The Rose

Introduction:

Over the past several months, I have been quietly working on a novel I started in my late childhood, then entitled, “Tipsey and His Brothers”. It is based on the Hungarian fairy tale, “Boots and His Brothers“.

I finished the book, with illustrations, when I was 13; however, I tragically lost it in my mom’s lease when she returned her car to the dealership. I never saw the book again. But, that did not do me in. I began re-writing the book in my early twenties, only to discover, much to my frustration, that the book had aged and so had I.

Now finding it almost impossible to publish the book in its original form, I began anew, building off of my original story and characters. I changed my main character’s name to Conrad and the title, thinking “Tipsey” might be better served as a nickname. And, searching for the backstory of how the king got to be in his current circumstances in need of our hero, I developed an entire world of royalty, shapeshifting dragons and the origin of magic in this world. I also found my villian, Duke Max, reagent for Princess Emma Wittelsbach, heir to the Bavarian throne, and his dragoness guardian wife, Megira, both self-serving masterminds in their own right. They are aided by their half dragon shapeshifter, half human twin sons, Alec and Tobin Moriessey, who I commonly just dub “The Moriessy Brothers”. Now, I knew what happened after the king was rescued by our hero: Conrad had to go defeat Max and Megira. I also found a time period: the 1800s. And so, a new world began to evolve, and with it, the story itself. I won’t give any more away because, well, spoilers. (I can hear you, Riversong lol.) I will at least not bore you with the amount of detail I have bestowed on poor souls who want to know haha.

But, there is one chapter that I can offer you today, and that is the chapter when Conrad finds his first magical tool: the ax. The premise of this part of the tale is mostly unchanged. And so, apart from any editing I may do later, I will offer it here to you. I hope you enjoy. Progress is slow, but I’m enjoying putting everything together immensely. I also welcome feedback, so be sure to leave a comment with your thoughts. See “The Lost Novel” page for more on this project.

Chapter Body:

And so, without further ado, here is the chapter I have entitled, “Conrad’s night”:

