#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.

---

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]

---

Monday plug: Love in Penang giveaway runs for another 3 and 1/2 weeks! Enter NOW.

#atozchallenge: Elves

Previous: Dryads

The stillness unnerved him. Where were the foxes that slunk through the bushes in search of prey? Where were the stripe-faced badgers digging for grubs? Where were the owls that hooted in the dark? Where was the wind herself? No, it was unnaturally quiet for an evening out in the woods. His eyes scanned the edges of the path, hoping to see where his daughter had left it. The rain had stopped, but everything was mud and slush, making it almost impossible to track her. He only hoped that she wasn't lying somewhere with broken bones.
There was movement in his peripheral vision. He whipped his head around to make out what it was. He was greeted by the point of an arrow. Darrick stared steadily at the man’s impassive, unreadable face, wondering at the stern, unyielding look in his eyes.  Slowly, Darrick's eyes wandered down the haughty lines to the long, blond tresses that lay thick and straight down to his chest, and the slightly pointed ears that peeked through. He was aware of the soundless movement of people emerging around him until he was surrounded.
“Amused?” The elf lowered his bow. “What are you doing here?”
“Can’t a man take a walk in his own backyard?”
“You've strayed quite a bit from your backyard,” he said, glancing in the general direction of the village.
Darrick followed his gaze. Not one twinkle of light shone through the foliage, nor did any peak of the encircling fence peek through.
“I had need to.”
“Need does not justify your breaking the covenant.”
Covenant? What covenant?”
“Do not try to hide your guilt with protests of ignorance, child. The ancient covenant my father swore with your forefathers must not be broken. The night is ours, boy, as sure as the day is yours. Do you see us break our word? You should not be here now.”
“My daughter is missing. And I know nothing of this covenant you speak of.” An uneasy feeling tickled Darrick's thoughts. What had governed their unwritten laws? What was behind the old wives’ tale of danger in the forests at night? He had been out before - certain herbs had to be harvested by the full moon - but he had never kept to the known paths, always favouring stealthy runs to sacred Druid hideouts, until today.
“Does not your council still rule?”
A short laugh escaped Darrick's throat. “Our council is made up of drunks and thieves. They’ll not remember anything more than where to find the best free wine and women.”
The elf frowned, then looked up at his company and nodded.
“Hey,” Darrick protested as two elves twisted his arms behind his back and tied them together.
“The law was broken, and you must pay. Tomorrow I will speak to your council and rectify this terrible state of affairs.”
“But my daughter -”
“We have not seen her here today, I can assure you.” He paused as one of his companions approached him and whispered into his ear. “Ah, a young girl was seen going into the cottage of the dog-man during rainfall. We have no jurisdiction there, but I can assure you she is safe. For now at least.”
“Who’s jurisdiction is that?”
“She has entered the Old Fairy Kingdom, under the rule of the Fairy Queen.”
“And where is this?”
“This is where the Elven King rules,” the elf said as they threw a bag over Darrick's head.
“What will you do with me?” Darrick asked as he was propelled forward, hands gripping his arms tightly.
“Ah, we shall see.”

Next: Fairies
Back to the theme list.

---

From Wikipedia:

An elf (plural: elves) is a type of supernatural being in Germanic mythology and folklore.^[1][2] Early elves, whose description depends almost entirely on Norse mythology texts, were a race of beings with magical skills, ambivalent towards humans and capable of either helping or hindering them. But Christianized societies were viewing elves in increasingly sinister light.^[3] In Anglo-Saxon England as early as the 10th century, Old English medical books attest to elves afflicting humans and livestock by "elf-shots". The German elf or alp was seen as an "addler" of people in medical books, but already in the High Middle Ages there were prayers warding against it as the agent causing nightmares, and eventually for the alp its identity as nightmare spirits became predominant.

However, I think I'm more influenced by modern fantasy representations of elves, by such writers such as Tolkien and Flewelling. 

#atozchallenge: Dryads

Previous: Centaur

Mary stood watching the trees. They seemed to be crowding onto the path, blocking out the moonlight. Behind her, the sound of Charon’s hooves grew faint. The silence of the trees menaced her.
Charon stopped and turned back to look at Mary.
“What’s the matter?” he called.
“I’m afraid,” she replied.
Charon hesitated unhappily. He didn't want to leave the child alone and yet he would get into a lot of trouble with the Council if he were to go any further. The wind stirred lazily amongst the leaves and his face brightened.
“Euthalia!” he cried, a smile growing on his face. Mary turned to look at him. He was looking deeper into the forest, his back towards the path.
“Euthalia!” Charon cried again. “I have need of you, friend!”
The whispering amongst the trees grew as he called for Euthalia over and over again. Mary backed away from the darkening path until she bumped into Charon. Charon held a protective arm around her shoulders.
“Don’t worry, child. Euthalia will help you.”
“Who is he?”
“She’s my friend,” Charon said as a lithe young woman stepped out from among the trees.
“Associating with humans now? How delightfully naughty of you, Charon. What would Sophea say?”
Charon blushed. “I found her alone in the forest. She was lost and needs help to get home. Can you help her, Euthalia?”
The dryad seemed to almost float over the grass as she circled Mary, inspecting her with her sharp eyes. “Help a tree-killing human?”
“She’s just a child…”
“We - my family does not harm trees, friend dryad,” Mary spoke up, her dark eyes round with wonder. It seemed as if she had stepped into an unknown world this one night.
“You can say anything you like, child, but can you prove it to me?”
“My father is Druid,” she said, pressing down the butterflies in her stomach. “We honour and revere the great oaks of this nation.” The words her father had spoken often echoed in her head. She hoped she was saying them right.
"A druid? In these British Isles? Do they yet survive?" Euthalia said with some astonishment. "I long thought their breed had died out, banished by the Romans, persecuted by the Christians, all that they stood for stripped away."  There was a sadness in her voice, in the way she stood, like a drooping tree.
"He is seer and sorcerer, if you like," Mary said, a little miffed by her reception.
"What is his name?"
"Darrick."
Euthalia spun like the wind, the leaves chattering behind her, the boughs bowing in conspiracy. Stopping nose to nose with Mary, she asked breathlessly, "Darrick Oak-knower?”
Mary nodded.
“Does he know you are here?” Euthalia asked.
“No - he is out searching for Jane, my sister.”
“Ah.” Euthalia closed her eyes, standing as still as a tree, only her hair waving in the soft breeze.
Mary thought she seemed to grow a little translucent, her pale hands taking on a slight tinge of green. She blinked, and rubbed her eyes. The dryad was staring at her curiously, as solid as Mary herself.
“She is safe,” Euthalia said. “Come, let us bring you home before your father has another fright in the night.” She took Mary’s hand. “Goodbye Charon. May the stars be with you.”
“Thank you, Euthalia. May your leaves be ever green.” Charon cantered away as the two girls walked down the path.
This time, the trees seemed to open the way as they passed, allowing the moonlight to shine on them. The feeling of oppression faded away.

