Forest of Fleeting Shadows

By William D Batts

If stories of myth and fantasy, tinged with real-life drama are your thing, then you have just nudged ashore the legendary island of Peridot- Where living gems in every hue of emerald, clad the hills and valleys, below the feet of snow-capped mountain peaks. As observed by man when they landed upon these shores.

The Tales of Willowdean Forest- Short Stories, was the title of my first book and e-book publication. As the title suggests, it comprises a series of short tales of the ruling, heartbroken dragons, forest tree giants, able to walk, (for one night only,) of witches, fair and foul, depending on your perspective, and even a confused scarecrow with a hidden lurid past.

My latest book, Forest of Fleeting Shadows, is a revision, a second edition of The Tales of Willowdean Forest, but also, it is a thrilling novella that provides the sequel and is the culmination of all that has gone before.

Book blurb:

Love, jealousy and hatred- life-changing emotions for any mortal. But when two witch sisters, Sapphire and Saffron, exhibit such feelings, then the wickedness of their family feud is felt by many, living on the mythical land of Peridot.
But while their minds are bent on destroying each other, an old menace lurks amid the shadows, watching and waiting, for this, the right moment, to subdue all his foes and revenge themselves from a painful defeat- a battle lost long ago to a rival goblin tribe.
Does salvation rest with the dragons of the Moonstone Mountains? But man exiled these creatures long ago after he first arrived on the unblemished isle and claimed it all for himself.
Could the dragons' rift with man be healed? Could the dragons be persuaded to return and help? And at what price.

• Language: English
• Publisher: William D Batts
• Release date: Feb 24, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005131555

Book preview

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Forest of Fleeting Shadows

William D Batts

Copyright © 2017 William D Batts

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.

Contents

The Wrath of Gheldathaw

The Willow Wanderer

Hog Goblins

Faolan the Wolf

The King and Queen of the Forest

A Narrow Escape

Not Always Black and White

From Tiny Acrons

Chapter 1

In Good Company

Chapter 2

Farewell to a Good Friend

Chapter 3

Elmhurst

The Return of the Black Witch

Chapter 1

Playing with Fire

Chapter 2

Precious Tear

Chapter 3

Sticks and Stones

Chapter 4

Searching for Answers

Chapter 5

Riddles, not Revenge

Chapter 6

Shrouded in Mist

Chapter 7

Beginning to an End

Chapter 8

Return to Troll Bridge

Chapter 9

Telling Tales

Chapter 10

The Battle for Wendover

Chapter 11

Sapphires and Diamonds

Chapter 12

Without a Hope

Chapter 13

Allies on the Wing

Chapter 14

A Welcome Return

The Wrath of Gheldathaw

Gheldathaw launched himself from the cliff-top then swooped down towards the water at an immense speed. It was a ritual the dragon performed daily, and left some onlookers feeling a little perturbed. At the very last moment, just missing the salty water lapping gently back and forth over the rugged shoreline, he stretched his wings wide then soared back up into the sky.

This was a dragon held in high esteem. His ancestors, a strong bloodline, could be traced back to an age when such vast creatures ruled these lands. He was mature – although his behaviour sometimes suggested otherwise.

At the height of his ascent, he gazed out across the vastness and serenity of the waters. Upon the usually featureless horizon he spotted an unfamiliar object large enough to warrant a closer inspection. As he flew towards it, he could see it was a large wooden vessel, and it was drifting helplessly. At first the stricken vessel appeared lifeless and abandoned. Only one mast remained, lying broken across the deck. A fringe of a tattered sail flapped in the breeze, while the rest of the sail drooped below the surface of the water.

But there was, the dragon saw, life here – just. But it was in mortal danger. Not from fatigue or starvation, but from a predator of the deep. Around the boat he saw a gathering of serpents, with mouths as wide as barrels and lined with razor-sharp teeth. Serpents of truly monstrous proportions ruled these waters, and little escaped their attention.

