Dark Curses and Faerie Dreams

By Tom Xavier

First off, you need to know that "Dark Curses and Faerie Dreams" is an eBook for young readers like no other. We call it a Multimedia eBook. This means there are links throughout the eBook that will take you to secret web pages filled with EshChallenges, EshSecrets, wondrous illustrations, rich animations, EshProfiles of many of the characters, interesting side stories, and much more.

And, to make your reading experience even more interesting, not all the links in the eBook are obvious. Oh no, that would be boring! Instead, many of the links are hidden and some simply do not exist. Eshmagick Storyers will need to look for EshClues in other places on the internet to find them. Where on the internet? Only clever Storyers will be able to find them!

At the heart of this one-of-a-kind Multimedia eBook is a great Story! Duggan McDuggan, age 14, knows it is a big mistake to tempt the fates and risk the darkest curse ever created. For one thing, the crazy plan to capture a Faerie is coming from none other than Zagger Dunleavy, the biggest conniver around. For another thing, no one in a hundred years has dared to risk the curse, it's that bad. Still, Duggan has a coward's reputation in her village, and so she is tempted to prove everyone wrong by throwing caution to the wind and daring the unthinkable.

Too bad for Duggan that nothing goes as planned! When Duggan and her friends harm a Faerie while trying to catch it, the Dark Curse falls on them, threatening to destroy all they love unless they can find a way to lift the curse. Their only hope? Duggan and her friends must undertake a desperate journey. Their first task is to find a crazy Witch who just might know how to help them. After that, they will need to travel deep into the Magickal realm of the Faeries to face the conjurer of the Dark Curse, an evil Faerie Lord who hates all living things.

On their journey, Duggan and her friends face dangers galore as they travel to Eshmagick, a strange land with strange creatures and strange things growing everywhere. Once there, Duggan quickly learns that being in Eshmagick will have some peculiar effects on her. What kinds of effects? Well, some are good, some are bad, and others ... well, let's just say other effects are rather surprising! The odds are against them. Facing all kinds of obstacles, Duggan and her friends will need to find the courage and resourcefulness they need.

If you are even half as smart and resourceful as Duggan and her friends, you just might find the world behind the Story, somewhere on the internet waiting for discovery by Storyers who have the eBook.

Oh, some words of warning: It is the nature of the internet that things change. Web pages may suddenly appear. Or they may change. Or disappear. That's part of the adventure! So, this is your invitation.

Join the adventure!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tom Xavier
• Release date: Nov 27, 2012
• ISBN: 9780985460204

Tom Xavier

TOM XAVIER studied archaeology in Italy and Greece and law in England. He helped run ski mountaineering trips in New Hampshire and bicycling trips in Canada. As a lawyer, he worked on a giant fraud case in England and for the past two decades, he has produced concerts with young musicians from countries around the world. Tom draws on these experiences to write stories filled with magic and adventure. He loves writing books of discovery about girls and boys who travel to amazing places where they learn much about life and even more about themselves.

Book preview

DARK CURSES AND FAERIE DREAMS

A Multimedia eBook

From Eshmagick Enterprises

Storytelling by Tom Xavier

Illustrations by Kay Ciesielczyk

Animations by Chris Kenreigh

Website Design by Zamin Dharsi

Social Media by Kolina Cicero & Cory West

Copyright 2012 by Tom Xavier

on all content

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this eBook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this eBook and you did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

For information:

Eshmagick Enterprises

http://eshmagick.com

ISBN: 978-0-9854602-0-4

About Us

Just think. Long, long ago, there weren’t books. There wasn’t an internet. We Humans got our tales from Storytellers who told them out loud. Later, Folks watched as actors brought Stories to life on stages of various shapes and kinds. When printing presses got invented, all of a sudden, we had new ways to tell Stories. More Folks took to reading and, along the way, someone wrote the first novel.

Today, we have cool, modern inventions. Powerful computers. Versatile, amazing apps. Super-fast internet. At Eshmagick Enterprises, we are a lean team of visionaries excited by technology and with a passion for creation. Our goal is to use the great, new inventions of today to create a new kind of reading experience while telling great Stories.

