#bookreview: The Shepherd's Crown | Terry Pratchett

The Shepherd's Crown by Terry Pratchett
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

I've been waiting for this book ever since it was announced... but it took forever for me to get it, partially because I've sort of banned myself from going to book stores for a while now. :D

To be perfectly honest, in terms of emotional content and my personal relation to this book (The witches/Tiffany Aching archs have always been a personal favourite, even more than the later Vimes books), this is definitely a 5-star book. I don't want to give spoilers, but CHAPTER TWO DID ME IN. And Chapter Three... and I don't think I really climbed out of my funk until somewhere around Chapter 6 or 7 (maybe?) when I took a break from reading to do real life stuff, like wash the dishes.
(Note to self: starting a new book over dinner always sounds like a good idea, BUT IT NEVER IS)

Why only four stars then?
It's... really not as polished, or Pratchett-esque, as I wanted it to be. I mean, yes, I understand he died in the middle of writing it (*sniff*) but maybe I was hoping that someone could have made it shine as much as he did. It feels as if there are parts that are sort-of there, but it just doesn't sparkle yet. Like a slightly un-formed thought. I think Geoffrey could have been so much more - more right, more... funny, maybe -

- that said, I also acknowledge that the Aching series, being YA, isn't usually as snarky as some of the others. Still.

As a whole, The Shepherd's Crown felt a little like an extended goodbye. There were so many little goodbyes in each chapter - intentional or unintentional, I doubt we'll ever know. At some point, it felt a little like The Last Battle (emotionally, as least); it's as if the author himself is saying goodbye to his characters, bringing in older ones you didn't expect to appear in the book to let them have a last say, a last look.

But well, as the afterword says,

The Shepherd's Crown has a beginning, a middle and an end, and all the bits in between. Terry wrote all of those. But even so, it was, still, not quite as finished as he would have liked when he died. If Terry had lived longer, he would almost certainly have written more of this book. There are things we all wish we knew more about. But what we have is a remarkable book, Terry's final book, and anything you wish to know more about in here, you are welcome to imagine yourself.

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#bookreview: The Last Days of Magic

The Last Days of Magic: A Novel by Mark Tompkins
My rating: 1 of 5 stars

I requested an ARC of The Last Days of Magic from NetGalley because it was a good fit with the trend of stories I'd been reading (and writing). There were Celts, fairies, magic, druids, kings, goddesses and Fomorians. Besides, who can resist the line, 'Drawing on myth, legend, fairy tales and Biblical mysteries'? This, I thought, is something I could get behind.

Except that the novel starts with a disjointed story of a dead body and a girl who has been asked by her grandmother to run because hidden within her old set of fancy fairy tales are secret pictures of the Dead Sea Scrolls, which contain things the Vatican does not want anyone to know of. It then plunges you into the 1300s, flitting between Ireland and England and Rome, and the girl doesn't appear again until the end. So besides an unnecessary prologue and epilogue, which I can only guess means that the author is leaving himself an avenue to pursue a sequel or two, this is basically medieval fantasy.

The first thing that really bugged me about the digital galley I received was how badly it was formatted. Seriously, Viking, I can format better than that. Did you just dump the print version into Kindle format and not bother to proofread or something? Scrollability also fails when there are no Chapter breaks. This is like... one block of text with awkward paragraph breaks mid-sentence.

