#Northshire Books

[lgbtqreads]

Shopper's Delight: Independent Bookstore Day (Tomorrow!)

In honor of Independent Bookstore Day tomorrow (April 29th), here are some of our favorite indies along with some handy links to special, signed (including bookplated), and/or personalized editions that can ship right to you! (Stores are listed alphabetically by state.) Please note that some of these are preorders, and some are already published titles.  Note: Make sure you request the copy be…

[fahye]

exciting BOOK TOUR business

THAT'S RIGHT! AMERICA I AM COMING TO YOU. WELL. PARTS OF YOU. BRIEFLY. I will be signing things! Chatting to people! Early copies of the book will be for sale! We will have those amazing art prints!

(If you're tempted to ask "Freya, why aren't you coming to [X place] ??" the answer is "we are playing a game of book event Jenga around a trip planned for other reasons and I'm very sorry".

Obviously if I could trek luxuriously across the entire continent, nay, the entire world! then I would, but unfortunate things like 'logistics' and 'a limited amount of annual leave from my dayjobs' have prevented it.)

TOUR EVENTS & BOOKING LINKS:

Doylestown Books, PA Tuesday October 24th, 6:00pm

Love's Sweet Arrow, Chicago (In conversation with Tamara Jerée) Saturday October 28th, 2:00pm

The Ripped Bodice, Brooklyn (In conversation with Sarah Maclean) Wednesday November 1st, 7:00pm

East City Bookshop, Washington DC (In conversation with Venessa Vida Kelley) Thursday November 9th, 7:00pm

Northshire Books, Saratoga Springs Saturday November 11th, 6:00pm

Boswell Books (VIRTUAL EVENT) Wednesday November 29th, 5:00pm

[ladymischievous]

Warcraft Fanfic: A Twist of Fate Chapter 7

Author's Note: Chapter 7 is up on AO3!

Chapter 7: The Masks We Wear

-o-o-o-o-o-

Northshire Abbey was one of the most peaceful places Khadgar had ever stayed at. Which made it all the more unsettling to him. There was no doubt that the abbey was beautiful, it had the feel and charm as many old places did. The building stood tall and proud, made of stone that was carved into ornate iconography of the religion of ‘The Light’. Symbols above archways and statues of heroes and saints of the past lined the walls of corridors in niches or stood in the abbey garden. The inside of the abbey was also cool, something Khadgar very much appreciated, as the climate in the south of the continent was much warmer than back home.

There always seemed to be the lingering distant smells of incense, old books, or cooking food. Khadgar couldn’t say it was a ‘bad’ place to stay, but he certainly felt out of place. He hadn’t been to a church service since he was a child, before coming to Dalaran. It was a time he preferred not to think about.

So Khadgar kept himself busy. He was settled in a chair in the room Medivh had been laid to rest in. He worked on writing notes and sketches of the events that had happened the night before. It was hard to believe any of it was real. Khadgar would sometimes look down at his hand, the one that held Medivh’s dagger, and find it trembling. Sometimes when he dozed off, he’d relive furiously stabbing the scarecrow he protected Medivh from. Only Khadgar would end up seeing that the scarecrow was himself. His own blue eyes were glassy and dull, staring upwards at the sky. Khadgar was certain a part of him died that night, as for which part, he wasn’t sure. ‘Innocence’ didn’t exactly fit with everything he’d seen and done while uncovering secrets in Dalaran. If it was, then it may have been the very last shreds of innocence he had.

Khadgar paused in his work and looked at his sleeping companion. Medivh was still in a deep sleep. It was later in the afternoon and he had been slowly recovering. Now Medivh looked as though he had aged only about ten years. The gray in his hair had returned to its deep black color and color returned to his face. He still looked drained and fragile. It made Khadgar feel uneasy.

Looking down at his notes, Khadgar was reminded that Medivh had been targeted. The fog, the gnolls that tracked them like animals, someone had it out for Medivh. It made Khadgar eye every visiting nurse, doctor, or worker with a hint of suspicion. He’d watch everyone and what they did around or to Medivh carefully. If he was being targeted, then it surely wouldn’t be the only attempt.

Khadgar kept Medivh’s dagger close by, promising himself that he’d return it when he woke up.