Next: Elves
Back to the theme list.

---

From Wikipedia:

A dryad (/ˈdraɪ.æd/; Greek: Δρυάδες, sing.: Δρυάς) is a tree nymph, or female tree spirit, in Greek mythology. In Greek drys signifies "oak." Thus, dryads are specifically the nymphs of oak trees, though the term has come to be used for all tree nymphs in general.[1] "Such deities are very much overshadowed by the divine figures defined through poetry and cult," Walter Burkert remarked of Greek nature deities.[2] They were normally considered to be very shy creatures, except around the goddess Artemis, who was known to be a friend to most nymphs.

#atozchallenge: Centaur

Previous: Baba Yaga

Sometimes a good gallop was what was needed to clear one’s head. So Charon thought as he galloped around the open field, stretching his muscles, putting on some serious speed. He came to an abrupt stop. There was something strange in the air tonight. He lifted his head and sniffed carefully, cursing his muted human nose. There were somethings horses just did better. Still, he could sense that something wasn't right. Something - he spotted it, a little shadow at the edge of the forest. Curious, he trotted over. And backed away.
The child stared up at him with wide eyes. Charon looked over his shoulder, wondering if he could gallop away and let the child think that she was dreaming. But no - she was reaching out to him, holding her hand out as if to touch him.
“May I touch you?” she asked shyly at the last minute.
“I suppose you could,” Charon said uncertainly. He knew he was going to get into trouble with Alexei and the Council. But what was the child doing out alone in the middle of the night? Her touch was gentle and hesitant; she stood on tip toes and stroked his flank with awe in her eyes.
“What are you doing out here?” he asked.
“Mother is sick and Jane didn't come home,” she said. “I thought I would help look for her, but I got lost.”
Two children lost in the woods? Charon thought to himself. How like a fairy tale. I suppose one of them will turn out to be a princess or end up marrying a prince. Or maybe eaten by a witch. Isn't that how all the stories go?
“What are you called?” the child asked, interrupting his thoughts.
“I am Charon,” he answered. “What is your name?”
“Mary. But I mean, what are you?”
“Why, do you not know? I am a Centaur,” he drew himself up proudly.
“A Centaur!” Her breath came out with a whoosh. “Father always said that those were children’s stories.”
“Aren't you a child?”
“Well, yes. I always supposed he meant that it wasn't real.”
Charon almost whinnied in annoyance. “Not real? I’m as real as you are.”
“Yes, but I suppose he couldn't know, not having met you.”
“At any rate, isn't it time you went back home? The moon is high in the sky - now is not a time for children to be out.”
“Yes, but I got lost.”
“Ah, there is that.”
“Do you know how to get back to my home?”
Charon shook his head. “We stay clear of all human habitation. I could bring you to a village, or point you in the right direction, but I wouldn't know if that were yours, so to speak.”
Mary sighed unhappily. “I don’t suppose you've seen Jane wandering about somewhere either, have you?”
Charon shook his head. He ran his fingers through his thick hair teasing them out of their sweaty clumps as he considered what to do. Then he looked up at the sky, tracing the arch of the stars with his eyes. “I suppose I will take you to the nearest village. It’s somewhere in that direction. Come along.”
Mary took his hand as they walked through the forest. Charon stared at her for a while, but didn't shake off her grip. He frequently looked up at the stars to check if they were going in the right direction.
“Can you tell the future?” Mary asked suddenly.
He narrowed his eyes. “Why do you ask?”
“Only Mother said that Centaurs could read the stars and I really wanted to know if she would get well again.”
“Hmph. We don’t foretell the future in that way. We read the signs of the times, but we’re not concerned with the individual workings of humans or horses.”
“Oh.”
“Anyway, we’re here, I think.” He pointed at a well-worn path through the forest. “This should lead you back to your village - or a human village, at any rate.”
“Won’t you come with me?”
Charon shivered. “I’m sorry, I can’t. I’ll be in enough trouble from letting you see me, as it is. We don’t like showing ourselves to humans. You - you won’t say you've seen me, will you? To any human?”
“I wont,” Mary promised. “Thank you,” she said as she let go of his hand and stepped hesitantly onto the path.

Next: Dryads
Back to the theme list.

---

From Wikipedia:

A centaur (/ˈsɛntɔːr/; Greek: Κένταυρος, Kéntauros, Latin: centaurus) or hippocentaur[1][2][3] is a mythological creature with the head, arms, and torso of a human and the body and legs of a horse.[4]

---

Need some love? Check out my giveaway here!

