Lore and Lament

By Jason R Emerson

Jack Kragen must find his way back to Alenria, a mirror of our own world, torn and shattered after the Sword of Eons was unleashed. Through his unassuming tabloid, “The Midnight Times”, Jack searches for others who had seen the wonders of this mirrored land, discovered its secrets, and were tempted by its terrible power.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Mar 3, 2023
• ISBN: 9781649790552

Jason R Emerson

Jason R Emerson was born in Claremont, New Hampshire, and began writing at a very young age. He has made a career in the health and fitness industry, while also cultivating his writing career, publishing numerous health and fitness articles. He lives in San Francisco with his family.

Book preview

Lore and Lament

Jason R Emerson

Austin Macauley Publishers

Lore and Lament

About the Author

Dedication

Copyright Information ©

The Wooden Mask: Book 1

To Eldengrad

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

The Hell Hills

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

The Fish Thief

Introduction

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

The Wooden Mask: Book 2

Bean

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

About the Author

Jason R Emerson was born in Claremont, New Hampshire, and began writing at a very young age. He has made a career in the health and fitness industry, while also cultivating his writing career, publishing numerous health and fitness articles. He lives in San Francisco with his family.

Dedication

For Marta, my lighthouse.

Copyright Information ©

Jason R Emerson 2023

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher.

Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Ordering Information

Quantity sales: Special discounts are available on quantity purchases by corporations, associations, and others. For details, contact the publisher at the address below.

Publisher’s Cataloging-in-Publication data

Emerson, Jason R

Lore and Lament

ISBN 9781649790545 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781649790552 (ePub e-book)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2022923504

www.austinmacauley.com/us

First Published 2023

Austin Macauley Publishers LLC

40 Wall Street, 33rd Floor, Suite 3302

New York, NY 10005

USA

[e-mail]

[phone]

The Wooden Mask: Book 1

To Eldengrad

If I find in myself desires which nothing in this world can satisfy, the only logical explanation is that I was made for another world.

– C.S. Lewis

1

There is a forest in Caerleon that is prohibited in parts to recreation of any kind. Camping, fishing, bicycling, and, of course, traipsing, all entirely forbidden. A very old stone wall divided where one could wander and where one could not, and it is said to have been erected many years before anyone even lived in Caerleon. The property within the partition was owned by a family long gone and forgotten, but a single and secret proprietor existed who upheld the family’s wish to restrict any trespassing. This proprietor ensures this himself, often wandering the woods alone with a hunting rifle in search of trespassers. Oddly, he is only referred to by his title.

There was, of course, a time when the peculiarity of both the short stone wall and the woods beyond attracted many young scamps who were brave but foolish. Each left the woods beyond the wall with a blank stare and no recollection, or so they said, of what they had seen or experienced, only that they had met the proprietor and had been asked to leave. So then, a time would come when no one would enter the woods beyond the partition. The peculiarity became a fear, and that fear kept the curious at bay. But just for a time.

Near this forest there is a little house on a hill where a little boy lived. His name was Jack. Unfortunately, little Jack lost his beloved parents in a traffic collision when he was very young and beyond an estranged uncle, there was no one else who could have taken him in but Deirdre Elizabeth Kragen, his grandmother. She was relatively out to lunch as they say so she rarely ever entertained guests. At least not in the literal sense.

Jack suspected she still spoke with his grandad even if he had died some years before. She could often be heard mumbling and arguing with someone in the kitchen but when Jack came into the room she would be alone. This sort of behavior repelled visitors, and so both granny and little Jack were very lonely. I should think the boy was much lonelier.

Jack was quiet and odd, according to the other school children. To be fair, he was. He spoke very little but he did sing silly songs to himself when he thought no one was paying attention. He would stop and blush whenever he heard giggling. He was bullied often by the bigger children at school and largely ignored by everyone else, including adults, so little Jack spent a great deal of time alone.

He sought solace in the forest nearby his little home, but never ventured over the old stone wall that separated public from private property. He had been warned, and Jack was a good boy. Every day after school Jack would escape into the forest to play alone. Some days he would be a knight in search of a princess, whom he often imagined was a young girl in his class named Heather, and other days he was either a hunter or soldier, with an oak stick for a rifle.

When he was afraid, he was a brave soldier, and when he was angry, he only wanted to hunt something down and kill it. Usually a lion.

One particular day, this would be the beginning of our story incidentally, Jack decided he would be an explorer. This was a rather clandestine choice it turned out, because he would find himself exploring the other side of the wall that day.