The second thing that really, really bugged me was the way Tompkins used all the Bible verses out of context and perverted everything in an attempt to... I don't know, create conflict? I'm probably a bit more pissed about this because I am a Christian and I don't like having tenets of my faith being twisted about. I'm not one who takes everything in the Bible as 100% literal truth - I've been known to admit that some of my readings (especially Revelations) are taken at a slightly more allegorical level, and there are times I read the Old Testament as myth and legend; i.e. they may or may not have happened as written, but the underlying principles are still the same, consistent and true. I believe I try to do the same when I write my own fairy tales and myths - if a certain fairy creature is written a certain way, I would try to stay true to type.
Tompkins has instead decided that the only reason the Roman Church performs Exorcism is to then capture the demons and use them against other demons and half-angelic beings. In his novel most (if not all) magical beings are actually the offspring of angels/demons and humans, i.e. Nephilim. I'm rather meh about that. This trope has been used before, including in Patricia Lynne's Michael, which I loved/hated. Secret Vatican group, fine. Exorcism, fine. Strange myths about Adam/Lilith vs Adam/Eve, strange but okay, I've encountered those before... Priests running about using witchcraft and summoning demons? Uh, no. Mis-quoting Bible verses for no good reason (and didn't add anything to the story except a tinge of blasphemy), why and what for?

Anyway, between Ireland where the priests of the order of St Patrick spout weird legends posited to be biblical (as far as I know, they're not) and Rome where factions of the Vatican are plotting to destroy Ireland in order to gain control of the magic (eh, what?) and the Irish Christian Church, King Richard II is apparently a half-crazed bi-sexual man who's in bed with his wife, Anne and his um, friend (?) de Vere at the same time and being outmaneuvered by de Vere, his lords, and his priests into throwing money and forces to subdue Ireland for them. Let's not forget France, where the King (again, mad) is controlled by a coven of witches whilst his Queen sleeps with his brother. I am not a history buff - these could actually be historically true (I mean, without the magical tangent). But a novel where most of the powerful men are weak and controlled by conniving, power-hungry and money-hungry women is just... extremely grating.

I suppose in a mad sort of way this is supposed to make sense and supposed to fit together into a remarkable tale - a feat of world-building that poses astonishing and resonant answers to epic questions but the writing is choppy and disjointed, jumping back and forth between years and locations, raising more questions than it does any answers. Lumps of fake history, unconvincing legend and perverted myth are added in as backstory, making it even more unwieldy a read.

It was a tedious read and I was most happy to get to the end of it so that I could write this review. I was about to give it two stars, but I realised... no, this story is not okay. I did not like it. Religious protests aside (because I could be biased), it was still annoying confusing.
I wish I liked it, but I don't.

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#atozchallenge: (Fairy) Queen

Previous: Phoenix

The Queen in her anger was a sight to behold. She stood tall - taller than Darrick, almost as tall as the ogre - with bronze curls that reached to her waist. Her skin was fair, like light cream, touched with pink carnation anger. She watched with flashing black eyes as Darrick, Jane and Euthalia were escorted into her presence.
It was unlike any court that Jane could ever have imagined. She remembered the hard stone of their village courthouse, the thick, scored wood of the whipping post, the smell of fear and blood, the mud and dirt and hopelessness that underlay every thing. Here, lush, thick grass, soft to the foot, was ringed by great trees. An ancient yew stood prominently at the head of the circle, under which the Fairy Queen stood by her throne of silver. She could feel the anger emanating from the Queen, and yet the calm of the Council of Centaurs pervaded the place, seeking to placate it, if not turn it aside.
“What do we do, Father?” she whispered.
“I do not know.” He looked haggard in the light, an anxiety she could not fathom on his face. What she felt was a lightening of her spirit, as if a great joy was descending upon her.
“You’re glowing,” Euthalia said with astonishment.
“Am I?” Jane almost giggled. “I feel so - so powerful.”
The Queen raised her hands.
“Let the prisoners be brought forward,” she called in a dark and terrible voice. Jane’s heart resonated with its power, drawing strength from it even as her father paled and faded beside her. It was he who now gripped her hand in terror as they stepped forward to the raised dais.
“What are we charged with, O Queen?” she found herself speaking.
“Trespass and breaking of the treaty,” she proclaimed, but a glimmer of uncertainty had entered her eyes. “What are you, human? You appear strange to my eyes.”
“What am I?” Jane laughed. “I do not know. I have not felt this before; I do not know what it means.”
“No matter. You have still trespassed where you have not been invited to enter.”
“Did I? I came here by accident, I admit. But I have felt nothing but welcome in my spirit.”
“And what of you, O man, O ancient enemy?” The Queen turned her face towards the cowering Darrick. “What excuse do you have?”
“I -” he tried to speak, but he could not claw the words from his throat.
“So you admit! You came unbidden, breaking our treaty, breaking our laws. Your life is forfeit to me!” A cruel smile spread over the Fairy Queen’s face. She lifted her hand, a long knife appearing in it, standing ready to strike.
“Let all witness!” she cried, her hand falling. There was a bright flash and confusion, and when everyone could see again, the Queen still stood with her arm upraised. Darrick lay unharmed in his daughter’s shadow, a phoenix by her side.
“Well done, daughter,” the phoenix whispered as it fluttered down to the ground.
“What sorcery is this?” the Queen asked. The bird shimmered and in its place stood a young woman.
“Hello, mother,” Ivy said, laying an arm around Jane’s shoulders.