#atozchallenge: Baba Yaga

Previous: Adlet

“What happened then?” Jane waited for Ataneq to continue, but he seemed to be caught up in his memories. Eventually, he shook his head and looked up at her with a wistful smile.
“I took what they could give me - blankets, what food they could spare, a mended spear. As I left, they played the drums and chanted to drive away the evil spirits. I travelled for many days, over tundra and ice alike, always following the setting sun. Before long, I left the familiar places of my youth, continuing on until even the trees changed and the snow melted, until one day people stared at me with curiosity rather than fear. I knew then that I had left the land of my people. Now it was the name of Baba Yaga that terrified them, rather than what I was.”
“Who was she?”
“Was? You mean ‘is’, I think. I’ve not heard of her death yet, though she has lived for hundreds of years. She’s a frightening old woman, weathered and wise. She can be friend or foe, defender or accuser. One does not search for her lightly, and yet, I did. I wonder now at my innocence. Maybe I was too desperate then to be afraid, or maybe I felt I had nothing left to lose. After all, I was feared by my own people, though I was nothing to be afraid of. So I searched for her, asking everyone I could. Most would not answer me, and those who did were increasingly vague. It was like picking out a specific snowflake from a drift of snow.”
Ataneq looked up to see that Jane had fallen asleep by the fire. Tenderly, he picked her up and laid her on the bed, tucking her under the blankets. She stirred.
“Did you ever find her?” she asked sleepily.
Ataneq settled himself by the bed. “Yes, I did. Word of my search soon spread and one day, I found Baba Yaga waiting for me in a snowless clearing.


“Mother, can you help me?’ Ataneq asked, approaching the old woman with caution. He tried to stop himself from staring in awe at the hut that squatted behind her on long, spindly legs. 
“Why should I help you, foreigner?” She didn’t lift her eyes from her mortar and pestle.
“Because no one else can, Mother. The shaman of my home has sent me to you.”
“He has, has he? And why does he think that a crone of Rus has power over that which the seas breaks against? Is not the sea more powerful than a mere woman?”
Ataneq shrugged. “I do not know, Mother. But you are my only hope. Can you help me?”
The old woman stared at him with sharp eyes, seeming to see into his soul. “What will you do for me in return?” she finally said.
“I have nothing to offer,” Ataneq stammered. “What do you wish for?” 
Baba Yaga shook her head, clicking her tongue. “Come back when you do,” she replied, going into her hut. 
He watched despondently as the hut rose on its legs and wandered deeper into the forest.


Checking that Jane had truly fallen asleep, Ataneq curled up by the fireplace, pondering the long-forgotten question.
“What do I have to offer?” he asked the crackling fire. After a hundred years and a million steps, he still did not know.

Next: Centaur
Back to the theme list.
---

From Wikipedia:

In Slavic folklore, Baba Yaga (/ˈbɑːbə jəˈɡɑː/) is a supernatural being (or one of a trio of sisters of the same name) who appears as a deformed and/or ferocious-looking woman. Baba Yaga flies around in a mortar, wields a pestle, and dwells deep in the forest in a hut usually described as standing on chicken legs. Baba Yaga may help or hinder those that encounter or seek her out and may play a maternal role and has associations with forest wildlife. According to Vladimir Propp's folktale morphology, Baba Yaga commonly appears as either a donor, villain, or may be altogether ambiguous.

---

Reminder! The Love in Penang giveaway runs until 5/1!

Cover reveal! (an intermission)

An introvert, Special Agent Francesca moves to Las Vegas to escape her powerful, domineering mother. On arrival, multiple obstacles challenge her. She needs to approach a father she’s never met, a man who doesn’t even know she exists. Then she must play the role of a loving fiancée with a stranger. One who makes her question every unexpected emotion he provokes. Craving the chance for real undercover work, she grabs the opportunity to be involved in cleaning up gang corruption in a nasty neighborhood. When she poses as the new owner of a hotel, the deadly-dangerous situation ramps up and she’s forced to fight her way from one conflict to the next.

Sean Collins, Psychiatrist and LVPD Profiler, has never known anyone like Francesca Donovan. From first sight, he believes her to be a screwball but her beauty and maddening personality attracts him. Despite her prickly disposition, which gets them into a load of trouble, her rotten driving skills and her constant battles, he’s hooked. Once he’s roped into a mock engagement with her, his desire to make it real takes precedence over everything else in his world.

Sean Collins shared the seat kitty-corner in the four-booth set-up. He’d worked late trying to get a patient through a crisis and had gotten as far as the steak house, before hunger grabbed hold and dragged his sorry ass inside. Exhaustion had left his eyes gritty and his brain twisted like a pretzel, but two male voices still got through. Listening to a man unloading on his buddy about a mistaken one-night stand had his attention pretty darn quick.

When the friend’s advice matched with his own ideals of truthfulness between a husband and his wife, he found himself nodding. He didn’t agree with the jerk’s reasoning about being a player but he his basic counsel of honesty was sound.

Not that he was married; hadn’t found a woman he could trust further than he could throw her. What was it with the females in the state of Nevada? Did they all have to get caught up in the hype of the fun city?

Suddenly, a female voice entered his awareness. The husky note in the slightly slurred words was pleasing and he concentrated on what she was saying.

“Don’t listen to your friend. Not only is he an asshole, he’s full of shit. If you love your wife, then don’t tell her—ever.”

What the hell?

The screwball continued in the same vein, proceeding to give unwanted advice to a man who was in a fragile state and probably willing to listen to anything that would get him off the hot seat.

Sean came close to standing up and cutting her off. If he weren’t so tired, he’d have given her a piece of advice. Mind your own business! As a psychologist and profiler who often worked with the cops and saw every kind of misfit out there, he knew she’d most likely wrecked this man’s life. In her final statement, she let the poor guy have it with both barrels.

“In my way of thinking, being the best husband and father you can be will go some ways to making up for being the miserable, lyin’, cheating prick that you are.” Sean heard the noise of a chair being knocked over, a grunted swearword and light footsteps heading toward the door.

