Where it all Began by Nancy M Bell

 

To find out more about Nancy's books please click on the cover above.

Laurel's Quest was originally published by a now defunct Canadian publishing house in  2010. It was re-published in 2014 by BWL Publishing Inc. updated as Laurel's Quest with a new cover and some new text. It is my first published novel and is very dear to my heart. Laurel's Quest is currently being offered for free (as an ebook) at Amazon.com and .ca. I am thrilled to offer readers the chance to step into the magical world that exists just a step sideways from the World as We Know It. A world filled with magic and wonder and a few scary moments as well. Cornish Piskies, selkies, Morgrawr the sea monster along with a cast of intrepid friends who follow the clues to solve a riddle that may save a life. The story starts in southern Alberta but soon moves to Cornwall UK. Set against the beautiful and rugged country of the southwest Laurel's search takes her along the Michael and Mary earth energy lines that cross the country from Carn les Boels, an old hill fort in Cornwall, to East Anglia. Laurel's journey takes her Glastonbury Tor not once but twice before she comes face to face with Gwyn ap Nudd beneath the Tor in the crystal caves where Arthur is rumoured to be sleeping. Laurel's Quest is the first book in the Cornwall Adventures, A Step Beyond is the second and here we pick up one of the secondary character's story. Gort is one of Laurel's gang of seekers and in the second books follows his own journey of coming of age. The third book is Go Gently where we finally meet Laurel's Gramma Bella whose letters figure in Laurel's Quest. We get to know Laurel's father Colt better in Go Gently and understand better why his estranged from his mother, Laurel's beloved Gramma Bella. 

I am currently working on Laurel's Choice which is a stand alone book, but you can be sure the usual suspects will show up. Gramma Bella, Vear Du the selkie, her group of friends from her quest and there might even be a wedding in the future...you just never know. Below is an excerpt from Laurel's Quest.

This is where Laurel's get the first clue from the 'Obby 'Orse in Padstow on May Day. If you want to learn more about this age old tradition just google it. It's fascinating stuff. 

From Chapter Six  The 'Obby 'Orse Clue  Laurel's Quest Copyright 2015

 

“How am I going to know where to look for the clue once we get to Padstow?” Laurel frowned.

“Did the Lady give any indication where you would find the clue?” Aisling asked.

“I don’t think so.”

“Think harder,” Coll growled.

“I am.”

“What did she say again? I don’t remember exactly,” Gort broke in quietly.

“She just said I would get the first clue on May Day in Padstow. She talked about the filly that wasn’t born yet and holding death in my hand.”

“So do we have to find a pregnant mare somewhere in Padstow? That’ll be easy,” Coll snorted.

“Quit being so negative,” Aisling admonished Coll. “I don’t think we’ll have to look too far. I think the clue will find us.”

“So we just go to Padstow, join in the festival, and wait and see what happens?” Gort asked.

“I think that’s best.” Aisling nodded.

“What about what I think?” Laurel broke in.

Coll sighed. “What do you think we should do, then?”

“I don’t know. I just feel like I should have a plan of some kind.” Her frustration was plain in her tone.

“Let’s just wait and see. Maybe we’ll come up with something before we get there,” Aisling said.

The bright, clear May Day morning found their small group looking for a parking spot in Padstow. The town was crowded with tourists and locals, all vying for the best place to see the festivities. Those who weren’t actively involved in the festivities jostled for space on the edges of the narrow streets. Soon the ‘Oss would start his journey. Laurel was no closer to figuring out how to find the clue than she had been the night they talked about it in Emily’s parlor. She just hoped with all her heart she would recognize the clue when it was in front of her.

Sarie’s friend emerged through her back gate just as they parked in the tiny spot behind her cottage. Aisling greeted her Aunt Jane and introduced Laurel. The woman led them down a narrow back alley to emerge onto the main thoroughfare. The voice of the crowd swelled to a new level as the ‘Obby ‘Oss began to make his way through the narrow street. The girls craned their necks trying to catch their first glimpse of the ‘Obby ‘Oss in his bizarre costume.

The crowd hemmed them in. Sarie held tight to Laurel’s hand as the crowd vibrated with excitement as the ‘Obby ‘Oss drew near. She lifted herself up on her tiptoes as high as she could in order to catch a glimpse of the alien-looking creature with its large hoop depicting the head of a horse, and a scraggy tail hanging from the rear of it.

The traditional song rang high and loud as thousands of voices joined in celebration:

“Unite and Unite. Let us all unite. For summer is a cummin today, and wither we are going, we will all unite, in the merry morning of May.”

Periodically the ‘Obby ‘Oss lunged into the crowd and captured a young woman, prompting good-natured jesting and howls of laughter. At intervals the ‘Obby ‘Oss would falter, stagger and fall to the street where he lay motionless for a moment, when this happened the joyous song changed to a sad dirge. As soon as the ‘Obby ‘Oss rose and danced again, the song spun back to its joyous celebration. Laurel didn’t know where to look first; this was all so different than anything she ever experienced. Even Stampede in Calgary wasn’t this crazy. The song filled the air and rose from the stones of the street under her feet. It vibrated in her bones and eardrums.

There was a sudden break in the crowd; the ‘Obby ‘Oss was right in front of them. She watched entranced, as the ‘Oss made an exaggerated grab for Sarie, who waved him off, laughing. The strange hooped face of the creature paused, his painted eyes looked straight at her and the sound of the celebrations faded. It seemed only Laurel and the strange beast existed in a world somehow one step sideways from the world she knew. She couldn’t even feel Sarie’s hand on hers, and the words of the song, though faint still echoed in her ears.

The ‘Obby ‘Oss regarded her for a long minute before a voice echoed in her head. It was both soft and deep, young and old, gentle and intimidating, all at once and yet none of them at all. A part of her was afraid, but another part was braver than she would ever have imagined and allowed her to listen to the message.

 “Greetings, child who searches for answers. On this May Day, the ‘Obby ‘Oss grants you a boon. Neither husband nor child will I give you, but the answer to part of the mystery you seek to achieve your heart’s desire.”