Next: Ragana
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From Wikipedia:

The Fairy Queen or Queen of the Fairies was a figure from English folklore who was believed to rule the fairies. Based onShakespeare's influence, she is often named as Titania or Mab. In Irish folklore, the last High Queen of the Daoine Sidhe - and wife of the High King Finvarra - was named Oona (or Oonagh, or Una, or Uonaidh etc.). In the ballad tradition of Northern England and Lowland Scotland, she was called the Queen of Elphame.
The character is also associated with the name Morgan (as with the Arthurian character of Morgan Le Fey, or Morgan of the Fairies), Meave, and L'annawnshee (literally, Underworld Fairy). In the Child Ballads Tam Lin (Child 39) and Thomas the Rhymer (Child 37), she is represented as both beautiful and seductive, and also as terrible and deadly. The Fairy Queen is said to pay a tithe to Hell every seven years, and her mortal lovers often provide this sacrifice.

#atozchallenge: Ogre

Previous: Naiads

The ugly creature that descended upon them in a crash of armour was taller than Darrick by at least two heads.
“What is that?” Darrick asked Euthalia, who was hissing like an angry cat.
“That’s an Ogre. There are very few of them left after the massacre. The ones who survived hate humans with a passion.”
The ogre roared. “Fee Fi Fo Fum. I smell the blood of an Englishman.” He stooped to stare Darrick in the eye.
"You." His eyes narrowed. "How DARE you enter my Kingdom! After all you have done to me, you still show your face?"
Darrick returned the stare in confusion.
"No words on your lips, human? Nothing to say before my ogre crunches your bones?"
"The Fairy Queen is talking to you through the ogre," Euthalia said through gritted teeth. "It would be to your credit to answer her."
“I know not what I have done to you, Your Majesty,” Darrick replied with a formal bow.
“Hah, formality and lies will get you nowhere. What are you doing in my realm?”
“My presence here was one of necessity. I would not have come except for great need.”
“Hmph. What need was that?”
“My daughter… was lost. But I have found her now and our presence need not burden you anymore.”
“Your daughter?” The ogre seemed to contemplate. His attention turned to Jane, who shrunk back behind her father. “Impossible. You lie.”
“I do not lie! She is my daughter.”
“Impossible! She cannot have children, not in your way. I do not know whose child this is, but it cannot be hers. Why do you insist on lying to me? Do you welcome your death?”
Darrick stared helplessly at the ogre’s bared teeth. “I’m not lying. I do not long for death, but I do not know who you talk about. Surely not about Euthalia? Jane is my child as sure as day is day.”
By now, multitudes of different creatures had gathered around them. The naiads stood behind them, blocking their way to the stream. Jane caught sight of the kelpie who winked at her and tossed his mane. Nymphs of all sorts circled them, whispering like the leaves. In their wake, the trees bent to each other, as if hemming the two humans in. The Ghillie Dhu sat frowning at them, especially Euthalia who still stood defiantly by Darrick. Different fairy folk zipped through the sky, winking in and out of sight. Jane thought she saw Petals sitting on a high branch, smiling smugly, but when she turned to look properly, the fairy had disappeared.
“Don’t claim ignorance. You have broken the treaty and will die by my law. No one can begrudge me that!” The ogre reached for his club and raised it high.
“Consider long, my Queen,” a voice spoke up. A stately centaur strode in between the ogre and Darrick. “Will you not hold fair trial in the Queen’s court? Will our fair folk then have cause to say that the Queen does not abide by law and justice? What if his family makes claim against you?”
“Why do you plague me, Alexei?” The Queen growled through the ogre.
“I remind you of what is fair. Isn’t that our role as the Council? Wasn’t it our wisdom that you sought?”
“Fine. So be it. Take them to court. That dryad included.” The ogre pointed a thick finger at Euthalia.
Solemnly, the centaurs surrounded the three of them.
“I’m sorry, but you will come with us,” Alexei said. Darrick nodded in assent. They followed the centaurs deeper into the Old Fairy Kingdom.
“What took you so long?” Euthalia whispered to one of the centaurs.
“Sorry, I had a hard time understanding what your messenger was saying,” Charon replied with a shrug.
The ogre watched them pass by with malice.