As Gheldathaw wheeled high above, he could hear the weary cries of men and the screams of terrified women and children. He saw a serpent draw itself up out of the water and lunge forward onto the deck. Its intended target, a malnourished, fatigued sailor, had little time to act and was devoured almost at once. The hungry leviathan, coiling its drab, oily body around the hull of the vessel, was then bent on consuming all that remained.

Gheldathaw dived down on the serpent and seized it by the neck with talons as hard as steel. The monster wriggled and thrashed around as the dragon attempted to drag his prey from the deck. The ship rolled from side to side at the commotion. At length, the serpent finally relinquished its slithery grasp on the boat. Climbing high into the sky, Gheldathaw clung on tightly to the monster of the deep. But the battle was far from won. The serpent writhed around until its tail at last gained a hold upon the dragon’s body. Within a moment the serpent had coiled itself around the dragon fully, pinning back his wings. The pair somersaulted and spiralled out of control, tumbling back down towards the water. Gheldathaw reacted instinctively, puncturing the serpent’s neck with his teeth and squeezing it tighter until blood spilled from the wounds. Still the monster held fast. Only in death, as the dragon sank his sharp teeth into the serpent’s skull, splitting it apart, did it finally relent.

On board the vessel, all watched in horror and disbelief. Was this dragon, the stuff of legend, their saviour – or their nemesis? Would he turn on them now he had defeated the monster of the deep? There was an uneasy, fearful silence. High above them, the dragon again commanded the sky. He appeared to be commencing his journey homeward, still clutching his prize. How gracefully his mighty wings cut the air! Soon he was gone, and the only sound they could hear was the water gently washing the ship’s hull.

The vessel drifted on helplessly, with no way to either sail or navigate.

The tides in this regions were strong, and all hopes of rescue were dashed when those aboard realised the tide had turned and they were being pulled back into open water. The land they so desired to reach slipped slowly and quietly beyond their grasp until it became just a hazy shadow on the horizon.

It was then, just when all had given up hope, that Gheldathaw returned. But this time there was a second dragon with him – slighter in build, but imposing nevertheless. As the pair spiralled above the boat, it was as if they filled the whole sky, their flight graceful on the playful sea breezes. To the surprise of all within the boat, Gheldathaw’s companion released one end of a rope vine that he was carrying in his talons. Then, hovering just above the ship’s bow, he waited. Gheldathaw circled the boat, dipping his claws into the water, until he finally succeeded in breaking free the tangled and broken mast.

Many of the poor souls aboard cowered in fear. One young sailor, however, could see plainly that the dragons had come to help them. He fastened the vine tightly to the bow, to allow the two dragons to tow the stricken vessel to shore. Gheldathaw led the way and his companion took the end of his tail between his teeth. Together, they tugged the boat through the water.

* * *

That was the first meeting, long ago, of dragons and men. Despite their gaunt, drab appearance, Gheldathaw guessed the travellers to be wood elves returning from an expedition. Elves, dragons and goblins had once all coexisted here. They had done so for more than a millennium, along with countless other wondrous species of animal, plant and bird, not to mention other magical and mythical creatures – the ones you need not necessarily have to see to believe in. Long after the ship’s timely rescue by the dragons, man began to colonise these shores and the rich, fertile and unblemished lands beyond them. But the arrival of man is always followed by change – and seldom is this for the greater good.

Man arrived and quickly settled. The mythical land of Peridot. So named, by men, upon first sighting of these lands Where living gems in every hue of emerald, clad the hills and valleys below the feet of snowy capped mountain peaks.

At first they settled along or near the shore, hunting, gathering and fishing. Soon, other boats arrived, bringing yet more people and their belongings. Once the shores and seas were less able to provide for all their needs, man moved inland, felling trees to make way for dwellings and to plant crops. The hunter-gatherer then had to turn his hand to farming too.

During these early times, dragons and man lived cheek by jowl. But when their hunting grounds had to be shared, tension began to rise. Dragons began to harbour contempt for man, as man wanted more and more land for himself. Temporary wooden shelters were replaced by sturdier, more permanent structures. Monastic settlements became hamlets and then villages, with leafy tracks linking them, winding through the forest along the easiest paths.

