I'm so very excited to introduce you to my cover artist & author friend, Sheri McGathy.
Tell
us a little bit about your latest release...and about The Storyteller.
My latest release is also the first book I ever
wrote. It has gone through a few morphs in its time. Even with, or perhaps
despite of, the “first novel” missteps, Elfen
Gold continues to hold a special place in my heart.
This release takes the previous versions: Elfen Gold – The Season of Gold and Elfen
Gold – The Season of Silver, and reunites them back into one volume, the
way it was first written. I also left the tale as is, filled with all the
wonder of a new author who has yet to realize that the writing journey isn’t at
all simple or as innocent as she first imagined. I wanted to leave the tale as
is rather than rewrite it into something it was never intended to be. It is the
tale I wanted to tell when I took my first feeble steps on a journey I continue
to this day.
Elfen
Gold
and I have come full circle.
The Storyteller, a voice/character I also used in The Birth of Spring and Summersong, was born within the pages of
Elfen Gold. When I created him and
his narrative, I thought of it as a way to convey parts of the tale that I
didn’t really want to write. New writer J
Elfen
Gold
actually started out as a story poem. Forty-eight pages of prose that rhymed,
can you just imagine! The way the poem was written lent itself to a storyteller
feel. So, it seemed natural to me to transfer that into the novel. I honestly
didn’t think he would create such a mystery to my readers. Rather than asking
me about Ra-May or Michall, all I ever heard was: Who is the Storyteller? To which I would reply: You know I know. Do you really want me to
tell you?
No one ever did.
The Storyteller has become as dear to me as the book
that gave him birth.
May the magic always brighten your world ~ Sheri L.
McGathy
Exc
erpt from ELFEN
GOLD – A STORYTELLER TALE
The
Blurb:
Elfen
Gold ~ The adventure begins…. A Storyteller Tale by Sheri L. McGathy
“Gather
round. Aye, gather near, and I will spin you a tale of magic from a time long
since lost to lore. Come and I will tell of elves and the kingdom of Ra-Jee, a
kingdom now forgotten in the mists of enchantment. “This tale is one of
sacrifice and sorrow, yet one of hope offered to a future not yet written.”
The
Storyteller curled his gnarled fingers over the worn top of his cane and
smiled. “And it is a tale of a young elfen maiden named Ra-May and the human
male, Michall, she is destined to meet.
“Come,
join me as I tell of these two very different and unique individuals, brought
together by fate, and guided by ancient magic as they venture forward to save
Ra-Jee—or die trying.
“And
so,” whispered the old Storyteller. “The tale begins….”
Once
Upon a Dream
Michall
sat beside the forest pool pondering his own melancholy reflection. His image
shimmered as it floated atop the pool’s silvery surface. Like his reflection,
his thoughts had no anchor, wandering to and fro, backward then forward, like
some endless tug-of-war.
To
feel so unsettled while at his little pool was a strange emotion. It had always
been his sanctuary from the confusion surrounding him.
Yet,
this day, the glimmering water with its soft, gentle murmurs offered no peace.
The water was tranquil; it was his mind that was full of murky debris.
He
leaned back with a heavy sigh and surrendered to his unease, allowing his
thoughts to roam where they chose.
He
drifted, effortlessly recalling a succession of fleeting moments from his
youth, until one memory surfaced that refused to lay meek. Its bold demand for
attention forced all other thoughts far into the background while awakening
emotions he’d buried deep within himself—so deep that his subconscious had
relegated them to the faded remnants of dreams…until now.
He
recalled the forgotten cycle had dawned like countless others, with little to
mark it dissimilar, but it had felt distinctive to him then.
An
odd feeling of inadequacy had overcome him, leaving him inundated with
emptiness. He felt completely entombed by oppressive sadness, shrouded by a
dark, threatening cloud. He’d been quite young at the time, and not
understanding the disquiet, it had frightened him.
He’d
happened upon the pool that same spring morn, although he’d not come looking
for sanctuary from the regiment of his daily life. He’d happened across the
pool in his one great act of rebellion. His headlong flight of escape—escape
from trying to be all that others expected him to be.
He’d
run that cycle to be free of tutors, of duties, and all the things others said
he must know because of who he was—and he’d run from the fear that gripped his
heart. That morn, he didn’t wish to be a prince, youngest child of the House of
Doran. He’d just wanted to be a little boy named Michall, responsible to no
one.
So,
he’d rebelled that long ago spring morn—rebelled
against rules, restrictions, and station. He’d yelled and stormed in a most
unprincely manner, then raced out of the palace toward the stables. Once
mounted, he cleared the courtyard and gave his steed free rein.
The
wind buffeted his small frame, sending his long, thick locks trailing behind
him to join the wind in a spiritual dance. He was free, if only for a while.
For one brief moment, he was the wind, wild and unhindered.
His
horse had run on and on without him caring in which direction they headed. Then
he’d felt the wind die away and his senses slowly return. His mount was spent,
its weary limbs quivering with exhaustion. It could run no farther.
He
dismounted.
