The Word Dancer

By Maxine Rose Schur

When traitors take over the kingdom of Wisland, Wynnfrith, a young orphan raised at court, must flee with Oliver, the five-year-old crown prince. In order to reach safety, the two children must embark on a treacherous journey that pits them against the cruel Ugsome family. Though she is afraid, Wynnfrith is determined to keep Prince Oliver safe.

Aided by Mistress Plummety Peache, a feisty enchantress with a loving heart, and by the magical and mysterious Word Dancer, Wynnfrith must learn to use not just her head, but also her heart to ignite the full power of words.

If Wynnfrith can find within herself the way to unleash this magic, she might just be able to defeat the enemies of Wisland—and realize the true bravery within her. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Snowy Wings Publishing
• Release date: Apr 18, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215100448

Maxine Rose Schur

Maxine Rose Schur is an award-winning travel journalist and the author of several books for both children and adults. As the recipient of the Joan G. Sugarman Award given by the Washington Independent Writer's Legal and Educational Fund, Ms Schur was the Baker-Nord Guest Lecturer on Writing in the Humanities at Case Western Reserve University. Her evocative rendering of daily life in an Ethiopian village Day of Delight won the Parent's Choice Award and was read by Gregory Hines on National Public Radio and recorded on CD. Maxine Rose Schur's non-fiction for adults includes the books, The Reading Woman, Enchanted Islands: Voices and Visions from the Caribbean and Solo Passages, a collection of women's diary writings accompanied by a CD of classical music. Maxine Rose Schur began her career as a documentary and feature film editor for the New Zealand National Film Unit and later became a full-time writer and editor for Addison-Wesley publishing. She has also written and edited for Hampton Brown, Scholastic, Houghton-Mifflin, Harcourt Brace, The American Girl's Collection, Radio New Zealand and the BBC. Ms. Schur was the feature writer on art and culture for the magazine, Caribbean Travel & Life. Her award-winning travel essays have appeared in numerous publications including the San Francisco Chronicle, The Christian Science Monitor, Américas, The Los Angeles Times, Escape, Northwest Airlines World Traveler, Traveller (U.K.) , Insight Guides and Salon.com. Her essays have also appeared in Traveler's Tales: anthologies published by O'Reilly and Associates, Wanderlust: Real-Life Tales of Adventure and Romance published by Random House, Paris in Mind by Vintage Books, Random House and The Kindness of Strangers published by Lonely Planet. Ms. Schur has twice won the Lowell Thomas Award by the Society of American Travel Writers for excellence in adventure travel journalism. Her latest book is the travel memoir, Places in Time which was named the best travel book by the North American Travel Journalists Association and took the Gold Award for Best Book by the Society of American Travel Writers. Maxine Rose Schur's most recent book is Marielle in Paris, which tells of the high-flying adventure of a fashion-designer mouse. A celebration of the City of Light, Marielle in Paris is beautifully illustrated by Jeanne de Sainte-Marie.

Book preview

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, businesses, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is entirely coincidental.

The Word Dancer

Copyright © 2023 Maxine Rose Schur.

Illustrations © Dragan Paunovic.

Interior formatting by Key of Heart Designs.

Published by Snowy Wings Publishing

snowywingspublishing.com

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.

For my lovely and loved granddaughter,

Sylvie Dalia Schur

Map of WislandPreface

When time was long ago, there reigned in the kingdom of Wisland a king as good as his name. King Goodliwink was known by his subjects as one who would listen to you and care about you though you might be the most bothersome peasant.

On the evening of which our fearful tale begins, the court was seated in the Great Hall, celebrating King Goodliwink’s birthday. There sat the brave knights with their meat knives at the ready. There sat the courtiers, laughing and boasting. There, too, sat the great nobility of the land—lords and ladies in such finery as would dazzle even the Devil.

At the right hand of King Goodliwink sat his trusted advisor, Lord Ugsome and his wife, Lady Ugsome. Beside them, alternately picking at his pimples and picking the meat out of his dog-like teeth, sat their seventeen-year-old son, Master Snit Ugsome.

That night the merriment seemed great, but all was not as it seemed. King Goodliwink tried to be cheerful, but since his beloved queen had died three months earlier, his heart was as an empty sack. And he was not the only one secretly sad. If you were to have looked carefully among the glittering people, you would have marked next to the Ugsomes two unhappy children. One was a dark-haired girl by the name of Wynnfrith with green eyes the color of meadow grass. Wynnfrith had reached her twelfth year and was as good as she was clever. But now, even with the music of the minstrels, antics of the jugglers, sweetmeats and sugarplums, she felt a deep loneliness. And well she might. When she was born, her mother died. When she was nine, her dear father who had been the trusted advisor to the king took ill, and he, too, was carried up to Heaven. From that time forth the queen had cared for her. Queen Olivia tended to the girl with kisses and caresses just as she did with her own child, Prince Oliver. Now the loving queen was also in that forever world and Wynnfrith and the five-year-old prince were put into the care of Lady Ugsome.

As Wynnfrith watched the merrymakers, two big tears rolled down her cheeks. Crybaby, sneered Master Snit, giving her a kick to the ankle.

Ouch, cried Wynnfrith.

Hold your tongue, girl, Lady Ugsome snapped. And, to little Prince Oliver who was munching on a jam tart, she muttered under her breath, Choke, Changeling.

After the buffoons and jugglers, the King announced the finest of all amusements: The Word Dancer. Yes, the Word Dancer was to appear, and that night something would happen that would forever change the lives of not only Wynnfrith, but of everyone in the kingdom.

All foretold by a single word.