When you read the pages that follow, you will discover a different kind of eBook. It weaves together the main Story, illustrations and animations, background Stories, challenges, puzzles, mysteries, and more in cool, interactive ways.

It’s what we call a Multimedia eBook.

If you want to enjoy all the features of our first-ever Multimedia eBook, you will need to be tech-smart because the parts of the Story are spread around, with some of them in the eBook itself, while other parts are out there on the internet. These pieces of the puzzle may be on our website or on our social media pages, or perhaps they are in other places we haven't even invented yet! That's the crazy, wonderful thing about technology. It’s always expanding and constantly changing!

So, here's your official invitation: Come join the Eshmagick adventure!

TABLE OF CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER 1: Six Years Later

CHAPTER 2: A Book About Faeries

CHAPTER 3: Home at the McDuggans

CHAPTER 4: Lambrell’s Shed

CHAPTER 5: The Faerie Catcher

CHAPTER 6: Success and then Disaster

CHAPTER 7: The Faerie Curse

CHAPTER 8: A Little Hope

CHAPTER 9: On the Road

CHAPTER 10: Journeying to Devonwicke

CHAPTER 11: Unexpected Help

CHAPTER 12: Meeting the Witch

CHAPTER 13: A Magickal Spell

CHAPTER 14: Readying to Leave

CHAPTER 15: Road to Eshmagick

CHAPTER 16: Land of Mountainsy Trolls

CHAPTER 17: An Unexpected Turning

CHAPTER 18: Learning about Mutanhs

CHAPTER 19: A Lesson in History

CHAPTER 20: Into the Ancient Forests

CHAPTER 21: Underground Again

CHAPTER 22: The Realm of the Faeries

CHAPTER 23: Camp of the El-Faeries

CHAPTER 24: The Faerie-Lady

CHAPTER 25: Left Alone

CHAPTER 26: Under Attack

CHAPTER 27: The Faerie Lord

CHAPTER 28: Into the Lady’s Cave

CHAPTER 29: The Dream Spell

CHAPTER 30: A Surprise Ending

CHAPTER 31: Going Home

First, a message from our Storyteller:

Dear Storyer,

Throughout this eBook, I have sprinkled a number of secrets that, for obvious reasons, I call EshSecrets. To find your way to some of these EshSecrets, simply use the internet links visible in this eBook. When you click on one of these links, it may take you to a web page or it may take you someplace else. You never know. These EshSecrets are only available to you as the owner of this eBook.

EshSecrets contain cool stuff. Fun stuff. Artsy stuff. Interactive stuff. So, wherever and whenever you see an EshSecrets icon in this eBook, I hope you are using a device with internet access because, when you click on or screen-touch the EshSecrets icon, depending on the kind of device you are using, what you will find on the other end of the link may surprise you or entertain you or challenge you or … well, you will never know unless you go looking. So be sure to give it a try!

Happy Storying!

Sincerely,

Tom Xavier

P.S. Um, to tell you the truth, I have hidden some of the EshSecrets links in this eBook, meaning there is no icon marking them. How do you find these hidden links to cool EshSecrets? Well, you can search for them, obviously, but to make it easier we plan to give you EshClues to help you find them. So keep your eyes open for EshClues!

P.P.S. Oh, just to get you started, here’s a first EshClue: Be sure to look everywhere for EshClues. Remember, this is a Multimedia eBook, meaning there’s a lot of stuff out there that’s not in the eBook itself.

Where do you look? Try our website. Try our Facebook page. Maybe take a look at what we’re posting on Twitter. You never know! And remember, Multimedia eBook means multimedia!

Now, onto the Story!

PROLOGUE

Please tell another Story!

Yawning, the bushy-bearded Storyteller shook his head. It was getting late and he had been telling Stories one after another from sunrise until well past sundown. And while he was feeling pretty good about the crowds he had drawn – crowds large enough to prove once and for all that he was the most popular Storyteller in the entire Region – he was in no mood to tell another Story. No, his throat was sore, his imagination depleted, and all he wanted right now was to get home, settle himself into his nice, wonderfully overstuffed, front-parlor chair, and enjoy a strong, hot toddy.

Please, one more Story, the girl pleaded. Please!

It’s getting a little late, wouldn’t you say? the Storyteller replied testily. I’ve already told you three of my best.

