Constantine, "The Lady of Atlantis"

Congratulations to Constantine, MA Creative Writing graduate, who has just published his new children's novel The Lady of Atlantis!

Constantine is an autistic author and father. He achieved a first-class BA at Middlesex University in 2017 and completed his Master's Degree at the University of Leicester in 2022. Between the two degrees he wrote four episodes of the Children's TV show Pablo and has written and published the picture book Tiya and the Minotaur and The Cats of Charnwood Forest and its sequel Jötunheim. He runs the not-for-profit publishers Coalville C.A.N. Community Publishers. 

 

About The Lady of Atlantis, by Constantine

Sa‑ra has always heard the voices. On Thira, that makes her a priestess. But as the mountain stirs and the earth convulses, she realises the truth: her world is running out of time.

The Lady of Atlantis is a vivid retelling of Atlantis, not as myth but as living history. It is inspired by the archaeology of Akrotiri and the author’s own translations of Minoan writings.

You can read more about The Lady of Atlantis on the publisher's website here. Below, you can read a sample from the opening of the novel. 

From The Lady of Atlantis
I was about eleven when I first was asked to pa-pa-ra-te.*
 
A young woman from Akrotiri came to the palace in great distress. It appeared she carried a great burden in her mind. For she was wealthy, even by Therian standards, where it was the custom for women to be the heads of households and to hold the purse strings.

Being both wealthy and not unlovely to behold, there were men in plenty wishing to court her. Two in particular caught her eye. One was a hard-working fisherman. He was kind and pious, the years at sea had roughened his skin, and at first glance perhaps, he was certainly not what the fashion of Thira saw as "beautiful." However, he was not "unlovely," he had a sparkle in his eye and a wit which was hard not to become enamoured with. Indeed, I had seen this man, and he reminded me of my father. No greater praise could I give

The other man had recently returned from the games on Crete. Where it is said he bought Thira much honour.

He was handsome and well-knit in frame, being an athlete. He was a good man by all reports. But he was vain, caring more for his own looks, and it seemed that women in plenty flocked to him and were enamoured of him.

She wished for me to take the vapours and tell her who she should marry.

"You do not need the vapours," I said. "You already know."

"But I am in great doubt," she said. "Can you not help ease the burden?"

 It seemed strange to me that having to choose between two good men to be a burden. 

 "You desire children," I said. It was a statement, but she nodded.

"Close your eyes," I said. "Picture yourself in bed. A priestess hands you your first child. You look up into the face of your husband ... Who is it?"

Her face betrayed her shock, and then she smiled, knowing truly where her heart lay.

"I do not prophesy for good or ill," I said, "for marriage is the work of two people, and there will always be hardships unknown and joys unlooked for. But if he wants you as you him, you will both be happy."

In time, she married her choice, it was the athlete, for though he was vain, he was not conceited. Whilst he sought fame, being a good husband and a role model for his children was his first concern; and he had eyes for this woman from when they were youths. 

*This meant "to let the goddess’s radiance speak through you." Over time, this idea became the word prophecy.

 

Ellistown Primary School, "The Sum of Our Parts"

 

About The Sum of Our Parts
The Sum of Our Parts is a new anthology of Creative Writing by Year 6 students at Ellistown Primary School in Coalville. It is published by Coalville C.A.N. Community Publishing. Congratulations to all the students involved! The anthology is edited by Constantine, University of Leicester MA Creative Writing graduate. 

You can read more about the anthology here. Below, you can read the foreword by the headteacher of the school, and two of the stories from the anthology.

From The Sum of Our Parts

Foreword
by Simone Fellows (Headteacher)

Once again, it has been a pleasure to work with Coalville Community Publishing, to give our year 6s this fantastic opportunity - a chance for our young people to receive feedback from an author/publisher in Constantine and to see work that they are proud of in print. It is especially exciting for the children, knowing that a copy of their anthology will be held at the National Library alongside the works of some of their favourite authors!

Having a real-world audience and knowing that their work would be published creates a real buzz in class, inspiring even our most reluctant writers to aim high. Some of our children sent multiple drafts and received feedback two or three times in pursuit of a finished piece they can be proud of. This created a real discourse between writer and editor and enabling the children to develop their resilience and set high expectations for themselves.
 
