Martina Mackenzie: The Enchanted Carousel

By Cori Nicole Smith Wamsley

A strange creature in the forest . . . A septet of mystical amulets . . . A beautiful enchanted carousel . . . Martina, Heath, and London must figure out how they are connected to a greater mystery in time to prevent Sheardland from completely falling under the carousel’s spell.

The second installment of the Martina Mackenzie series, The Enchanted Carousel, promises more magical mystery as Martina, Heath, and London return to Sheardland for a much-anticipated festival: a celebration of magic and all that is Rhihalven.
To help finish the enchanted carousel before the festival, the trio must harvest wood from a special tree, but a wrong turn in the forest leaves them lost and dependant on the sage Amara for guidance. In return for her help, they agree to search for the Bloodstone Amulet—rumored to heal any ailment—which has been lost since ancient times. Assisted by a precocious Rhihalva girl, the crew searches banned texts and discovers a plot to copy the amulet and switch the fake for the real thing.
Could the mysterious symbols on beaded necklaces from the festival mean more than well-wishes? Will Martina, Heath, and London discover the carousel’s secret before a dangerous secret society makes their intentions known?
All the while, a strange feeling is overwhelming the inhabitants of Sheardland, and somehow, the enchanted carousel is at the root of it all.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cori Nicole Smith Wamsley
• Release date: Jan 24, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301133543

Cori Nicole Smith Wamsley

Cori Wamsley, CEO of Aurora Corialis Publishing, works with business owners who have a transformational story to share to create a legacy and be seen as an expert in their niche.She has 18 years’ experience as a professional writer and editor, including 10 years with the Departments of Energy and Justice and 4 years as the executive editor of Inspiring Lives Magazine. She also wrote seven fiction books, including the children’s book Monkey Mermaid Magic, which she coauthored with her daughter London and also illustrated. She contributed chapters to the anthologies Twenty Won and Living Kindly. Her newest book, Braving the Shore, is her first solo fiction effort since her two daughters were born.When she’s not reading, writing, or working with her clients, she can be found hanging out with her husband and daughters, painting, dancing, singing, baking, or otherwise being creative. She believes that living with one foot in our dreams and the other in the real world is the best way to make magic in our lives and have a lot of fun along the way!Connect with Cori at www.auroracorialispublishing.com, on Instagram at @CoriWamsley_author, or on Pinterest at Braving the Shore.

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Martina Mackenzie

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The Enchanted Carousel

By Cori Nicole Smith

Martina Mackenzie: The Enchanted Carousel. Copyright 2012 by Cori Nicole Smith. Smashwords Edition.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used, reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, microfilm, recording, or otherwise—without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

For information, address Rinesmith Carothers Publishing House at [e-mail].

Cover art by Liza Phoenix, LizaPhoenix.com

This book is available in print at most online retailers.

Rinesmith Carothers Publishing House, Pittsburgh, PA

For Matt

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Table of Contents

Chapter 1 - The Sage’s Wisdom

Chapter 2 - An Eclipse

Chapter 3 - The Messengeorb

Chapter 4 - The Toymaker’s Vision

Chapter 5 - Through the Naidia Wood

Chapter 6 - The Cave and its Dweller

Chapter 7 - The Enchanted Carousel

Chapter 8 - The Stillness Absolute

Chapter 9 - The Forbidden Literature Storage Room

Chapter 10 - The Golden Age of the Rhihalven Festival

Chapter 11 – Peace, Prosperity, Friendship, Luck, Hope, Health, Happiness, and Courage

Chapter 12 – Nyomini’s Garden

Chapter 13 - The Breath of the Tempest

Chapter 14 – Macian Arts Pottery Shop

Chapter 15 – Return of the Borgsten

Chapter 16 – Words in Depression

Chapter 17 – Change of Winds

Chapter 18 – The Other Side of the Carousel

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Chapter 1 - The Sage’s Wisdom

An elderly gentleman placed a parcel gently on the ground beside the sage. He crouched on the cold floor of the damp cave. The fire cast strange shadows on the walls that leaped and swirled despite the windless calm and the presence of only the old man and the sage. He coughed and nodded toward the package. Well?

The sage had been resting with her head inclined against the wall when he entered. As the man spoke, the sage sat up straight, eyed the package, and fluttered her eyelids to enter the correct frame of mind.

Amara, old as she was beautiful, shook her long, dark locks and tipped her head forward for a vision. It was stronger this time. The sense that something great but terrible was about to happen flooded through her as the perfume from her hair nearly overwhelmed her elderly guest.

The man sat across from her, his eyes barely discernible under the thick, dark hood of his heavy cloak. He shifted impatiently. Surely the sage knew more than she had let on.

The silence grew thick and stifling around them.

Amara began to sway as the barrage of visions swam through her head. Her eyelids twitched.