The sound of heavy footsteps drew his attention towards the door. Anduin Lothar had arrived and stood in the doorway, giving Khadgar a confused look. He then noticed the cot set up close to Medivh’s bed and frowned.

“Don’t tell me the folks here weren’t able to set you up with a room.” Lothar said. “I’ll have things sorted ou--”

“They did.” Khadgar spoke up, cutting him off. “I turned them down and asked to stay here.”

Lothar canted his head a little when he heard that answer, looking even more confused. “What? Why? Trust me, the Lord Magus won’t go anywhere.”

“I’d rather not leave him alone right now.” Khadgar said, his voice sounding more firm. He was a little surprised at himself with how he spoke up. Especially to a man that could easily fold him in half. Khadgar swallowed down the sudden nervousness and continued. “Someone was targeting Lord Aran last night.”

Lothar crossed his arms, his gaze turning hard and a little dark. “Are you certain?” -o-o-o-o-o-

The rest can be found on AO3: Chapter 7 New to the fic? Start at the beginning.

[graphicpolicy]

Binc Welcomes New Board Executive Committee Officers and Three New Members

Binc Welcomes New Board Executive Committee Officers and Three New Members. Congrats to all!

Three book industry leaders have joined the Book Industry Charitable (Binc) Foundation board of directors. They bring a variety of experience, from store ownership and frontline bookselling to leading publishing houses. In addition, the board’s new executive committee is Chris Morrow, former owner of Northshire Bookstore, president; historical fiction author Jonathan Putnam, treasurer; and Calvin…

[wow-rp-locations]

Northshire Falls

Many will be familiar with this location, as it is one of the good old classics. I'm of course talking about the scenic flight route just behind Stormwind and Northshire, and its beautiful waterfall.

This lovely area, hidden away in the mountain range separating Elwynn Forest and Burning Steppes, is full of interesting little places that are perfect for when you need a secluded space to roleplay in (though be aware that you may not be the only one searching!), as well as a few NPCs who have set up camp along the river.

The first camp belongs to NPCs Roo and Turp, two adventurers who decided to settle down after all the exploring and fighting, and who now live in a tent right across from the waterfall with their two pups Nom and Tof. They seem to be enjoying their life here!

Another mountain resident is Jeremiah Seely, author of Tome of the Clear Mind (which was previously used to change your talents). He shares his little camp with his white cat Navin, hoping to find some inspiration in nature for his next book, which he hopes to be just as successful as his first while being less "technical", as he puts it.

Lastly, we find ourselves at the very top, above the waterfall, where a small hut was built. This is the house of gnome tinkerer-turned-shepherd Agee Tyler, who sits before his cozy fireplace while his flock of sheep is grazing close by. Don't be fooled though, one of the sheep is actually a machine!

This has been the World Of Warcraft Tourist Guide, and I wish you a fun RP experience

[lookashiny]

[mckennagrafwrites]

[harrythetorch]

"Back Over My Shoulder" podcast: Sherlock Holmes was in Glens Falls, NY?

“Back Over My Shoulder” podcast: Sherlock Holmes was in Glens Falls, NY?

Hi! Thanks for joining me. This was to be my January 6th Back Over My Shoulder podcast. However, because of the reprehensible terrorist invasion of our US Capitol on January 6, I felt it more appropriate to hold off posting this until now. This podcast is “Holmes’ visit in 1894 left few clues, my dear Watson.” In it, I tell of the time when Sir Arthur Conan Doyle spoke in Glens Falls. The…

[lgbtqreads]

What are your most anticipated releases for 2024?

There are a bunch of posts coming up with the answers to that, starting tomorrow! But FWIW, my personal preorders so far have been for Just Happy to Be Here by Naomi Kanakia, Most Ardently by Gabe Cole Novoa, The Friendship Study by Ruby Barrett, This Day Changes Everything by Edward Underhill, Icarus by K. Ancrum, Canto Contigo by Jonny Garza Villa, and The Girl in Question by Tess Sharpe, and I haven't gotten to it yet (I am strategic) but also plan to preorder both Playing for Keeps and The Ride of Her Life by Jennifer Dugan (I always preorder from her local indie, Northshire Books, so I can get them signed) and Flawless Girls by Anna-Marie McLemore. I've also blurbed a few great ones I'm excited for other people to read, including The Last Love Song by Kalie Holford and Every Time You Heart That Song by Jenna Voris, which make a very lovely musical pair. There's lots more I'm excited about - The Guncle Abroad! Lavash at First Sight! The Pairing! Triple Sec! A Little Kissing Between Friends! but anyway, more on all that soon!