As ever, a heartfelt thank you to Coalville C.A.N. and Coalville Community Publishing for this opportunity. Special thanks to Constantine, for your patience and support in bringing this together over many months. It is a pleasure to work with you on this important project and your openness about being neurodiverse gives our children permission to embrace their own individuality and to find a voice they may not have known they had. Every time we create an anthology together, you help Ellistown Primary School children see their own potential.

The Beach of Hell

by Myles H

Decades have passed since D-Day. I fought in many battles after that. I even fought in Vietnam.

But D-Day? That was a hell of its own.

Normandy: Dead bodies everywhere, bullets ricocheting … Up above Germans stood behind turrets firing at anything that moved.

The objective: There was a wall which offered some cover, getting there was the job.

I waited for the boat door to collapse open. A soon as it did a soldier in front collapsed to the floor: between his eyes was a gaping hole where a bullet had shot through. I dived forward to shake of the fear. As I stormed through the water a bullet screeched past the man in front and rebounded off something before slashing through my foot. A throbbing pain shot through my body.

"Medic!" I screamed over and over again before something grabbed me and dragged me behind the wall. There a medic stood holding my foot before strapping a belt around my ankle.

"It needs amputating!" he shouted in my face. I had no idea what that meant.

I know now. I know what amputation means. When I wake in the night it still takes me a moment to remember that I only have one foot.

Her

By Layla T

Walking through the heart of the field, as the sun dipped behind the clouds, I carried my backpack trying not to look too interested. Football practice was ending, but one player was still out there-running drills after everyone had long packed up.

Her. The girl who played football like it was part of her heartbeat.

She sprinted, slowed, set the ball and shot. The sound echoed through the field-sharp and perfect. I stood there for a moment, watching her determination, the way her ponytail swung with each stride, she didn't seem to care that the sky was turning gold.

She glanced up and noticed me. I froze.

She jogged over, wiping sweat from her forehead.

“Hey," she said with a breathless smile, "you need the field?”

I shook my head. "No ... um ... I mean I'm just walking home."

She laughed softly, not in a teasing way, but like she found your awkwardness kinda cute.

 "I'm Layla," she said tapping her boots on the grass.

"I'm Johnathan," I replied with a smile, "You're really good." And I meant it; I thought she has great potential.

“Thanks," her eyes lit up with pride, the kind only passion can give. "I love the game.”

I hesitated then added, "I can tell! ...The way you play - it's like you were born with a ball at your feet."

She was shocked, "That's the nicest compliment ever ... I mean everyone normally says I am just a girl."

“I see a lot of potential here ... in you ..." I replied. "So, sign this form, and come this Friday.”

Her face lit up like Christmas morning. "OMG... NO WAY!" she cried.

"Yes way," I said smiling.

"Thank you so much .... I .... I will be there," she said happily.

 

Constantine, "Tales of the Charnwood"

Congratulations to University of Leicester MA Creative Writing graduate Constantine on the publication of his new book of short stories!

Constantine is an autistic author and father. He achieved a first-class B.A. at Middlesex University in 2017 and completed his Master's Degree at the University of Leicester in 2022. Between the two degrees he wrote four episodes of the Children's T.V. show Pablo and has written and published the picture book Tiya and the Minotaur and The Cats of Charnwood Forest and its sequel Jötunheim. He runs the not-for-profit publishers Coalville Community Publishers CIC, which concentrates on the central Midlands, and Midlands generally. 

About Tales of the Charnwood, by Constantine
Tales of the Charnwood is eight bedtime stories about life on the Charnwood as recounted by a Vixen to her cubs. The book is set in the universe of The Cats of Charnwood Forest. 

You can read more about Tales of the Charnwood on the publisher's website here. Below, you can read a complete short story from the collection. 

From Tales of the Charnwood

Chapter Four: Badgers. 

The following evening, Vixen sat at the mouth of the den watching her cubs play for a few safe pre-dawn hours. She noticed that some of her darling children were teasing the smallest cub.  Every family has someone who is the smallest, just as someone must be the biggest. Being a fox of the Charnwood, Vixen knew right from wrong and made plans to teach her cubs the difference. 