Next: Phoenix
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From Wikipedia:

An ogre (feminine ogress) is a being usually depicted as a large, hideous, manlike monster that eats human beings. Ogres frequently feature in mythology, folklore, and fiction throughout the world. They appear in many classic works ofliterature, and are most often described in fairy tales and folklore as eating babies.
In visual art, ogres are often depicted as inhumanly large and tall and having a disproportionately large head, abundant hair, unusually colored skin, a voracious appetite, and a strong body. Ogres are closely linked with giants and with human cannibals in mythology. In both folklore and fiction, giants are often given ogrish traits (such as the giants in "Jack and the Beanstalk" and "Jack the Giant Killer", the Giant Despair in The Pilgrim's Progress, and thejötnar of Norse mythology); while ogres may be given giantish traits.

#atozchallenge: Leanen Sídhe

Previous: Kelpie

“Why do you search for the Witch’s daughter?” They’d been walking for hours through the forest, making an incessant racket. Darrick figured he might as well add to it since he had nothing else to do.
The imp beside him looked at him with a confused expression. “Because the Witch asked us to.”
“Oh. So it’s true then, that the imps answer to witches?”
The imp shrugged. “Most. But mainly to this one.”
“Why’s that?”
The confused expression on the imp’s face turned to curiosity. “Because she is also Leanen Sídhe. Did you not know?”
“Leanen what?” Darrick had a vague feeling that he was supposed to know who the imp was referring to.
The imp chuckled. “Oh, he does not know! The elf-man does not know!”
“What do you mean?”
“The Witch is Leanen Sídhe. She is of the fairy folk. In fact, elf-man, she is the daughter of the Fairy Queen, the reason of the Queen’s hatred of the race of men! Oh, the horrid humans who stole her precious daughter far, far away!”
“The Queen hates humans?”
“Oh, with an undying hatred. If she catches the Witch’s daughter or her husband, there is no knowing what she will do!” He chuckled with glee.
And Jane is in there, Darrick thought, a queasy feeling in his stomach. “How much longer until we get into this Fairyland?”
“Almost there, impatient one.”
They stopped at a large clearing surrounded by oaks. Darrick looked around, his eyes narrowing. He recognised this place. It was here, more than twenty years ago, that he had first seen his wife.