Laurel started as the voice took on a deeper tone; she could hear the ringing of great brass bells underlying it as if they rung from the depths of the ocean.

“Find the great lizard as it emerges from the foam and follow its path to the secret caverns of the crystal guardians. You must remember…to gain entrance, you and your companions must be found worthy, and so I tell you that it takes not the courage of a man, but the selfless sorrow of a woman for the Selkie guardian to admit you.”

“Thank you,” Laurel whispered.

Suddenly, the world came back into focus. Although Laurel felt like a lot of time had passed, it seemed only a tiny second elapsed to all those around her. Sarie was still waving the ‘Obby ‘Oss away and giggling like a girl.

“Go on with you, I’m too old, and she’s too young.”

The ‘Obby ‘Oss shook his hooped head at Sarie and bowed before he continued on his way. The May Song rose high and strong over the throng and slowed to the awful dirge as the ‘Oss stumbled and fell once more.

“Why does he do that?”

Sarie smiled. “Don’t let it bother you, girl. It symbolizes the death of winter and the birth of the spring. If winter doesn’t come, the summer never ends, and there can be no spring. It also mirrors mankind’s cycle of life: we are born, we die, but we live on in our children and our children’s children.”

 Laurel doubted if her mom was comforted by the thought of her daughter going on without her.

“Come on you lot, let’s go find some market stalls and some goodies to stuff your gobs with,” Sarie invited.

They shouted their agreement. The ‘Obby ‘Oss leaped to his feet again and cavorted down the street out of sight, though his song continued to echo in the air.

As the group made their way to the market stalls, Coll dropped back. “What happened back there? You looked all mazed for a minute, like you could see something the rest of us couldn’t.”

“The ‘Obby ‘Oss spoke to me,” she said.

“It never,” Coll exclaimed. “It’s not supposed to speak to anyone.”

“I don’t think it was the man inside the costume who talked to me. It sounded deep, like it was inside my head, but faraway at the same time. It was spooky.”

“Bloody Hell,” Coll exclaimed loudly.

“You mind your tongue, young man!” Sarie said over her shoulder. “You’ll have your Gramma down my throat for allowing you to behave like a ruffian.”  Jane and Emily laughed at her words.

“Sorry, Sarie,” Coll said, and then spoke in a quieter voice. “What did it say? Why couldn’t the rest of us hear it?”

“I don’t know why you couldn’t. I wish you were all there with me. It was creepy,”

“What do you mean there with you; you didn’t go anywhere. I was still hanging on to you and so was Sarie.” Coll looked confused.

“It was weird,” she paused, trying to find a way to describe it, “as if I took a step sideways or something. Like I was apart from everything somehow. All the noise faded, I couldn’t feel you or Sarie. All I could see was the painted face of the ‘Obby ‘Oss and hear that voice. But I could still hear the May Song faintly, all I could make out was unite, unite. It was freaking weird.”

“What did it say?” Coll asked impatiently. “Who would have guessed the ’Obby ‘Oss would talk to you!”

“Weird stuff, all in riddles. You know those stories your Gramma and Sarie tell at night in front of the fire where the faeries or piskies or whatever give the person the information they need, but they never tell it right out. The people in the story have to figure it out for themselves if they want to finish their quest or get out of the faery hill, or whatever.”

Coll danced a jig of delight on the cobbled street. “This is great, isn’t it just? We get to go questing like King Arthur’s knights. Gort’s going to be beside himself.”

“You don’t think I’m crazy, or making it up?”

“Naw, I believe you. We knew you were going to get a message here. You even had that faery struck look on your face for a moment when the ‘Oss stopped in front of you. You know, the one Sarie always makes as she describes how the person in the story would look.” Coll stopped talking long enough to make sure Sarie and the others weren’t too far ahead. “What did the bloody thing say,” he asked plaintively.

Laurel giggled at his tone. “Something about lizard tails and paths.” She trailed off and her eyes unfocused for a second. “In order to find the answer to my heart’s desire, I have to find the great lizard as it emerges from the foam and follow its path to the secret caverns of the crystal guardians.” She shook her head. “I don’t have any idea what it means.”

“Anything else?” Coll vibrated with excitement.

“There was something about gaining entrance to the secret caverns. Me and my companions have to be acceptable, I think he said ‘worthy,’ so the Selkie guardian will admit us. What the heck is a Selkie?” she asked crossly. “How am I supposed to figure this out when I don’t even know what the stupid things are?”

“That’s why you have companions. A Selkie is some magic kind of seal man.” Coll grinned. “Do you remember anything else?”

Laurel pushed aside her resentment and frustration at the riddles to try to remember the last piece of the riddle.

“He said it takes not the courage of a man, but the selfless sorrow of a woman to gain entrance.” She kicked at piece of litter. “I haven’t the slightest idea what that means either.”

Coll grabbed her hand and pulled her through the crowd. They could just see the top of Sarie’s head in front of them.

“Hurry up, we don’t want to get lost,” Coll said over his shoulder and then in a louder voice, “Sarie, Gramma, wait for us!”

Panting slightly, they caught up with their group just at the edge of the market stalls. Aisling and Gort looked at them questioningly; Coll winked at them.

“Just wait ‘til you hear the story we have to tell you later when we’re by ownselves.” Coll grinned at Gort. “You’re going to either love this, or think we’re bleedin’ kitey.”

“As long as it doesn’t involve anything illegal.” Gort muttered. 

A Step Beyond Book 2 of The Cornwall Adventures by Nancy M Bell

A Step Beyond: Beyond the world we know lie alternate realities, layered like an onion. Shy and insecure Gort Treliving takes a step into the worlds beyond the fields we know and discovers some amazing things about himself. Not the least of which is finding himself riding with Arthur's fabled knights across the legendary land of Lyonesse in search of a kidnapped queen. A Step Beyond is a powerful story of coming of age, melding adventure with the inner journey Gort must take to find the courage to face the challenges before him.

Click on the cover for buy links and to find out more.