Something beyond his power to control brought him to his feet. The redheaded advice-giver stopped and their eyes caught for as long as it took her to stumble. Hers were pure liquid heat, the bluest blue he’d ever seen. Her glance slid past him as she straightened the chair and carefully manoeuvered her way to the door. The light over the entrance caught the coppery-gold highlights in the mane of loose hair flowing every which way over her shoulders and down her slight back. She bumped into the doorframe on her way out, stopped, re-aligned herself and then the nut-job was gone.

Stunned, he slid back down into his booth and the truth hit him. Hell, in Las Vegas there was every kind of mental disorder, maladjusted behavior, psychosis, neurosis and insanity a person could imagine, but some just blew the others right out of the murky pool. That stunning deranged wacko, whose fabulous long legs might get a man to do almost anything in order to get his hands on them, had just ended his otherwise shitty day perfectly. What a fucking shame!

     

FACEBOOK / GOODREADS / WEBSITE / TWITTER / BLOG

Author of The Vicarage Bench Series, Angels with Attitude Series, Vegas Series, Elvis Series and the brand new sizzling romantic suspense series called Undercover FBI. Mimi lives on the East coast of Vancouver Island and writes her romances with tongue in cheek and a mad glint in her eye. “If I can steal a booklover’s attention away from their every-day grind, absorb them into a fantasy love story, and make them care about the ending, then I’ve done my job.”

Hosted by:

#atozchallenge: Adlet

Jane kept a wary eye on the sky as she hurried along the path. Everyone knew that you shouldn't get caught out in the forest when the sun began to dip - and here she was, the sun dangerously low and a storm brewing.
“Were those herbs worth it?” she imagined the village sentry asking, refusing to reopen the gates. “Of course they’re worth it,” she mumbled under her breath. What else has been sustaining Mother? But she had gone too far and forgotten the time. A howl echoed in the distance. Jane hiked up her skirts and tried to run.
Barely thirty steps later, the rain began to pour down in torrents. “Who shelters in the forest at night? Only stupid girls like you,” she berated herself, scanning her surroundings for a place to wait out the storm. A dim light just off the side of the path attracted her attention. Her hesitation lasted seconds.
The neat little cottage was quiet.
“Hello?” Jane called as she hurried under the shelter of the porch. She wondered at the lack of the customary lamp by the doorway; the light she had seen shone through a single window. “Is anyone home?”
The door opened at her touch and she called out again. Nothing stirred, so she closed the door and hurried to the fireplace. She had almost fallen asleep in the warmth when the door slammed shut behind her.
“Who’s that?” she asked, her voice thin and shrill in her ears.
There was the sound of scuffling before a deep voice answered, “Shouldn't I be the one asking who you are?”
“I’m sorry, I didn't mean -”
“No, don’t turn around!”
Jane froze.
“You - you can stay. But - just don’t turn and look at me.”
“What’s wrong with you?” Jane tried to speak in measured tones.
“No - nothing. You’ll just… Just don’t.”
Jane kept her eyes on the fire, trying not to react to the noises behind her or the growing smell of wet dog. “What are you?” she finally asked.
Sudden silence. “What do you mean?”
Taking a deep breath, she turned around. The face of a young man stared at her, his eyes widening in horror. His four feet scrabbled against the wooden floor as he backed into the corner, holding out a towel as if to hide himself.
“What are you? Half man, half dog?”
“I’m an adlet. I won’t harm you,” he said quickly. “I don’t eat humans. I mean, there are some who - but I’m not - I don’t.”
“You were the howl I heard in the forest,” she said in a near whisper.
“You heard me?”
“Were you following me?”
“No, I was out hunting. I didn't know you were in the area. The rain washed away your smell.”
“You don’t smell that great yourself.”
He blushed. “I was caught in the rain.”
“You’re shivering!” she exclaimed. “Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you,” she said as she approached him. “You’d better come to the fire and dry out.”
They stared at each other, each trying to judge the other’s intentions.
“I’ll go this way,” he gestured to the left, “and you can stay that way.” Jane nodded. A comfortable distance maintained, the adlet sighed as he settled down beside the fire. Jane sat opposite him, watching him with curiosity across the hearth.
“Do you have a name? I’m Jane.”
“Ataneq.” He stared dreamily at the fire. “Once, a long time ago, I used to be human.”

The transformation had taken Ataneq by surprise. 
“What have you done, Keelut?” he cried at the fleeing back of his attacker. Picking up his broken spear, he trudged back to the winter encampment. 
He was greeted by the points of many arrows, spears and harpoons. Eventually Qannik took wary steps towards him.
“What is it, wife?” he asked, dropping his hands to his sides. “Why do you cringe from me? What have I done?”
“Ataneq - you are - you are not welcome here anymore.”
“What?”
“You would be a danger to our children. And you know we cannot spare any eyes to keep watching over you.” And you would hate it too, she added silently, hoping that he would understand. 
“You know I wouldn't eat them. You know I have more honour than that!” Ataneq protested. “I would give my life to protect my people!”
“We know, but you wouldn't be able to hunt either. You can’t bear your responsibility to this tribe.”
“Will you come with me?”
She looked down at her feet.
“You must go alone, Ataneq.” Ataneq looked up to see that the shaman had approached them, still in his mask, as if he had just emerged from a trance.
“What have you seen?”
“The spirits say this is an evil thing, too strong for them. But I have heard the echo over the wind. One who may help.”
“Who?”
“Baba Yaga.”
Ataneq frowned. “Who is he? I have not heard of him.”
The shaman shook his head. “She is not of our culture. She lives where the sun sets. That is all I know.”