Jack had not set out with the intention of disregarding any warning or boundary. Jack was a good boy, apart from occasionally skipping school, and even then he felt justified considering he didn’t want to be bullied, as he often was. So once he did reach the stone wall he didn’t set one foot on the other side.

He set down his knapsack and planted his rump on top of the cold stone to have a snack. He nibbled on biscuits and looked about. The leaves were beginning to change from green to various reds and oranges. Jack loved autumn. The colors, the smells and the sense of something ending, but not in a definite sort of way. More of a changing of tides sort of way.

The wind nipped at his neck so he tied his scarf tighter around his neck and tugged his little hat down a bit more over his ears as he finished his biscuit and then tucked the wrapper into his jacket pocket. It was the first of November and it certainly felt like there would be an early snowfall that year. Jack was happy with that. The snow often closed schools and Jack didn’t really care for school.

School… he scoffed. Jack found it comforting to hear the sound of his voice. Pili pala, he said with amusement. That day he was supposed to be in school, but he was also supposed to have a fight with Benjamin Hosk, Crescent Elementary’s largest bully, and he was happy to avoid both. Exploration was far more enticing than math and black eyes.

With his snack finished he hopped off of the stone wall, shouldered his knapsack and trudged on. Jack walked along the stone wall beside a frigid stream toward Sor Pond. He liked to watch the fish swim about, but there was also a small cave he had been meaning to investigate nearby. Jack sang a song and skipped along, a bit cold but otherwise content.

Along the way he was stalled by a sudden peculiar noise. A bit of a rattle and a snap, as if someone carrying maracas had stepped on a twig. Jack stopped in his tracks and strained his ears to listen. Another rattle, and more snapping from somewhere over the wall.

Now a snap, thud, or even a crash would all be rather normal sounds one would hear in the forest. Deer, rabbits, or even a pig could cause any of these sounds, but a rattle? What could it be, Jack wondered? All was quiet for some time as Jack stood like a stone and listened, but just before he was about to leave it be and continue on the rattle and the snapping began again, this time much closer, just over the stone wall and somewhere in the thicker wood of the proprietors charge.

Jack considered whether he should explore or not. It was not so simple a question. He was a good boy and wouldn’t have wanted to disappoint his granny, nor did he find the possibility of being shot worth having a look. It was then, when he had nearly decided to ignore the funny sounds, that a small, mischievous laugh rang out, and then another rattling noise. He must have been far more curious than he was cautious at that point because he nimbly climbed up and over the stone wall and wandered into the thick of the forest.

2

A strange and unnerving feeling accompanied Jack into the thick wood of the old family’s property. It was the sort of feeling one had when traipsing alone in the darkness. A feeling that perhaps someone was watching you. The branches above fought each other as strong gusts of wind blew through the wood. Jack pulled his hat, scarf, and jacket tighter to his body and continued on.

Pili pali, Jack said aloud to calm his nerves. He said it over and over again as he dodged low hanging branches and stepped over stones and unsavory looking mushrooms. He was afraid, but he was also an explorer and explorers kept on no matter how frightful it may be. With every step though his bravery faltered so he decided to go just a bit further before retreating back to the safer side of the wall.

A sudden rattling sound, like beans in a drum resounded nearby. Jack rushed behind an Ash and hid. He sunk into the bark and shook like a frightened dog. He had sudden thoughts of being shot by the infamous proprietor. He was trespassing after all. He heard the sound again and then a laugh. It was an ethereal and playful laugh. Something like the sound of a cheerful child in a long hallway. An impossibly long hallway that may have gone on forever. Jack couldn’t help but have a look.

The rough bark of the ash scratched his cheek as he peered around the tree toward the odd sounds. He may have suspected it was a child. Maybe even the ghost of a child. He might have even been expecting to find the proprietor himself, walking along the wood luring wayward and mischievous children out with his funny maracas before shooting them with his famed hunting rifle.

It was neither ghost nor lunatic caretaker, it was just a small person wrapped in rags wearing a strange wooden mask. This little person was walking through a patch of red mushrooms shaking a stick. The stick had a small pumpkin tied to its top with a bit of twine. The pumpkin tossed and rattled, like beans in a drum.

The strange little person appeared to be collecting mushrooms. At his side he wore a leather satchel and sticking out of this satchel were the heads of little red mushrooms. They appeared to be dancing.

An imp, Jack whispered. He had heard of them, but of course, they couldn’t be real? His granny had told him stories of the forest folk. Of redcaps and goblins and faeries and Imps. His granny had said that redcaps were faeries disguised as mushrooms, to evade capture. Faeries granted wishes, of course.

