Ther e 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

END

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