The dragons retreated further, into more rugged territory that was as yet untouched by man. But, by this point, dragons were perceived by men as demons – something to blame when bad things occurred. A story told by man, to man. Stories are best when they have a rivalry at their core, so what better, more menacing, rival could man have invented than a dragon? Within a few generations, the tale of how dragons had come to the aid of man had been entirely forgotten.

* * *

By now, Gheldathaw was around four hundred years old. He was still full of youth, for a dragon may live to be well over a thousand. He had taken a mate and they had paired for life. She laid two precious eggs – possibly the only ones she would produce, as the fertility of a dragon is low, despite their longevity.

A dragon’s life is closely linked with the cycles of the earth. They lay their eggs under a new moon, and then take the eggs to the shore at low tide. They bury their eggs beneath the sand and the safety of the waves; here they remain in the warm water to hatch. Once hatched, the nymph that emerges preys and feeds ferociously upon almost any small creature it can find on the sea bed. After many lunar phases, an amazing event takes place. A rare blue moon heralds the nymphs’ return to land. The nymph from the sea then crawls ashore and clambers on to a rock to dry, and the metamorphosis takes place. This event is considered so glorious that many dragons, whether they are family or not, line the shore in anticipation of their arrival. Along with dragon cries and song, the sky is lit by fiery dragons’ breath in celebration of the newly born dragon child as it emerges from its cocoon.

Unlike many wild beasts, a young draggling – for that is what young dragons are called – is quite helpless and vulnerable to the perils of the world. So a warm, safe nursery is essential for them during their first tender months.

* * *

One day, inevitably, a band of men found a dragon’s lair. It was a cavern hidden among shrubby foothills. Their discovery had been no accident, for they had been watching the comings and goings of Gheldathaw and his young family for a while. However, their thoughts and desires were bent on something else secreted deep within this hillside: a rare and precious gem, legend had it, that had magical, healing properties. The men could only access it through the dragons’ cavern.

The men lay hidden, waiting, until the dragon mother was alone with her offspring. Malice may not have been foremost in their intentions, but greed and desire for profit were, when they entered the cave that day. The dragglings were asleep when the cold point of steel punctured the soft underbelly of Avalair, their mother. The first thrust of the blade pierced deep into her heart: the countless blows that followed were futile, because she was already dead.

Until that day, dragons had little need to be on their guard while lying safe in their den. They would never make the same mistake again. The two young dragglings, Eden and Taya, made vain attempts to defend their mother against the men, but their talons were soft and they would not breathe fire until they were mature. The brave men from the settlement did not want any witnesses to spread the truth of what they had done. The battering that followed left the dragglings lying in pools of their own blood.

Gheldathaw had been away hunting for his family, but he returned hurriedly, plagued by a deep sense of foreboding. He could smell death before he had even entered the cave. When he saw the bodies, he was torn apart by grief, and for a while his sobbing was uncontrollable. It was a long time before he was able to form words.

Who would do this … who would do this?

But, in his heart, he realised he already knew. The dragon sniffed the air to confirm his suspicions. The scent of man in the cavern was one he would never forget for as long as he lived. The rage that followed is also likely to be why dragons gained their mythical reputation. His uncontrollable anger made every sinew of his being tremble. A madness filled his mind. Gheldathaw flew at once over the neighbouring lands and settlements.

The Willowdean vale was a vast forest containing many species of tree, many of which were gnarled and ancient. For days Gheldathaw searched tirelessly for the men. Eventually, he smelled the culprits. These perpetrators, he swore, would pay the ultimate price. The fury that ensued would be long in the forgetting. Gheldathaw swooped down on the houses, torching them one by one with his fiery breath. The sky lit up like an autumn sunset for miles around as the village of Longingford burned. A malignant wind fuelled the dragon’s wrath until a tsunami of fire swept through every dwelling and barn. By morning, blackened walls and broken stonework were all that remained, in the wreckage of charred timbers and ash.