This particular imp had apparently learned of a way to expose the redcaps. He tiptoed and shook his funny stick. As it rattled, the forest floor suddenly came to life. Redcaps of various sizes tore from the soil and raced about, each rattling away as the imp plucked them up one at a time and tossed them into his satchel. As he did, he laughed joyously. The sound of his laugh was eerie but infectious and Jack couldn’t help but giggle himself.

The imp and the fleeing redcaps all suddenly froze as Jack clasped his own mouth shut. The redcaps that had evaded capture buried their rumps back into the earth.

I’m sorry, Jack said as he stepped out from behind the great big ash. I didn’t mean to startle anyone.

The imp started shaking. So much so that his stick rattled softly. As it did his satchel began to quake and jostle.

I’m not going to hurt you, said Jack. I’m just a little boy.

The imp turned his way. His eyes were wide behind the slits of his strange wooden mask. Little boy or not, he was still afraid of Jack it seemed.

Jack decided to kneel. He thought it may make him less threatening. Jack himself was a small boy but the imp didn’t appear much taller than the boy’s shoulders. It’s okay, said Jack.

Not…be…here, the imp said timidly. He spoke slowly and with a raspy voice, as if it were torture to speak. The imp waved his hand at Jack, like he were shooing away an animal.

Jack didn’t budge. He was enchanted by the imp and his satchel full of faeries. Could I see one? Jack asked.

The imp gripped his satchel tightly and shook his head. No…boy…go! he said waving his hand again. This…for…master.

Jack was beside himself with curiosity. Fear diminished, and in its place wonder budded. I suppose it is every child’s dream to see a faerie, and now that Jack had, he wanted more.

Couldn’t I just see one? I won’t take it, I promise, he insisted.

The imp was hesitant but then sighed and plucked out a small redcap and let the faery dance on the palm of his long-fingered hand. It didn’t seem afraid. It didn’t even seem bothered by its capture. It just bounced around on the imp’s hand like an idiot.

Jack couldn’t help but approach the imp with such unbridled giddiness that he terrified both the imp and the redcap. The faery cowered as the imp recoiled his hand and stood trembling. Jack composed himself quickly. I’m just very excited, he said.

The imp then extended a shaking hand and opened his long spindly fingers. The redcap was suddenly quite inanimate.

Could you make it dance again? Jack asked.

The imp frowned and then shook his stick. The redcap sprang to life and rattled around the palm of his hand.

Jack thought it was just wonderful. He clapped and laughed at such a fanciful sight before having a sudden thought. You don’t eat them, do you? he asked.

The imp shook his brown bald head. For…my…master, it said.

Your master?

The imp plopped the redcap back into its satchel. For…wizard…things, he said.

Jack’s curiosity elevated even more. Wizard things? You mean your master is a wizard? How wonderful! Jack had always loved stories of wizards. In fact when he imagined himself a knight he was often accompanied by a wise and powerful wizard.

The imp appeared pleased with Jack’s excitement. He nodded and said, Great…est…wizard.

Jack’s eyes lit up. Could I meet him? Oh please? he begged.

The imp was hesitant. Not…permitted, he said nervously.

Jack frowned. How could one hear of such a wonderful thing as a real life wizard but not be permitted to see him, he thought. It didn’t seem fair to Jack.

The imp could tell Jack was unhappy and offered to let him take one of the redcaps from his satchel. Just…one, he said.

Jake’s shoulders dropped. I’ve already seen those, but I’ve always wanted to see a wizard. I don’t suppose he’s real anyways, Jake said cynically.

Is…real, said the imp defensively. He looked quite hurt by Jack’s disbelief.

Then prove it, said Jack.

The imp considered this for a long time before finally conceding. Follow…close.

Jack smiled. Wonder and fancy renewed. He followed the imp deeper into the thick wood to meet his master, a wizard.

3

It was only minutes along when Jack had a thought. Are you the prop…propor…proporiter? he asked the imp. Jack had heard the title before but had never himself said the word proprietor out loud.

The imp stopped under a pine and turned. Two gangrenous eyes blinked behind the wooden mask. Clearly, he was not sure what Jack had meant.

No then, said Jack. Then as a child does, he changed the subject immediately. Why do you wear that funny mask? Jack asked.

The little imp looked quite sad suddenly. His mask was simple. It looked like it had been nipped off the top of a log. It was cracked and crooked and looked terribly uncomfortable. There were three slits, two for the eyes and a vertical one for the mouth and nose. It also didn’t appear to be fastened to the imp’s head, not by twine or anything. It just sat on his face like it were glued there.

The imp tugged on it for Jack and it didn’t budge.

Does it not come off? Jack asked.

The imp shook his head slowly. For…your…world, he said