He had a point. Most toddles would have been satisfied with less. But the girl with the funny, red-and-brown-striped hair, green eyes, and puffy lips refused to be put off.

She leaned forward and practically begged, Please, just one more Story!

A few of the other toddles sniggered, making the Storyteller think they were used to her being this way. An odd-looking boy with white hair sitting cross-legged directly behind the girl rolled his eyes and sighed. Other toddles fidgeted and looked about ready to get up and leave. The girl paid no attention to the other toddles, however.

Tell us the Story about trekking, she urged.

"Not another one," the white-haired boy behind her moaned.

Yeah, really, a skinny toddle-girl beside him agreed.

It sounds like you already know that one, groused the Storyteller, hoping but not really expecting to discourage the girl.

Yes, but you’re a great Storyteller, she retorted. I’ve never heard Pacy’s Story from a Storyteller as great as you!

It’s a very long Story, complained the Storyteller, though the girl’s flattery had softened him a bit. You sure you want to hear such a long Story?

Oh, yes, the girl cried, I really love your Storytelling, sir.

The girl’s enthusiasm sounded so earnest that, after hesitating momentarily, the man grudgingly relented.

Well, he said, glancing from the girl to the others in his audience, if you want to hear the best-bestiest Story ever about trekking, we need to go back a long, long way. We need to go back to times long bygone, back to those early days just after the Ancients left Eshmagick to settle here in the Westreach Region, in fine, little villages like Cowgrass here.

Pausing, the Storyteller allowed his eyes to roam over the faces of the toddles in his audience before continuing his tale.

Now close your eyes, all of you, and picture a time soon after the Ancients came here, a time when they were just starting to build their new homes, to open their shops, and to plow their first fields. In most ways, it was a grand, new time of new ideas and new hopes. Sadly, too, it was also a time when our Ancients were forgetting the old ways of Eshmagick in their haste to build something new – forgetting the Stories, forgetting the traditions, forgetting the history that made us what we are.

The Storyteller looked around. Oh yes, he was good at his craft! With this brief introduction, already all eyes were on him, even the eyes of those toddles who had been ready to leave just moments ago. He was pleased. He really did love Storytelling and when he was at his best, like now, he possessed an amazing ability to capture imaginations and rivet his audiences.

He gave a small smile of satisfaction, for he knew it was not the Story itself that made for good Storytelling. Oh, there were plenty of fantastically good Stories out of their long past, some Ancient and some not-so-Ancient, but the fact of it was that there was also a lot of Stories that were, the truth be told, rather dull.

No, from his many Moon-years of experience, he had come to learn the one important truth of his trade: that the trick to good Storytelling is to make any Story being told, whether fantastically wonderful or exceedingly dull, come out sounding great. A talented Storyteller did this by using all the tricks of his craft: A deep timbre of voice to give each Story a feeling of importance; carefully timed pauses here and there for dramatic effect; a wry twitching of lips to make everyone laugh; a disapproving waggle of a finger at some foolishness; a deathly whisper when something horrible was about to happen.

As the Storyteller looked from face to face, he could see in the eyes of every toddle in front of him that they were already hooked, each and every one of them. Even the very short boy with the greasy, white hair was listening, though he pretended otherwise. With another small smile of satisfaction, the Storyteller continued.

Yes, our Ancestors were forgetting the old ways and Eshmagick was becoming nothing more than a Storybook memory.

Not everyone was forgetting, the girl with the strange-looking hair quickly corrected in a hushed tone of voice.

The Storyteller nodded. His initial impatience with this girl was changing into something else, for how could a Storyteller not appreciate a young toddle with such obvious enthusiasm for the old Stories?

You are correct, lass, he agreed. Young Pacy Pace was just turning Fourteen and, for better or worse, this young lass born of Cowgrass had Folksies with long memories and a fondness for telling the old Stories, even the ones all but forgotten, and so they ...

The girl practically bounced off the ground as she interrupted him.

So they told Pacy all about Fourteenies and their coming of age in the olden times.

Quite so, said the Storyteller, giving the girl another, friendly nod before turning his eyes to draw in the others in his audience. Anyone here know what those very Ancient ways were?

