her cheeks. Now she had a future to look forward


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to and she hoped that this would give her the opportunity to repay some of her debts to the Willowbee people. She still feared Caradoc’s thugs but she also knew that the Willowbee’ers would not simply allow them to take her away and that somehow – so she hoped – Morgan would have some serious words in that case as well.

Once more, she felt very grateful for the care of the people in this village and that fate had guided her to the stable of the Lennard family.

�

Shortly after the first snow had vanished, all her bodily wounds had healed well and for the time being, her heart and soul were at ease. The room at the inn was ready and Shela packed her by now considerably bigger bundle. Some nice dresses the village women had sent to her and she moved light at heart to the inn. Needless to mention, not without thanking the Lennard family from the bottom of her heart for all they had done for her and especially not without reassuring herself that she could come visiting anytime.

During that time, true friends they had become and with Ronja she had tied a special bond. If it would have been up to Ronja, she would have taken Shela herself as house daughter because she could not have children of her own but she knew that Shela would be in good care with the McMullan’s and she would learn a lot from Seanna.

�

Seanna was a wonderful cook and a gifted baker, much liked and praised by all villagers, especially for her outstanding apple cakes that had not found any match up to now and she


- 43 -

really could need all the help she could get to ease her burden of cooking for the entire village whenever needed. Shortly after Shela had moved to the inn, Stuart McMullan, Seanna’s husband, celebrated his forty-third birthday and as a token of appreciation, Shela sang a beautiful ballad for him.

All Willowbee’ers had gathered and could hardly believe their ears. Never had the villagers heard a voice more clear and sweet, with so much expression and emotion that it was deadly silent in the room even after she had ended. Then, – all hell broke loose – they cheered, applauded and pounded their fists on the tables as it had never happened in that inn before.

After they had found their tongues again, they begged Shela to sing one more song and asked if she could sing more often. Shela blushed about their compliments and added a few more songs to the delight of her audience and as the last applause had finally ceased, she promised that she would sing more often from now on.

�

Later that evening, Morgan stood nearby Shela and took her aside. “My dear Shela, rarely have I had the pleasure to listen to such a gifted voice and that inspired me to suggest some changes for you. I very much hope that Caradoc’s thugs will never come hither and that he has given up hunting you, but we should be careful and do everything to protect your identity in case they would ever come unexpectedly.

It truly was a great pleasure listening to you and there was not one in that room who was not deeply moved. Since you have such a talented voice, I suggest to name you from now on ‘Calandra Innomar’ after an old friend of mine who was a


- 44 -

great and adored singer at the Royal Courts in a land far away – what do you think about to take on that name in her honour and for your protection?”

For a moment, Shela thought about Morgan’s suggestion. “Morgan – I know you mean very well but I have known myself as ‘Shela’ for as long I can recall and I don’t know if I can get used to answer to another name.”

With furrowed brow, she pondered the suggestion for a while and Morgan waited patiently. “Well, the longer I think about it, the more sense it makes. Your suggestion sounds fair and only to my own good. The name sounds fair and fine to me and if it helps to protect me from the thugs of this hideous and horrible Caradoc, then from today onwards I shall answer to the name Calandra Innomar”.

“I am very glad that you take my advice and I will do something on top to disguise you even further, I will let all the people know about that change, and we shall tell everyone asking about you that you have lived here in Willowbee since your childhood. Tomorrow I will bring you an extract of some plants and nuts and we will dye your hair from its beautiful golden colour to a deep golden-brown that will suite you as well and further disguise your identity. It hopefully will conceal enough of ‘Shela’ to avoid that Caradoc’s thugs can recognize you easily – men do not know much about the secrets of women,” she said with a twinkle in her eyes.

A bit later, Morgan informed all the villagers of Shela’s decision that from now on she would answer to the name of ‘Calandra Innomar’, and they all welcomed that manoeuvre since they had become quite fond of ‘Shela – Calandra’ and wanted to see her as well protected as possible.


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Once that was settled and the celebration came slowly to its end, Gandalf looked at Morgan and reminded her about her promise to seek contact with Shela’s parents to let them know that their beloved daughter was safe and secure, if they were still alive.

Morgan nodded with a hint of bad conscience since she had promised a while ago to send a message but had been too busy to think of how to protect Calandra and heal her wounds that she had forgotten about that errand. That night she would seek their minds and if they were still alive, she would send them a dream. The next morning they would know that this dream was not just a dream but that it was reality. It would make their live less miserable and make it easier for them to endure the cruelties of their Liege lord if they knew that Shela was secure and out of Kimball Caradoc’s reach.


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XXIIIIII SSppiirriittss ooff tthhee ddeeaaddllyy ffeennss

It was end of November as one early morning, even ere the Sun had climbed above the eastern horizon, Gawain had landed on a strong bough of the tall tree in front of Morgan’s alcove and cried his warnings into her half open window. Morgan got up and looked into his eyes. What she beheld made her shiver and that came not only from the cold air that rushed through to the now wide-open window.

Morgan thanked her friend and sent him back to the sky where he flew up north, drawing tight circles high above. It was too late to warn the villagers. She had to act quickly herself. Jumping hastily into her clothes and donning the large grey elven cloak was done in the blink of an eye. She went down to wake Enyana and ordered her not to leave the village under any circumstances. Together with Gandalf, she hurried with a little flying technique elven-style towards the northern fringe of the woods near the mouth of the Old Wagon Way.