The deep night in the forest was like a gaping mouth of darkness, only illuminated by the brothers’ small campfire. Laying there in the tents they had pitched, thanks to Rudolf’s last minute thinking before they left Basil, Conrad thought he could hear crickets and other wildlife stir in the darkness. That is, if they weren’t interrupted by the chorus of Rudolf’s snoring nearby. He was a whole tent over, but the muffled snorts were still keeping Conrad awake. Peter was obviously in the same tent as Conrad and he wasn’t much better. He couldn’t exactly remember their father having this much late-night noise, but he was certainly regretting being the last to hit the hay. The fire was still going and he had tended it until it was only embers, enjoying the flickering of its dying flames. He figured he couldn’t do much in a fight but someone had to keep watch. At least, he could have given someone a face full of embers while he cried out of his brothers’ help. But mostly, he enjoyed reflecting. The night called to him in a way, as if to say it knew he was making a poor choice but please, stay longer and be.
“Ugh,” he groaned softly, rolling over. Somewhere between the crickets and the snoring, there was just no off button. All he could think about was needing to sleep in any way possible. It just wasn’t coming to him, though. It was eluding him mightily at whatever cost.
He didn’t think getting up would help. But, after long moments of tossing and turning, he once again resigned to hobbling out by the embers of the fire and stoking it a little for some light. Maybe keeping his mind busy would prompt the necessary fatigue. Especially on the road, he knew, it was important to be well rested.
He noticed a scurrying in the bushes as a rabbit hopped by. He looked up and saw the moon was nearly full, only hampered by tree branches and the occasional cloud. It was a beautiful night, however deep, loud and insomniac it might be for him.
He thought again about the barrel man and his weird story about the missing Bavarian king. The reward for finding the king surely was handsome. He could live soundly on the farm for many years on that pay, maybe even pay off his father’s debt. Rudolf’s tavern wouldn’t need to suffer. Peter’s large family surely would be set for life. And, he thought, perhaps a bit selfishly, he could finally receive treatment for his malformed leg. But, the chances of him ever finding the king, he thought, were very slim. It was a gamble, he thought, and maybe better to stick to their original mission, especially because no one had found him in all these years. Who was he to find what others could not? Yet, he felt optimistic that, if he ran into any missing kings, he would happily report it to the authorities. And, furthermore, surely they would find him someday. He believed that much about it.
“Wack, a tat, tat!”
The distant sound perked Conrad’s ears, jarred him from his train of thought and pierced the night. What was that?
“Wack, a tat, tat, tat!”
It came again, louder this time, almost as if it was near to the campsite. That was strange. It kind of sounded like someone taking an ax to a tree, but who would be up chopping wood this time of night? And, furthermore, who would be up, chopping wood at this time of night in such a remote area? He could not say he had seen many people , except for those they met on the road.
“Whack a tat, tat tat!”, the sound came again, from somewhere out in the black-veiled wilderness, encompassed with the trees.
“Hello, is anyone there?”, he called out wistfully, hoping for a response.
“A whacka titter tat tat!”
No one answered Conrad’s call from beyond the dark. The sound just kept going.
“What the devil is that?”, he muttered under his breath as he grabbed his crutch and rose from his seat by the fire.
He looked behind him at the tents. It had not woken his brothers. The chorus of snoring previously keeping him awake had not stopped because of the distant, eerie, continuous  sound.
He looked into the forest’s night. It was still black. Crickets still were chirping. The night was still both asleep and awake at the same time. The moon was still almost full and peeping above. And yet, the sound kept going.
He hesitated. It didn’t really seem like the wisest idea to wander very far from camp to investigate. Many a man who had ventured into the woods in thr dead of night had gotten lost, eaten by wolves or worse. He wasn’t about to let that be him. Besides, he would leave the camp vulnerable if he did.
But then, he thought of the rabbit and thought perhaps it had not gotten far. He wasn’t sure he could kill it outright but he could at least try to trap it for breakfast in the morning. Or, perhaps this was too futile of an idea and he could let Peter hunt for it in the morning.
“Whack a tat, tat!”
The sound persisted in the darkness, as if beckoning him to come find it. He realized he was going to have to go investigate no matter what. Besides, he was curious about what was making all the ruckus.
Conrad quietly grabbed a kerosene lamp, his hunting knife and a few provisions in case he got lost. He didn’t anticipate being gone that long. But, he would mark the trees with his knife to create a path back to camp just in case. It was better to be careful, he thought.
Then, with a quick backward look at the embers and tent, he took a deep breath and set out into the forest after the whacking sound, notching his first tree before he left. He continued following the sound and notching trees every few yards or so. He went slowly, carefully, being mindful of the forest. It was also more difficult to trek the uneven terrain cautiously with his malformed leg and crutch, which kept sinking into the soft ground constantly. Conrad found himself bracing himself on trees and struggling to hold the lamp and crutch as he went on carving his notches and walking. And, despite his best efforts, he couldn’t help but feel afraid that the night had swallowed him whole and he would never reach camp again. All the while, he followed the never-ending sound into the dark.
It took awhile, at least a mile or two, before he realized the sound was getting louder.
“Zzt! Rrrr rurrrrrrr!!! Whack a whacka!”, it went, and he realized he could hear the “Crack!” and “Thud!” of a tree falling to the ground before the sound continued.