He run so far for so long that he didn’t know where he was anymore. He almost fell to the ground in exhaustion, his tiredness for once overpowering his grief. Why would anyone raid his village in the night and slaughter all his family but him? What had he done to deserve this? Why was he still alive? His father was dead. His mother had died in his arms this morning. His little sister, sweet Adele Adanessa, barely six, had been hacked to pieces before his very eyes. He lay himself at the foot of a great oak, inviting Father Oak to take him into his bosom.
“What are you doing here, child?” a soft feminine voice woke him up.
He looked at the young woman standing over him. “Child? You can’t be more than a year older than me.”
“Is that so?” she smirked. “How old are you? You huddle into that little piece of ground like a twelve-year-old.”
“I’m fifteen,” he got to his feet angrily. “What do you want?”
“Is that how you talk to girls?” 
Darrick looked down at his feet. “No, sorry,” he said. 
She laughed. 
“What’s so funny?” He looked up again looking into her eyes.
“You’re blushing.”
Darrick opened his mouth, but couldn’t find anything to say.
“Anyway, as I was saying, what are you doing here?”
“Uh - I got lost,” he replied. 
“Hm, I can tell. Come on, I’ll show you the way home.”
Darrick followed her through a clearing onto a clearly marked forest path.
“Just follow this path. You’ll get home soon enough.”
“How do you know?”
“Oh, I have ways. I’ve been there before.”
“I’ve never seen you before.”
“Maybe I didn’t let you.”
“Will - will I see you again?”
She smiled, winked and walked away.

Darrick felt a tinge of guilt. He should have gone home and told Ivy what he was doing. Or he could have sent a note. She would be worrying herself half to death by now.

Next: Mermaids
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From Wikipedia:

In Celtic folklore, the Irish: leannán sí "Barrow-Lover" (Scottish Gaelic: leannan sìth; Manx: lhiannan shee; [lʲan̴̪-an ˈʃiː]) is a beautiful woman of the Aos Sí (people of the barrow or the fairy folk) who takes a human lover. Lovers of the leannán sídhe are said to live brief, though highly inspired, lives. The name comes from the Gaelic words for a sweetheart, lover, or concubine and the term for a barrow or fairy-mound.
The leannán sídhe is generally depicted as a beautiful muse, who offers inspiration to an artist in exchange for their love and devotion; however, this frequently results in madness for the artist, as well as premature death. W. B. Yeats popularized a slightly different perspective on these spirits with emphasis on their vampiric tendencies:[1]

The Leanhaun Shee (fairy mistress) seeks the love of mortals. If they refuse, she must be their slave; if they consent, they are hers, and can only escape by finding another to take their place. The fairy lives on their life, and they waste away. Death is no escape from her. She is the Gaelic muse, for she gives inspiration to those she persecutes. The Gaelic poets die young, for she is restless, and will not let them remain long on earth—this malignant phantom.

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 If you haven't had a chance yet, check out the giveaway page!

#atozchallenge: Jaculus

Previous: Imps

Darrick fumed silently. As soon as the Elven King had dismissed him, Erurainon had grabbed his arm and dragged him out of the elven halls. His elves had then flung the bag back over his head and with grips as tight as vices, started to haul him away.
“Wait - Please you have to help me.”
“Shut up.”
“Eru -”
“Don’t you ever speak my name.” His voice was a low growl. “Now shut up, or I’ll shut you up.”
They’d been walking for a long time since, as silent as the grave. He could barely hear the sounds of the elves passing - they were as quiet as his mother. Mother, Darrick thought.
“Just listen to me, uncle.” He felt the grip on his arm tighten. “You search far and wide for my mother. You know the pain of a missing loved one. Don’t you think I feel the same for my daughter?”
He waited for a reply.
“Just lead me to the Old Fairy Kingdom. Lead me to where your… people last saw her. Your grand niece. I won’t come back here again, I promise.”
There was a whisper, nothing more.
“You won’t be disobeying anyone. Please, just this one favour.”
They stopped so suddenly that Darrick knocked into the elf in front of him. He blinked as they pulled the bag off his head. They were back in familiar forests and the sun had risen higher than he'd expected.
"You are at the edge of the three realms," Erurainon said. "Straight ahead you'll find a portal through to the Old Fairy Kingdom. It only opens for a span from even until midnight. We go no further than here in this light."
Darrick looked at the place Erurainon had pointed at, and when he turned his head, the elves had vanished into the forest.
"Thank you," he called anyway, sure that they could still hear him.