- 47 -

If someone had seen them, he would have wondered about a somewhat greyish and vaguely recognisable shadow gliding swiftly towards the forest. Almost like a gust of wind playing with the dust of the road. As she arrived beneath the first trees, she heard the drumming of hoofs from afar. The snorting of horses and the rattle and clank of bridle was drawing closer with every heartbeat.

Morgan hovered up between the boughs and branches of a mighty Linden that stood at the hilltop between the lindens that lined the road towards Crumbleton, nearly invisible in her green-greyish elven cloak. She closed her eyes and focused her mind and powers on Willowbee and the land around it.

As if by the hand of ghosts, the meadows and the road in front of her turned into a fen with deep bogs, mires and morass. Dense and towering clouds of fog began to shroud Willowbee and the smoke rising from the fireplaces mingled between the houses with the thick and dense swathes, keeping its smell trapped in the lanes of Willowbee.

No sound escaped this dense cover. One could not even see one’s own hands before one’s eyes. Willowbee and the road to it had entirely vanished out of sight as if it never ever had existed and only wetland had been here for hundreds of years.

The pale fingers of old trees without bark stretched their branches with a whitish gleam through the billowing swathes of dense fog like the skeleton hands of drowned souls reaching mournfully into the chill air where moments before the road down to Willowbee had been.


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Judging the scene that Morgan had seen through Gawain’s eyes, it was one of Kimball Caradoc’s foremen or Caradoc himself with twenty evil thugs on their way to the village. However, as they reached the place below Morgan’s hiding place – there was only swamp and morass and the horses sank over their knees into the deep mire.

They quickly guessed that they must have taken a wrong turn at one of the crossroads because this way was not leading to any village at all. One of them called the man on the large stallion ‘Lord Caradoc’ and now Morgan knew who was the one leading the host. Even as his men were trying on foot to find a path through the fen, following his angry orders, and wading knee-deep through the sucking mud, they could not find any footpath to get further into the fen.

On Morgan’s command, Gandalf began to howl like a pack of wolves and Gawain, soaring deep over the treetops, cried with his hoarse voice eerily down to the Caradoc’s rabble. Morgan sent some chilling gusts through the hedges and trees, rustling ghostly with the dry leaves and chilled the men down to their bones. A dose of fear spread into their minds and made them scramble through the bogs and the dark and thick swathes of fog began a ghostlike dance swirling all around them.

They hardly could see each other as the drapes of fog turned into shapes of ghostly figures. They swirled around them and groaned mournfully. The men began to see images of people they had killed in their evil life and frantically they tried to find a way out but the more they tried, the scarier the images became because now they were forced to watch their own bereavement.


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Every one of them beheld his own image in front of him, watching how his flesh begun to peel from his bones. The skeletons appeared pale and blood stained – then – they harkened their names called with voices as from the deepest chasms of Hell.

The riders who last time had been here in Willowbee clung to the backs of their horses, pale faced – eyes wide open in deadly fear – shivering to their bones, absolutely sure – this was never the path leading to the village where they had been a while ago. This was a death bringing marsh. With a fearful look at Caradoc who was sitting with his dark-red glowing face, filled with rage and fury on the back of his horse, they scrambled out of the perilous morass.

If Morgan had not opened the fluttering swathes to give them sight to the safety of solid ground, many would have found their end in the death marshes around Willowbee.

Now Morgan turned her focus on Caradoc. Much to her surprise was he by no means that evil-looking monster she had expected to find, he was tall, handsome, with golden curly hair, fair face, nicely shaped nose and not too full lips. His mouth looked like someone who liked to smile, his chin was not that prominent as it is usually found with dominant people, the small grooves and other features were more the one characterising a rather pleasant person than this ghastly, horrifying and gruel monster he seemed to be.

The only thing that was out of place were his eyes, not that they did not fit his face, the contrary, light blue as found with many people of the north but with a mind piercing pitiless, terrible stare as Morgan had never seen before. It was to her as if something what was hidden behind those eyes that did


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not belong to them at all. As if something cruel was staring out from those eyes.

Morgan slipped carefully into his mind, but it was very difficult for her to catch some memories and thoughts as if they somehow were obscured. – That was a new experience for her. However, she had not much time left to ponder about those queer findings because Caradoc was very agitated and tried to force his way through the fens at all cost.

It seemed as if he knew that something that he wanted with all his might lay hidden in the shrouding mystery of this fen. Feverishly she scanned the rambling fragments that she could access without using any force and then she found something to work on. She found his fear for the ‘Black-Fairy Banshee’.

Morgan began to create the apparition of Banshee, which began as a beautiful young woman who slowly turned in front of him into a skeleton being. The bones were covered with pale and foul skin. Rotten pointed teeth filled the mouth that just a moment before had reached full red lips for a kiss. Worms crawled now in between and out of her slivering lipless mouth to appear the next heartbeat like the huge entrance to a dark cave directly in front of Caradoc’s frightened horse.

Ruthlessly he pulled at the reins and his horse broke onto his hind legs. Caradoc beheld now the pale skin of her rotten face very close to his own. He smelt the foul breath of decay and saw into her eyes that lay deep in the bony holes of her skull, glinting with murder lust and hatred.