When the funny girl quickly straightened her back and opened her mouth to speak, the Storyteller cut her off with a sharp shake of his head.

I mean, other than you, my deary, he said to her with an indulgent smile. Then he gave a soft laugh. I mean, we all know you know.

There were quite a few giggles and snickers among the other toddles.

All she ever does is talk about the olden Stories, blurted a girl with bright red hair sitting in the back.

You mean when she’s not gone off into the woods to talk to trees, laughed another girl in a tone of voice that had a sharp, mocking edge.

The Storyteller didn’t like this teasing, which could cause him to lose control of his audience.

Now, now, he called, raising his voice so that it would ring out authoritatively, let’s not make fun of the Ancient Stories. As you will see, there’s much to learn from them.

If that’s true, joked the boy with the white hair, pointing to the girl, then this one here oughta be a genius with all the Stories she knows!

This drew loud laughter from the other toddles in the audience, causing the poor girl to blush and lower her chin. The Storyteller immediately felt sorry for her. Time to reign in his audience, he told himself.

Listen, all, he called. Any of you ever wonder why, in Ancient times, many of the most famous warriors of their age were as young as Fourteen, Fifteen, or Sixteen? Have you not wondered why the most famous general of his day, the extraordinary Shane Shone, was a mere nineteen when he led thousands into battle? What was so very different in the Ancient times, you might ask, that toddles only a few Moon-years older than some of you in this tent were able to accomplish so much? Here he paused before pressing his point. Hmm? What was so different back then?

Of yes, he noted with satisfaction, he was good at his trade! There was a long moment of silence, which the Storyteller let hang like a flying kite in that suspenseful moment when one gust of wind has died and you don’t know whether another one is going to come up in time to keep the kite going. Once he had waited just long enough, he continued.

Well, let me tell you, turning Fourteen was very different back then. It wasn’t just another toddle Moon-year. Oh no, back in those distant times, the Ancients believed you went from toddle to oldster in just one, special moment of turning.

Searching the inventory in his mind for exactly the right tone of voice, he chose one deep enough and just loud enough to make everyone jump a little, and then he paused briefly before hitting them with it.

Boom! he cried, snapping his fingers. It happened just like that, at noon on the day you turned Fourteen. And in that moment of changing, instantly you became an oldster with all the respect due to you. And this very special moment when you went from toddle to oldster … well, it was viewed as such an important event that the Ancients did something burnin’ special to mark it. The custom is long forgotten now, but a Fourteeny back then celebrated becoming an oldster by going on a great trek, leaving at exactly noon on her or his Fourteenth Birthday and journeying for fourteen days and fourteen nights, one full day for each Moon-year of her or his life up to that moment.

Oh, yes, the funny-haired girl now chimed in, her voice full of excitement as she looked over her shoulder at the other toddles, and it was not just any trek they went on, either. Fourteenies back then went alone into the wildest, deepest forests in the center of Eshmagick, looking for adventure and maybe coming home with great Stories to tell, but sometimes not coming back at all!

This time, most of the toddles paid attention to the girl when she spoke, the Storyteller noted. Maybe a few of them rolled their eyes but most looked quite interested in her words.

Quite right, he concurred, nodding his head approvingly while conceding to himself that this girl had some of the talents of a Storyteller. It was intentionally a daring adventure, he continued, one meant to prove your worthiness to be an oldster. And now, he said, pausing dramatically before continuing, shall I tell you all the most amazing Story of the greatest trek ever by a Fourteeny?

He expected a chorus of yeas and he might have gotten them, but suddenly the boy with the greasy, white hair stood up.

I don’t think so, he said in a tone of voice that left no room for arguing. This toddle here is slakin’ nut-nutty enough to listen to your Stories all night long but the rest of us have heard quite enough.

The Storyteller was immediately offended. And hurt. True, he was tired. And true, he was eager to get home after his long day of Storytelling and enjoy a nice, hot toddy in his comfy chair. But once he had started on one of his Stories, he expected nothing less than everyone’s full attention and the Story only ended when he decided it should end. To think that some ridiculously short boy with greasy, obviously unwashed hair of a ridiculous white color would presume to make the choice for him, well, how rude! How utterly obnoxious!