She had a good store of stories at her command and soon remembered one that would suffice. 

The story of the Friendly Badger. 

Once her cubs had come back inside and had finished suckling, she began. 

"Now, dear ones, I will tell you a story of a Badger. Some Badgers are okay in their own way, some have even been known to share a den with a fox and even be on talking terms; however, these are few and far between. 

"Generally speaking, Badgers are grumpy and aggressive and quite scary, even when they’re on friendly terms, except for one. This is the story of the Friendly Badger." 

*** 

A long time ago in the quiet of the forest, a litter of Badgers was born.  As with every family, there was a biggest and a smallest; but while the smallest had a small body, he had the biggest heart. 

He wasn’t so good at the rough-and-tumble games his siblings liked to play. He much preferred to sniff flowers, watch the stars, or talk to any creatures he happened to meet. 

His own brothers and sisters were the first to tease him for his size and poor skill in wrestling contests. So, bit by bit, he started to avoid his siblings. Feeling lonely, he tried to make friends with the other night-time forest dwellers.    

One night, he met a fox going about its business.   

"Hello," said the Friendly Badger, "how are you?"   

"Are you talking to me?" said the fox. 

"Yes," said the Friendly Badger, "I’m hoping we can be friends."   

The fox laughed at him. 

"You can’t be a real Badger. Real Badgers aren’t friendly. You must be a rat with white stripes."  

And from that night on every time the fox saw him, he would delight in saying something cruel.   

On another night, the Badger came across a bat darting from tree to tree eating tiny insects.   

"Hello," said the Friendly Badger, "how are you?"   

"Are you talking to me?" said the bat.   

"Yes," said the Friendly Badger, "I’m hoping we can be friends."   

"Is this some sort of joke?" laughed the bat. "You’re more like a stripy bunny rabbit."   

And from that day on, whenever the bat saw the Friendly Badger, he would laugh at him and make up new insults.  

The Friendly Badger started to feel that maybe nobody would like him. Then, one evening, sitting on his own watching the stars, he heard a snuffling in the bushes. A moment later, a head appeared under the lower leaves; it was a young hedgehog.   

"Hello," said the hedgehog, "what sort of creature are you?"  

"I’m a badger," said the Friendly Badger. "Would you like to be friends?"  

"Oh yes," said the hedgehog. "Do you like hide-and-seek?" 

"Yes," said the Friendly Badger, "it’s one of my favourite games, but I’ve never had anyone to play with."   

In no time at all, the pair were playing merrily and agreed to meet up the following night.    

The next evening, when the Friendly Badger arrived at the meeting place, he was surrounded by a crowd of adult Hedgehogs, their spines quivering with anger. They shouted at him and chased him away, warning that they would hurt him if he came near their children again.   

Every creature the Friendly Badger met hurt and rejected him. He didn’t understand why. He meant no harm to anyone, and yet everyone hurt him. 

That autumn, he dug a new home (which for Badgers is called a sett) just for himself and went to sleep dreaming about all the horrible things people had said to him.   

Now, when animals like Badgers hibernate, they often grow, and when he emerged in the spring, he had gone from being the smallest to one of the biggest Badgers the Charnwood had ever seen.   

He was no longer the "Friendly Badger."   

In the long winter, dreaming of all the horrid things those other creatures had said and done to him, his heart had frozen and would never thaw again. He sought out everyone who used to tease and bully him, and, one by one ... he ate them.   

But even then, when those who had teased him were gone, and no creature dared come near, the horrible names stayed with him. He spent the rest of his days lonely, sad, and angry.   

***   

"You see, children," said the Vixen, pausing just long enough to make her cubs uncomfortable. "When you bully someone, everybody loses." 

Constantine, "Alien Boy"

Congratulations to University of Leicester Creative Writing MA graduate Constantine, who has published a new novel, Alien Boy! 

Constantine achieved a first in his B.A. Creative writing degree in 2017 and achieved equal success when he finished his Master's degree in 2021. He has written four episodes of the CBeebies show Pablo and has written a number of books, the most well-known being The Cats of Charnwood Forest.