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Her hollow laughter was more like the hiss of a mighty snake – ready to hit, and in his head formed a mind-crumbling cry, echoing all the cries of the tormented souls that he had left behind on his evil path of life. He knew that everyone who harkened the cry of Banshee was terminally DOOMED.

Sheer horror was now upon him, he tried to escape. Panicking he pulled the reins of his horse to the direction he presumed was leading to solid ground but wherever he turned, Banshee appeared right before him and showed him the victims of his cruel reign.

At this moment, all his powers were rendered useless by mind numbing fear and he realised in that very moment that no one would come to his aid. – Here at this place – he was confronted with his inner self, with the corpses of his lifelong wrongdoings. As he pulled the reins of his horse into the wrong direction, he realised that he had come deeper and deeper into the swamp because the spirits of the fen had begun to pull his hair, his jacket and the reins of his horse. They aimed to get him farther and deeper into the deadly swamp and here – he felt horror and deep FEAR for the first time in his miserable insignificant live.

The presence of Banshee, the horrifying pictures of his battlefields, men, women and children, begging for mercy to spare their lives, all the faces he knew had vanished under the slashing swords of his murderous host of hell-riders. Banshee was now almost everywhere, he turned his head away but she was about to embrace him.

With a quick glance, it became painfully clear to him – he was all alone. His ghastly rabble had fled whilst he had to face the horror of the Black Witch. He realised how much they hated him. Even his father in the moment of his death


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had been uttering with breaking voice, “Never in your miserable life will you have a true friend who would happily give his life for yours. – Curse you – you son of Hell”, spitting into his face he died with a smile on his lips.

The old man’s mind had just faded away to a place where Caradoc could never harm him. How could his own father just curse him and then vanish forever? What more Hells had he to pass through?

In his bottomless panic, he closed his eyes and with a sharp command of his fiercely pointed spurs, which he rammed deep into the flanks of his suffering horse it sprung ahead with a tormented cry, caught some solid ground, scrambled with its rider out of the treacherous morass and galloped away.

For long, he had the laughter of the ghosts and Banshee in his ears. He should never forget this experience. That was at least what Morgan hoped very much.

Caradoc let his frightened horse run and hoped that Banshee and the spirits would not follow suite.

Slowly something in his mind won the upper hand again and his fury returned. Something that had to take the reins – had to regain control.

�

The one armed man had also been part of the host but had been riding at the rear end of the pack and had held his horse back ere they had reached the swamp. Whilst all others were eagerly following Caradoc to please him, he had turned around, riding a bit to the side and followed the whole affair,


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as a theatregoer would watch a scene at the stage. At some times in between Morgan had glanced at him and had seen a faint smile on his face as if he had much approved what he beheld.

Once all voluntary actors had left the scene, he rode back to the path, took all he had out of the saddlebags and dismounted. Then he fixed the reins in such way to the saddle of his horse that it could follow his own will and gave him a gentle clap on its behind and the horse trotted mournfully neighing away as if it was unhappy to be sent away by his rider. He let the horse go because it belonged to Caradoc and he, Jake O’Deal – he was no horse thief.

He laid the small bundle with all his belongings between his legs and sat on a large rock near the road. He did not know how to go on from here but during the last half an hour, one thing had clearly taken shape in his mind, he did not want to stay in the service of that monster any longer and never again wanted he to obey any one of his cruel commands.

�

For a while, he sat on that stone and thought about the last few years. About the war, that Caradoc had instigated to take the land from their rightful owners in his insatiable hunger for more land. The battles he was forced to fight and his fruitless attempts to save as many lives as he could, even losing his arm as he once had tried to protect a young mother and her child from the slashing swords of his bloodthirsty companions.

The scene was still in his mind as his sword had pierced the foe he was fighting but with his last and mighty powers, his dying adversary had chopped his left arm away, right below


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the elbow like a branch from a withered tree. Nobody had seen that scene, because they all were so busy with cutting and chopping bodies in their blood rage that they did not suspect that the incident that had cost his arm was caused by an act of mercy amongst the horrible frenzy of slaughtering.

As he returned from that battle, he found his wife pregnant and severely ill. He begged Caradoc for help, but all he came to hear was, “Go away. – What do I have to do with your filthy wife?” Jake took his wife to her parents and cared for her as good as he could but death came without mercy and bore his beloved wife and his unborn child away. Never would he even know if it had been a son or a daughter that he had lost.

His parents-in-law were very old and sick and ere winter had given way to spring, he had to bury the two old people as well.

Many hours had he spent sitting at his wife’s tomb in silent dialogue with her memories, seeking counsel and solace, but only the wind blowing through the nearby hedges had rustled with the last dry leaves that the autumn wind had forgotten to pluck was answering his grief-stricken thoughts.

That evening he had gathered the few things that belonged to his family, stowed it into a chest to hide it in a nearby cave. This cave they had used to hide some of the fruits and wheat in summer, to protect it from the marauding plunderers and to have some spare food after Caradoc’s headmen had come with a host of thugs on their tour to collect the levies for their master. Usually, not much was left after they had gone.


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After that, he rolled up his blanket and coat and returned to Caradoc. Here at least he had some shelter and food but he knew that he had to follow orders that he despised but he also hoped that with some vigilance, he would be able to ease the burdens of some of Caradoc’s victims, always hoping not to get caught in the act.