Her guest resisted the temptation to tap his foot. An old man wouldn’t be so rude. Come on, Amara, he thought. I do not have all day. This better be worth the wait.

Finally, she met his anticipating stare with eyes that gazed right through him.

I have seen the one who will help you on your way, Amara said. You must seek her out for further assistance. She will know how to help you once you find her. Her head bobbed forward again, her hair enveloping her face once more as she spoke in a stream of consciousness. "She will not be easy to find . . . she is one of many ideas, but few words . . . She can speak without being heard if she so chooses . . . Although young in her years, her wisdom is infinite . . . This cannot be right . . ."

Her last few words were barely a whisper. She frowned as the images grew fuzzy, preventing her from double-checking what she had seen. Could it be true that the vast amount of knowledge she detected was locked inside the mind of . . . ? No, not quite. Her ability to reason is almost as distinct as my ability to see beyond. What a rare gift . . . if only I could see completely . . .

After a period of silence, the man grew impatient. But where can I find her? he rasped through his parched lips. I must know at least that before I go.

That will require another favor, Amara said, quickly snapping out of her reverie to bargain with her guest.

Witch! the man cried. I have done enough for you already. Have I not brought you all the information and all the items you have asked of me? The old man stood angrily and nearly hit his head on the overhanging rocks. He hunched just in time to prevent the nasty bash. He stamped his feet on the floor.

And yet, you ask for more, Amara replied calmly. I have given you all that you asked already in return for what you brought me. Yet, I have not received a full explanation of why you desire this information. She leaned back against the wall and glared at the man. I have concerns, you know. I must respect the unspoken laws of life, the balance between the known and the unknown . . . between what should be foreseen and what should be left as it is. Amara’s eyes flashed, and the fire raged and hissed in response to the intensity of her voice.

By the time the old man realized that Amara was angry, the evidence was a memory.

She held his gaze, calming him.

He sat again on the stone floor.

You think that I can be bought and sold so easily? Amara said. "I am the one with the eternal wisdom and omniscience. I can view anything I have seen before, but I cannot be forced to see what you desire. My mind must be . . . guided," the sage responded softly. Her white garments glowed eerily in the fire’s amber light.

The man knew that his silence would not sway Amara. She had survived for such an unfathomable number of years that no one would even dare test her patience. A day to her was a mere second to everyone else.

She gracefully shifted her bare feet under her gossamer white robes. As she exhaled, she caused the slightest flutter of breath against the veil over her face. She truly had all day for the man to decide what he was going to do.

Her guest finally broke and began telling her why he sought the genius child of whom she spoke. A tale has been passed down through my family for centuries. Soon after the Rhihalven retreated to this sanctuary deep within the Earth, one of my ancestors fashioned a one-of-a-kind amulet from the blood of a manticore and crushed gold. It became known as the Bloodstone Amulet. Whenever someone was sick or injured, the strength of the amulet would be used to cure them completely.

The man leaned forward. For several generations, my family kept the amulet a secret. No one except the immediate family of the owner knew of its existence. No one dared breathe a word of it to another because of the rumor of a curse.

A curse? This is getting interesting, Amara thought. She nodded her head in encouragement.

The elderly man cracked a smile. Only two people have ever spoken of the amulet to anyone outside the family. One was a girl named ‘Lalia.’ Her father owned the amulet and used it to cure his children of their average childhood ailments. Lalia, a teenager at the time, decided to use the amulet to help one of her close friends. Her friend’s cat had fallen down a cliff and gotten scraped up pretty badly. Some of its wounds were getting infected because it licked them constantly, and the infection was making the cat sick and weak.

One afternoon when her father was busy, Lalia took the amulet from his room and went to her friend’s house. The old man cleared his throat. She wore the amulet and performed the spell just as she had seen her father do for years. Soon, the cat’s infected scrapes reduced in swelling, and it walked for the first time in weeks. The friend, of course, was very happy. However, that night, Lalia’s family stayed up late waiting for her to return from her friend’s house. She never did. When they asked her friend what happened, they were told that she was last seen walking back home. The road between the two houses was searched, but the family only found the amulet, lying under the bushes near the friend’s house, glowing with a sharp, swirling redness.

How do you know this tale? Amara queried. She was tired of the story but willing to appease her guest with the hopes of sending him on another errand.

I have an ancient parchment that has been passed down in my family, the man said. It documents the amulet’s tale: who had it each generation and how it was eventually lost. I will show you, but you need to know what happened to Phemio first.

Proceed. Amara gestured with her delicate fingers.

Phemio was a brave man in his mid-forties with a wife and children and a farm and plenty of hands to work it, the old gentleman began. He was doing well for himself and worked hard to earn everything he had. Phemio inherited the Bloodstone Amulet the night his mother died some years before, the same night his twin sons were born. Those boys owed their lives to that amulet. They were sick almost till their first birthday. Why, they had every ailment from—

Can we avoid tangents for the moment and concentrate on what happened to Phemio, please? The words dripped off Amara’s lips like ice cubes and shattered on the floor.