He
was within a small, secluded glade nestled deep in the royal forest, staring at
an inviting pool that stood at its center.
He
knelt at the edge of the water and let the reflections skimming its surface
console his troubled thoughts. The cool liquid slid smoothly over his fingers
as he trailed them lightly through the water, the action creating tiny rings
that skipped over the once calm surface. The lapping sounds caused by the
gentle rippling whispered to him, shooing away the last dregs of his anger.
Without
being consciously aware of it, he dozed.
Within
the dream, he saw beautiful things—images that floated within a misty reality
woven from pure light.
Drawn
to the glow, Michall approached the weave, but, strangely, he walked as a man,
not the child he knew himself to be.
The
man…or himself…stood beside the pool of silver, caressed by the glowing light
of a growing enchantment. On impulse, he looked across the water and was
surprised to see he wasn’t alone.
The light of the magic wrapped itself
about them as he looked upon the maiden watching him from the far shore. She
belonged to the enchantment, he was sure it could be no other way. No real
being could be so perfect.
The
sight of her made his heart ache. Her golden eyes pierced his soul. He’d never
known such exquisite pain, nor joy, and thought with some dismay, that he
finally felt complete.
He
wanted to call to her, ask her name, yet said nothing for fear that in breaking
the silence, he would break the spell that was upon him. So instead, he stood
beside the pool, in a body not his own, and watched her in silent agony.
She
met his stare, holding it as she pointed downward toward the little pool. His
gaze reluctantly left her face, traveling the length of her arm to look upon
the pool’s shining surface.
The
water had hardened and took on the true features of a mirror, yet, unlike a
mirror, gave nothing back—no reflections to mimic him. A cold chill ran down
his spine and the small boy in him grew afraid.
The
pool’s hard, slick surface changed, turning a golden hue before his eyes. His
fear turned to shock as his mind sounded off its own warnings. What abounds within this glade?
Images
formed within the watery depths—images of things he’d never known, but somehow
knew. He saw tall towers stretching skyward from a lake of crystal blue, while
slender bridges arched outward toward a shore draped in shadowy green. A palace
with walls of purest white bordered the lake’s far edge, its ethereal beauty a
haunting reflection upon the watery surface.
People
in soft flowing robes strolled on manicured lawns and across the delicate
bridges, moving as one toward the towers. Laughter filled the air.
Then
darkness descended over the once blue skies. Screams rode the wind as
panic-stricken faces looked upward in confusion, their cries suddenly silenced
by the growing black void. The source of the darkness stood upon a great golden
dais set between the tall towers, a thing of evil that sucked the life from the
air and filled it with its foul breath.
Michall
started to turn away, unable to abide the destruction, then hesitated when he
saw a man standing near the edge of the dais, cradling a small babe in his
arms.
The
evil turned toward this man, its darkness swooping down as a falcon would his
prey.
Somehow,
Michall understood he must act, he must give them his strength. Instinct alone
drove him as he stepped toward the vision. When he moved, a great sword
suddenly appeared in his hand, its power surging through him.
As
Michall thrust the sword’s sharp tip into the water, a blinding flash erupted
from the rent, rendering him sightless. The light drove into the darkness, its
force throwing Michall backward upon the ground.
When
his sight returned, he sought the pool’s surface. The scene had changed. The
man and babe had vanished. The evil thing screamed, the sound bounding across
the land in resounding waves.
The
valley Michall so admired lay in ruin. He looked to where the maiden stood, her
tears leaving watery trails down her pale cheeks. She held out her hand to him,
and then pulled it back to clutch her heart. She began to fade.
“Wait,”
Michall said. “Don’t go. Tell me why. Tell me why you’ve come. Are these events
of things to come, or things that have already passed? Do you warn, or do you
seek to punish me for my disobedience?”
Upon
the winds came a low, wistful sigh, “Ra-Jee, Ra-Jee, Ra-Jeeeee.”
Then
Michall awoke, or had he ever been asleep?
All
his instincts told him what he’d seen had been real. He looked down at his
hands, inspecting them for change. He was no longer a man, but a little boy
lying beside a small pool in a forest glade.
Awash
in emotions, he grieved for the loss of the maiden. Whether real or not, having
seen her, he knew his life was forever changed. He laid his head down beside
the pool of silver moonlight and allowed himself the luxury of tears.
Again,
the old memory faded. He’d not thought of that long-ago cycle, or the vision in
many phasings, and wondered why he should choose to recall it so clearly now.
Still, if he was to be honest, he’d carried the horrors of that cycle with him
ever since.
He
remembered how useless and out of sorts he’d felt after returning home. His
parents knew he was troubled but reasoned it centered about his recent
outburst. They’d left him alone with his thoughts.
For
many full turns thereafter, a terrible foreboding shadowed him, his sleep
plagued by nightmares—evil, horrid scenes, causing him to wake screaming of the
dream city and its ultimate destruction.
Each
new cycle saw him more sullen and moody, withdrawing farther from his friends,
and snapping at his sisters whenever one penetrated too far into his inner
sanctum.
