Tag: novel

The following is a draft of an excerpt from my latest novel. It is a fantastical story that takes place here on our home planet thousands of years after the fall of the human empire. The book is far from finished, but I’m enjoying writing it so much that I’m in no rush. I hope you enjoy and tune in next week for part two.

The Woods

This story takes place in a space beyond time, in a time beyond space. It is everywhere and nowhere at once. Though, from your point of view, it will not happen for hundreds of millennia, it has also happened infinite times throughout existence. It is a tale of life which begets death which begets life. Now, what is that phrase they use in those ancient texts?

Oh, yes. Once upon a time, there lived a young girl who loved her family very much.

She lived with her kin in a village of hollow trees which communicated through the mycelium wrapped around their root system. They allowed the colony of sprites to stay, so long as they tended to the forest and never took more than their share. If you saw a sprite today, you might mistake their bushy tail for a squirrel or their feathered wings for a bird. No two sprites are alike, and their species is as ancient as the North Mountain from which they descended.

The young sprite came into this world beneath the prickly branches of her mother’s favorite evergreen herb. It was this herb that gifted her the namesake, Rosemary. Rosemary was the first child born to her two parents, though she never remembered a time without her eleven siblings. Veronica– the second eldest– took after their mother the most, especially in her final ailing years. Falcon and Torben were rough and tumble but wept for a good sunset. Rosie, Ruthie, and Rhonnie were the most similar and often in competition with one another. Lark was invested in learning science, history, and magic. Jay and Condor were the tricksters of the bunch who could never take anything seriously. Sage was a quiet observer of the family, often escaping into their imagination as they watched life float by and change shape.

Ginkgo– the youngest– followed Rosemary around like a puppy, waiting for her to drop morsels of her rich knowledge of the flora and fauna. Rosemary kept a book containing hundreds of leaf pages with charcoal etchings of every creature one could encounter in these woods. Alongside each portrait, a symbol system signified the magical properties inherent in each of these beings. Chamomile brings restlessness, lavender calms nerves. Mint soothes indigestion, and mullein cures a cough. Mugwort opens one’s mind to receive messages through dreams. The bats encourage bravery, and ladybugs grant wishes. Canaries cleanse each dawn from the past with their song. Rosemary befriended and studied every being she met. But she knew there was more beyond these woods. Since her birth, a voice that only she could hear beckoned her West.

Sprites often had at least a dozen offspring living in a family tree, so Rosemary’s family was rather small in comparison to her neighbors’. Still, she felt crowded in the old pine tree and often escaped to forage in the deep woods. The sprites who lived in the village knew everyone by name. They always gathered for seasonal ceremonies and daily meals. Generations upon generations of sprites lived in this woodland colony. They had a saying: if we didn’t grow up together, our grandparents did. Still, there was one sprite Rosemary had never met. They lived in the same cluster of trees for many rotations around the sun without ever meeting. Had Rosemary not decided to venture beyond the woods, they would never have met.

The rainfall drenched her fur, turning it from a fluffy dark brown to matted black. She fastened a birch leaf over her head and under her chin to keep the water out of her eyes. Rosemary planned to leave her woodland home that morning. Of course, not forever. She promised Ginkgo she would return, but only after she answered the call from the West that vibrated within her bones. On the way, she checked her favorite foraging spot– the old forest burn– for any mushrooms she could take with her.

Alone, wet, and a bit melancholy, Rosemary stuffed her bag with as many little brown mushrooms as she could fit. Another unfamiliar sprite had the same idea. They caught each other’s eye. He waved. She ducked under her birch leaf hat. Feeling protective of her mushrooms, Rosemary darted around the fallen trees, picking every mushroom before he could find them. She raced to one, but he plucked it first. He raced to another, but she beat him there. The competition between them grew so tense that there was nothing left to do but laugh.

“This would be a lot easier if we worked together,” he extended a hand, offering her a fistful of mushrooms.

She introduced herself as Rosemary and he introduced himself as Yarrow. They bonded over their passion for mushrooms, their knowledge of local flora, and their dreams of exploring beyond the forest. They talked for so long that the rain stopped and the blue sky turned orange. Rosemary would have to continue her adventure the next day.

Yarrow convinced Rosemary to stay for the summer so he could show her his favorite swimming hole by the river. Rosemary had to stay until autumn to harvest the fruits she planted in her garden. The seasons went on, and Rosemary and Yarrow stayed inseparable. Their love grew and grew until it became too enormous to keep between themselves.

One fateful spring, underneath the willow tree on the river bend, their child came into the world. They named him Renée , which means “born again” in the ancient texts.

The three of them lived in bliss together for what felt like an eternity. Honeybees frequented the herbs and flowers in their garden and left kisses on the newborn’s head. When Renée learned to walk, he often trailed off after them through the woods. Taking after his mother and father, Renée became well acquainted with the wild herbs, fruits, and mushrooms in their woodland community. Rosemary brimmed with joy in these simple times.

But when the daunting red moon hung in the sky, Rosemary could not conceal her worry. Renée was blissful with ignorance, as is appropriate for sprites of his age. She ached with sympathy for her child’s youthful naivety. She knew what was to come for their forest. . . what comes for all forests.