There was nothing in the clearing except for the rubble of an old house. To wait until sun down was a long time. Darrick contemplated returning home first - he'd been gone all night, after all. Ivy and Mary would be frantic. He was just about to turn when something small and heavy hit him from behind, sending him tumbling like a rock.
The imps surrounding him laughed.
"What was that for?"
"Get down, elf-man. A jaculus hunts you."
"What?"
"Just follow us."
"Where?"
"Somewhere. Nowhere. Anywhere. Just follow us if you want to live."
Darrick hesitated, but the little people pushed and pulled him and he allowed himself to be led by them. After all, Ivy trusted them. Or used to, anyway. Once they reached the edge of the house, he saw it. The small dragon creature hissed at him, frustrated that his prey had gotten away. It seemed to glare malevolently at him before slinking away.
"Thank you," he said, wondering at this turn of events.
"Thank us? Thank the Witch. If it were not for the Witch, we would not care about you. Already we waste time with you, clumsy elf-man."
The imps huddled together, ignoring him. They seemed to be tracking something.

The silence of the forest made him uneasy again. Could it be the elves returning? Or could it - he caught a flash of dark gold from the corner of his eye. The jaculus had not left. The imps’ squabbling remained at the edge of his awareness. No, no, no. The dog-man would not take her in. Why not? He has a kind heart. We should look for the dryad instead.
This time, he was aware. When the dragon creature pounced, he ducked, grabbed a convenient rock (the same one the imps had thrown at him, he supposed) and threw it at the creature. It hissed and slunk away again.
The imps stopped squabbling to stare at him.
"Hm. The elf-man has his uses after all."
"What are you doing here?" he asked. "Who are you looking for?"
The imps shared uneasy glances and huddled again, this time whispering so quietly that Darrick couldn’t make out what they were saying. Finally, what seemed to be their spokesperson turned to him. “We have decided that you will indeed be of greatest help in our mission for the Witch, no matter how we do not like your kind. We search for the Witch’s daughter.”
Darrick stared at them in incomprehension. “I don’t see why -”
“Come, we have no time to waste. The portal here is closed. We must go the long way.”
“The long way to where?”
“To the Old Kingdom, of course.” The imps set off at a slow jog.

Next: Kelpie
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From Wikipedia:

The jaculus (or iaculus, pl. jaculi, meaning "thrown" in Latin) is a small mythical serpent or dragon. It can be shown with wings and sometimes has front legs. It is also sometimes known as the javelin snake.
It was said that the jaculus hid in the trees and sprang out at its victims. The force of it launching itself at the victim led to the association with javelins.[1] Pliny described it as follows: "The jaculus darts from the branches of trees; and it is not only to our feet that the serpent is formidable, for these fly through the air even, just as though they were hurled from an engine."[2]

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HELP, I'M MAKING THIS UP AS I GO ALONG!

