The Tail of Nightshade

“A mouse scrabbled along under crisp, fallen leaves, whiskers twitching. Death, disguised as an owl, kept watch high above, unblinking eyes orbed bright in the moonlight...”

Thus begins an adventure unlike any other for Nightshade, a young mouse who never expected to venture very far from their cozy burrow. Over the course of a few eventful days, they will meet strangers both weird and magnificent, including an impetuous bear and a lovely wyrm, a flitter-flutter and a whirligig, a wizard of modest talents and a legendarily monstrous cat, and a most wondrous being of light.

Together they will navigate a noble quest, face unimaginable dangers, and experience astonishing events. Through it all, they will cling to the one thing they most believe: there is no obstacle that cannot be overcome if all remain true.

Please be warned, especially for younger readers, that there are brief moments of violence, instances of death and other kinds of mayhem you might expect in a fantasy story. But also be reassured that it is a tale full of hope, love, and the beauty of loyalty, friendship, and doing the right thing no matter the cost.

Includes 31 original illustrations by the author.

Publication date: February 8, 2023

298 pages, 69,000 words

Excerpt:

Chapter One: The Infernal Machine 

A mouse scrabbled along under crisp, fallen leaves, whiskers twitching. Death, disguised as an owl, kept watch high above, unblinking eyes orbed bright in the moonlight.

“Home soon, home soon,” Nightshade chanted to themself, a spell to ward off danger.

They were an itty-bitty thing. Fur grey as slate. Teeth so sharp, snap snap! Ears that twitched and caught the soft crinkle of another leaf tumbling to the ground. Quick as a whip and fierce when cornered. If they were larger, what a formidable creature they would be, but they were only tiny, so they’d learned to hide and wait, ever patient.

Death screeched overhead and Nightshade trembled. Not good to be caught so far from home (just a hollow beneath the twisting roots of an ancient oak, but it was warm and dry and safe and oh, what they would have given to be there now). Driven out into the night by hunger but filled with regret. Should’ve waited ‘til daylight when the golden-eyed hunter sleeps.

But that was neither here nor there. “What’s done is done,” as their old ma used to say. “Time only passes one way. Forwarder and forwarder.”

There was a rumble in the earth. A puttering vibration underfoot grew ever more violent until Nightshade’s teeth and bones and claws chattered and shook. What a rackety noise! The owl, startled, took to the air in a flurry of wing and feather, nearly careening into a tall pine in its panic to escape.

To flee or stay? The mouse’s curiosity to see this rumbling creature overcame their natural instincts. And what a sight indeed! It was a bear, brown as a chestnut, with googly eyes and a shell over its head, perched on the most complicated metal beast ever seen. The thing sputtered and growled, then choked and died.

“Blast and botheration,” the bear muttered, pulling off its helmet and goggles. “Fuming flames!” it cried as it dismounted and stamped its great paws on the earth.

Nightshade couldn’t help but giggle at the giant’s frustration.

“Eh? Who’s there?” The bear’s eyesight and sense of smell were keen. It pushed its snout down to the ground, blowing hot air and scattering dried leaves around.

“A wee mouse, is it? Think it funny do ‘e?” the bear thundered, unfolding himself to his utmost height, arms outstretched.

“Abject apologies. It’s just I never saw nor heard such as you before.”

“I’d think not.” The bear chuckled, thumping its chest with pride. “As far as I’m aware, I’m t’ only bear what rides a motosickle. A useful machine when it works, but nowt but a nuisance when it don’t, which is far too often for my liking.”

“Wherever did you get such a thing?”

“Now that is a story and not a short ‘un neither. Suffice to say I did a man a service once and this is my reward.”

“A man? A human man? Whatever did you help a human for? They are the worst of our enemies. None are safe when a human is in the forest.”

The bear crouched down on all fours so as to be more comfortable for this unexpected debate. “I suppose ‘tis true we’ve much to fear from a hooman. But not all hoomans are one and the same, same as none o’ us are. This man I met was mated to a woman, bold and generous and kind. Her hair was as brown as my fur and her eyes also so. I met her in the woods, all a surprise, not unlike our own meeting. She weren’t afeared o’ me and that is a wondrous thing when you’re used to others running away at sight o’ you! We had many a pleasant talk, me and her.”

Nightshade was amazed at the idea of speaking to a human. They had been taught from earliest age to fear and avoid all such, for humans were even more dangerous than the owl or the fox or the cunning weasel.

The bear looked pensive. “Then one day, she came no more to the place we met. I went in search o’ her. Followed her scent what smelled of bluebells and daffodils and every good spring flower. Found her still and cold on the forest floor. I went to fetch her man, tho’ we’d never met. She must’ve told him o’ me, for he was unafraid and followed right willingly. ‘Twas an awful thing to see how he keened over her. I helped him dig a hole deep as deep. Bears are fearful diggers, you know.”