Nobody else would anyway hire a one-armed soldier to his payroll. Now here and today he had made up his mind. He did not want to follow Caradoc anymore. He did not want to obey his orders to set fire on the miserable huts of the peasants if they could not deliver as much as Caradoc’s headmasters wanted. There had to be an end to it – here and now. The last hour had shown him Caradoc in all his shades and colours and they all were BLACK.

Sitting here at the fringe of the deadly marshes he finally had closed this chapter of his life. Not knowing where to turn to but he still deemed it better than following Caradoc ever again.

�

Caradoc was outraged that his creatures had left him in the greatest peril of his life. He swore he would let them pay dearly for this betrayal. He would find that lass and he would burn down her hiding place wherever it might be, even if he had to burn down every village on Crossbow Island. He would sit there and watch the burning of each village until only the fundaments were left. So he swore and no reasoning could have persuaded him to steer away from this path of insanity. He was a monstrous wrathful and vindictive being.

A while after, his fears had subsided and Jake’s horse had reached him without its rider but he did not care for the


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man. What had he to do with a useless one-armed soldier? He tried to catch the reins of Jake’s horse but the horse feared him and pranced with hoofs swirling through the air. – Was it really an unfortunate accident that one of the hoofs bore a small but sharp edged stone at the outside, just sticking solidly enough to the surface of the hoof to slash a big scar into Caradoc’s face?

In fury about the horse that had mutilated his face, in rage about himself that he had succumbed to fear and that he had not found the lass who had duped him – as he saw it, he rode in a fierce gallop northwards. He was neither caring for his rabble nor for his horse. He rode until the poor beast stumbled and collapsed under him, throwing him into a vast thicket of age-old brambles with very long thorns.

There his men found him lying with widespread arms and legs not able to move. He looked like a bug pierced to a board, unable to free himself. His men just wondered about the fact that some of the thick twines had already tightly wrapped a few times around his wrists, ankles, chest and his neck as they tried to cut him loose. Many smiles of his men he did not see behind his back, but there still were some who were quite delighted to see him today ‘ensnared’ in these precarious situations at the swamp and here.

�

Jake was still sitting on the rock, his mind caught up in thoughts about the incident he just had witnessed, pondering, if all he had seen as well as the fens and mires were actually there. He had a good memory for paths and ways as he often had to find his trail through terrain he had only been once before but he would have bet his last morsel of food on the certainty that they had been on the right track


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to Willowbee. He knew about tales of druids with great powers and it felt to him as if he had just witnessed one of these marvels of magic that had perhaps saved many lives today, including his own.

He was still not well aware of what was happening around him, only vaguely he noticed that something appeared in his mind. It was as if he heard a faint voice singing – not truly audible, – more as if the melody came somehow from the depths of his mind. He shook his head as if he wanted to shake the voice off. Fearing it could be the Banshee or some of the spirits but it did not change. Still in his head, the voice sang – a bit louder now and more soothing than before. Much joy, peace and tranquillity he felt whilst listening to the nice but queer tunes.

All of a sudden, he had the feeling of not being alone anymore. He opened his eyes – and in the corner of his left eye some kind of shadow appeared. He turned his head and beheld Morgan standing close to him as she laid calmingly her hand on his shoulder. He knew he had seen this remarkable woman in Willowbee before, even though his memory of her was somehow blurred. In that moment he comprehended that it was the way as he had thought, because during the time he looked at her, he watched the fen behind Morgan returning slowly to the landscape he had seen at his last visit.

Now Morgan stood quietly beside Jake and they both watched the change of the land. She smiled at him and this smile seemed to hold the promise of a better future – a future without Caradoc.

“Good morning Jake O’Deal, I am glad that you have stayed back,” Morgan said with her pleasant voice – not high


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pitched as women voices often are but warm and tender with some volume. Jake was sure that all was good and that the village with those friendly people had not been devoured by the fens of death.

Just the thought of it filled his heart with great joy. Morgan pulled from beneath her wide cloak a basket with freshly baked bread, butter, cheese and water. They sat on Jakes thick blanket and held breakfast. For Jake it was the first meal since his first visit here where he had not to take the food from someone who had even less than he had and it tasted like freedom.

He was not wondering much where Morgan had taken that basket from since he had witnessed this morning so many things to marvel about that this little trick did not really bother him very much. He was sure – today he had found his luck.

…


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XXVVIIII RRaassmmuuss

A few days later and early afternoon, all children were shouting and running over the northern meadows of Willowbee towards the Old Wagon Way like a horde of savages. A short time later, the lads and lasses were happily running back, shouting, “Rasmus is coming”.

True enough and as faithful as the seasons – Rasmus the tinkerer was on his way to the village. Always in time when any kind of celebration lay ahead. The children loved Erasmus McCarthy very much but no one called him that anyway because everybody knew him as Rasmus and he always was a good sport and ready for a practical joke or some hilarious prank and, – he could tell tales. – Pinning his young audience to their places and never was he too tired to romp with the children over the meadows.

Judging by the way of his appearance, he looked much like an adventurer. He was about six feet tall, very svelte with


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broad shoulders and a tanned and weathered face. His long black hair fell gently over his shoulders and his short-shingled beard underlined the first impression he made. Only his eyes gave away that he was a very gentle natured man. Round oval shaped and dark brown they were, almost a bit too female they seemed to be for the rest of his appearance. How old he was, he did not really know as he was raised as an orphan but Morgan had once traced back his age and believed that he was about thirty-five to thirty-eight years old.