I had a crazy busy week and now I've lost my lead. :(

#atozchallenge: Imps

Previous: Half-elf

It took most of Ivy’s effort to get out of bed in the morning. She glanced over to Darrick’s side of the bed and frowned. Walking out to the living room, she called out, “Darrick? Darrick, where are you?”
Mary stuck her head out of her room. “Didn’t he come home last night, Mother?”
Ivy shook her head, heading to the kitchen. “Do you know where Jane kept the herbs?”
“Isn’t it in the basket?”
“It’s almost empty. Can you help me search?” She filled a kettle with water and placed it to boil over the fire. With care, she shredded a handful of the herbs in the basket. It looked like there would be enough to last her another day. Throwing the herbs into the boiling water, she inhaled the scent that billowed out around her head. It was probably a trick of her mind, but she felt stronger already. She settled down by the fire with a steaming mug in her hand.
Mary came out of the kitchen, perplexed. “I can’t find it.”
“What time did Jane get home last night?”
“I - I don’t know.”
“What time did she leave this morning?”
Mary admitted that she hadn’t seen Jane at all, hesitantly telling her what had happened the night before, glossing over meeting Charon and talking vaguely about meeting Euthalia.
“The dryad said she was safe? Are you sure about that?” she pressed one last time. Mary nodded. Ivy stared at the fire for a long time.
“Mother?”
“Go to your room, Mary.”
“But -”
“Go to your room, close the door and stay there until I call you.”
As soon as Mary close the door behind her, Ivy laid aside her empty mug and headed to the fireplace. Pulling out a loose brick from above the mantelpiece, she scrabbled in the hole until she found the parchments she had hidden there. She laid them out on the floor in sequence in front of the fire, taking a seat cross-legged in front of them. Silently, she recited the unfamiliar words in her head, trying them out until they fit. Then she chanted.

The imps fell like raindrops from the roof, chattering incessantly. Ivy fell silent as they formed a circle around her, keeping clear of the parchment. She gathered up the sheets, watching them.
"You have not summoned us for years," an old imp, with a shock of white hair and mud-blue eyes said, not quite looking at her.
"I have not had need of you until now."
"And we should help you? Now, after all these years?"
"I have done nothing wrong to you. Did you not enjoy your freedom?"
"We have not had enough to eat."
"What is your price?"
"We could ask for your firstborn... or we could not." They shifted uneasily at the look in her eyes.
"My firstborn is missing, along with her father."
"Pah. We have nothing to do with his kind."
"But you have everything to do with hers. She was last seen by the dryad Euthalia in the Old Kingdom. Find her for me and I will reward you greatly."
Murmurs started amongst them, growing from a trickle to a roar. Ivy glanced at Mary's closed door.
“Quiet,” she hissed. “Will you do it?”
“We will try.”

Next: Jaculus
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From Wikipedia:

An imp is a mythological being similar to a fairy or demon, frequently described in folklore and superstition. The word may perhaps derive from the term ympe, used to denote a young grafted tree.
Originating from Germanic folklore, the imp was a small lesser demon. Imps were often mischievous rather than evil or harmful (demons in Germanic legend were not necessarily evil), and in some regions, they were portrayed as attendants of the gods.
Imps are often shown as small and not very attractive creatures. Their behavior is described as being wild and uncontrollable, much the same as fairies, and in some cultures, they were considered the same beings, both sharing the same sense of free spirit and enjoyment of all things fun. It was later in history that people began to associate fairies with being good and imps with being malicious and evil. However, both creatures were fond of pranks and misleading people. Most of the time, the pranks were harmless fun, but some could be upsetting and harmful, such as switching babies or leading travellers astray in places with which they were not familiar. Though imps are often thought of as being immortal, many cultures believed that they could be damaged or harmed by certain weapons and enchantments, or be kept out of people's homes by the use of wards.
Imps were often portrayed as lonely little creatures, always in search of human attention. They often used jokes and pranks as a means of attracting human friendship, which often backfired when people became tired or annoyed of the imp's endeavors, usually driving it away.
Even if the imp was successful in getting the friendship it sought, it often still played pranks and jokes on its friend, either out of boredom or simply because this was the nature of the imp. This trait gave way to using the term "impish" for someone who loves pranks and practical jokes. Being associated with hell and fire, imps take a particular pleasure from playing with temperatures.
To this end, it came to be believed that imps were the familiar spirit servants of witches and warlocks, where the little demons served as spies and informants. During the time of the witch hunts, supernatural creatures such as imps were sought out as proof of witchcraft, though often, the so-called "imp" was typically a black dog, black cat, lizard, toad, or some other form of uncommon pet. [1]

#atozchallenge: Fairies

Previous: Elves

Jane awoke to the smell of bacon. A smile spread upon her face as she sniffed. Then she opened her eyes and sat up with a jolt.
“I wasn’t dreaming,” she said to no one in particular. She got off the narrow bed, stopping to smooth down the sheets and fold the blanket before turning to inspect the place. In the light of day, the little cottage looked positively cheery. She followed her nose and her ears through an open doorway, where she saw Ataneq stooping over a low fire, pan in hand.
“Good morning, Jane,” he greeted her.
She returned the greeting, studying him with great curiosity.