He would have reprimanded the lad, using the full force of his voice, but already the other toddles were climbing to their feet and moving to leave. For better or worse, the boy had broken the mood and, in truth, he really didn’t have the energy or the desire to get it back. His day of Storytelling was over.

As the other toddles filed out of tent, the funny-haired girl didn’t make any move to leave with them, however. Instead, she remained seated on the ground, staring at him, her forehead creased in thought. It was only when all the others had left did she finally stand and speak, in a tone of voice that was serious and reflective.

Sir, she said to him, I don’t understand why Fourteenies don’t make the trek nowadays. You know, like the Ancients once did.

The Storyteller didn’t know what to say. Trekking simply wasn’t done anymore. Like many traditions, it had fallen out of memory. She might as well have been asking why Folks no longer celebrated Switching-Day. Or why they no longer paused to bow to the setting sun. It was akin to asking why no one ate animal flesh or why no one ever tried catching a Faerie. It wasn’t done because it wasn’t done, and that was the simple but complex answer to her question. And yet, the girl’s face had such an eager, pleading look that the Storyteller indulged her a little.

Well, I suppose it could be done, he replied cautiously, if some Fourteeny had the will and the courage to resurrect the old ways and try it.

Do you really think so? asked the girl, her eyes widening excitedly.

The man suddenly felt awkward. It was not his place to encourage such dreams in a young toddle-girl who was a stranger to him. Quickly, he backpedaled.

Well, I cannot imagine any Fourteeny with Folksies so reckless as to allow it, he remarked, laughing uncomfortably. I mean, it’s rather a dangerous notion, isn’t it? Exceedingly dangerous, you’d have to say. Yes?

Nodding solemnly, the girl stood and turned to leave, but as she did so, she muttered a few words in a voice too quiet for the Storyteller to hear.

Still, it could be done, was what she said under her breath. If a Fourteeny had the will, it could be done.

Then she smiled happily, though the Storyteller didn’t see her smile. Passing through the doorway of his tent, she disappeared into the darkness of the night.

Once she was gone, the Storyteller sighed deeply. Now that his day of Storytelling was finally over and he was alone in his tent, he felt very tired. Used up, really. The way he always felt after a day like this one. Reaching back, he plucked his cloak off the hook of the coat-post behind him. With a groan, he slipped it over his shoulders and started toward the door, limping slightly. Time to go home, he thought.

And Good Gidden, that first toddy was going to taste might-mightily good!

As he trudged home, the Storyteller gave no more thought to the funny girl or to her odd, final question about whether a modern Fourteeny might go trekking. And in truth, he never again thought about the girl or about their little exchange in the tent, which was rather a funny thing, considering how much the idea he put into her head that night would someday alter the course of history in his world.

Of course, that’s how life is. A turn of events may seem very small at the time it’s happening, but you never really know, do you? How can you?

CHAPTER 1: Six Years Later

Tap-tap. Tap-tap.

Duggan was hunched over her worktable, her mind focused on the difficult task of weaving a long, thin strand of Creeper-Vine through the complicated pattern of River-Willow branches that formed the bowl of her Bottle Basket.

Tap-tap. Tap-tap.

Duggan tried her best to ignore the sound, but whatever was making the obnoxious noise outside the window behind her, it did not intend to cooperate.

Tap! Tap-tap, tap-tap.

Duggan sighed mightily. To get this particular Bottle Basket done right, she needed to concentrate, which meant she needed peace and quiet. Total peace and quiet!

Go slakin’ away! she muttered aloud.

But no matter how much she wished it gone, the tapping sound refused to go away. It was as if something or someone were intent on ruining her day.

Tap! Tap-tap, tap-tap!

Hallow’s Fire, she cursed, I hate this.

Giving another mighty sigh, Duggan struggled to her feet. Grabbing the back of her chair, she dragged it to the far corner of the workshop and climbed onto the seat. Pushing her head against the window pane, she peered out to see what pesky woodpecker or other creature was making such an annoying racket. Her eyes were a bit blurry from her many hours of close-up work, and so it took a second or two for the object standing beneath the window to come into focus.