“How sad,” the mouse said, moved at this pitiful tale despite their antipathy to humans. “What did the man do next? Find another mate?”

“You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But he was a faithful one and vowed ne’er to leave her side even in death. He bid me go to their cottage and take anything I wanted, for he had need o’ it no more. I seen men from time to time on these machines and thought I’d like one for my own. Save some wear and tear on my paws as none of us grow younger, do we?”

“And you taught yourself to use it?”

“Aye. I’m a smarter bear than I might appear.”

“You must be the cleverest bear that ever lived,” marveled Nightshade.

The bear bellowed with laughter. “Perhaps. Perhaps, young ‘un. But we ain’t been introduced proper.” He extended a paw. “I am Mister Chester Charles Farthington.”

The mouse grasped the very tip of one large bear claw in both their tiny hands and shook solemnly. “Pleased to meet you Mister Farthington. I am Nightshade.”

“Now would that be Mister or Miss or even Missus?”

“None of those, I don’t think. I am just Nightshade.”

“You must call me Chester then. We shan’t stand on the formalities. And what’re you doing out in the woods this time o’ night? There are many and many an enemy for one such as yourself, both on the prowl and on the wing.”

Nightshade shivered. “Well I know it. I was fearfully hungry, so I ventured out, but I wish I hadn’t.”

“But then we should not have met and that would be a pity. It ain’t so easy to meet a new friend.”

“Are we friends?”

“I don’t see why we shouldn’t be. You’re far too small a morsel to fill my belly and I prefer talking to eating you at any rate.”

The mouse couldn’t help but be grateful for the bear’s viewpoint. “I’ve had no friends since my mother died and my littermates scattered to the four winds.”

“That’s a shame, ain’t it,” said Chester. “Say, how’d you like to go on a bit o’ an adventure with me?”

Nightshade’s ears perked up and their nose wiggled. “An adventure?”

“That’s right. I’m on my way back to check on the man what gave me this machine. Like as not he has followed his mate by now and deserves proper burial. Their cottage has good things to eat in it. Plenty for a wee thing such as yourself and even a big fella like me.”

Nightshade considered this proposal carefully. They didn’t like the sound of being so close to a human but if the man was dead, he could pose no threat. They did like the sound of good things to eat very much. It had been a harsh autumn and winter was just around the corner.

“I suppose,” they agreed hesitantly.

“That’s the spirit!” Chester scooped up the mouse and set them carefully on one shoulder. “I’ve discovered if I jiggle this thing here and kick this bit a few times…” The machine roared back to life and the bear climbed aboard. “What did I tell you? Hold on tight as tight there. There may be a fair bit o’ wind.”

A bit was an understatement. Nightshade burrowed deep into the bear’s fur and anchored themselves with their tail. Their heart raced as the forest flew by faster than they could ever have imagined. Their empty stomach began to feel rather peculiar, and they decided it was best to shut their eyes.

As the wind rushed through their ears at an alarming rate, Nightshade regretted more and more their rash choice to take up the bear’s invitation for a wild ride on his infernal machine. After the folly of venturing out at night to try and find a morsel of food, this seemed like yet another poor decision. The tiny grey mouse resolved to be more careful and stick close to home if they ever got back to their warm hole in the ground. But home seemed farther and farther away as Chester revved the machine’s motor and they rocketed through the towering pines.

The bear hummed a growly tune, well-pleased with himself for mastering a hooman device. No sooner than he had this thought when he saw a large obstacle in his path. No time to swerve or react, he hit the thing with a mighty thump. Events after that, I must report, became a bit confused. There was a certain amount of swirling and twirling, tumbling and bumbling, even a smidgen of bouncing and pouncing.

Nightshade somehow managed to keep their grip on the bear’s thick fur. Through sheer good fortune, the bear rolled to a stop in such a way as to avoid crushing his fragile passenger.

“Eh, there, little one,” Chester called anxiously, “still among the living, are you?”

Nightshade was too shaken up to reply sensibly but managed a quivering squeak that reassured the bear.

“Glad to hear it. Afraid we’ve met with an accident. Hit a rock, I think.”

“I beg your pardon,” a deep, slow voice protested. “I have been called many things in my time, but I am not an inanimate object, good sir.”

“An what?” Chester said, peering around to see who was speaking. He was taken aback to spy the largest tortoise he had ever seen, grey and grim and grizzled with an extraordinary pair of pince-nez (which are simply a terribly old-fashioned type of eyeglasses) perched on its nose.