* * *

Events, however, even before the fire, had drawn the attention of Antenon-Elgarth, Warlock, an old wizard who lived and roamed these parts. The natives called him a nomad. He dwells within the forest, everywhere and nowhere, the elves said, and to utter his name is enough to summon him forth. Some believed him to be quite mad, as his demeanour could change within a blink of an eye. One moment he might be speaking like a normal person; the next, ranting on as if he were talking to the trees or invisible creatures who did not belong to this world. He was of elven descent – or so it was believed – although the elves themselves said he was born of magic from the forest.

He certainly had an air of mystery about him. Tall and fair like an elf, he nevertheless had a rounded face and pronounced features. His skin was blemished and furrowed, as if he was very old. His knowledge and wisdom were inestimable, and he knew many tales of things otherwise forgotten.

Drawn by the echoing cries of the dragon’s rage resounding from valleys deep to the mountain peaks, Antenon tracked the murder trail back to the cave. From inside his cape he took a pendant crystal, a gem of light, that had the power to glow upon command. He held it aloft. Breaking the darkness, it revealed men’s bloody footsteps. The sorcerer fell to his knees when he saw the bodies of the dragons lying there. Antenon contemplated what he should do – find Gheldathaw, and quickly, for he knew too well that his wrath would be felt by many. Then, in the silence, he heard a soft whimper. A young draggling was still alive, but her breath was shallow and her pulse weak. The sorcerer had not seen her at first, as she had crawled beneath her mother’s wing. He removed his cape to gently warm and tend the little one. At that moment, a tremendous rumble filled the air. The cave walls and floor shook and quaked. Outside, the ground was being fractured and pulverised: crumbling rock rained down as the only entrance collapsed into darkness. Thick dust choked every space. Then, just before the seemingly endless silence that ensued, he heard, in the distance, Gheldathaw’s forlorn cries, and he guessed he had entombed his loved ones, not knowing one draggling was still alive.

Antenon did not falter. There were urgent matters at hand. Dusting off the gem of light, he placed it in a crevice. The sorcerer then tended the draggling’s wounds using the special leaves and medicinal powders he always carried within his long, weatherworn cloak. He whispered and chanted in a tongue that few would be able to understand, gently touching, checking and healing every part of the draggling. For days he tended her tirelessly and repeatedly, without rest or sleep, slowly pulling Taya from the brink of death. His attempts to do the same for Eden were futile; his injuries were just too severe.

Many times the sun rose and set again, unseen. Not once did the sorcerer lose hope; not once did he tire. While the draggling slept, he began the task of freeing the entrance, one rock at a time, until his hands were raw and blistered. At last, Antenon felt cool, fresh air pass gently over his face. When the new day broke, it penetrated into the cavern as a narrow shaft of light, pale and glistening with particles of dust. Taya raised her head and blinked at the new day, smelling the sweet air. The scent of pine and wild flowers was ordinarily so familiar to her, so taken for granted, that she was only able to perceive it again after it had been lost and then rediscovered.

Please don’t leave me, whimpered the tearful draggling. It was the first time she had spoken since the attack. Antenon knelt down and spoke softly to her, cupping his palms around her tiny cheeks.

Hush now, little one, you need not speak. Rest assured I shall not abandon you. I will be your shepherd through the darkness, until the warmth and hope returns to your heart. Antenon worked quickly now to free them from the cave. Taya was stable, but she desperately needed nourishment.

Once Taya’s health had fully returned, she moved higher into the Moonstone Mountains, to be with her own kind. Antenon visited her often, to offer friendship and counselling, although the solitude of the mountains was her greatest tonic. From these blustery, lofty peaks, she would stand and gaze out across the world. The harder the wind blew, the higher she would climb and face the mighty elements. From her vantage point she could read the smells of the earth and the salty sea air, enough sometimes to taste upon her skin. From another direction the wind might carry the smell of the forest or the