“How the hell is someone logging at this hour? And who?”, he wondered gruffly out loud. He yawned, realizing the fatigue was finally starting to hit him. But, it was too late to turn back now. The light would burn low and he might still not make it back alive  He had to keep going.
Keep going he did, but he resolved to become wary in case of falling trees, axes or woodsaws whatever insane logger was using in his or her quest to burn the midnight oil. And, he felt he would need a conversation with this person, to explain as to why they had caused such a ruckus in the first place to set him on this path to begin with. He for sure would ask for that before he returned to camp, along with a request to cease and desist, in order that he could get some proper shut eye.
The sound kept getting louder until it was almost as if he needed to cover his ears. And then, just as the whole thing had become greatly unbearable and uncomfortable, he started to see a clearing up ahead, atop a hill and into the night. The sound seemed to be emanating from there, so Conrad endeavored to climb it. It was no easy task for him, bracing himself on the scarce trees that seemed to grow sideways out if the steep hillside. He temporarily gave up on notching, if just to hold the light in his mouth and reach vainly for the next tree in sight. Fallen leaves rustled at his feet, as if hoping he would slip and fall all the way back down. At times, he crawled, his body stretching to press upward and onward to the next patch of hill. Until, finally, his ears ringing and panting from the exercise, he reached the top safely.
Conrad looked out into the clearing and gasped as best as he could gasp after being out of breath. “No way,” he uttered, shakily peering out with the lamp into the moonlight. He couldn’t believe what he saw.
While there certainly was no woodcutter, fallen trees lay absolutely everywhere, some piled haphazardly on top of one another. This created the clearing and it was as if some major storm had come through and knocked every tree in sight down to the ground. But, that clearly was not the case, because each tree had been cleanly severed at its base, leaving stump after stump as far as the eye could see. It was no less a complete chaotic mess, and one in which the deafening sound unduly persisted.
Clinging to his crutch, Conrad tried to kneel down and finger the stump in front of him, searching for clues. It was logged as cleanly as it appeared, as if someone had cut it. He could even see the rings of the tree. Nothing was broken haphazardly. The same went for the felled pine tree nearby, which was at least twenty years old. The sap incrementally dripped from the severed tree, hewn as neatly as some of the sawmills Conrad had seen in his lifetime. Furthermore, this meant the tree had been recently cut. He was close now, he knew. But, who could have done this? The question still burned in his mind.
“Or, if not who, then what?!?”, the question escaped his lips aloud. He shuddered to find out the answer to that question. The night still felt like it was gradually closing in on him; and, he still could see no woodcutter. Or rather, what woodcutter would leave things in such a rapturous state? He doubted he knew one and that made the whole thing even more terrifying.
The smell of his own adrenaline and freshly cut pine filled the night air. He could still taste his own sweat from climbing the hill. The relentless, ringing sound of “Whirr whacka thunk!” still enveloped the clearing. It seemed much closer now but  Conrad still couldn’t see where who or whatever it was had been felling trees. His lamp, even peering into the darkness, only illuminated fallen branches bathed in night sky.
He decided this would be a good place for water, opened his canteen and momentarily replenished his strength. Whatever was up ahead would need his full attention, he decided, despite the encumbered fatigue that was already weighing on him. Conrad finished, put a decisive “X” in the nearest stump to mark his exit, took the deepest of breaths and plunged into the maze of fallen trees, following the sound, watching carefully for any logs that may come crashing down haphazardly without notice. They would be impossible to see, he knew, so he would have to tread carefully, look up and listen well.
Navigating the strewn trees wasn’t any joke for Conrad either. He admired his own bravery, persistence and frustration, if just for getting around the bramble on one leg alone. He found that lacking a limb meant there were less extremities to catch things on and he was less easily encumbered weaving in and out of the mess. But, he also found that it made getting over obstacles a lot harder and he often had to find a way around. He would have done that probably anyway to make things easier to navigate, but it became more necessary as he dove deeper into the clearing, marking “X” on stumps to chart his route.
He hadn’t gone very far when a the noticed something large falling to his left and instinctively dodged it and scrambled out of the way. He couldn’t stand the sound anymore. It was uproariously loud. But, there was no mistaking the “Crack!” and “Whoosh!” of a tree being felled as the object crashed crossways onto another nearby log. It thankfully was not a large tree and he had skirted it just in time. It had nonetheless been a close call. Even so, he now knew where to go.
Gingerly and apprehensively, he made his way around the base of the larger log and came around to where the smaller tree had just been felled, watching for any further bombardment. It came within seconds. The tree in question, a gnarly, old oak, fell away from him only a few feet away. Yet, his light caught no woodcutter and could only see the tree fall.
“Hello?”, he called out vainly. “Is anyone there?”
Conrad seriously doubted anyone could hear him right now amid the noise, but it was worth a shot. Cautiously, he inched closer to the oak. “Crack!”
Another tree was falling directly on top of it but it was hard to tell what kind of sapling it was from his distance. “Whoosh!” The soft landing of the sapling didn’t make a sound as it landed on the mighty oak’s leaves. Birds, disturbed by the falling, squalled mightily into the air, black silhouettes flying upward, agitated as their home was unceremoniously destroyed.