Some Reviews from happy readers:

A worthy sequel to Laurel's Miracle. ~ Tira Brandon Evans

It’s an outstanding read. Once you start, you can't stop. Looking forward to the next in the series ~ Lynne Anderson

And to tempt you further, here is short excerpt:


“Come with me for a while. Leave what is for a time, and travel with me to what was once,” GogMagog entreated him.
“Lead me to it.” Gort stepped away from the warm crystalline shoulder of the great stallion.
The farther they walked from the dank little shed and Uncle Daniel’s rage, the better he felt. The pain faded from his limbs, and strength flowed outward from the warmth in his chest.
GogMagog kept pace beside him. Rainbows of light flickered around the stallion and encompassed Gort in their radiance as well.
His steps became firmer and steadier as a golden peace flowed through him. His back straightened, and a smile broke across his face when Gog curved his huge head back toward him to lip his ear.
The darkness grew opaque and finally faded into a pearly grey; a diffuse nebulous light filled the sky. Tipping his head back, Gort was startled to see the ghostly shape of gulls winging through the mist.
The stallion stopped and shook moisture from his sleek body. Gort laid his hand on the thick neck and then pulled back quickly, holding it in front of his eyes.
Gort gazed in amazement as the large callused hand in front of him flexed its fingers. He turned and looked GogMagog in the eye, further amazed there was no need to look up to do so.
“What happened to me?” The voice sounded two tones deeper than it should.
“You are as you were once,” GogMagog said solemnly.
“Who am I supposed to be, though?” Gort fought down the panic rising in his throat; this wasn’t his body clothing his spirit. Feeling lost and strangely adrift, the boy-man turned to Gog for support.
“You are who you have always been.” Gog touched him gently with his muzzle.
At the touch of that strong soft nose, Gort let his panic slip away. Running his hands over his new and improved body, he stared down at his now humungous feet and strong calves, while his hands found the twisted cords of taut muscle in his thighs. Gort took a step forward and overbalanced as the long sword on his belt swung against him. The hilt fit snugly into his hand when he grasped it to steady himself.
Without stopping to think, Gort drew the lovely weapon from its scabbard. The metal hissed and sang as it pulled free. The blade cleaved the air in clean two-handed passes. The man gloried in the sight of his sinewy forearms and strong wrists, the large capable hands grasping the sword in a practiced grip. The air welcomed the bite of the blade, and shimmering rainbows of power danced on the tempered blue steel. The blade moved effortlessly, anticipating the desire of the one who wielded it.
“It’s like it knows what I’m thinking.”
“It is your sword. Of course it knows your wants.” GogMagog snorted gently down his neck.
“Who am I?” The warrior rested the point of the weapon on the toe of his heavy leather boot and regarded Gog over the cross of the hilt.
“You don’t remember, yet.” Gog regarded his heart friend with fathomless, starlit eyes.
Gort opened his mouth to reply and then promptly lost himself in those eyes.
With a swiftness and surety that shocked him, the knowledge entered the top of his head and filled out the forgotten corners of his body and soul.
“How did I lose this? Where did I lose myself?”
“You lost it by following the wrong path on your way to the mystery,” GogMagog answered.
“The mystery,” Gort said softly, “what mystery? Why did I take a wrong path? ”
“It is the mystery that binds us to the Beginnings. The one which lives in each of us and yet belongs to no one entity.” GogMagog lowered his head and rested his forehead against the man’s. “As to the why, we are not made perfect and so must sometimes wander away from the Light.”
“I should know, but it drifts like smoke and slips through my fingers,” Gort said in frustration.
“Give it time, Crystal Warrior.” GogMagog advised him and shook his mane so his bridle and bit jingled harshly. “Do you know how you are called in this life, or shall I remind you?” GogMagog inquired.
“I am a warrior, a knight, and my name is Gawain.”
His voice trailed off in wonderment. Images flooded his consciousness with the uttering of his name. In rapid succession, a company of large warhorses crossed his inner eye, each as magnificent as GogMagog, with knights in gleaming armour, pennants flying from their lances, a huge castle on a high hill exactly like the ones in all the fairy tales, a meeting place in a high vaulted chamber lit by torches, and a tall fair-haired man with the fierceness of eagles in his blue eyes. The face of his brother in this life, the mirror image of his own face, save for the broken front tooth that flashed as the man smiled, his face full of a fierce joy. Gaheris, my baby brother. Recognition swept through him like a flame.
Gort shook his head and leaned on GogMagog’s shoulder for a long moment. His legs threatened to fail him, and the ground was strangely mobile beneath his feet.
“Am I really that Gawain?” Gort asked GogMagog at a loss to see how it could be else wise.
“You are that Gawain.” GogMagog’s voice was tinged with laughter. “Sir Gawain, Knight of the Round Table, with your fealty sworn to the Great Bear, Arthur, High King of Britain. Brother to Gareth, Agravain and Gaheris. Son of Lot of Orkney and Queen Morgause, Arthur’s half-sister.”
“It doesn’t seem possible, too good to be true. I ride with King Arthur. He’s my liege lord, and I’m a knight, an actual knight of the Round Table.”
“You better get used to the idea, Sir Gawain.” Gog butted him with his great nose.
“It’ll take some getting used to.”
His sword whispered as it slid into the scabbard.
The knight turned to the stallion, and shook his head in wonder, past being surprised. The horse now sported a high backed saddle and elaborate tooled leather bridle. He gathered his reins up, set his left foot in the stirrup, and swung up into the saddle, being careful to settle the wonderful sword on the left side of the stallion. Gog moved restlessly under him as he loosened the reins slightly, and the big stallion moved off at a ground-covering trot.
“Where are we headed?” He thought to ask as the horse followed the track through gorse and heather.
“Where we must,” the stallion replied.
The man half formed another question and then let it drop. Time enough to sort through it all. He turned his face into the wind and inhaled the buttery coconut scent of the yellow gorse crushed beneath the huge hooves of his companion.
The sun burned off the last of the mists, and Gort found himself riding along the edge of a sharp cliff. Below him, the grasses billowed in the wind, and there was a far off glimpse of blue sea to the west. The stallion continued to move in a roughly southeast direction, letting the curve of the cliff dictate his progress. The stallion picked his course without any help from the rider.