Zagger! There stood obnoxious, utterly aggravating Zagger Dunleavy with the girl who really should have known better, none other than her best friend, Lambrell Quiverill, standing right behind him. The boy was holding the end of a long, crooked branch in his two hands, and he was about to bang the other end against the pane when Duggan hurriedly opened the window. Immediately, Zagger looked up and grinned stupidly at her.

In response, Duggan gave the obnoxious boy her most disdainful look. At least, she hoped the look was disdainful.

Stop that, she cried, what do you think you’re doing, Zagger Dunleavy?

"There you are. Finally! I’ve been banging on this stupid window forever."

Yes, yes, believe me, I know. Well, here I am. Not where I should be. Where I should be is back at my table, working. Not here talking to you. I’m very busy. So, please, go away!

We need to talk, retorted Zagger, ignoring her plea. "Right now! Get down here and join Lambrell and me. We will be waiting in the trees, at the usual spot."

No way! I can’t!

"We’ll be waiting. Get down here and meet us. Hurry!"

Abruptly, Zagger turned and headed into the trees, with skinny, do-everything-Zagger-says Lambrell following a step or two behind him. Once again, Duggan sighed loudly. It was pointless to argue with Zagger when he had his mind made up, and obviously his mind was made up. She was burnin’ annoyed, but what could she do?

On a normal afternoon, it would have been impossible for Duggan to get away from the shop where she was working. Her parents were strict taskmasters and they accepted very few excuses for leaving one’s work before it was done. Fortunately or unfortunately, depending on how you looked at it right now, Duggan’s Mum and Pops were gone for the day, delivering several crates of new baskets to the owner of the largest and most popular pub in the neighboring village of Groundlevel, leaving Duggan under the neglectful care of her old and rather addled Grandmum, Needles Korney.

As Needles’ only Grandtoddle and therefore the old woman’s favorite, Duggan could do pretty much whatever she wanted when her Folksies were away. Right now, however, she didn’t want to do anything lazy or dreamy. For once, what she really and truly wanted was to keep working and get her Bottle Basket finished! And yet, there was no denying Zagger when his mind was made up, and obviously his mind was made up.

Gru’m, I’m going out to stretch my legs, called Duggan, turning away from the window and raising her voice so her nearly deaf Grandmum could hear her. I won’t be gone long.

Duggan’s Grandmum was sitting at her own worktable in the far, back corner of the shop, vigorously attacking a pile of slender River-Willow branches with her knife, expertly stripping away the bark of one branch after another with deft flicks of her wrist. The old lady had obviously not heard Zagger’s banging on the window. Nor had she heard Duggan’s argument with the boy. Nor had she heard Duggan’s raised voice just now.

Gr’um, do you hear me? repeated Duggan, shouting more loudly. I’m going out for a little stretch of my legs.

This time, the old lady looked up to give Duggan an indulgent smile.

Of course, she said, Take your time, deary. It’s spring. Go out and enjoy the sun. Have some fun.

Um, thanks, Gr’um, Duggan answered.

Certainly, my deary, murmured the elderly woman. It’s a day to be playing, not working.

Gr’um, I’m not going out to play, Duggan quickly corrected.

The old lady either didn’t hear or didn’t understand.

When I was your age, she continued, I had to work all the time. Never got to play. Not that that was right, mind. No, it was not right, not right at all. Never got to play.

Before Duggan could explain again that she was not going out to play, her elderly Gr’um lowered her head and went back to stripping River-Willow branches, their conversation apparently over. Duggan gave a soft smile. She was getting used to these fragmented exchanges with her Grandmum, who was growing more and more eccentric as she passed into very old age. Impulsively, she bent and gave her Grandmum a quick kiss on the top of her head before heading out.

Bye, Gru’mmy, she called quietly as she moved toward the doorway, knowing the old woman would not hear. "I love you, Vankayhol," she added, using the Ancient word for Grandmum, a word meaning the vine that ties everything together.

Pulling up her hood and veering to her left once she was outside the door, Duggan hurried to the narrow footpath that led to Crystal Creek and jogged along it. Her Gr’um was certainly right, she noted as she moved down the path, it really was the kind of magnificent afternoon that one should pause to enjoy. She glanced to her left. The sun was well into its afternoon phase, and yet it