About Alien Boy, by Constantine

Alien Boy is the first in several very short volumes designed for reluctant readers. The chapters are short, there is some description, plenty of dialogue and it is written from a first-person point of view. The style of writing fits the age of the character and reminds me of the "What We Did in the Holidays" reports I used to be asked to write at school in the late 80s. The story follows Alen, an 11-year-old orphan with ASD who discovers he is far more important than he could possibly believe.

You can read more about Alien Boy on the publisher's website here. Below, you can read a sample from the novel. 

From Alien Boy

After dinner I rushed to my room, closed the door, and took out my watch. I looked at it long and hard. It had come back on, and once again random numbers were showing on the screen.

I put it down and immediately the numbers stopped … you can guess what happened next can’t you? That’s right, I picked it up and the numbers started again but stopped when I put it down.

My mind went back to my talk with Gordon. The watch had flashed when I passed it to him, but was it flashing while he held it? I don’t think it did. Could the watch only work when being touched by me?

This was amazing, I strapped it to my wrist, and it came to life, numbers scrolling across the screen, always in groups of two. After a while, the watch beeped and then the numbers started again. Was there a pattern? I waited till it beeped again and this time I wrote them down. This is what it looked like:

09 06 00 26 15 21 00 23 01 14 20 00 20 15 00 11 14 15 23 00 23 08 15 00 26 15 21 00 01 18 05 27 00 20 08 05 00 17 21 05 19 20 09 15 14 00 20 15 00 01 19 11 00 09 15 00 23 08 15 00 01 13 00 09 

The 09 was flashing, so I underlined it. I thought that it must be important, but what did it mean? What did any of it mean? I looked at the numbers long and hard. And the 00’s stood out. If 0 is nothing, then 00 is also nothing. So, I wrote it again leaving a space where the 00’s were. Now it looked like this.

09 06    26 15 21      23 01 14 20    20 15    11 14 15 23    23 08 15    26 15 21    01 18 05 27    20 08 05    17 21 05 19 20 09 15 14    20 15    01 19 11    09 15    23 08 15    01 13    09

Now I was getting somewhere. The numbers were starting to look like words. Could it really be so simple?

I looked for a 01 and saw there was one near the end next to a 13. Now if 01 was "A" then 13 would be "M" which would make "AM." It seemed to work and so I tried all the other numbers. The 27 caused me some problems, because as you know there are only 26 letters; but then I figured that if 00 could be a space, 27 could be a full stop. Within minutes I had deciphered the message:

"If you want to know who you are the question to ask is 'who am I?'"

What did that mean? I thought about it, but it didn’t make sense. Then I remembered that the "I" was flashing. That was a clue. Who am I? I’m Alen Boiy. Was it the "I" in my surname? What if I took it out? I’m Alen Boy? That didn’t make much more sense. Okay what if I took the "I" and put it somewhere else? Alen I Boy? I Alen Boy? Then it hit me: you probably worked it out ages ago. The "I" went in the middle of my first name.

I whispered the answer out loud because it seemed too mad to stay in my head.

"I’m not Alen Boiy," I whispered. "I’m Alien Boy."

My watch made a beep and a new message scrolled across the screen. In a few minutes I had it deciphered.

"Well done," it said. "We will be in touch."

Constantine, "And things begin to change ... and other stories"

Congratulations to University of Leicester MA Creative Writing graduate Constantine, who's just published his book of short stories, And things begin to change ... and other stories!

Constantine is an autistic author and father. He achieved a first-class B.A. At Middlesex University in 2017 and completed his Master’s Degree at the University of Leicester in 2022. Between the two degrees he wrote four episodes of the Children’s T.V. show Pablo, and has written and published the picture book Tiya and the Minotaur and the novels The Cats of Charnwood Forest and its sequel Jötunheim. 

About And things begin to change ... and other stories

This collection of short stories has been donated to Coalville C.A.N., a community project in North West Leicestershire which hopes to encourage and support local authors through ‘Coalville C.A.N. Community Publishing.’ All proceeds from the book go towards that project. Coalville C.A.N. Community Publishing is now accepting submissions from all Leicestershire-based authors. You can see more details about their work here. 