“I suppose I should start thinking of myself as Sir Gawain now.”
“Yes, you should,” GogMagog agreed. “No one here will know you as Gort, except me of course.” GogMagog shook his head so the reins bounced on his neck.
“Where are we?” Gawain spoke to the pointed ears of his horse.
“We are close to the sacred mount, where the giants dwell.” Gog flicked his ears back at Gawain speaking into his mind.
“But where’s the sea? There should be water below the cliffs here, and all I see is land and forest.” Gawain looked at his surroundings in puzzlement.
“This is the land as it was, not as it is in your present time. We are almost in the land of Lyonnesse, the part of the kingdom that stretches from cliffs all the way out to the hills of Scillies.” GogMagog negotiated a tricky part of the descent down to the forest and farmlands beyond the cliff path.
“So, there really was a lost land beyond Land’s End? The legends are true,” Gawain whispered.
“You are looking at it this moment, and it is part of your duty to defend its inhabitants from harm, and to arbitrate their disputes,” GogMagog informed him breaking into a rolling canter as the stallion gained level ground.
“Do I live here as well?”
“We live at the castle on the Hill of Cadbury. One day it will be called Camelot, but not for a while yet,” Gog replied. “We are here on business as part of our circuit for the season.”
Gawain looked with interest at the neat farmsteads as they sped past. He glanced over his shoulder, in the distance the unmistakeable peak of St. Michael’s Mount stuck up out of a thick forest clinging to its lower slopes and blanketing the flat plain surrounding it.
Ahead of him, Gawain could make out the faint blue shapes of the hills that marked the Scillies. They were hazy with distance and disappeared from his view from time to time as the well-beaten dirt road they followed looped over the rolling farmland around them.
Something important niggled at the edges of his brain—something about an angry man and a dark shed. Gawain disregarded the annoying thoughts and concentrated on the pure joy of the horse beneath him and the strength flowing through his body.
There was time enough to worry about whether or not he could make the correct choice when it was needed to decide who was in the right between two complainants. The morning sun was warm on his face and the air cool enough he was comfortable in the linen undershirt, light surcoat, and pants.
Gawain slowed GogMagog to a walk and stopped in the shade of huge tree to allow a farmer to drive his cattle across the road and into the far pasture. The man raised his hand in greeting, and Gawain returned the salute.
“My goodwife has bread, cheese, and wine if you wish it, Sir Gawain,” the farmer hailed him.
“My thanks to you and your goodwife, Hal, but I have provision enough for my journey,” Gawain answered the man.
“How do I know his name is Hal?”
“You know because you are Sir Gawain, and this is your bailiwick. Relax and trust your responses. Everything will come to you as you need it to,” GogMagog advised him.
Gawain lifted his hand in farewell as the last of the milch cows entered the gate of the field on the other side of the road. They carried on for a distance, the knight not thinking of anything in particular and enjoying the spring morning.
Sooner than expected, they came to a small market square, nothing much, just a tiny inn which served as a roadhouse, and a few houses scattered around the junction of two narrow crossroads. GogMagog stopped in front of the inn without waiting for Gawain to signal him. The stallion turned his large head and surveyed Gawain with his dark eye.
“When did you change colour?” Gawain asked the stallion in surprise. For sure enough, GogMagog was no longer his shining crystal self, his coat was now a dark steely grey with a long silver mane liberally sprinkled with ebony hairs. His long full tail swept the ground behind him. The stallion’s lower legs were black, his muzzle and the tips of his ears were sable as well.
“This is how I appear in this time. I am still who I am, just as you are still Gort underneath.” GogMagog's mental voice held laughter, and he winked at Gawain.
“Takes some getting used to, this does,” Gawain told him. “Why are we stopping here?”
“This is your first stop. Give it a half day or so, and things will come back to you. Do you remember where we go from here?”
Gawain thought for a moment and then smiled. “There is an inn another half day’s ride from here where I usually spend the night. Good stable for you, and soft bed for me. The Hoe and Harrow, it’s called.”
“Very good, Sir Gawain, now, do get down off my back and get to work.” Gog heaved a huge sigh and lowered his head when a stable boy raced out to take the war horse’s reins from Gawain as the knight stepped down from the broad back.
The line of complainants was short, much to Gawain’s relief. Before the sun reached the zenith, they were on the road again and headed to the much larger and more sumptuous Hoe and Harrow.
Gawain turned the judgments just levied over in his mind and found himself more than pleased with his performance. He felt much more at home in this new body and had grown quite fond of GogMagog as a steel grey instead of his usual crystal self.
A sudden thought occurred to him and he laid his gauntleted hand on Gog’s shoulder in front of the high pommel.
“Do you have different name like me?” Gawain spoke out loud into the dust spangled sunlight.
“I am known as Ailim, which means silver fir, some call me Gringolet. It is actually keincaled, which is Welsh for handsome and hardy. The Welsh is mispronounced more often than not and I prefer Ailim. My name is the cause of great renown all over the realm. We are very fierce fighters, you and I.” Gog sighed lustily and snorted the rising road dust out of his large nostrils.
Gawain nodded absently and rested his right hand on his leather-covered thigh.
“Why is the pommel of this saddle so blasted high and the cantle, too? I feel like I’m stuck up here for good.” Gawain tried to settle himself more comfortably in the seat of the great saddle.
“Why, ‘tis to keep you from falling on your head when we joust.” Gog’s voice was thick with the horse equivalent of laughter.
“We joust?” Gawain asked faintly.
“To be sure, we are the champions of many tourneys. The Lady Nuina always gives you her scarf or ribbon to wear on your sleeve. Surely you remember the Lady Nuina?” Gog shook his head to dislodge the flies pestering his face.
Gawain closed his eyes and sought to put a face to the name. At long last, a face floated across his inner vision. Long dark hair caught up in a silvery net, and laughing eyes that shone for him alone dominated the lady’s radiant face. Ah, yes, he remembered the Lady Nuina.
“So I know how to joust?” Gawain was dubious.
“Yes, you great lunk head, you can joust. Just leave off worrying and follow your instincts when the time comes.” Ailim picked up his pace into a rolling canter. “Time’s a wasting, and I want my dinner sometime before sundown,” the horse told Gawain.


