Grandma's Tales of Long Ago and Far Away: Book One: Magic and Mystery

By J M Robinson

While at the market with his father, an adopted boy is approached by a mysterious beggar who gives him a strange, seemingly cursed amulet. On their way home from the market, the father and son are attacked by evil beings who attempt to take the amulet back. All is quiet until one stormy night when the boy notices the old oak tree by the cottage has been struck by lightning, split open, and cast in a ghastly green glow. A small man standing by the trunk beckons him, and the boy is sent into a strange, magical world through the portal.
A new friend, the last of his kind, helps the boy through many strange and dangerous adventures as they try to find their way home. They meet another human boy held captive by shadow monsters, a troll who would like to have them for dinner, and a dwarf who helps them escape. The boy's true ancestors come to light as he is pursued by a treasure-thirsty dragon… unbeknownst to him, an even darker foe follows suit, seeking the cursed amulet.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Dec 7, 2022
• ISBN: 9781667869377

Book preview

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With thanks to my husband and family.

Especially my daughter

who helped me with computer issues.

Thanks to my granddaughter

and her husband,

without their encouragement and help this story would not have been possible.

Grandma’s Tales of Long Ago and Far Away

Book One: Magic and Mystery

© 2022, J M Robinson

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review

Paperback ISBN: 978-1-66786-936-0

eBook ISBN: 978-1-66786-937-7

Contents

INTRODUCTION

Preface

1. The Beginning

2. Home

3. The Market

4. The Way Home

5. The Journey Home

6. The Storm

7. New Friend

8. Captives

9. Alone

10. Cellmates

11. Transformation

12. Reunited

13. Freedom

14. The Cavern

15. Escape

16. Friend or Foe?

17. The Loss

18. Alive

19. The Worm Returns

20. The Way

21. Uninvited Guests

22. The Dwarf Kingdom

23. Conflict

24. Council of Elders

25. The Plan

26. Wing It

27. What Is That?

28. On Our Way

29. He’s Back

30. The Search

31. On the Road Again

32. The Pathway

33. Are We There Yet?

34. The Long Walk

35. The Truth

36. Origins

37. The Mine

38. The Passing of a Friend

39. Let’s Go Home

INTRODUCTION

This tale is about a simpler time when people believed in elves, fairies, and of course, the power of magic. You might say that an overabundance of narratives has been written about these subjects, and that these stories are no longer of interest or unique enough. After all, some tales have been around for a long time, passed down for centuries by generations of storytellers. A person once said that there is nothing unique left in the world; all has been explored, discovered, written, or talked about. But this does not make things any less interesting or exciting, if you believe.

When I was young, my grandmother, a descendant from the Romani people, used to tell me stories from the old country of fairies dancing and singing in the night. I would sit by my open window on the darkest nights, staring into the dense forest behind our house, hoping to catch a glimpse of twinkling lights among the trees and hear the laughter and hauntingly beautiful music of the fairy folk.

Grandmother’s stories often had a dark side, not all fairies and dwarves were benevolent, and you should always be on guard. New mothers especially had to be vigilant of evil changelings that would steal young human babies from their cradles and replace them with the most hideous of creatures.

These stories fascinated, and yes, even terrified me, but they stuck with me throughout my life. Now I am a grandmother, and I would like to pass on these tales of the magic of believing.

This is the story of a young boy who fell into another world one dark and stormy night. It was a world inhabited by dark and dangerous beings. Add a liberal sprinkling of dwarves, deep dark mines abandoned in ancient times, and fairies capering in the night trying to trap unwary humans, if they were foolish enough to step into their fairy rings. And a hidden treasure of limitless wealth and of course the requisite dragon tasked to guard it all. We cannot forget to mention the small magical creature, the last of its kind, who befriends and accompanies the boy on his strange and exciting adventure as he tries to find his way back home.

Let the tale take you to a place where the sights, sounds, and scents will suspend reality and immerse you in an alternative world. Find a quiet corner and curl up in a favorite chair. Wrap yourself in a warm fuzzy blanket and let your mind wander. Imagine what it would be like to live in the Long Ago and Far Away…

Preface

The savage storm raged on. It shrieked and howled like a banshee in the night. A fierce wind, swept along by the storm-beast, tore leaves and branches from the dark, twisted trees that choked the ancient forest. Thunder boomed and crackled as it reverberated throughout the hills and canyons of the distant mountains. With a blinding flash, a jagged bolt of lightning exploded from the roiling skies, exposing the landscape in a black-and-white negative. A stab of searing light plunged from the heavens and struck deep into the heart of an old oak tree that stood on the banks of a swollen stream. Burned bark and pulp erupted from the wound in the tree trunk and rained down on the quaking ground beneath its branches. Heavy, electrically charged air rippled and the fabric of time fluttered. Unseen shock waves parted the fragile curtain that divided the world of fairies from the world of mortal men, and through the opening a tiny, wizened man stepped into the fury of the night. The cycle repeated itself as it had done for untold centuries.

Chapter One

The Beginning

On the edge of a dark forest stood a small, two-story stone cottage. Set apart from its neighbors, it was one of several that huddled on the banks of a deep stream. The cottage had been vacant and left to ruin for many years. Although numerous families once called this modest dwelling home, all were met with tragedy, and eventually the small cottage was abandoned.