Conrad decided to approach the site before the next tree fell. Each tree was falling within seconds of the other. He had moments to catch whoever or whatever was doing this before the next fall.
He assumed the next tree to fall would be within proximity of the other and his guess paid off. He could now vaguely see a rampage of woodchips flying from a stout, elder tree adjacent to the stump of where the sapling used to be at a raging speed. Clanging in his eardrums and his heart now, the sound seemed to be emanating from there; but, there was no time to wonder what was going on, call out or breathe. Because, as soon as he got as close as he dared, hand bracing his face as much as he could to avoid injury, the woodchips stopped flying and the sound suddenly stopped.
“Hey, what the—”, Comrad exclaimed, lowering his arm. He could suddenly taste sawdust on his lips and chips annoyingly entangled in his hair. He could touch the cold night air and smell the newly cut trees. But, all he could hear, for the first time on this journey, was silence. It was a good thing too. He had been sure he was going to go deaf from the experience.
Curiously, however, one thing he didn’t sense was another presence. It felt like his insane woodcutter of the night all but didn’t exist. It was as if he had all but disappeared – swallowed, as he feared, into the night itself.
Shakily, he held up his light and tried one last time, “Hello? Is anyone there?”
But, there came no reply from the night, only crickets, randomly hewn trees and woodchips strewn across the clearing’s ground. Conrad’s skin crawled as he almost felt he was about to encounter a ghost. But then, curiously, his light bounced off something metal. It was lying in the elder tree that seemed next to be felled nearby but was absolutely hard to make out.
Conrad’s curiosity kicked in. What was that, indeed? Still ignoring reason, he endeavored to find out. Maybe it was what he was looking for and, for that, it was too good a chance to pass up.
Using his crutch for balance, he approached the half hewn beech tree, noting it had not been cut far enough yet to be unstable. Squinting in the darkness, he could see the cut was lower to the bottom of the tree and was cleanly and expertly cut like the rest of the stumps he had so far encountered. Of course, the job had not been finished, so the cut resembled a decisive “V” in the tree. Any further and it would indeed tumble to the ground. The glinting metal was coming from that area.
Conrad was finally close enough to see what indeed that was and again couldn’t help bit gasp in astonishment.
“Of all the things,” he accidentally cursed in wonder. “It can’t be.”
There, nestled in the crux of the “V” on the tree, lay a tiny indistinguishable ax. It was not ornate or remarkable in any way other than it couldn’t be more than an inch or two long, almost as if someone had fashioned it from a figurine. The handle was appropriately curved, polished and stained and made out of what appeared to be hickory wood. And, the blade itself was equally unremarkable other than it’s deadly sharp gray carbon steel glinting off the kerosene. It was a fine and mighty ax, however tiny, and seemed to be good for just about any task you put it to.
Was this indeed what had been causing all the racket? Was this what had been so haphazardly felling all these trees? And, if so, how had it done so and who had put it to the task creeping into the early morning hours? Yet, there was no explanation for any of it. And there was no one anywhere to be seen.
“Holy crap. Is this it?”, he said, reaching and picking up the tiny ax, examining it. If this was what it looked like to be and was felling all those trees at such a quick rate, he was certain it would be useful profitable to its owner, at least from all this felled timber. He was short on explanations and he wasn’t sure if it belonged to anyone. Also, what mechanism made it operate? He wasn’t a ready believer in magic, although he we optimistic about many things. He felt he would have to examine it further. But, what if it WAS magic? Then what?
Conrad’s head swirled with questions; however, these were things he didn’t have time to consider in the moment. He had to return to camp. What he knew is he wanted more time to examine the object. And, if the owner did come back, he could always return it to him. And, if he didn’t, it wouldn’t be a bad thing to keep.
He closed his hand on the object, setting his lantern on the ground . Where indeed would be a good place to keep this? He thought perhaps it would be safest in his napsack with his provisions. Nonetheless, he took pains to wrap it carefully in cloth and attach it to the inside of the bag, so as to not lose it for any reason.
Then, he searched the area in case anything else was present. Nothing was to be found. And, that being the case, Conrad etched a final mark into the half felled beech tree and headed back to camp, following his previous markers as he went.
The journey was just as arduous as before as he retraced his steps through the clearing, back down the hill and through the forest. Dawn was breaking as he stumbled, exhausted, back onto the camp site. The embers had long died before he got there.
“So much for insomnia,” Conrad thought, blowing out the lamp and stashing his pack. He gave a great yawn, if he could yawn by now from fatigue, changed back into his pajamas and tiptoed back into the tent with Peter as quickly and quietly as possible. He dropped, as if dead, onto his sleeping spot.
“What a night!” he softly whispered as he drifted off.
And indeed, though he may not have realized it then, what a night it was.

…

~End of chapter~

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Questions to think about:

• How do you think Conrad will tell Peter when he wakes up? Will he come clean at all?
• What would you do if you suddenly found a magic ax in the woods? Or, if you heard a noise, would you follow it?
• How do you think Conrad managed that whole hiking trip with a bum leg? And, in the middle of the night?
• Have you ever gone camping and looked up at the stars? What did you think?