And from a little further into the story:
Gawain and the Lady Nuina raced down the narrow corridor with the knight counting off the doorways and passageways as they ran, depending on his survival skills to help him remember which one to open. He stopped, pulled on the latch and gulped mouthfuls of fresh clean air as the door swung open on the laundry yard. Leaving the door ajar behind him for Lancelot and the queen, Gawain sprinted for the cubbyhole and his gear.
The knight wrapped the Lady Nuina in his cloak and gave her one of his small throwing knives. She hid it the pocket of her skirt and gave him a glittering feral smile before she kirtled up her skirts and raced beside him through the kale yard. They skidded to a muddy halt at the back of the stable, and Gawain searched the interior for any sign of Alain or Ailim.
“We come.” Ailim’s mind voice was high with excitement. “Rose is with us, and Alain has managed to find gear for her.” Ailim was quite pleased with himself.
Gawain and the Lady Nuina dashed to the entrance of the stable that opened onto the courtyard. Everything was in chaos—horses raced wildly about rider-less and crazed; Arthur’s knights were everywhere with their bright swords flashing. The cobbles ran red with blood, and Gawain thrust the Lady Nuina behind him to shield her. Suddenly, Ailim appeared right beside them along with Alain and the two horses. The main gate stood ajar, and Gawain could see the gate keeper struggling to close it as Arthur’s men fought to open it. Gawain closed his eyes briefly as Gaheris ran the old man through with his sword. He pulled his mind back to the moment at hand and lifted the Lady Nuina onto the back of her palfrey. Thrusting Alain at his own chestnut lady, he caught Ailim’s reins as the page tossed them in his direction.
“Get the lady free of the castle and hide until I come for you. Guard her with your life, Alain,” Gawain commanded the lad.
“Aye, Sir Knight, have no fear, the lady will come to no harm in my keeping,” Alain’s eyes flashed in excitement at his first taste of battle. The lad looked as wild as the mare beneath him who rolled her eyes until the whites showed.
The lady in question wheeled her mount with expert hands and drew Gawain’s short sword holding it ready to use. “Aye, Sir Gawain, have no fear,” she repeated Alain’s words with a dark smile, “the lady is not defenceless.” The light of battle glittered in her eyes and bathed her face with an unholy joy.
Gawain would have fallen to his knees at her feet in reverence except for the small matter of the battle at his back. “Goddess keep you, Lady. I see the Morrigan’s hand on you this day and Epona at your side.” Gawain gave her his heart with his eyes.
“Later, Gawain, we will have later,” she promised as she wheeled her mare again and neatly leapt over a fallen body on the stones.
Gawain watched until they were safely out of the castle gate, the Lady Nuina’s cloak flying behind her as the mare took the makeshift barrier March’s men hastily erected across the gate in a graceful leap and soared out of sight.


I hope you'll fall in love with Gort aka Gawain and the Lady Nuina aka Ashling. YOu can follow the link in the cover at the beginning of the post to visit my author page at BWL Publishing Inc where you will find links to all the places where A Step Beyond is available. You will also fine Laurel's Quest the first book in The Cornwall Adventures and Go Gently, the last book in the series.

Coming this September a whole new series begins featuring Laurel and her friends. Set in lovely southern Alberta, Wild Horse Rescue deals with a subject very close to my heart.

Until next month, stay well, stay happy. Next month I'll be featuring the last book in The Conrwall Adventures Go Gently.

Flash Back February by Nancy M Bell

Laurel's Quest (click title for buy link) is my very first published novel. Originally published in 2010 under the title Laurel's Miracle and then re-released in 2014 under Laurel's Quest by my current publisher, BWL Publishing. This is how it came about:

A riding accident in 2005, forced me into early retirement, but I'm not one to stay still for long. The enforced curtailment of my career outside the home enabled her to take up her first love. In 2010 her first YA novel, Laurel’s Miracle was released, it was followed by the second book in her Cornwall Adventures series, A Step Sideways in 2011 which was a finalist in the OKRWA IDA awards. This title is now A Step Beyond. The third novel in the series is Go Gently. Nancy’s first romance novel, Christmas Storm was released in 2012 and the novel was a finalist in the 2012 OKWRA IDA awards. This is now Storm's Refuge with some additional story added.
Research for the novels takes up a great deal of her time. The Cornwall series is Urban Fantasy. The underlying structure of the plot rests on the influence the earth energy lines play in the story line. Earth Energy Lines are not to be confused with Ley Lines. While the two are related, they are very different in character. In September of 2013 my husband and I travelled to Cornwall, UK and had the opportunity to dowse the spot where the Earth Energy Lines enter Cornwall and form a node at Carn les Boel. The spot is a high rocky promontory which in unremarkable unless one is sensitive to the energy. This is the start of the now famous Michael and Mary lines discovered by John Michel late in the 20th century that cross SW England from Cornwall to East Anglia. In the process of the research, Nancy made many wonderful friends, one of which was Hamish Miller, a well-known dowser, speaker, and founding member of Parallel Community.

The story in a nutshell:

Join Laurel as she pursues for her quest amidst the magic of the Cornish countryside. She is aided by her new friends Coll, Gort, and Aisling and helped along in her quest by the creatures of legend and myth. Vear Du, the Selkie, Gwin Scawen, the Cornish Piskie, Belerion the fire salamander, Morgawr the flying sea serpent who does Vear Du a favour, and Cormoran, the last giant of Cornwall. They must battle the odds in the form of bullies and confusing clues. Will they emerge victorious? Will Laurel have the courage to solve the riddle and fulfill her quest a reality?

For you enjoyment here are some pictures from Cornwall, the most magical of lands. Arthur's Land.

Until next month, be well, be happy

A 50 Hour Readathon? Are you kidding me? By Nancy M Bell

Laurel's Quest by Nancy M Bell click here to find out more about this and other books in the series.