You can see more details about And things begin to change ... and other stories here. Below, you can read a complete story from the book. 

From And things begin to change ... and other stories, by Constantine

Policeman Pete

Peter headed home. His colleagues were in the locker room getting changed, but not Peter. Peter liked travelling home in his uniform. It made him feel safe, and powerful, though admittedly not quite as powerful as when he walked around St Pancras station with his Heckler & Koch HK416 assault rifle. Of course, being off duty he removed his cap and made sure his identity numbers were well hidden. The Assault rifle and Sidearm were left at the station along with his Taser and CS Gas. Nevertheless, there was no disguising what he was and the feeling of power aroused him.

Tonight, the tube was packed, and even so, he commanded a respectful space around him. The passengers, like cattle in an abattoir crowded away to avoid his gaze. A woman caught his attention; she was halfway down the carriage and squashed in. He made his way towards her knowing nobody would question his movements and as he passed, he squeezed up beside her, his lips almost touching her ear, The scent of her perfume was in his nostrils and he knew she had felt him. She would put this gentlest of violations down to her own imagination or accident, but he knew she had felt him pass.

He got off and walked slowly home. Tucked away in his pocket was the missing ingredient.

*

The kids avoided making eye contact as he passed. Nobody called out to him, no ‘Good evening officer,’ from the locals. It was a ‘sign of the times,’ he told himself, though inside he knew it had started the day Mary had left.

He reached his home, a one-bed flat on the ground floor of a terraced house in Leyton. Despite the lateness of the year the inside of the flat was markedly colder than the outside. Peter barely noticed. He glanced briefly at the usual plethora of bills and credit card applications which sat on the mat and then headed into the kitchen. He poured himself a small scotch and sighed deeply. Then he took the bottle and opened a small door in the main corridor. Here one could access the gas and electricity meters but also a small set of steps went down to a cramped and dank cellar. The walls were lagged and soundproofed but still, the smell of damp chalk came through.

There under a single lightbulb stood a mannequin. Its clothes were demure, its hair refined and respectful. Its face painted, like that of a woman weeping. From his uniform pocket, Peter retrieved a brown paper packet and from this, he removed a pair of stockings. He spent a few minutes lovingly and carefully fitting them and then from his inside pocket removed his ex-wife’s wedding ring and slipped it onto the mannequin’s finger. He stood back and admired his handy work. Then, after taking a few more gulps of whisky, he took out his truncheon and let out a barely human cry of rage.

Outside the rain fell heavily in Peter's backyard. It fell on the overgrown lawn, the uncared-for flowerbeds, and the pile of smashed and disfigured fibreglass figures.

Constantine, "Jötunheim"

Congratulations to University of Leicester MA graduate Constantine on the publication of his new children's novel!

Constantine is an autistic author and father. He achieved a first-class BA at Middlesex University in 2017 and completed his Master’s Degree in Creative Writing at the University of Leicester in 2022. Between the two degrees he wrote four episodes of the Children’s TV show Pablo, and has written and published the picture book Tiya and the Minotaur and The Cats of Charnwood Forest. Jötunheim is the sequel.

About Jötunheim: The Cats of Charnwood Forest Book 2

In every world, from Alfhiem to Kapol-Tok itself, tremors have struck bringing destruction. The Thringstone fault is active; nobody knows why. Reality is falling apart at the seams. Through one of the cracks comes an ancient Jötunn, an ice giant of Viking legend, with a message for Bailey and Scruff. Only they can prevent the collapse of the universe itself.

You can read more about Jötunheim here. Below, you can read an edited excerpt from the novel. 

From Jötunheim, by Constantine

As the boy approached, Bailey could hear him sniffling and snuffling as he wept, and Bailey’s heart went out to him.

“Oh, I wish you could understand me,” said Bailey, sighing out loud. The boy stopped, looked around in confusion, and spotted Bailey.

“Did you just speak to me?” he said.

***

Bailey stood to attention as the boy scratched behind his ears.

“Please don’t,” said Bailey, “I don’t have time. I need to find my sister.”