Continuing in Baba Yaga on 4/2!
Return to theme list.
---

From Wikipedia:

The Adlet (or Erqigdlet) are a race of creatures in the Inuit mythology of Greenland, as well as the Labrador and Hudson Bay coasts. While the word refers to inland native American tribes, it also denotes a tribe with dogs' legs and human bodies.^[1] The lower part of the body of the canine Adlet is like that of a dog and their upper part is like a man's. All Adlet run quickly, and usually encounters between men end up in battle, with man as the victor.^[2]

In Inuit lore, they are often portrayed as in conflict with humans, and are supposed to be taller than Inuit and white people.^[3] In some stories they are cannibals.^[4] Inuit from Labrador use the term Adlet, tribes west of the Hudson Bay use the word Erqigdlit.^[1] The monstrous race begotten by the Adlet was identified with inland native Americans by the Labrador and Hudson Bay tribes; Inuit from Greenland and Baffin Land, which had no native American neighbors, use the term to refer to the half human, half canine creatures.^[5]

---

P/S in other matters, visit the GIVEAWAY page to win a copy of Love in Penang! (Yes, I edited that. IT'S ME!)

Friday Flash, A to Z, Divergent, Books and rambling about everything else!

I was thinking of doing a Friday Flash, but I think I need to concentrate on working out my A to Z posts. I'm working on E right now, and it seems the Elves want to fight over some obscure treaty or covenant that the men (or rather, the one man in trouble) have no clue about. I still have a long way to go and looking at the rate I've been writing... this does not bode well.

In other news, I've just watched Divergent. And Four, oh, Foooouuuurrrrrrr. *sigh* I don't know if I would fangirl enough about Theo James, but Four. Mmmmm =)

Comic-Con 2013 - Thursday (Photo credit: robjtak)

Okay, maybe I should finally go read the book. Which has been sitting in my TBR list for a few years. But...

In other other news, I just bought 30 books at the recent Big Bad Wolf box sale. My unread shelves are overflowing. I have 3 or 4 books in my Kindle/iPad waiting to be reviewed. I don't know how to arrange books on my shelf anymore. I need more shelves.

Oh and GIVEAWAY! Go get some love with my giveaway now!

*heads back to writing*

---

P/S we're hopping within the hop for Supernatural themed A to Z. If you think you fit the bill, join here!

Narratives: Who am I?

We've reached Exodus as part of our cell group's Bible study, and I stayed up until 2 a.m. on Monday night (uh, I mean Tuesday morning?) prepping slides (and getting distracted by YouTube and Dreamworks' Prince of Egypt) because I felt like it (totally unnecessary, but oh well). And now I'm staying up late Tuesday night, after said cell group, writing this. (Why, I wonder, why? Why can't I just go to sleep like a normal person?)

Moses' questions and protests (Read Exodus 3 and 4) when he was called by God to go back to Egypt and deliver the Israelites are questions that rise often in my life. Not always in the same sequence, not always only once, but often over and over again - especially the first one, "Who am I?"

"Who am I, that I should go to Pharaoh, and that I should bring the sons of Israel out of Egypt?" (Ex 3:11)

Who is he, indeed. Only a son of the line of Levi, the line of the priests (though the priesthood hadn't been instituted yet, so maybe that doesn't count?). Only the adopted son of the previous Pharaoh's daughter and therefore the step-brother of the current Pharaoh, a Prince of Egypt. I think that makes for added misery/conflict to the whole "let my people go" saga.

Who am I is the recurrent question in most of our lives today, maybe because the narratives in our lives often say we're only average, nothing special, so we can't do anything much. Maybe we buy in to the narrative that says I must be a rich white male to do anything worth noticing, or I must be a starving genius from a third world country to be recognised. The narratives in our heads and in our books tell us that nobody notices the middle-class, working class kids, the in-betweens, who try their best because they aren't special, precocious, or obnoxious enough to be watched. Only the outliers, the very good or the very bad, the Hero or the Villian, the ones with the special talent, get the attention we crave.

We're so plagued with self-doubt and self-esteem issues as a generation (or two) that it isn't funny anymore. So we find the need to pigeon hole ourselves, to define who we are by what we do (or at least by what we do best), or who we're related to (as long as they're famous), or who we know (the more famous or infamous the better), or any other thing that can somehow make us sound better and greater than those around us. Yet the more we try to attract attention to ourselves, the worse we feel about ourselves. There was a guy who tried to kill himself because he couldn't get the "perfect selfie". Our self-esteem issues are getting way out of control.

If you were to ask me who I am, I could give you a myriad lables, depending on who you are to me. I am a daughter, a cousin, a niece, an auditor, a writer, an editor, a singer, an actress, a worship leader, a dancer, a Christian, a child of God, a failure, a winner, a manager, a teacher, a blogger, a thinker, a reader, a hoarder, a single, a young adult.
These are the sum of my parts, but they are not all of me. I'm more complex that these titles imply, and yet, I use them because it's simpler that way, and if I were to excel in something (oh look, I edited a book that's on the bestseller list - I AM NOW SOMEBODY) then that's a way to bolster up my faltering ego, to prove to myself (and others) that I can do something.

Then you get God's answer to that question: It's nothing to do with who you are.

"But I will be with you, and this shall be the sign for you, that I have sent you: when you have brought the people out of Egypt, you shall serve God on this mountain" (Ex 3:12)

Like, what? Does that even make sense? And yet it does, because it takes the pressure off little ole fragmented you, and puts it all on the great big God of creation. It means that it doesn't matter who you think you are, or how much you doubt and hate yourself. All that really matters is that God Himself has chosen you and has promised to be with you until what He's called you to do has come to pass.

It's a difficult answer to come to terms with; it's one I struggle with most frequently. My inadequacies and failures often feel like a millstone around my neck, dooming me to further failures - sometimes not because I'm not good enough, but because I don't believe I am, therefore I don't see the need to try. There is a desperate need to change that narrative in my head, to still the voices that whisper "if you don't try at least you won't fail." And maybe that's why I've been coming face-to-face with an overwhelming wall of love, as if God is standing in my way saying, "look here, I've told you this before and I'm telling you this again, and I'm just going to shove it in your face until it gets into your head."