Enyana stood close to the beginning of the Old Wagon Way towards Crumbleton, because she had known it since early morning that Rasmus was arriving today. Gawain had spotted him from high above and since he liked the old tinkerer as well, he had heralded his arrival.

The children were shouting and laughing and greeted him with much joy and Rasmus, sitting high above the road in an especially for him built coachbox – was mimicking an aristocratic expression and waved with sovereignty down to the children as if he was a great king – greeting condescendingly his folks. He knew the procedure all too well as it was everywhere and in every town the same – children and grown up’s of all ages loved Rasmus the tinkerer.

His approach could be harkened from great distance because his coach was laden with all kinds of household goods. Pots and pans, buckets and cans, caldrons and kettles, shovels and spades and many more useful items needed in the households and by the farmers. All those items made such an ear deafening noise that surely in a mile around his path, nobody would have been able to miss that a tinkerer was on its way. Every item on and in his coach seemed to be eager


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to play its own tune in this cacophonic orchestra as if they knew that it was the trademark of a tinkerers coach.

On every available spot outside his coach, he had hung items that had not found a place within and all that was crowned by a huge bathtub, standing proudly on top of the roof like a conductor in front of his orchestra. Morgan and Gandalf stood at the garden door, feeling as joyful as the children felt and were glad about his timely arrival.

…


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XXVVIIIIII TThhee FFiirrsstt RReessccuuee JJoouurrnneeyy

Rasmus stayed in Willowbee for one more night and during that day, he prepared his coach as he had planned. All his items were stowed into a dry shed at the O’Donnell’s farm but Lesley was adamant to store the valuable belongings, which were not meant to get wet or dirty in his room. All that was left in the coach was his toolbox and another chest where thick sheepskins and blankets as well as the provisions for the road were stored.

The barrel of fresh water was fixed right behind the coachbox and closed with a hinged lid that the water would not be spilled or become sullied during the journey over the dusty country roads. Morgan had packed a few herbs into a small basket, which would aid Enyana once they had found Calandra’s parents, because she expected them not to be at their best of health.


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Early the next morning they were ready to set out on this journey. Snowflake had been harnessed to the coach and Morgan, as well as Lesley and Charles who were informed about the mission, were giving their blessings and bade farewell. They all hoped that this action still came in due time to rescue Calandra’s parents and that they would not meet any troubles on the long journey up north and back home.

�

The last night Morgan had handed a trinket to Enyana. It was a long, purplish and hexagonally shaped crystal, which was ensnared by a mesh of fine and silvery shining filament that was attached to a strong leather band. Then she had told her it’s secret.

“Enyana, this medallion has been sent from Deirdre and there are a few things that you have to know about. The elves have bundled some spells and powers and have transferred them into this medallion. It shall aid and support you on your perilous journey. You know well that you have not yet completed your magical education with the elves and your thirteenth birthday is only in midsummer. Your magical abilities are not yet strong enough but with the help of this medallion and Gossamer Moonglow on your side, we are sure that you will be able to cope with every peril that may cross your path and nobody will come to harm if you use it wisely. So listen carefully to what I will tell you now.

Whenever you need help to avoid or to cope with any peril, you have to hold it firmly in your hand and concentrate on what you have chosen to be the right action. However, the power of this medallion has some limitations, because only a small number of actions and spells are available but once called, they will work perfectly their own way and you don’t


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have to keep focus on them anymore. So, if you run in trouble, choose your actions wisely and find out if they are stored in your medallion.

To find out if those actions are at hand, concentrate, and think about what you want to do, and the crystal will gently vibrate if the requested spell is available. Once you call it, the required actions will be accomplished instantly. You also need to pay attention if it vibrates, heats up or feels strangely cold, because that will let you know that something unusual is at hand. Focus on it and you will see in your mind what it tries to tell you. Do not forget to watch Gawain because he will try to lead you around any danger that he can perceive and Gossamer Moonglow is very good in sensing the true nature of people that you might unintentionally meet. Only if you obey to these instructions can you take the right actions.

…

�

…

For a long time, things on this island had gone much the way as one being had planned, despite the fact that something had remained elusive and of late, the search for that something had entered a new and very intensive state.

However, unheeded by this being, other forces were about to enter the stage that one fine day could prove being more than just a disturbing nuisance.

The tale continues in Crossbow Isle

Ithilhin Moonchild Part 2


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The following pages grant you a

Preview

to

Ithilhin Moonchild

Part 2


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XXXXIIII TThhee EEllvveennssttoonnee

The two women discussed the details of the forthcoming Shekitiara ceremony where Enyana would be bestowed with all the capabilities, skills, talents and especially her magical powers. Thereafter, she would have to undergo intensive studies as well as practical training until she would be able to wield her abilities and powers to the fullest extent.

Deirdre just said, “You know, we have finished Enyana’s dress and the necklace with her elven stone medallion is nearly completed. As I know, today Colombine is finishing the metalwork, which will embrace the stone”. Morgan looked attentively at her friend and nodded. “I know that it is not easy to find such a special stone. How did Colombine know, which kind of stone was the right one for Enyana?”