Now, however, wisps of white smoke lazily curled from the field stone chimney, rising into the early morning. Here and there a beam of sunlight snaked through the canopy of green leaves and twisting branches to warm the cold stone walls of the cottage. The sunlight sparkled and danced on the small, circular glass windows before creeping into the humble dwelling, announcing the coming day to those slumbering within. Two wild rose bushes struggled to climb the walls on either side of the arched wooden door, framing the entrance in a cloud of scented pink petals. From the back door of the cottage, a narrow, carefully laid stone walk, bordered by brightly colored flowers, wound its way to a garden bountiful with fresh, crisp vegetables and herbs. To the right of the garden an old barn sheltered a single black-and-white cow and two large gray draft horses. In the barnyard, chickens frantically scratched at the ground in search of worms and seeds while a proud rooster looked on with an air of boredom. Beyond the barn, a fence made of tree branches lashed together with strips of rawhide enclosed a pasture where four sheep grazed on sweet, green grass.

A stream ran along the left side of the cottage, meandering for miles through the forest. Twisting and turning, it occasionally ran swiftly, noisily crashing over boulders and fallen trees, sweeping away anything that attempted to stop its progress. At other times, it flowed along lazily, letting the sun warm its babbling waters, gently whispering as it gathered itself in cool, deep pools beneath overhanging pine branches. People said the stream was enchanted because the headwaters emerged from beneath a fairy hill deep within the forest. Still others recalled tales told by their ancestors that, in times past, the waters ran gold on a midsummer’s eve. Most would also say few mortals have ever witnessed it.

Most people who lived in the sparsely populated hamlet believed that the forest was the realm of fairies, elves, and darker beings. A few of the older villagers claimed to have seen tiny red lights flickering among the trees at night. On these occasions the sound of strange and melodic music floated on the air, a musical accompaniment to the wind as it sighed through the leaves and grasses of the deep forest. Villagers seldom ventured into the forest even during the daylight hours because of superstition and fear. They would never dream of traveling the twisting paths after dark. Feeling safe and secure in their homes, behind shuttered windows and locked doors, people often gathered around their brightly burning hearth fires to tell stories of the doomed who were foolhardy enough to travel the paths in the dark of night. They spun eerie tales of demons, beasts, and winged creatures too hideous to imagine, hunting for mortal souls in the pale, cold, glowing moonlight.

Chapter Two

Home

A boy slowly emerged from the depths of sleep, awakened by the distant crowing of a rooster. His first thought was how pleasant it was to be surrounded by normal things—birds singing in the trees, the smell of flowers and green grass, a gentle breeze. Things so many took for granted and so few took the time to appreciate.

His east-facing bedroom was on the second floor of the cottage and was always the first to catch the rays of the early morning sun. Snuggling deeper into his bed, he pulled the goose down quilt up to his neck and contently lay there, savoring the gentle caress of the sunlight on his face. Turning on his side, he looked out his small bedroom window at the giant oak tree that stood beside the stream. High in its gnarled branches he could see a large bird’s nest. As he watched, a mother bird flew to the nest, holding a fat brown worm in her beak. As she landed three little heads popped out to peer up at her. Chirping loudly, bobbing up and down, the baby birds each tried to get a fair share of their breakfast.

Gradually the boy became aware of the sound of singing, mingled with the rattle of crocks and pots drifting up to him from the kitchen below. Mother was up early today, preparing breakfast for his father, who was going to the village market in Storm Cloud. Occasionally his father was able to make a small amount of money from selling produce left over from the harvest. This week’s harvest was especially good. He felt certain that there would be enough money for a gift for his mother and enough left over for a special treat for him. He always looked forward to market day because he could accompany his father to the distant village. He became increasingly excited as he lay there thinking of the day ahead. Finally he jumped from his bed and ran across the room to the small alcove where his clothes hung neatly on wooden pegs. The rough plank floor was as cold as ice and the soles of his bare feet began to tingle. Hopping from one foot to the other, he quickly dressed himself in thick green leggings and a warm woolen tunic. Pulling on a pair of worn leather boots, he quickly ran down the steep wooden stairs to the kitchen.

The kitchen was his favorite room in the house. It was always warm, even on the coldest days. A huge stone fireplace completely dominated one wall. Always in use, it provided a source of heat for the tiny cottage as well as a place to prepare meals. He loved the smell of fresh bread baking and the tangy aroma of spicy stews his mother left simmering on the grate.

Good morning, Mother! Hayliss shouted as he picked up an old wooden bucket and ran outside to fetch water from the stream, the kitchen door slamming behind him with a loud bang.