“An inanimate object. An insensible entity. In short, a thing. I am a living, breathing animal and I do believe you owe me an apology for not only insinuating otherwise but attempting to run me down with whatever that is.” The tortoise nodded its head toward a twisted pile of metal.

The bear leapt to his feet and bent over the wreckage, laying one paw on the ruins. “My motosickle! ‘Tis a goner, I fear.”

Nightshade gave a shudder of relief on the bear’s shoulder. They’d had quite enough of traveling as humans do and hoped their remaining journey would be much more sedate.

“Good riddance,” the stranger said. “What a racket you were making! I heard you coming from miles away. Don’t you have sense enough to keep silent in these woods? Calling such unnecessary attention to yourself rarely ends well.”

Chester scoffed. “None can hurt me but a hooman with the courage o’ one of those noisy, fiery things they carry, but few venture this far into the forest.”

“There are other threats than humans here. Have you never heard of the Keeylas?”

A thrill ran down Nightshade’s spine; a distant memory of ghost stories exchanged with their siblings at their mother’s side before they went their separate ways. Tales of a white cat as large as the mightiest stag and with the antlers of one too. Three swishing tails and six paws instead of four, the better to trap and claw the unwary. The mouse gave out an involuntary squeal of terror at the memory.

“And what have you there?” the tortoise asked, craning its head to peer at the bear’s passenger. “You are infested, sir.”

Chester chuckled. “Infested? Nay, ‘tis a friend o’ mine. Nightshade is their name, and I am Mister Chester Charles Farthington, though my friends call me Chester. Now, I’m not sure if we are to be friends or no, but I’d be right glad to learn your name.”

“I am Sibyl by name and sibyl by nature.”

“And what might that be?”

“Females with exceptional insight and the ability to see into the future.”

Chester was much struck by the august dignity of this unique personage. His jaw dropped in awe, but Nightshade was less impressed.

“Nobody can tell the future,” they protested, “for no one has ever been there.”

“The mouse speaks!” Sibyl cried. “And what would such a one as you know? What have you experienced of the world in your brief life that makes you so sure, compared to one such as I who have been alive hundreds of years?”

“Hunderd of years? Hunderd of years?” The bear sat down heavily on the ground, shaking his head in wonderment. “Is it possible any beast can live so long?”

“I don’t know about beasts, but it is certainly possible for a sibyl. I’ve witnessed such events as you could never imagine. I have seen outside of this world into the farthest reaches of the universe. Such chaos there, it is impossible to describe, and yet it is beautiful too, beyond anything you will ever witness.”

Nightshade thought this all nonsense and was more concerned with Sibyl’s warning. “Is there really such a thing as a keeylas?”

“Not a keeylas. The Keeylas. A giant cat, white as frost with a rack of antlers wide as a man is tall and sharp as a scold’s tongue. I have seen it many a time and seen what it can do. A formidable foe. There are none mightier within the forest or without. No human or animal can withstand its power. Pray you never meet it. It may be the last sight you ever see!”

“Now, now,” Chester objected, feeling Nightshade quivering in fright on his shoulder. “No need to upset my wee friend. I’m no youngster and have traveled near and far in these same woods and ne’er once set eyes on such a thing.”

“Then I suppose it can’t possibly exist if you’ve not seen it,” Sibyl said mockingly. “Don’t come crying to me when you feel its hot breath upon your neck.”

“I shan’t, for such a thing ain’t likely to happen. Have you anything else to tell us before we part ways, Madame Sibyl?”

“Only this. Pay close attention when a raven speaks. It is the wisest of birds and means you no ill will. They do prefer to speak in riddles, however. An unpleasant habit they find hard to break. Make sure you understand the answer well before taking its advice.”

With that, the enormous tortoise went on its ponderous way as Chester and Nightshade watched it warily.

The bear sighed. “That was a remarkable meeting and an unfortunate one, no mistake, for my motosickle is dead and we needs must proceed without.”

Nightshade thought this no tragedy, but out of respect for their new friend’s feelings, said only, “Do you believe her? About the Keeylas and the raven?”

“Barking mad, I should think. If she’s lived even half as long as she claimed, plenty o’ time to lose her marbles.”

“What are marbles?”

“A hooman game. The woman showed me how to play. I’ll teach you if you like. There are some in that cottage. It’s not too far now. Won’t take us long, even by paw. Hang on, my friend.”

The bear set off on all fours at a pace that seemed to Nightshade no less than when they rode the machine. Hungry and weary of adventuring, the mouse climbed ever higher on Chester’s back until they could burrow deep into the deepest part of his dense brown fur and, against all odds, drift off to sleep.