I'm desperate for a Word to tell me what to do, where to go, and all I keep getting is Anna, I love you. You're precious and special to me. Who you are is more important than what you do. I've called you, yes I've called you, but first and foremost, I've called you to be Mine. Anna, listen. Trust me. You don't need to 'love me enough' because I have love enough for both of us. I have faith enough to keep you going. I am that passion in your soul you've been holding tightly to. I am that song in your ear you've been listening for. I am the words in your heart you've been trying to write. Everything you've done for Me I know, I see, I remember. Your faithfulness is your righteousness, your steadfastness is proof enough of your love. I am a jealous God and I am jealously in love with you. I am a jealous God and I am jealously guarding you for Me.

Who am I then?
There's only one fitting answer to that question: I am His. 

#atozchallenge: the great and awesome theme reveal! #atozreveal

Back in December I was on a nature walk (haha, so unlike me) with my uncle’s family up in Cradle Mountain, Tasmania. Part of the trail was covered in planks, and it was pretty cold (at 6am!!) so there was frost on the ground. It was pretty magical. My head started filling with fairy stories, and then it struck me - how come all the cold places have really nice fairy tales? (Or at least Disney-fied ones?) Eastern folk tales seem to be more gory and scary and not (yet) cleaned up for kids - they seem targeted to frighten, rather than to inspire. I placed the idea out of my head until I visited in South Lake Tahoe, California in January and had my first experience ever of snow. That’s when I started to think seriously about it.

Snow. Wonder. Magic. Magical places. Fairy tales. Fairies and pixies and imps. Noble centaurs, light-footed elves and gruff dwarves. Dragons that swooped overhead, regal and majestic. I've always loved me a good fantasy story anyway, especially when there’s magic involved! Some of my favourite writers include Robin Hobb, JRR Tolkien, CS Lewis, Brandon Sanderson, Lynn Flewelling, Terry Pratchett and Garth Nix. It’s all magic, magical systems, strange and wonderful lands and lots of different sentient, maybe magical, species.

In some of my recent writings, when I’m not being contemporary, I’ve also been toying with writing in a more fairy tale style. A little archaic sometimes, with some old-world charm (I think).

Putting all of these together, I’ve come up with my A to Z theme:

flash fiction: mythical creatures

Some of these stories will be inter-related. Some of them aren't. It really depends on where the stories have taken me and the places they've led me to. I hope they take you to magical places too. Because of my snow bias, I'm going to be more Western/European biased as well, since I grew up on British books anyway. I apologise in advance if the places aren't quite as real as they should be (especially if you actually live there) because there's only so much wikipedia can tell me about places I've only been to in books. Feedback is always welcome!

I'll be updating the index as I continue writing (as they may change as I continue writing). Links have been added to the pre-scheduled posts (that I'm really lagging on!) but you won't be able to get to the posts until they actually go live! So BE PATIENT.
P/S They're all scheduled for noon Malaysian time (+8GMT) so if you live somewhere further West you won't have to wait as long as those in the East. 

Index:

• Adlet
• Baba Yaga
• Centaur
• Dryads
• Elves
• Fairies
• Ghillie Dhu
• Half-elf
• Imps
• Jaculus
• Kelpies
• Leanan sídhe 
• Mermaids
• Naiads
• Ogre
• Phoenix
• (Fairy) Queen
• Ragana
• Sylph
• Trolls
• Unicorn
• Vila
• Wyrm
• Xiuhcoatl
• Yara-ma-yha-who
• Zână

In conjunction with A to Z, because I think it's a great blogfest, I'd like to give YOU a chance to win a copy of my book, Love in Penang. The giveaway will run from today (woohoo! Theme reveal!) all the way through April. More details are on the dedicated giveaway page here.

2022 update: Deleted old code. This A to Z Challenge has been compiled (and edited) into a novella, which you can get here!

Print version of Imaginary Friends launches this Saturday!

LAST MINUTE EXCITING NEWS!!!!

Because I'm just SO bad at keeping up with everybody and everyone, I just realised that my friend Melanie Lee is launching the print version of her book Imaginary Friends: 26 Fables for the kid in us this Saturday, 2pm at the Putrajaya International Book Festival.

And I can't go because I've been making lunch plans AND tea plans like crazy.

So if you're somewhere in the Klang Valley, and are planning to go for the book fair, PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE go and support her! (I wants an autograph *throws fit*)

The illustrations have been awesomely reworked (from what I can tell from the updates in her facebook page) giving it a more edgy, contemporary style than before.

I've previously reviewed the original e-book here in all its old-style, cutesy glory! (Fun youtube song included!) Go get it, 'kay?

---

P/S - Check back here tomorrow for the A to Z theme reveal. And if you haven't signed up for A to Z yet, DO SO NOW.

PP/S - Imaginary Friends was born out of A to Z. REALLY WAN. Well, I think so anyway.

PPP/S - The Love in Penang giveaway starts tomorrow as well.

#bookreview: God's Loophole by Dan Rix

God's Loophole by Dan Rix
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Jeremy Rockwell has built the bubble - a prototype machine that isolates users from reality, letting them directly experience quantum effects, such as manipulate individual atoms. Rockwell brings in his girlfriend, the mysterious Raedyn Summers, and his brother, sports jock Gabriel, as business partners in his new tech start up.

Fighting against time to produce results for their backers, Raedyn and Gabriel spend more and more time using the machine. Even as they become addicted to the experience of being in the bubble, strange effects soon plague them; things that Jeremy cannot explain away scientifically.