“How many of you are there?” said the boy. “You are the first native cats I've seen since I came to England.”

“How come you can understand me?” said Bailey.

“Cats are sacred to my people,” said the boy, “Our legends tell of two magic cats who pull the goddess Freyja’s chariot. But even for my people, it is a rare gift, and we tend to keep it secret. We have cats back at the Thorpe.”

“I’m sorry this is too much for me to take in,” said Bailey. “Let me introduce myself. I’m Bailey, and I’m a Guardian of the Charnwood Forest. Who are you?”

“I’m Leif Osgoodson. My father’s Thorpe is up the road.”

“What’s a Thorpe?” Bailey asked.

“Oh …  it's - what’s the Saxon for it? It’s a farm, I think.”

Bailey’s brow furrowed. “Osgood’s son … from Osgood’s farm … Osgood’s Thorpe? ... Osgathorpe? You’re from Osgathorpe?”

“Well, I’m from Norway,” said Leif, “but my father built the Thorpe a few years ago after our Jarl, Halfdan, gave us the land.”

“Only a few years ago?” said Bailey. “What year is it?”

“Well, it’s the 5th year of the Danelaw,” said Leif, “So by Saxon terms, it must be about the year eight hundred and eighty-three, I think.”

“I’m sorry,” said Bailey “When?

Constantine, "Tiya and the Minotaur"

Congratulations to Constantine, University of Leicester MA Creative Writing graduate, who has just published a picture book, Tiya and the Minotaur!

Constantine is an autistic writer. He holds an MA in Creative Writing from the University of Leicester and his previous works include The Cats of Charnwood Forest and four episodes of the children 's TV series Pablo, which is available on BBC in the UK and Netflix worldwide.

About Tiya and the Minotaur, by Constantine

This picture book was written by an autistic writer for his autistic children.

Is this book only for autistic and neuro-diverse children?  No.

However. it has been made with them in mind. The artwork has been designed in such a way that readers on the spectrum, by and large, find helpful. For instance, throughout the work none of the characters have faces. Many people know that many autistic people find eye-contact uncomfortable; however, even when eye contact is not an issue, processing faces can add a significant load to an autistic child's ability to process. Interestingly when testing this book on both autistic and neurotypical adults and children, few even noticed the characters' lack of facial features and in the few who did, none found it an issue. The colours and scenes throughout are 'soft.' By this, I mean that even in that few brightly lit scenes, there is nothing 'glaring; or 'confusing.'  Whilst I love abstract imagery, it can be a stumbling block for young children and can even overload an autistic child trying to make sense of the scene.  

In addition, the author has noticed that there are many young advanced readers who still crave picture books with age-appropriate stories, but want something longer with a more challenging vocabulary. At the same time, there are older reluctant readers who need to be eased into reading but find novels intimidating or boring and need a hand to get back into the practice of reading for pleasure. To find an autistic child of say twelve years of age who is unable to read fluently and still like to have picture books read to them is not unusual.

It is primarily for them that this book has been created, though I hope the neurotypical of all ages will also enjoy it. 

​​​​​​​

From Tiya and the Minotaur

Constantine, "The Cats of Charnwood Forest"

Congratulations to Constantine, MA Creative Writing student at the University of Leicester, who has just been published his children's novel, The Cats of Charnwood Forest!

Constantine was born autistic (with other learning difficulties such as ADHD and Dyspraxia), at a time when not many in the UK could correctly recognise or diagnose such issues. Like so many others with his condition, he spent much of his late teens and early 20s living on London's streets. He always had a desire to be creative and, after working with Jeremy Deller in 2006, a seed was planted that, maybe, he could achieve something. He took himself into adult education in 2011 and was surprised to find how much more accommodating the education system had become to those like himself. In 2013, his first short was published in an anthology called Jam, and in 2017 he received a first class honours in Creative Writing at Middlesex University. He has since written a number of episodes of Pablo for Paper Owl films (currently showing on CBeebies and Netflix) and has written this book, The Cats of Charnwood Forest, which his script editor on Pablo, Andrew Brenner, was kind enough to edit. 