So, you're asking, what the heck is a 50 Hour Readathon and how is that even possible. Well, let me tell you!

The Morinville Community Library in Morinville, Alberta is celebrating its 50th anniversary.

The library staff came up with a magnificent idea. Why not hold a readathon that lasts for 50 hours? One hour for each year the library has been open. The plan came to fruition on the weekend of June 2nd to 4th. Of course, no one person was expected to read aloud for the whole time. The word went out and authors and readers from all over Alberta came out to participate. I was lucky enough to be able to take part in this great event. My designated time was between 1 and 2 on Saturday afternoon. I drove the 3 hours from Balzac on a beautiful sunny afternoon. The library staff was very welcoming and local sponsor Panago Pizza provided some lunch, and there was CAKE! I mean who can resist cake? But I digress, sorry.

Back to the readathon. I read some chapters from my YA urban fantasy Laurel's Quest which is the first book in the Cornwall Adventures series. I couldn't believe how fast the time went! I had brought a few of my other titles with me because I wasn't sure how much I needed to fill an hour. I shouldn't have worried, I got through 2 chapters and then it was time for the next reader. I even got streamed live on their Facebook page! Can you imagine? That's a first for me. You can see the video here.

Dedicated participants came all through the night, some even reading in their pyjamas. Every genre under the sun was included, poetry, plays, some people read in French, non fiction, children's books, picture books...there was something for everyone. Morinville is a lovely town just north of Spruce Grove, Alberta which is kissing cousins with Edmonton. If you ever have the opportunity to be up that way, be sure to drop in and visit. Please check out what they have to offer by clicking here.

It was a wonderful weekend and it was a pleasure to take part. I even got to be in the Morinville News! I'm on page 14.

Here are some stats from the weekend. Pretty impressive, I must say.

I'll leave you with a few more pictures of the event.

I've included a bit of Laurel's Quest that I read at the Readathon below. This is from Chapter Two, Laurel has made it to Sarie's in Cornwall and she has run away into a small ravine on the property. There's a hidden spring and Laurel is sitting by the edge. She's mad her dad won't let her come home and she's scared for her mom. This is where she meets the White Lady and where her quest begins.



How am I going to manage without my mom to talk to? She scrunched her hands into fists and pounded on her thighs in frustration. The floodgates burst open. Sobs tore her throat, and tears clogged her nose, her ribs hurt, and she still couldn’t make herself stop. It just wasn’t fair!
“Mom, Mom!”
Without realizing she had moved, Laurel found herself lying face down on the flat stone with her legs entangled in the bushes. Her tears fell into the pool, making little circular ripples like raindrops. It was a little easier to breathe now, but the tears kept coming. Laurel cried for her Mom, for Cole, for Sam, and mostly for herself.
She was abandoned half way across the world. Mom needs me; I need Mom; I want to go home! The tears dripped off her nose into the pool, faster and faster. She needed to stop crying, but she couldn’t. The loss of control scared her, and she was very cold now. Her feet felt like ice, her wet jeans clung to her cold legs. In between the sobs, Laurel’s teeth started to chatter.
Through the blur of tears, there was a shimmer over the surface of the pool. She hiccupped and blinked. A gentle hand touched her hair, smoothing it back from her face. Mom! Mom always smoothed her hair when she was sick or upset. Warmth spread through her...
“Mom?”
The woman about her mom’s age, but it wasn’t her. The lady had blue eyes, and her skin glowed. Bright and silvery blond hair hung long and gossamer around her face, falling over the weird hooded robe she wore. The fingers on her hands were short and sturdy. She was the most beautiful person Laurel had ever seen, except of course for Mom.
“No, sweet child, I’m not the mother you are missing so badly.” Her voice blended with the sparkling voice of the spring.
The woman sat down and rested a hand on her cold shoulder. The touch was comforting. Laurel wriggled around and sat cross-legged with her knees drawn up to her chest. She wrapped her arms around them in an attempt to stop the shivers. The woman wrapped her cape around Laurel. She gathered the soft fabric up under her chin, breathing in the sweet scent of verbena and lavender. Immediately, she was warmer and calmer. With her eyes on the fall of the water into the little rock pool, she searched for something to say, embarrassed at being discovered wailing away like a baby. Even worse, by someone she didn’t even know.
“Do you live around here?”
“In a manner of speaking, I do. I can usually be found somewhere near this spring,” the woman answered.
“Do you know Sarie?” They must be friends, if this woman hung out in Sarie’s pony field.
“Sarie and I are old friends. She is the current custodian of this spring.”
“Does the spring have a name?”
“Some call it the Well of the White Lady,” the woman said softly.
“Who’s the White Lady?”
“She is the spirit of this place, this spring. But she is connected to all the sacred wells and springs, indeed to all the landscape that is Britain,” the woman explained.
“So she’s like an undine?” She remembered her mom’s story about the water spirits.
The woman’s laughter spilled into the serenity of the small glade. “Goodness, child where did you hear of undines?”
“My mom tells me stories about them.”
“Undines are water elementals. They dwell in any body of water and are small and childlike, although they can be quite helpful at times. The White Lady is the actual spirit of the spring, associated with a particular spring. She is however connected to the greater feminine spirit which inhabits all the sacred springs and dwells in the landscape about us. The greater Spirit is known by many names Mary, Brigit, the Lady of the Lake, and in other lands as Isis, to name just a few.” The woman’s voice held a strange vibrancy.
“Are you the White Lady?” Laurel’s voice was very small. She was pretty sure she already knew the answer.
The woman didn’t answer immediately. Stray beams of sunlight flickered in her bright blond hair; a halo of golden light surrounded her. Fear blossomed in the pit of Laurel’s stomach. Maybe Mom’s stories are real. Maybe magic does exist in today’s world like Mom insists.
“I have comforted many people at this spring over the years, not one of them has ever had the courage to ask that simple question out loud.” The woman smiled. “So, as a reward for your forthrightness I will answer. Yes, I am the White Lady. Do you have a favor to ask of me?”
“A favor?” She hadn’t come to the spring to ask for anything. She only wanted to be alone.
“Most of those who come here come to ask for something, a lover, a husband, a child, or to bend others to their will.” The White Lady smiled as she spoke.
“Can you do that? It doesn’t seem right to ask for that kind of thing.”
“You speak with wisdom beyond your young years, little one.” The White Lady’s laughter ignited sparkles in the sunlit shadows. “What is it you would ask, if you could?”
Do I dare ask? What will it cost me to have my wish granted? In all the fairy tales, there was always a price to be paid for favors given, usually a pretty high one. Still, I don’t care what the cost is as long as my wish comes true.
“I want my mom to get better. She has cancer, and she’s really sick. She can’t die. I need her. That’s what I want, my mom to be healthy again,” Laurel said quickly, before she lost her courage.
“It is not a small thing you ask,” the White Lady said thoughtfully. “The decision is not entirely in my hands. Freedom of choice and free will hang in the balance as do the scales of Light and Darkness. Let me consider this for a moment.”
Holding her breath, Laurel clenched her hands together so hard her nails bit into her palms. Please say you’ll help me. The White Lady’s face was serene, but her eyes were unfocused as she looked at something far away. Presently the White Lady smiled.
“I have made something of a bargain for you. The outcome rests with you. There is a riddle you must solve. Follow the clues as you receive them and put them together until you can see the whole riddle. Once you see the riddle as a whole, you will also see the answer and the path you need to take.”
“Mom will be okay if I solve this riddle?” She wanted to be very certain she understood what the White Lady offered.
“If you solve the riddle and complete the tasks given to you, yes, I think your mother will be healthy again. But beware, you must not waste time. Your mother is very ill, and the decision hangs in the balance. You will need friends to help on your journey; it is not a journey you can take alone and succeed.”
Friends, I don’t have any friends here. Who can I ask to help me? The only person she knew was Coll, and Sarie, of course. I can’t ask Sarie; maybe Coll will help me. He seemed pretty nice on the train last night.
“Do you agree to accept the terms of the bargain?” the White Lady prompted Laurel.
“So, I solve the riddle, perform the tasks, and then my mom will be okay?”
“It will be so. Remember your time to complete the tasks is limited by your mother’s condition,” the White Lady affirmed.
“Then yes, I accept the bargain.”
The White Lady placed her hand on Laurel’s head and smiled.
“Then let it be so recorded,” the Lady said simply.
“When do I get the first part of the riddle?” In her mind’s eye, she saw sands draining through an hourglass, like on the soap opera her mom liked to watch.
“Your first clue will come to you on the Fire Festival of Beltane, what you call May Day in these days. Journey to Padstow for the May Day celebrations and keep your heart open to receive the clue. I will add this advice of my own…you must ride on the filly that never was foaled. When you do so, you will know that you are close to your goal. You will literally hold death in your hands. More, I cannot tell you without jeopardizing the bargain. Go gently, child. Blessed Be.”
The White Lady shimmered in a shaft of sunlight which found its way through the leaves. Laurel blinked in the sudden brilliance. When she looked again, the Lady was gone. A soft breeze touched her hair, and then all was still in the little glade, the water continuing to fall into the pool.
“I’m going to have to find a way to get in touch with Coll.”
She climbed up the steep side of the ravine above the spring and emerged in the pony field not far from the house. The four ponies came trotting over to see if there were any goodies to be had. The heavy horses thundered up behind them. Laughing, she patted each one in turn, letting them sniff her hands. Laurel started toward the gate, her sneakers making wet sucking noises as she walked. The herd followed her single file all the way to the gate.