Before his mother had time to reply, he was back with the bucket filled with water. He carefully poured the water into an old iron cauldron hanging on a bracket mounted over the fire. Reaching into the cubbyhole, he picked out two logs and threw them onto the smoldering embers. Soon the fire was blazing and the water began to boil, the bubbles singing as they hissed and popped in the black pot. He took the plate of freshly baked loaves of wheat bread and began to thread the slices on a long-handled iron fork. Holding the fork over the fire, he toasted first one side, then the other, until the bread was a golden brown. Turning, he walked over to his mother and watched her as she began to fry rashers of bacon over the open fire. Hayliss thought about how much he loved his mother. He stood on his tiptoes and reached up and gave her a kiss on the cheek. Hayliss’s mother was a small woman, grown old before her time by hard work and harsh living conditions.

I see you’re up early this morning, she said as she brushed a lock of dark curly hair from his forehead.

She looked onto his angelic face and traced her finger along the dusting of gingery freckles that marched across his nose and cheeks. His big emerald eyes, flecked with gold, stared up at her. She bent down and gently kissed the odd birthmark that stained his forehead. How strange it was, she thought. Sometimes it resembled a mountain range. No, that could not be—it was just her imagination.

With a slight shrug of her shoulders, she asked, Did you sleep well? I hope you weren’t troubled by any more bad dreams.

No, I had wonderful dreams. I dreamed about going to the market, and about all the wonderful things we’re going to see when we get there. I can hardly wait to get started, I’m so excited!

His mother nodded, and in a soft voice said, Go to the vegetable cellar and tell your father that breakfast is just about ready and be sure you both wash your hands.

Okay, Hayliss said as he turned and quickly ran to the small pantry in the back of the kitchen. In the center of the pantry floor was an old wooden trap door that covered the entrance to the cellar. Bending down, he gave the rope handle a mighty pull.

Dad! Dad! Hayliss shouted as he bounded down the wooden stairs.

The vegetable cellar had been carved in the earth beneath the house. Spidery roots from the trees above snaked their way down into the tiny room, dangling from the ceiling and poking out from the dark dirt walls. The fresh vegetables his father picked from the garden were stored in large wooden bins until it was time to bring them to market. Small shelves hollowed out from the dirt and rocks of the wall and were lined with variously sized jars and crocks filled with fruits and vegetables his mother had canned for the winter. Hayliss’s father was packing corn into one of the baskets that sat on the dirt floor. He looked up as his son reached the last step.

Yes, Hayliss, what is it? he asked.

Mom wants you to come to breakfast, Hayliss said.

Okay, great. I finished packing the last of the corn just in time, he said, taking Hayliss by the hand and starting up the stairs.

Hayliss’s father was a tall man with broad shoulders and muscular arms, better suited to be a blacksmith than a farmer. His skin tanned a deep bronze from the hours he spent laboring under the sun. His long, wavy black hair held in place at the nape of his neck with a piece of rawhide. His deep green eyes seemed to sparkle as they caught the light. Despite his size he was a kind and gentle man who worked hard to provide and care for his family, whom he deeply loved.

Mom said we’d better wash our hands before we eat, Hayliss reminded his father.

Okay, his father said as they both walked over to the wooden washtub and scrubbed their hands with the pungent tallow soap.

Sit down and start eating before the food gets cold. It’s a long ride to the village, and there’s a bitter chill in the air this morning. You’ll need something to warm you, his mother said as she spooned steaming porridge into their wooden bowls.

Do you need anything from the market? Hayliss’s father asked.

I’ll need more flour if I’m going to finish the baking.

I’ll stop by the miller’s on the way back. Is there anything else you might need? I’m not sure when we’ll be going into the village again. It’s getting late in the season, and I think we won’t be getting much more from the garden, Hayliss’s father said.

No, I have everything I need, but I want you to promise me that the two of you will start back early enough so you’re not traveling through the forest in the dark. I really worry about you.

You listen to too many tales from the old women in the village, Hayliss’s father replied. Don’t worry. We’ll be safe and home long before dark.

I can’t help but worry; there are so many frightening tales and unexplained incidents, all involving the forest, she said as she turned to Hayliss, a smile returning to her lips as she watched him.

Hayliss was so excited he could hardly sit still. When are we leaving? he asked as he spooned the last of his porridge into his mouth.

It is getting late, so we better get started. Go to the barn and get the horses and hitch them to the wagon while I go down to the cellar and get the corn, Hayliss’s father said as he pushed his chair back from the table and headed toward the pantry. Hayliss quickly cleared the table of breakfast dishes, then he ran to the door. Pulling it open, he dashed outside, letting the door bang shut behind him.

His mother watched Hayliss as he ran to the barn. You’re a silly old woman to worry so much about him, she said aloud to no one in particular. A strand of golden hair had come loose from her long braid. She absently pushed it from her face and tucked it behind her ear.

She could not help thinking how fortunate they were to have a son. They had given up all hope of ever having any children. She was thinking back to a time when countless mysterious things had been happening in the small hamlet—fierce storms plagued the land, followed by disappearances and sightings of strange creatures on the outskirts of town. She remembered waking one morning unable to see clearly and feeling as if she was walking in a mist. It was shortly after that incident she had found a small baby wrapped in homespun blankets lying in a basket on their doorstep. She remembered how happy they were and how they had taken him in and raised him as their own. She was jolted from her reminiscing by the sound of her husband’s footsteps as he came into the room. In his arms he carried two baskets full of corn.

Come and see us off, he said, and together they walked to the door.

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