Constantine is currently working on an audio version with the cast of Pablo, building a website to accompany the book (https://catsofcharnwood.com/)  and hopefully finishing his Masters Degree at the University of Leicester.

You can read a review by Ayana Sen-Handley of The Cats of Charnwood on Everybody's Reviewing here. 

About The Cats of Charnwood Forest

By Constantine

I can tell you what the book aims to achieve. First and foremost, it is a gateway book: a book for those clever six-year-olds who are tired of books for their age and want something more challenging, but are maybe not ready for the more grown-up themes; or for older 'reluctant' readers, readers who need to be coaxed and encouraged - ten-year-olds who pick up books for their age group and higher, but don't get past the first few paragraphs.  

The book aims to connect with such readers firstly through the language: though it is gently paced throughout, it increases in complexity over the first four chapters in a way which, thus far, no child has mentioned but a few parents have noticed. Secondly, there are the protagonists, Bailey and Scruff. They represent not only the child but in particular the autistic child. As they grow over course of the book to adulthood, they deal with many of the same experiences as human children and adults - from bullying (on both sides), to gender roles and stereotypes and much more.

I'm not entirely sure exactly what lessons its sequel will explore as it is not finished yet, but I hope you enjoy this exclusive look forwards to the second book ...

From Joltanheim: The Cats of Charnwood Forest, Book 2

Prologue

This book is not like most “second books.” Most second books take place the next day, or after the school holidays, or on the anniversary of the first adventure. But this is about The Cats of Charnwood Forest and in Charnwood, time is never quite a straight line.

Between the time I first met Scruff in that cave, and the time I finally finished writing up that first story, years have passed. Time is not the same for all of us. Cats' lives are shorter than the lives of the humans they own. Human lives are short compared to Goblins' and Goblins' lives are short compared to Elves.  

Bailey and Scruff (sometimes with my help) had many more adventures over the years. I hope one day I will have them all written down. However, the story I have decided to tell next sort of goes next; because although it happened many years later, it also happened many years before.

I hope you enjoy.

Yours,

Ghaz’on

Chapter One: A Grave Disturbance

Bailey stood by the brook as the last of the Fairies and Pixies jumped through a small door which led back to Fayre. Mai was last to go and she bowed to Bailey before hitting a button on her shoulder which activated her Elf-made artificial wings. She shot up into the air, looped the loop and shot through the doorway with a “yippee.” As the door closed, it melted away like mist and Bailey was left standing alone by the Brook.  

Bailey couldn’t help feeling a surge of pride seeing Mai doing so well as the first citizen of Fayre to be a Guardian in living memory. He started to turn for home when he felt something -  like a low loud noise which he couldn’t hear, but could feel in his bones. A strange silence seemed to fill the world. The birds stopped singing, mice stopped scurrying. Even the insects seemed to pause in their labours whilst this strange “rumble” filled everything.

***

Gothrick climbed into bed.  His wife was already asleep. One of the moons of Alfhiem shone through their window and just now his wife’s bare arm, which lay outside of the sheets, glowed like mother of Pearl. Gothrick had always thought himself the luckiest of Elves. He loved his wife and his daughter and his King and Queen. But these days, being the first Elf Guardian since before the war was more than he had thought was possible. 

He got into bed quietly so as not to wake her. As he lay there looking at his wife, he noticed that she seemed a bit blurry and out of focus. He rubbed his eyes but it got worse. The moon set and his wife appeared as elves do in the moonless night, as a figure made of slowly flowing water. Still she seemed blurred to him. He put his hand out to rest on her shoulder as he did most nights. All six of his long elf fingers seemed blurred. It was then he noticed the ripples on her skin, she wasn’t blurred, her skin was rippling as if being shaken very fast. The ripples in her skin seemed to be getting higher and higher. Then he felt it.

***

Scruff finished today's training of the Brownie cadets. As Guardians, Brownies were not necessarily the fastest or strongest or bravest; but they were excellent for reconnaissance. (In case you haven’t come across that word before it means sneaking around and getting information without anyone knowing you're sneaking around getting information except for the people who asked you to sneak around and get information.) The trick to training young Brownies was to make everything a game. Scruff found it getting more exhausting than it used to be. 