Chapter 1: He is a Magic Man

At the announcement that the Word Dancer would appear, Wynnfrith lifted her head, and a light shone in her eyes.

Who is the Word Dancer? asked Prince Oliver.

He is a magic man who comes to the court now and then, said Wynnfrith. I love him dearly. He is as old as time and as smart as a monk. And, he is as beautiful a dancer as anyone has ever seen.

"But what does he do?" Prince Oliver asked.

"He travels around the world and can appear as if by magic. He sees the truth in everything—the real truth—and when he is at court, he presents a truth in a single word after a most wonderful dance."

What does he do the rest of the time?

I don’t know, Wynnfrith answered. "I don’t think anyone knows that or where he comes from or where he lives. Some believe he can fly. I don’t know if that’s true, but I do know that, like a miracle, he can be there when you most need him…when you most need a word."

Does he talk?

Only when he gives the word, and then he says just that word…but most of the time the word is written. And if you think about the word, it leads you… Here Wynnfrith paused as she thought carefully what a Word Dancer word does. …it leads you, she continued, "to think about just what you must think about. Oh, Prince Oliver, you will like him so."

I want to see him, the boy cried.

Stop your babbling, Lady Ugsome hissed, and at once, the children sat silent.

The Word Dancer, the people murmured happily. The king has called forth the Word Dancer. At the announcement that the Word Dancer would appear, the excitement grew so that it felt to Wynnfrith as if the very palace itself was vibrating in anticipation.

Then, the Word Dancer appeared.

He was a tall, slim young man dressed in black. He burst into the Great Hall and leapt as if on fire. His dance was one of frenzy such as Wynnfrith had never seen. He jumped like a jester and lunged like a jouster. He spun fast as a top. His dance was one of fury that hypnotized the court, for they had never seen the Word Dancer dance with such wild urgency.

Then—just as King Goodliwink’s golden goblet was refilled with wine, the Word Dancer leapt high as a stag, and with one swift kick, knocked the royal goblet out of the king’s hands.

SCREAMS!

GASPS!

SHUDDERS!

The court was outraged at this insult to the king.

Wynnfrith held her breath in shock.

But as mentioned, King Goodliwink was kind. He rose and held high his scepter as a call for silence. Then he turned to the Word Dancer.

What have we here? He smiled. There is spirit and sport in you tonight, Word Dancer. You puzzle the world with your wonderment. And, you puzzle your king with your wild way. Yet you make him curious, too, for I seek knowledge as a miser seeks money.

Turning to a young courtier, the king motioned for him to pick up the overturned goblet where it lay on the table; but as the courtier reached toward it, the golden goblet burned itself up in a blue fire.

The court gasped again, but again, the king called for silence. The Word Dancer drew something from a black leather pouch that hung around his neck. It was a piece of parchment no larger than a man’s thumb. He handed it to the king as he bowed low. In a loud voice, King Goodliwink read the word written upon it:

Decline

Before anyone could think what decline meant, the Word Dancer held out his hand, beckoning the king to return the parchment to him. When the king did, the Word Dancer dropped it into the puddle of spilled wine on the Great Table.

FIZZLEPOP!

In a puff of blue smoke, the parchment piece turned to cinders.

Decline the drink, a knight shouted. There’s the sense of it. Someone’s tried to poison our king.

TREASON, the people cried. FIND THE TRAITOR.

CATCH HIM.

STRETCH HIM.

BOIL HIM.

CHOP OFF HIS HEAD.

The knights rushed to encircle their king, protecting him with their swords pointed outward. At the same moment, Lord Ugsome and Master Snit dashed forward, laughing like demons, each throwing something high in the air that looked like a kind of cloth ball. At once, the people fell to coughing and sneezing. Their eyes burned so that their faces became wet with tears, and they were blinded. Screaming, shouting, weeping in the vaporous air, they tripped over and bumped into each other, trying to protect the king they could not see. In the panic, Lord Ugsome seized the king’s sacred scepter of power and protection, and raised it high in triumph. Decline, he bellowed with a sneer. Goodliwink in decline―the kingdom is mine!

Wynnfrith’s eyes filled with tears, yet she blinked hard, grabbed the prince’s hand, and ran toward the larder.

Stop, brats, Lady Ugsome screamed, yanking the prince from Wynnfrith and digging her sharp nails into his little arm. The boy cried out. Wynnfrith, though quivering in fear, grabbed a roasted goose leg from a banquet table and threw it at Lady Ugsome. It landed on her head, knocking her off balance. Ghastly girl, Lady Ugsome screamed as she fell backward over a chair and crumpled to the floor. Wynnfrith, holding tightly to the crying Prince Oliver’s hand, groped her way toward the larder, coughing and gasping as she went. The walls of the larder were lined, floor to ceiling, with shelves jammed tight with meats, pies, bread, fruit, butter, and cheese. Remembering what her father had once shown her, Wynnfrith opened the trap door in the floor that led down to the castle cellar. With no light, she guided Oliver onto the dark, narrow staircase and shut the door above them. In the dark, she could feel Oliver’s trembling, and though she herself was afraid, she held his hand firmly and carefully descended. Down the stairs in the blackness, she pulled the little prince behind her. As they went, the screams and clash of swords from the Great Hall echoed loudly in the stone stairway, and they were like the violent sounds of Hell. When she reached the bottom, she felt along the cellar wall until she came to the door that led outside and pushed it open. Oliver was crying now, but she picked him up and held him close. We must be quiet, she breathed, for they must not find us.

They will find us, wailed Prince Oliver.

"Not if we’re quiet and clever. As soon as she said clever" Wynnfrith realized that she didn’t know what to be clever now meant. What could she do? Still holding Oliver, she took a deep