Unable
to understand, his parents had summoned specialists, hoping their skills could
somehow soothe their son’s troubled mind. But the specialists found they could
do nothing to dispel whatever demons haunted Michall’s dreams. Rumors
circulated throughout the grounds that the young prince was slowly going
insane.
In
desperation, Michall’s father, King Mikam, gave up on the so-called medical
profession and turned to mystical ways. He summoned an old soothsayer rumored
to know all there was to know of magic—evil or good. King Mikam begged the man
to try whatever was necessary to help the young prince.
Michall
had sat with Helmon-Dy-e, the “magic man,” as he’d dubbed him, and told of all
he’d witnessed by the pool. Helmon-Dy-e had listened patiently, nodded often,
and occasionally waved, but always coaxed him to continue.
When
Michall had cried out the last of his tale, Helmon-Dy-e had reached over and
patted the prince’s hand. “Listen to me, boy, for I’ll tell you, and you alone,
the secrets behind your veiled eyes. You’re not mad, child. No, no, not mad,
only chosen.”
Michall
jerked his head up.
Helmon-Dy-e
laughed. “Come now. Don’t look so stunned. Is it so hard to believe that you
could possess magic?”
Michall
said nothing.
“Listen
and believe,” Helmon-Dy-e said. “A very long time ago, long before our time,
there was a place called Ra-Jee. I know this to be true. My Masters taught me
of this place and I have no wish to doubt their words. No mortal place was this
Ra-Jee. No, it was a valley filled with magical beings known as elves.”
“There’s
no such things as elves,” Michall said, his chin lifting in challenge.
“Oh,
no? Well, regrettably, there isn’t now.” Helmon-Dy-e sighed and shook his head.
“But once, long ago, they walked our world. Once, they lived and breathed.
There were great numbers of them, existing in our world then, as easily as we
live here now. Then one cycle, Ra-Jee and its race disappeared. No one knows
what happened. There are always rumors to consider. Perhaps your dreams are the
answer to the riddle. Perhaps you’ve been given, not a burden, but a gift, a
chance to see what no mortal has seen.”
“But,
if these visions are from the past, and the maiden a being departed, why do I
dream endlessly of Ra-Jee’s destruction? Why does it haunt me?”
“My
Prince, magic is a tool rarely understood. It comes and gifts so very few that
answers evade us.” He shrugged. “I think now that you understand these dreams
are of the past, and that there is nothing you can do to help Ra-Jee, your
nightmares will ebb, and eventually fade into nothingness.
“One
cycle, very soon, you will sleep and your dreams will be filled with promise
and hope. You may not even remember these trying times. Don’t fight the demons,
rather, let them play themselves out and be done.”
“But
what of this pool where the visions first appeared?” Michall whispered.
“I
wonder myself about the pool. Perhaps it was once a doorway to that enchanted
kingdom. Maybe a small bit of magic remains, even this far into the future.
You, a gifted one, may have felt its lingering call. Who can really say?”
Helmon-Dy-e
had been right. The dreams disappeared as quickly as they’d appeared and
Michall had tucked the memory of them deep within his mind where they no longer
troubled him.
Yet,
this cycle, the memory came back with startling clarity. How could he have
buried those visions? How was it possible he’d forgotten the maiden? Now that
he recalled her, he couldn’t put her from his mind. To have been shown such
beauty, to have found his kindred soul, only to remember he would never know
her was a cruel irony. She was gone from his realm, lost in her own time,
hundreds of phasings past.
Gripping
his gloves in his balled fists, he took one last wistful look at the pool, then
turned to remount. He must return to the palace. It wouldn’t do to be late for
his birthing celebration. He felt a prickle along his neck and turned again
toward the silvery reflections cast by the pool. The reflection of the man he’d
grown to be stared back at him, the same man from his long forgotten dream….
“…And
a very lonely young man,” said the Storyteller. “He’d been all his life. His
eyes, dark and swirling with barely concealed emotions, always searched each
face he encountered. When he didn’t find what he sought, he withdrew into
himself, shutting others away….”
============
Thank you for hosting me, Marie. Visitors: If you’d
like to win a paper copy of Elfen Gold –
A Storyteller’s Tale, leave a comment and your e-mail address, and I will
pick one winner from the posts!
Thank you, all.
About Sheri L. McGathy
“Born a buckeye, I was uprooted in 1971 and
replanted amongst sunflowers, tornadoes, and college football. It’s a good
life.” ~ Sheri L. McGathy
Sheri is married and has one grown son and three
wonderful grandchildren. She works in prepress in a graphic design department
as a Graphic Arts Coordinator/Copy Editor. When not working, she enjoys
reading, writing, drawing, and spoiling, not only her grandchildren, but also
her dogs.
Sheri is the author of several works of fiction as
well as a contributor in the non-fiction release: The Complete Guide to Writing Paranormal Novels: Volume 1
In addition to her writing, Sheri also designs cover
art. For a list of Sheri’s fiction or to view her cover art work, please visit
her website: http://www.sherimcgathy.com
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