Quantum physics (or any science, really) isn't my strong point so if there's anything wrong with the science, I couldn't say. It felt plausible to me, though there were probably things that could have been explained better. What I can say though is that Rix's writing has continued to improve from my first brush with him (Triton) and his earlier effort (Entanglement). The story pulls you in quickly and the book is paced fast enough that you don't find yourself worrying about them so much. In fact, it just adds to the tension when you get to the what-the-heck-just-happened ending and you wait for the next book...

Note: I received a pre-release copy of this book as part of Dan Rix's mailing list.

View all my reviews

See my reviews of Triton and Entanglement here.

God's Loophole will be released on March 27, 2014.

When an airplane disappears

Tick.
Time seems to stand still.
Eternities passed before the next -
Tock.
piece of news filtered
in, which didn't say much either. When
Tick.
will daddy come home?
The children ask, not knowing the pain,
Tock.
the anguish it brings
in its innocence. Wait and hope, wait-
Tick.
and pray, wait and wait
For the miracle that may never
Tock.
happen. But may. 'Cos
no one knows yet. And maybe no news
Tick.
is good news or no
news is worse news. I guess it depends.
Tock.

---

Because fiction is how I deal with thoughts I am incapable of processing.

Official Malaysia Airlines announcements
Where is MH370 - curated Tumblr
Mirror.co.uk - Live
Reuters - Timeline of events

In search of my innate Malaysian voice

I don't listen much to TED talks, but this caught my eye whilst browsing Facebook.

I identify with her in many ways, growing up reading British and American books, growing up writing stories that have a very Western slant in my extremely Asian surroundings. I believe it was Shamini Flint (or was it Preeta Samarasan?) who talked about something like this as well in last year's Georgetown Literary Festival, questioning why there aren't stories about our Malaysian experience, about the things that make us, well, us.

I'd like to believe that my writing has started to change in recent years, that I'm allowing my innate Malaysian voice to emerge more and more. The yellow-haired princesses of my colouring books and early writings have changed to brunettes and black-haired vixens, and yet, there is still the fact that even my choice of words in writing still reveals that bias. 

Maybe it's my lack of proficiency at my own national language or my supposed mother tongue. Maybe it's the tail end of anglophilia that still has its grip on my heart. Or maybe it's a subconscious mindset that I need to start changing.

Either way, there needs to be a Malaysian Voice to support this growing awareness of who we are as a nation. Even as people are standing up to be counted politically, yearning to make a change, there needs to be a new Voice of literature standing up to pull us together, saying, this is who we are. This is what has shaped us. 

Not just for us.
But so that others can understand us too.

#bookreview: The Reluctant Prophet by Nancy Rue

The Reluctant Prophet: A Novel by Nancy Rue
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Reminiscent of Charles Sheldon's In His Steps, The Reluctant Prophet follows the story of Allison Chamberlain as she gets a divine nudge to do crazy things - like buy that Harley Davidson she doesn't even know how to ride. And care for that broken prostitute and her loud-mouthed son who have just lost their father and grandfather. Allison isn't always certain that she's hearing God's voice right, but that doesn't stop her from doing her best to follow what she believes is His will for her life.

Rue addresses several issues in this book - the call of God to take care of the broken and the downtrodden, the religiosity that has crept into the church, and the ability of one person, who opens her heart to God, to start making changes in her community. One of the things I liked about this story was the way it dealt with doubt and faith - and not knowing all the answers. It opens a place for dialogue for people who are struggling with their calling, especially when it is not quite accepted by the church.

Another thing I think this story addresses is the fact that people in the church can and should do ministry with the help of non-believers - one of Chamberlain's greatest support was her fellow HOG, Chief, who's quite a skeptic about God.

The book is not without it's faults: sometimes things just seem to fall into place too easily and too quickly. Sure, Rue is showing that God is sovereign and he uses our background and past even before we knew Him to equip us to do what He wants us to do today, but I would think that a more faith-driven approach might have been a better touch.

On a whole, The Reluctant Prophet was a great read - one of the better Christian fiction I have read in a while. This is the kind of thing that "Christian fiction" needs more of. (Well, I think so anyway).

View all my reviews

I think I'd go far enough to say that this is one of the kinds of books that I'd like to be writing. (Besides awesome swashbuckling, epic type fantasy saga, ahahaha). I just think there needs to be more real stories out there about faith. Not the types where everything is peachy and kind and nice and the worst problem you face is that you're not getting that promotion you wanted, or the guy you had your eyes on has fallen in love with someone else and you're so sure you're going to be single for the rest of your life, but things that talk about what true love in action looks like.

But things that make you question your faith and how you're living it.

#fridayflash: Son of the Sun, a snippet

He walked on unseeingly until he had passed far beyond the town before he stopped and looked around him. The verdant forest around him hummed with life and he stood in awe as he watched birds of bright colours flash across the skies above him, lighting from branch to branch. He leaned against a large rock, listening to the stream that bubbled nearby. He wanted to plunge into the water, to hide his pain and disappointment in the hands that had held him all this time. He wanted to float on its waves until it led him back home.

"Why do you sigh so loudly, little human?" a voice of endless wells said softly into his ear.

"Who are you?"

The rock beside him moved. "Does it matter who I am before you answer my question?"

Danis scrambled away as a scaled head raised itself and a bright gold eye looked down at him.

"I suppose it does not, O Great Dragon," Danis said, stammering. "I'm sorry, I didn't realise I was leaning on you."

"No. Most of you do not until I reveal myself," the Dragon said. "But you have not answered my question yet."

"I sighed because I could not find a wife. None of them would have me."

"And this wife is important to you, little one?"

"I suppose. Everyone of my age has one."

"And what is this 'wife' that everyone has but you do not?"

"A wife - well, a wife would be my partner and my love. We would raise children together and -"

"Ah, you look for a mate!" The Dragon looked ponderously upon him and Danis wondered if he was quite safe. "Why is there none for you in the town?"