“Well, Colombine is gifted with many talents and she said that she had studied the ancient scrolls and books where she found out what kind of stone would be suitable for your granddaughter. However, that was only half the work


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because then she searched quite a while to find the right kind of stone that would be a true match for Enyana’s natural abilities. Once that was solved, she had met one of the oldest of our friends. He is a member of the ancient ‘Order of the White Druids’ and Colombine had asked him for a small amount of that special metal called Aviandum, which is needed for such a powerful pendant. We all guess that Colombine must somehow remember what she had been taught by her masters of old, especially how to forge such tough metal into the delicate shapes as described in the ancient books of elven lore.”

“What is Aviandum?” Morgan asked curiously.

“Aviandum is a very rare metal with extraordinary properties and it is not easy to form because it is imperishable. However, once it has accepted its final shapes, it magically lays itself into the filigree patterns that the elven smith has foreseen. At this very moment that druid is helping Colombine with his powers to ‘persuade’ the material to take on its final shape and if you want we could go to the smithy and see what they are doing”, Deirdre said with a smirking look at her friend.

“Do you know where Colombine has found that special stone?” Morgan asked, not heeding Deirdre’s suggestive smile.

“Well yeah. Colombine has told me about her arduous search and one could say that Colombine has found this stone by good fortune or the other way it is more likely that the stone had found Colombine”, Deirdre said chuckling.

“She mentioned that she had been searching in a certain area of Mount Kibil as a ray of moonlight was just shining onto it


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exactly the moment as she was nearby and then she felt as if that stone had been calling her mind to find it.

She has told that in the bright beam of moonlight it had glittered and sparkled not to be missed and instantly she knew this is Enyana’s stone. You will see. Even if you are just near it, you will feel a very strong aura of power that it radiates already. I am sure, as soon as Enyana has completed her education she almost never will encounter a mission that she cannot handle.

Today they will set the stone and once it is ready then we will transfer the magical powers in a hallowing ceremony to it and dedicate its use solely to Enyana. Actually, if I am not mistaken then you never have witnessed such a ceremony because even I can hardly remember the last one.”

Morgan nodded with an interested look as they got up and the two so different women walked arm in arm to the large cavern where Colombine had her smithy in one of the side caves to witness the setting of Enyana’s Elvenstone.

�

The flickering shine of torches that rested in iron cones at the walls and the bluish-red flickering fire in the forge lit sparsely the chamber where solid tables stood along the straightened walls whilst in the rear of the cavern high shelves were home to uncountable different items. The caverns ceiling arched high above and a contraption that funnelled the smoke from the fire hung above the forge, which stood in front of the dark rear space of the cavern. As they walked closer, they beheld the athletic figure of Colombine stooping over a small anvil.


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Colombine was about five foot three, had strong arms and her typically fine cut elven-face with bright blue eyes stood in steep contrast to her tanned and muscular body. Another difference to a typical elven was her very curly and dark brown hair, a rarely found attribute amongst elves, which framed her charming face. Her hair was cut short at the sides but long and curly in her neck where it was swept up in thick knots; also, a very unusual style for an elven but it suited her very well.

She currently worked with a small hammer on something that glowed brightly in the dim light of the room. She looked up, beheld the two women and said with an unexpected strong voice, “Hullo Morgan, Deirdre you have just arrived in time. – I am about to attach the last twine and then we are ready to set the Elvenstone. – If you want to see it, just go over to the table, – you can’t miss it”.

Morgan and Deirdre approached the table and here on a piece of dark blue velvet lay a marvellous masterpiece of Elvenstone. It was shaped like a crescent Moon and its outer rim formed a segment of a perfect circle that Colombine’s friends, who were specialised in stone cutting had shaped with perfectly placed facets that were breaking and reflecting any beam of light into bursts of colours but even here in the dim light, it emanated a faint bluish gleam that came from the stone itself. This stone was surely the most-perfect one that Morgan had ever seen. Over millions of years must its basic form have grown in that unusual shape, just to be found in time to be turned in to Enyana’s Elvenstone.

A deep and warm voice sounded from the darkness of the cavern, “Hullo Morgan, do you remember me?” A tall and stately figure clad in a long white frock materialised from the cavern’s deep shadow. Long silvery hair flowed swaying over


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his shoulders and a pair of dark brown eyes was placed dominantly over an aristocratically shaped nose that hovered above a silvery glinting beard.

Morgan looked at him and thought, “This nose, these keen-looking eyes – that can only be my dear old friend Zaron of times long ago”.

“Yes Morgan, it truly is me”, he laughed. “Cormamin lindua ele lleIt3, it is nice to see you again after such a long time. I am glad that I could help to shape that masterpiece, which soon will be dedicated to your granddaughter. Come hither and witness how Aviandum ensnares the Elvenstone for eternity as soon as it is set into the filigree mesh of the medallion. Colombine is about to finalise the forging process and once the stone is set, no man, no elf, no force of this universe will be able to separate it ever again”.

Morgan however was not only very glad about Enyana’s powerful companion but also about the unexpected reunion with her dear old friend and together they returned to the elven smith.

…

3 My heart sings to see thee


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XXXXVV FFiirreessttoorrmm

May had given way to June and Enyana’s birthday was drawing close. As much as she looked forward to her Shekitiara, it was still with some mixed emotions. This event, which was celebrated in the Old Forest amidst the ancient stone circle of Menomenta, would mark one of the most important days of her life. All Moonchildren had to pass that initiation on their thirteenth birthday, because thereafter she was ready and allowed to pass over to mastery of magic. However, since she did not exactly know what was to be expected she was a bit afraid of the unknown event that was so important, albeit on the other hand she was curiously looking forward to that day.