As the last of the brownies saluted and left. Scruff took a moment to look around.  The Forests of Bracken never seemed to look the same from one moment to another and she did not want to have to ask directions again; it was getting embarrassing. Scruff decided to try a direction based on the light level and the probable position of Bracken's Sun (which very few brownies had seen). Down here on the floor, though, only the green light, filtered by the eternal canopy of giant leaves miles above, made it through. Scruff leapt into Dream-Space and took a leisurely walk towards where she hoped to find the doorway back to Charley. As she concentrated on it, it appeared clearly before her and she sighed happily. Suddenly the misty greys around her exploded into a mind-numbing jangle of colours and smells.  Dream-Space itself seemed to be coming apart.

***

Dzukaluke and Ghaz’on stood solemnly in their finest clothes. Around them hundreds of Goblins stood smartly attired. They lined the narrow streets of Kapul-Tok city, each holding up a small glowing crystal. From the palace, a cart appeared. The cart was ancient, made by the same Goblin craftsman of ages past who twisted the gold and platinum braids of the palace gates. Like the palace gates, the cart was inlaid with precious metals which glowed in the light of the gems.

Before the cart, pulling it gently along, a flightless bird, its plumage a pure ivory, walked regally forward. Upon its back, Burgh sat stiff and proud. Zie too sparkled in ancient ceremonial armour. On Zie's breast, a very special crystal sat. It had no internal light of its own, but reflected and amplified the light of all the stones it passed, painting the houses and streets with rainbow hues.  

Behind Zie, upon the cart, in a simple box of whitewashed wood, the old one took that final journey which all creatures must take sooner or later. All of Kapol-Tok grieved his passing and it seemed to those gathered that the very ground shook along with them in mourning.

***

On the tors, the Chairman paced back and forth. The ground had stopped shaking and normality was returning.  High above a Kestrel cry broke the silence. He reached out with his mind. To the east he could feel Scruff had returned, to the south he could feel Bailey. To the northwest there was a crazy mixture of thoughts and feelings which he recognised as Tipsy and Tumble, the Guardians of Osgathorpe. But to the west, a new scent reached him, like a jolt of fresh cold clean air when you’re in a musty room.  

He ran westward, not risking Dream-space for fear of losing the sent. Carefully he crossed the Abbey road. A fork from the main Fault lay directly underneath and he could feel it as he passed over, like a great pressure in his forehead, a dam ready to burst. The scent was strongest at the top of the rise. A huge tor of stones were thrust up here. The south side was partly buried beneath the thin soil. On the north side they stood a clear twenty feet tall, and at the feet of the rocks, the melting snow had created a small pool. The Chairman stood before it, the smell of clear mountain air filling his lungs, making him feel young again. As he stood there, the ground shook again and a crack, barely visible before, began to widen. The Chairman felt no danger. From the crack, bright daylight shone out. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust.  

When they did, he saw that the tor had become two mighty cliffs. Behind them was a range of mountains far higher and colder than he had ever seen or dreamed of. But more surprising still was the figure who stood between the two cliffs, holding them apart with her bare strength: The Giantess (for the chairman had no better words to describe her) stood at least sixteen feet tall and was dressed in furs and armour with a mighty cloak.  

“I only have till the waters run out,” The Giantess said. Only then did the chairman notice that the waters, which had pooled at the bottom of the tor, were now running through the gap.

“What can I do?” asked the Chairman.

“Bailey and Scruff must be at the, what was it called … the Back Book Ressewer?” said The Giantess.

“The Black Brook Reservoir?” asked the Chairman.

“Yes, that was what they said, The Black Brook Reservoir. They must be there tomorrow at dusk,” said The Giantess. She grunted as the cliffs closed in on her. She turned sideways, bracing the closing gap with her knee and pressing with all her might.

“But why? I must tell them why,” said the Chairman.

“Because if not, the earthquakes will destroy everything, everywhere and everywhen,” said The Giantess. The last drops of the pool disappeared and The Giantess leapt out of the crack on her side. Before the tor snapped shut, she called out: “They must go alone.”

A moment later the tor looked as it had done for as long as the Chairman could remember, but far beneath him the ground grumbled.