As the air splintered with the sound of Amara’s voice, her guest froze and glazed over momentarily.

Yes, Phemio, he continued. The story really begins on the twins’ tenth birthday. Phemio left his older sons in charge of the farm and set off for town to pick up a gift for the boys. When he was almost there, he stopped to offer a ragged-looking lady by the side of the road some help. She said she was taking her apple cart to town to sell her wares when she stepped in a rut and twisted her ankle. After the accident, she tried to walk on it but was in too much pain. By the time Phemio spoke to her, the woman’s ankle was swollen. Phemio kindly offered to bring her a doctor. He searched for a long time before he finally found one who was not busy and brought the man with him to where the lady was waiting with her cart. The elderly gentleman coughed and drank deeply from a flask in his pocket.

And then . . . prodded the sage. I should have charged him by the hour, she thought.

And then, the man said, when the doctor reached the woman, he asked her how she would pay him. The woman had no money on her, since she had not sold her apples yet, so she offered the doctor a bushel of apples for his trouble. Angrily, the doctor refused, stating that he could not buy medication and clothe his children with apples. He rushed off, leaving Phemio alone with the helpless woman. So Phemio offered to try curing her himself. She watched as Phemio pulled the amulet out of his shirt and performed the familiar spell. Just like the cat, the woman healed instantly, and she was able to walk as she had before. The two strolled toward the town together, but Phemio never made it.

The old man took another swig from his flask. After several hours, his wife began to worry and sent their two oldest sons to track him down so he would not be late for the birthday party. They asked everyone they saw and eventually spoke to the woman with the apples. She told them how their father helped her and then walked back to town with her. She said that she was telling him about how the pear trees were not giving a good yield that year when she heard a sudden ‘clink.’ Phemio was nowhere to be seen, but the amulet, again, was lying on the ground, glowing and swirling with crimson. The boys took the amulet back to their mother and spent days looking for their father. They never found him. He, too, had disappeared after telling an outsider about the amulet.

So, do you think because the amulet is missing, Amara said, you are safe to tell people outside the family about it?

I suppose that remains to be seen, the old man said, but no one disappeared who had not used it to help someone.

What happened to the amulet after the people disappeared? Amara said.

It remained in the family, according to the notes. The man patted his pocket. My great-great-great grandfather was the last to use the amulet. After him, each generation has recorded stories of their failure to find it and of the disappointment it has brought them for being helpless to cure their loved ones. The visitor reached into the pocket of his cloak and pulled out a bundle of shabby-looking papers bound together by leather cording. He laid them on the floor between him and Amara.

These are the records, he said. It is all the information I have on the amulet. My father never spoke of it to me, nor did his to him. However, each generation has been left with this bundle and the knowledge that it was a lifelong dream of those who came before to find this amulet.

Amara drew the parchments closer to her with a brush of her hand. She felt the age of the cover and searched for a clue of its history with her extra-sensitive fingertips. Finally satisfied with its authenticity, she brought the bundle to her lap to examine. As she turned the pages, she found the stories that the old man had just recounted along with many others from previous generations of how the amulet had saved lives, time after time. Although much of the handwriting was in ancient versions of the now dead Rhihalva tongue, Amara could easily read it and translated some of the parts that the old man had been unable to understand.

The notes on the first page are from the original owner, Amara said. He is talking about the errors he made at first and the malfunctions of the original Bloodstone Amulet. Wow. He tried this six times before he succeeded. I wonder what happened to the mistakes . . . She faded off in thought.

I assume they had been destroyed, the guest replied.

Unless, of course, they demonstrated other properties, the sage answered. They may not have cured illnesses, but perhaps they did something else. Are these papers originals? She flipped to a loose leaf stuck between two of the pages.

The loose pages are translations into Modern Rhihalvel, the man said. Unfortunately, I will probably be the last of my family to be able to read the language and should begin translating into that demon tongue English that everyone speaks now.

It is not that bad, Amara said. I have seen languages come and go. Even English has its root in Rhihalvel, though it is a very distant root. We must grasp the changes as they come our way, lest we be completely overwhelmed by them in the future. Surely you did not expect the contact with humans to leave our culture unaltered? Amara smiled for the first time, language being one of her favorite topics. But, back to this parchment. It appears that you are correct. Nearly every generation has written records of the amulet in here, until this great-great-great grandfather of yours . . .

Amara read the name over and over as she allowed herself to drift into a trance. Digarre Thayca. Digarre Thayca. Digarre Thayca. Something so familiar about that name stuck in her mind. Yet, she could not picture the man. Cloudy and dark, the form of a Rhihalva passed into her view several times but never formed completely. "I am sorry. I was trying to remember