There and Back Again First Issue: Traveler’s Tales
There and Back Again Online Editorial Issue 1 April 17/2012 Edited by Jackie Falcon Copyright belongs to There and Back Again
Contents: “The Parting Gift”……………………………………………..Jinx “My Sailor’s Tale”…………………………………….C. Bowland “Song of the Northern Wind”………………………….Amny Rose “The Jeweler’s Son”…………………………………..Indigo Crow “Haven’t the Foggiest”……………………………….Jackie Falcon
The Parting Gift Artwork done by Jinx
My Sailor’s Tale by C. Bowland It was a night without a cloud With stars shining sweet and proud When out of nowhere came a moon Singing with morn, a haunting tune Nothing prepared me for that sight It was no pleasure; it was not bright ‘Til once again a song rang out And in the tune joy did sprout The song was sung by a nearby whale This is my story, a sailor’s tale My name, you see, it is unknown I sail the seas, I sail alone I have a hook ‘stead of a hand It’s been ten years since I’ve seen land It’s been so long, I feel regret With all my treasure, I am in debt My dreams are haunting more than sweet It gives me dread, an undying sleep I’d like to meet someone like me Who knows how I feel and sets me free The thought of this person keeps me alive It fills me with love that will strongly thrive This is the person that gives me glory This is my tale, a sailor’s story
The Song of the Northern Wind by Amny Rose I’ll whisper on by you Away to the South I’ll blow cool on your skin Take the words from your mouth And toss them and blow them And soak them with rain I’ll breeze past you window And carry your pain Away to the South You’ll know that it’s me I’ll blow through the oak trees And help you feel free
The Jeweler’s Son by Indigo Crow There was a jeweler in a certain county in England, who was the greatest of all, even in ancestry—his father’s father was the man who forged and set the presently-used crown of the King. Thus, he was a great favorite of the royal family, and he was a very popular choice for those who needed fine, beautiful trinkets and adornment—especially for nobles’ wedding rings. The jeweler also had a son of ten years, who was usually kept out of the scorning public eye. The jeweler had never been married, and his son was the result of an unwise affair with a harlot whom he had managed to keep by his side for two long years, before she fled and left him with the young child. The child had never had very much attention, but was by no means neglected. Rather, he was left to his own devices, and given food, drink, and work to do where needed. Therefore, he was not particularly wise in moral action, but somewhat clever and rather greedy boy. There had been multiple instances of his stealing a beautiful jewel on the table if his father had left the room; most of the time, it was recovered. But occasionally, he’d bring it to a secret place, where no one would find it, and allow himself to gawp at its beauty there. One day, the jeweler made a very special, valuable bracelet. The fire used had been stoked with a particular sort of wood, which had a very pleasant, smoky aroma, and was often used in witches’ rites. The gold had been imported from high upon a mountain, from a cave where the Wee Folk were said to mine. The huge gem was a radiant ruby, colored a passionate hot-blooded red, and it shone so much in the light that it seemed to glow of
its own accord. Although the jeweler much desired his son to keep away from all of the jewelry, this one was particularly important to be kept away from him. He warned his son many times to stay away from it. It so came up that the jeweler had an appointment with a noblewoman and needed to travel a short distance. Reluctantly, he left his son at home – feeling that he would do more harm than good in the house of a noble—and trusted him not to touch the bracelet. The jeweler’s son did not heed his warnings once he had the chance to take the bracelet for himself. He snatched it from the goose-down pillow where it laid, eyes glittering, and took it out of the house and to his pile of treasure beneath the roots of a gnarled tree behind the property. There, he looked at it, fingered the gem, felt the smooth inside of the curve, held it to the light—and then slipped it on. There was no immediate occurrence. After a few moments, though, he began to change. His neck lengthened and his gut bulged, and his tailbone was extended. His shoulders grew additional webbed limbs, and his nails became an ivory black, and sharpened themselves into points. His skull looked as if it was being pulled out forward, and his ears grew and tapered into long points. Horns, scales, and spines grew from every which way as he grew further and stumbled about, knocking over a redwood with his massive tail. His clothing had stretched, torn, and naturally fallen off— but the bracelet grew with him. He looked over himself, craning his new neck over his heavy shoulders and observing his body. He was no longer man—not at all. He was a Dragon. Once he realized this, he piled all of his belongings into his clumsy
hands, and took flight to a safer area where he could watch his precious belongings. The jeweler was returning home from his arrangement several hours later. It was very successful, the noblewoman having requested identical anklets of silver and sapphire, with hanging parts designed to resemble fishes’ scales. Having been made rather contented by this, the jeweler was not particularly nervous to see that his son was missing, and assumed he had gone either to mingle with other children or relieve himself. When a loud “Hurrah!” rang from outside, he opened the door and beheld the sight of two huntsmen carrying the head and partial neck of a Dragon. Observing the color of the beast’s eyes, the jeweler realized what had happened, and rapidly hanged himself with a fine chain.
Haven’t the Foggiest Simply Notions I am very excited for this first issue of There and Back Again, and hope that all of you are too! For the first circulation, the theme is “Traveler’s Tales”. All of us—writer, dreamer, artist—can relate to the traveler, can we not? They visit different lands, walk where no others have trod before, wanderlust deep in their hearts, consuming their being and soaking up their soul. When we create something—whether it be a story, a drawing, or simply a dream— we feel that yearning in our hearts, that craving to see the places we think up, to talk with the characters whose lives we write. And that wanderlust is deep within us, though we might not see it. We are always ready and eager to hear a traveler’s tale—those accounts of lore and legend that have passed through the centuries and are remembered by tongue and word. They are relics of times gone past…narrations of heroes, thieves, beggars, dragons, kings, looking glasses, white rabbits, hidden staircases, and so much more… Regards, -Jackie Falcon
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