"They say I am too old."

"You? Old? You are but a fraction of my age and I too have yet to find a mate."

"It is different with us. We do not live as long as your kind do."

"Hm, I suppose so."

A silence fell between them as the dragon continued to stare at Danis and Danis nervously backed away a step at a time.

"I apologise for disturbing your rest," Danis said. "I will go now."

"Wait."

Danis turned back to face the dragon's two burning eyes.

"Go north, little human. Go north until the winds blow cold and you walk on water. Go north, and there you will find her." The dragon blinked once, twice, and then it spread its mighty wings and flew away with a might rush of wind, leaving Danis' words floating unheard behind it: Is that a prophecy?

There was no answer to his question and all the forest was quiet now, his voice having frightened away all but the hardiest predators. He pulled his cloak around him, hugged his pack of bread and continued on the road. 

---

So this is a little snippet of a WIP that has been in progress since... 2012. Darn. That's a long time. 

Anyway, I thought it would be a nice teaser to the overall theme I have in mind for the A to Z challenge. 

Don't forget to reveal your theme with us on March 21! (Details and sign up here)

Also, the first ever A to Z twitter chat (#AZchat) will be coming to you Friday 2/28/14 at 6pm EST. Find out more here. 

P/S don't worry if you miss it. We're hoping to make it a weekly thing! 

#bookreview: The Mind Readers & The Mind Thieves by Lori Brighton

The Mind Readers by Lori Brighton
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Cameron Winters has always been the freak mind reader trying desperately to appear normal. Then one day, Lewis shows up and tells her that there are others like her. Defying her grandmother, whose only wish is to protect her, she runs away with Lewis for the promise that Aaron, her father's friend, will be able to teach her all that she needs to know about how to use her powers and to protect herself.

I downloaded this on one of my frequent "free download" sprees and opened it only today as I had a long transit at the airport. The book had me engrossed and I'm off to get the second one to continue the story!

The Mind Thieves by Lori Brighton
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

So Cameron Winters finally has a semblance of a normal life until a mysterious man named Maddox barges into her life claiming that he's been sent to bring her to her father - except that her father has been dead for over a decade. Things spiral out of control when armed men chase after her, and she is forced to trust him after being separated from her grandmother.

The only problem I have with this book is that Cameron is bouncing back and forth between who she trusts until you get a little confused yourself. I suppose that could be part of the suspense...

View all my reviews

I suppose I'll get round to reading the third book, The Mind Games, soon.

Glorifying God with your talents (Be yourself!)

So I have about 1.5 hours in the San Francisco Airport until my plane boards. I figured that's enough time for one post, even though a post normally takes me about 2 hours. Hah. I just have to be less long-winded then. Or less picky. Or less... distracted. (Definitely less distracted. Shoo, facebook!)

I've been kind of wanting to write a proper proper post for a while now, but have been busy travelling and then being distracted and then being tired and then being busy working and then... you know, life doesn't just want you to sit down and reflect and have a cup of tea and write rambles sometimes. But since this is down time anyway...

Well, during one of the cell groups I attended here, Iris asked "what do you think God is speaking to you about?" (or something along those lines). I think the biggest thing for me, which has been felt over and over again every week at church, is just the feeling of release, that it's okay to just let go and do stuff, because it glorifies God. I'm going to need to backtrack a long way to explain this properly, I think. I'm not even sure if I know how to explain it properly.

A gazillion years ago (or maybe about fifteen?), we were having one of those cell group days when it was just us faithful three - Josh, Fran and I. So we decided to just do extended worship (I think we walked out for supper after that, or that could have been another cell meet) and I remember Josh saying something like that I would bless people with my song, with my harmonies. (As you can tell now, I don't have a very good memory.) And I kept that word, because it was precious to me.

Then somewhere along the way, I became afraid. Self-conscious. Part of it was the worry that I was wanting to sing, wanting to do all this stuff for my own ego, because I liked doing it, and because I was good at it. Part of it was the introverted me getting shy when the spotlight came and when people praised me. And I think what confused me a lot was that strange feeling of wanting to be praised but not knowing how to respond to it, mixed with the feeling of not wanting to be praised and letting my gifts glorify God, jumbled up with the voice that said if no one notices or acknowledges what I'm doing, I'm just not good enough.

I don't know if anyone else feels the same way. (Please raise your hand if you do. Virtually, of course.) The question I think I really had was how do you know if you're doing this for God or for your own pride? I guess this is especially relevant for any Christian involved in stage ministries (singing, music, writing, - anything that showcases a visible talent) because it's easy to start serving in these ministries for God, and then get distracted and start doing it for your own ego. And all the while telling yourself that you're doing it for God.

Anyway, I guess what happened was that I started holding back. I didn't want to stand out, I didn't want to seem like I was showing off, I didn't want to push stuff, because of the thought "what will people say?" (I struggle with this a lot). And I felt what God has really been telling me this whole while is, I've given you talents for you to USE them.

So I tell myself - It doesn't matter what people say. It doesn't matter if I'm singing too loud. It doesn't matter if I look weird. It doesn't matter because if I'm doing it for God, and if my motives are pure, who is man to judge me?

This is especially crucial for me at this time, because my head is running full steam ahead with a gazillion plans - a new musical on the way (hopefully!), a creative arts team to start up, a whole creative arts network to build across Malaysia. The check is always to remember why I want to do this - not for myself, not for the glory, but to be able to build a ministry, build a place where people, creative people, can mirror God's beauty and creativity in our world.

There's much more to be said about this, but there are announcements and signs going up at the gate although there's another half hour to go before boarding but I get antsy about this kind of thing, so I'm going to stop here.

I don't know if it's made much sense because I don't have time now to read through the whole chunk of text I just vomited out but I hope it makes some sense to you.

So, goodbye America.

I'm on my way home. :)