“So… what were you doing out here last night?” Ataneq asked as they tucked into their breakfast. They were seated on the ground at a low table that Ataneq had pulled out from a corner of his tiny kitchen.
“I was picking herbs for my mother’s medicine. I lost track of the time and it started to rain,” she hesitated. “I've been past here many times before but this is the first time I've seen your cottage.”
“Oh, you've never looked hard enough,” he replied. “It’s hard to see wood amongst wood.”
“No, but I've been through these woods almost daily - hey!” Something tugged at bacon, making it jump off the fork.
“But never at twilight.”
“Stop that,” Jane said, stabbing at the bacon that was jumping back and forth. Ataneq glanced over and chuckled.
“Here,” he said, reaching over and cutting off a lump of bread and placing it on Jane’s plate. “Now show yourself.”
A winged girl about as big as Jane’s palm materialised. “You spoil my fun, dog-man,” she grumbled, flitting over to land beside the bread.
“You don’t eat bacon anyway, Petals,” he replied.
“What are you doing here, human?” Petals cocked her head to the left as she peered at Jane.
Jane repeated her story, watching the fairy’s expression. It wasn't exactly hostile or mean, but it was unnerving all the same.
“You need to leave,” Petals said.
“I am leaving. Right after breakfast.”
Ataneq shook his head. “You can’t. The portal only opens from twilight until midnight.”
“What? But I can’t -”
“She needs to leave now.” The fairy turned to Ataneq, ignoring Jane.
“She can’t go back until the portal opens tonight,” the adlet repeated.
“Even so, she can’t stay here.”
“Why?” Ataneq said, holding up a hand to silence Jane’s protests. “What do you know?”
“The Fairy Queen is angry. I can feel it in my soles to the tips of my wings. Do not court the wrath of the Queen.”
“I don’t understand,” Jane said.
“The treaty was broken twice last night, human, evidenced by your presence here. The Fairy Kingdom has been breached, and you, dog-man, are harbouring a fugitive. Not that I care what happens to you,” she smiled almost sweetly at Jane, “but I do like to keep my friends out of trouble. So, dear girl, as much as Ataneq likes you, you must go.”
“I don’t bow to the Fairy Queen,” Ataneq said after an uncomfortable silence. “She remains my guest until she is able to leave again this evening.”
“You don’t bow to her, maybe, but you still do live in her land, under her rule. Think about that.” Petals glared again at Jane before zipping away.
“Will she -”
“She won’t tell,” Ataneq interrupted. “She’s a good friend. But we must find ways to keep you hidden.”
“Why does she hate me so?”
“The fairies have not been treated well by humans, Jane. It’s a generational grudge she bears, not any personal animosity for you. Her ancestors were once enslaved by men a long time ago.”
“What was the treaty she mentioned?”
“I don’t know. I keep to myself as a stranger in this land - this was the first time Petals brought it up. I don’t like the sound of it.”

Next: Ghillie Dhu
Back to the theme list.

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From Wikipedia:

A fairy (also fay, fae; from faery, faerie, "realm of the fays") is a type of mythical being or legendary creature in European folklore, a form of spirit, often described as metaphysical, supernatural or preternatural. Fairies resemble various beings of other mythologies, though even folklore that uses the term fairy offers many definitions. Sometimes the term describes any magical creature, including goblins or gnomes: at other times, the term only describes a specific type of more ethereal creature or sprite.^[1] Various folkloristic traditions refer to them euphemistically, by names such as wee folk, good folk, people of peace, fair folk (Welsh tylwyth teg), etc.^[2]

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