That's all for this time. Until next month stay well, be happy

Something a Little Different by Nancy M Bell

Welcome to my day on the Books We Love Blog! So nice to see you all back. Rather than ramble on about something that is important to me, I thought I would share something a little different this month. I love to write poetry, the way the words sing and how they evoke emotions and even the memory of certain scents. With that in mind, I thought I would post a few poems from my dusty dusty poetry vault. I'd be interested to hear your thoughts on my thoughts. LOL

Nostalgia

Bittersweet; nibbling at the toes of my subconscious
Memories of long past summer days
Evoked by the essence of green cut hay
A myriad of days
Wrapped up in the rustle of ripening wheat

Shimmering moonlight
Freeing the ghosts locked away in memory
Sending them shouting and galloping once again
Through the now silent dark
Plunging me back into half-forgotten dreams
And half-remembered loves

Sweet moon shadowed innocence of youth.


This poem was inspired by memories of riding with my friends when I was in my late teens and early twenties. I can still see it as clear as day, the blue June sky, the belly deep waving grasses, the smell of hot earth and dry grass sharp on the breeze. My horse strong and smooth between my knees, the lovely smell of clean horse and sweat. His coat silky under my hands, our thoughts as one, horse and rider. As if somehow we could capture a moment and freeze it in time, holding it forever in our hearts and minds.

Yesterday’s Last Day

This is the last day of yesterday
It can be no other way
Every other day will be tomorrow
Where joy will not be borrowed

I am closing the door on sadness
Offering myself forgiveness
No more misty dreaming of the past
I’m seeking a promise that will last

No walking with memory’s guidebook in hand
Revisiting places we played on the strand
With somehow tomorrow drifting away
Until I’m caught forever in the last day of yesterday

So now I’m searching through the clouds for tomorrow
Ignoring the beaconing sighs of yesterday’s sorrow
I’m leaving behind this lonely madness
And closing the door on sadness.

This one was about the angst of letting go of a relationship that has gone up in flames, but somehow I kept sifting the ashes through my fingers until I realized there wasn't really anything to hang on to anymore. I was in my late teens when I wrote this one.