Another thought comforted her at least somewhat, Morgan, the elves, Deirdre and especially Zaron would attend as well, and therefore she was sure that nothing dangerous or unpleasant would happen. She liked the old druid a lot. In his


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near, she felt serene and secure and his eyes told her that he knew so much more than anyone she ever had met. One time she wanted to ask him about his age because as she had asked Morgan about it, she had no satisfying answer.

Morgan just had said, “Well – as far as I know he is here since the beginning of time”, but that again was an unsatisfactory answer that triggered the inevitable question she had asked more than once before, – how old is Time?

�

Early morning, Morgan had gone to town to visit Erlina and her daughter because on the day the mill had been blessed she had resolved to see the young woman and the newborn as soon as possible. Since Drew and Ruby had anyway planned that journey, Morgan had taken the opportunity to join them and Enyana expected that her seanmhair would only return late evening. Hence, the young woman enjoyed the time as she had no duties and visited her friends.

Whilst she was sitting in the kitchen of the inn, merrily chattering with Seanna and Calandra, she suddenly felt very uneasy but not knowing where that feeling was coming from. Never had she felt as troubled as at that moment. Then she noticed that the medallion she wore on the leather strap around her neck felt very hot on her skin.

“What is happening”, she just thought as Gandalf raised his head and ran to the door. “Gandalf and running?” That was signal enough for her and she followed him. She felt it in her bones; – some great peril was on its way to Willowbee. – That she had realized by now.

As she stormed out of the door, she beheld Gawain circling in tight spirals in the sky above, crying hoarse warning signals


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down to her and veering westwards as he beheld her watching him. Now it was clear, the peril approached from west.

She jumped down the stairs that led to the inn’s kitchen and ran towards the fountain from where she would have a good look but as she turned around the corner of the house, she beheld a humongous high and dark bank of clouds covering the western horizon like a blanked that spelled doom.

Gawain landed on the fountain’s wall and she ran to him. “Gawain, what is that? What is coming our way? My seanmhair is not here and I am not sure if I can handle any peril by myself. Show me what you have seen”. She looked into his eyes and her mind flew with him over burning forests and fields.

She saw people in their pitiable attempt to extinguish the flames but the raging fires devoured everything in their path. Men, beast, houses, forests, pastures, every living or dead thing that was unfortunate enough to lay in its way, – it simply perished within the insatiable flames.

Everything in the path of fire was doomed!

First, she had thought that this was one of Kimball Caradoc’s cruel deeds but Gawain had shown her that a massive thunderstorm had raged over the foothills of the Southern Banagher Range and that a lightning bolt had been hitting the dry ground and had kindled the ravaging fire.

For some weeks it had not rained and the land was parched, the ideal food for the flames. Now she knew why the medallion had turned so hot on her skin and she knew that her seanmhair would not be here in time. Morgan did not


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even know that this peril was racing towards Willowbee – it all was upon her to make the right decisions and to take the appropriate actions.

Meanwhile, the dark and menacing clouds had drawn closer and she could faintly smell the smoke of burning trees that the wind carried to her. “Seanmhair, Deirdre, Zaron stand by me I need your help”, the child begged in the face of the catastrophe that was approaching her village.

She ran to the smithy and from afar, she cried Liam’s name. At the sound of Enyana’s voice, the old blacksmith realised that something horrible must have happened, ran out of the building, beheld Gawain, – and his stomach cramped.

“Morgan is not here and the child is in dire need”, he thought. Enyana showed him the dark billowing clouds and explained quickly what was on its way to the village. “How do you know that this is a fire and not only thick rain clouds?” he asked and wondered how Enyana could be so sure since the smoke of wood fire was nothing that his nose could distinguish anymore. She called for the eagle and one moment later Gawain landed beside Enyana. “Liam, look into Gawain’s eyes. He will show you what he has seen. Believe it because it is true. You have to trust him and me”.

Liam looked into the small jet black eyes of the huge bird and had the feeling that he was sucked into the starring eyes. Suddenly he had a vision as if he was flying.

He flew high above the hills and beheld the meadows and forests that were devoured by the insatiable flames. He saw the many people who were fleeing in despair from the raging peril. However, their chances were rather slim since gusts of wind aided the flames to leap over their heads and most of


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them had not the slightest chance to escape. Once the eagle had released Liam’s mind, he looked at Enyana and knew that Willowbee had never been threatened by a peril of this magnitude.

Worried he looked at the frail figure of the lass but asked, “What do I have to do to help you?”

Radiating a great determination, she stood before him with strong willed eyes whilst her hand clasped firmly the medallion. Gawain was waiting for her orders and Enyana sent him off to fetch Rasmus and Gossamer Moonglow.

Then she turned to the blacksmith. “Liam, please go through the village to alarm everyone. Nobody shall leave the village under any circumstances but they shall fill water into any bin they can muster and place it so that they can reach it unhindered in the shortest possible time because I will not be able to do anything against the flying firebrands if the fire draws too near. Then you come back to me, but only you”. Liam nodded and ran away. He ran, as he never had done since he had been a young lad and not much later, he returned heavily panting.