Memories from a Honeymoon
May 1977

I remember green English fields and coal fires
Rain and Jubilee banners
Pigeons in Trafalgar Square
Walking through Hyde Park in the sun
Feeling the presence of ghosts from the past

And then Paris, City of flowers and bridges
Notre Dame rising from the stones
As if it has always been there
Inside the candles shining in the dark

I remember a pink rosebush in a park
Near the Eiffel Tower and more pigeons
Walking on the Champs Elysie in the rain
Sitting a little café with a café au lait
That cost a buck a cup
Crepes with strawberry jam from a street vendor

Zurich’s mountains and lake
A white swan in the river at dawn
And a hotel that was closed
Red roofs and cobble streets
Alpine flowers on the slopes and sweet mountain air

Amsterdam, city of canals
Dam Square and more pigeons
The Red Light District and a hungry alley cat
Walking along the Prinsengrache and Damrack
McDonald’s at last
Shopping the bustling streets
Wheels of cheese and fish markets
French fries with mayonnaise
And more rain

And over it all the glow of everlasting love.

This one is pretty self-explanatory. Memories of our honeymoon. Europe on a shoe string. Hard to believe it was 38 years ago.

Touchstone

We are linked by love
You and I
You have been my steadfast friend
My anchor in the stormy seas
My safe rock on which to stand
And survey my uncertainties

The sharer of my secrets
The keeper of the wings of my spirit
You have given so much
And asked so little
Touchstone of my soul
Transcending even the distance of death.

This is a tribute to my first horse, Brandy. He kept me sane through my teenage and early twenties. I wrote this right after he died. His name was Brandy, Brandance Kaine.

Secretariat

You were bred to win
And born to race
While still a colt you left
Your rolling Meadow fields
Forever

Destined to show that dreams
Can still come true
The essence of power and beauty
Running for love of it
Running for yourself
Honestly and truly

The sun was your spotlight
You were the ruler
The world your minions
Like your daddy’s name a Bold Ruler
And like your momma’s truly Something Royal

And now each time we see a flaming chestnut
The world looks again hoping that it’s you
Knowing that it never will be again.


This is appropriate seeing as American Pharaoh won the Triple Crown. I wrote this after Secretariat won in 1973. The first horse since 1948 when Citation won.

Winter Morning

Snow silvered branches spread against the pearl velvet of the sky
Bare trunks a dark slash against the white-blue snow
The frosty filigreed branches glow with illumination
The pale light gathered and thrown upwards by the fields they guard
The Goddess is holding her breath
There is no colour on this palette
Only shades of silver pewter
The pale blue-white of snow and shadow
And the stark black wounds of the trees
Stitching the earth to the sky.

This is just a small vignette of a winter morning that enchanted me.

Okay, only one more. I promise!

Just Shy of Eighty-Two

You were just one day shy
Of eighty-two years old
The day you went missing
Really, just one hour shy

The night closed in
And you drifted away from us
You left the face we knew on your pillow
Taking the part that was You
Where we couldn’t follow

You chose to leave in solitude
Sending your lover to catch a bus
Alone, your great bear heart settled into rest
Your great bear spirit free from its cage

Where I sat in the dark car outside a Tim Horton’s
Stopping briefly in my mad rush to reach you
I knew I was too late
Even before my cell phone split the silence
As we passed the Barrie Racetrack

You are still here in the blood of your children
And your children’s children
In your daughter’s eyes you are a hero
The hero has just gone on a new quest
There is an empty place at our banquet table

Mom and Dad 1956

Daddy

This was written when my dad died in 2008. No matter how old we get, we will always be our parent's children.

Well, I hope I haven't bored you all to death! Looking forward to hearing your thoughts and comments. Until next month!

Interviews...Friend or Foe? by Nancy M Bell

Hello again, thanks for stopping by. As I write this post I'm getting ready to do a Blog Talk Radio interview to promote Go Gently, the third book in the Cornwall Adventures. For no good reason, I always get nervous before an interview. It doesn't matter if it's face to face, over the phone or the internet. There's no good reason for it, I suppose. Left over angst from my 'fat kid' childhood maybe. I'm always thinking in the back of my mind about what people will think of what I'm wearing, or if they actually like the book, or are just being kind. Sometimes you wonder if the interviewer even read the book. But, then again, that's just my own inner critic rearing its head.
Even though outwardly it appears I have no trouble speaking to a crowd or facilitating an event, inside I'm triple thinking about what I should or shouldn't say or do. Silly, I know. It's like there is another person inside who takes over and just speaks naturally and comes up with concise and well thought out answers to questions. I used to teach riding lessons for a living, over 70 students a week. I always got a bit a stage fright, even though I loved what I was doing. The behaviors we learn in childhood never really leave us.

I recently released the third book in the Cornwall Adventures series. Go Gently is available from the publisher, Books We Love and major distributors everywhere. While I'm extremely proud of the books, it's almost like they are a separate entity from me and their success is somehow their own and not mine. Weird. It's okay to crow about the books, but I would never crow about me, tiny voices whisper my grandmother's words - "Don't be bragging, it's unbecoming of a young lady." "Quit thinking you're so smart or your head will get so big it won't fit through the door" Or my mother - "I can never find nice things for Nancy, she's just so big for her age. I can always finds such cute things for Wendy (my younger sister) She's so tiny and blonde."

I realize none of that actually defines me or indeed really has anything to do with me. It's their view of the world, not mine. But in times of stress, up they pop.

The funny thing is, I really do enjoy the interview once I arrive or it begins. I love talking about writing, the process, and the craft. The magic of putting words on paper that evoke a reaction and emotions from others. It is magic and I love it. When the interview is over, I'm always riding a bit of a high and wonder what the heck I was so nervous about beforehand. Giving interviews or readings is a great way to connect with people. A reader will often pick up a book and buy it if they feel a connection with the author. Reaching out to them through interviews is a great tool. With the internet today, you can instantly connect with readers on a worldwide scale. It boggles the imagination of a child of the 1950s, that's for sure.

Summer Solstice Sunset 2012

I know, I know, picture has nothing to do with content of my post, but I love the colours. It's taken from my back yard over the rolling prairie. Home of my heart.

Okay, the interview is over and it was fun. Now, if I could just remember NOT to say Ummm so many times. LOL

If you want to listen to the interview (and count the Umms LOL) click here

For more on the latest Cornwall Adventures book, Go Gently, please visit my author page at Books We Love. It is also available in ebook and print online and at bookstores everywhere. Thanks for visiting. See you next month on June 18th. Until then be safe and be happy.