Whilst Enyana had focused at the advancing firewall, she had turned as calm as if no life threatening peril was at hand. Gawain had told her that Rasmus was on his way, riding Snowflake like the devil towards Willowbee. He had left his coach just on one of the nearby farms where he had been working, telling that he would return to continue his work later. “Later”, he thought. “I hope there will be a LATER”.

Gawain spurred them with his hoarse cries and Snowflake almost flew over the ground as if she knew that it was a matter of life and death.


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Gossamer Moonglow sat already on Enyana’s shoulder as Rasmus arrived in a fierce gallop. He jumped from the horse and gave it a clap on its croup, sending it down to the buttercup meadow, hoping to see his dear horse again because what was on its way to Willowbee was just humongous. However, Rasmus knew and trusted that if someone could cope with this catastrophe then it was Enyana. He remembered the morning as they had brought Calandra’s parents to Willowbee and Caradoc’s thugs had come their way. However, this was a catastrophe of a much different scale.

Enyana’s elven hearing could already perceive the crackling of the flames but she knew she was not alone. The elves would send her the power to fight this peril.

She turned around to Liam and Rasmus. “Liam, don’t ask me anything, just do what I ask you and all should turn out well. You will go with Rainbowdancer up to the southern hill and to the fringe of the forest. You will look at the wall of flames and you will not look anywhere else. This here is ‘Rainbowdancer’”. The elven appeared for Liam to see her. “She will help you to concentrate because I will need your sight and your strength to concentrate on what I have to do”. Liam just nodded and marched to the hill that lay at the fringe of the Old Forest. For questions, so he hoped, was time enough if they would survive.

“Rasmus, you and Gossamer Moonglow have to go to the northern side of the village and concentrate on the flames on this side. I will need you because without your strength I will not be able to make it. I also need to call the Wind Brothers to guide the flames into the other direction and I have to call Brother Rain. Please do not look away. I have to see exactly where the flames are”.


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Meanwhile, even down in the village it strongly smelled of smoke and fire and Corran looked up to his father, who was standing at the faraway fringe of the forest, watching the flames coming their way. He had ordered that everyone had to stay in the village as Enyana had requested and if he said it in such tone, there were no questions to be asked. All he had ordered had been done, bins, buckets, other containers filled with water had been placed everywhere and all villagers were watching with fear and awe the huge firewall approaching their homes.

The dark billowing clouds towered high, covering much of the visible sky in the west and the Sun had vanished behind a dense curtain of smoke. They knew that Enyana would do whatever was in her powers, and they had as much trust in the little lass and in her seanmhair’s abilities but how could a child conquer a peril of this scale?

…

If you liked what you read and if you are curious to find out how the whole story

continues,

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More information about the Authors, Crossbow Isle and its volumes can be found on:

http://www.crossbow-isle.com/

Full colour Crossbow Isle maps, size 26.5” x 39” (67.3cm x 99cm) can be

ordered via our website.

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TThhee AAuutthhoorrss

Elensaár Gelindor. Very early had he developed a passion for music, art and technology, which guided him all his life to the most unusual places and events.

However, as restlessness might have lain in his blood, he followed the example of one of his grandfather’s, – who had migrated in the early years of his life to China, – so eventually, he took up an assignment that led

him to West Africa where he worked for several years.

Once he had met Irefenia, for many years they both travelled in pursuit of business around the globe and lastly settled in Malaysia.

After a turbulent time that saw the introduction of new and unusual businesses, they moved to Borneo, where Irefenia developed the first draft chapters of “Ithilhin – Moonchild”.

From that point onwards, they both worked out the story’s development and the central theme. Lastly, Elensaár decided to author Irefenia’s red-line-script into the version of this book.

His writing style of stringent adherence to logic and sequencing had now been combined with a style of lively story telling that considerably aided and influenced the story’s flow.


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Irefenia Salgonda, born as the first of three children. Very early, she had developed a passion for writing. Her essays and short stories were circulated amongst friends, later she wrote longer stories but never considered publishing any of them.

Once she had met Elensaár, she accompanied him on journeys around the world, which allowed her to explore her passion and fascination for ancient cultures, their history and mythology, on four continents.

During that time, she studied the English language and mastered it with distinction as foreign-language correspondent. Especially during the time of travelling, she extensively pursued her writing passion; therefore, it was not much of a surprise as she presented the first draft chapters of “Ithilhin – Moonchild” to Elensaár, together, they developed the idea to “Crossbow Isle”, – but this time with aim of publishing it.


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Understanding the world of real elves begins with

Crossbow Isle

All Crossbow Isle instalments are published in 4 monthly intervals.

Crossbow Isle is available at AMAZON, B&N and many others online stores and available as KINDLE and YUDU editions. YUDU e-books can be read on nearly every computer like real books. Currently YUDU supports most tablet computers and Android devices but NOT yet APPLE machines, because it requires ADOBE or JAVA software to be installed, which APPLE does currently not support.


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4

Please take note! All 5 volumes or their 15 instalments are 1 book and 1 story only! Starting in between or skipping one part is affecting the understanding of the story! It is also not advisable to change the reading sequence because the story is quite complex and sorting things out whilst reading might not work all too well!

To order any of the published Crossbow Isle volumes click this link:



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rs moonchild part 1

Documents

volume of crossbow isle

tale of crossbow isle

crossbow isle spans

lass ithilhin

complete chapters

reading sample

positive professional

elven planet phathon