[mistfallenjoyer]

I'm so late to the ask thing-

anyway, 🌙🙈☁️ for lucy (you don't have to do it if you don't want to girl ( ˘ ³˘))

- sso-montana

HELLO HELLO THANK YOU SO MUCH! Sorry this took so long, as well 😭😭😭

☁️ A soft headcanon

For those who don’t know, Lucy was taken from her family (who are in Northshire) by the Keepers of Aideen and was handed off to Herman. They all know she is Aideen (Lucy and Alex are the first of the Soul Riders! They trained together and stuff!) and Herman raised her, taught her how to ride, etc. 

OKAY so like that’s out of the way- Herman has a HUGE box in his closet FULL of her baby clothes, doodles and old school work. Your normal parent things. (he has a few of her doodles from when she was around 5-6 still on the fridge!) And one day when Linda and Lucy are hanging out at Herman’s, they had just started dating, Herman gets that box out and they spend a good 3 hours going through all of Lucy’s old things from her childhood. 

A lot of Harper’s (Linda and Lucy’s kid like SUPER FAR IN THE FUTURE) baby clothes were clothes that Herman had kept from when Lucy was a baby. She also has a bunch of little outfits that Linda wore when she was little, too! As well as a blanket!!

🙈 What is a side of her she doesn’t want to show other people? 

She’s an open book! Like, literally, she doesn’t hide anything about her from her friends or family. (Or from anyone? Really?)  But yeah, she really doesn’t care that much about the bad parts of her personality or life. Everyone has that and she’s not here to act like she doesn’t. 

[ladymischievous]

A Twist of Fate Chapter 7: The Masks We Wear

Posting this again. Currently taking a break to recharge but I'm really proud of how chapters 6 & 7 turned out. Still in the sketching phase for chapter 8. It's going to take a while to write down but I hope you will enjoy the story so far.

-Snippet for Chapter 7-

Northshire Abbey was one of the most peaceful places Khadgar had ever stayed at. Which made it all the more unsettling to him. There was no doubt that the abbey was beautiful, it had the feel and charm as many old places did. The building stood tall and proud, made of stone that was carved into ornate iconography of the religion of ‘The Light’. Symbols above archways and statues of heroes and saints of the past lined the walls of corridors in niches or stood in the abbey garden. The inside of the abbey was also cool, something Khadgar very much appreciated, as the climate in the south of the continent was much warmer than back home.

There always seemed to be the lingering distant smells of incense, old books, or cooking food. Khadgar couldn’t say it was a ‘bad’ place to stay, but he certainly felt out of place. He hadn’t been to a church service since he was a child, before coming to Dalaran. It was a time he preferred not to think about.

So Khadgar kept himself busy. He was settled in a chair in the room Medivh had been laid to rest in. He worked on writing notes and sketches of the events that had happened the night before. It was hard to believe any of it was real. Khadgar would sometimes look down at his hand, the one that held Medivh’s dagger, and find it trembling. Sometimes when he dozed off, he’d relive furiously stabbing the scarecrow he protected Medivh from. Only Khadgar would end up seeing that the scarecrow was himself. His own blue eyes were glassy and dull, staring upwards at the sky. Khadgar was certain a part of him died that night, as for which part, he wasn’t sure. ‘Innocence’ didn’t exactly fit with everything he’d seen and done while uncovering secrets in Dalaran. If it was, then it may have been the very last shreds of innocence he had.

Khadgar paused in his work and looked at his sleeping companion. Medivh was still in a deep sleep. It was later in the afternoon and he had been slowly recovering. Now Medivh looked as though he had aged only about ten years. The gray in his hair had returned to its deep black color and color returned to his face. He still looked drained and fragile. It made Khadgar feel uneasy.

Looking down at his notes, Khadgar was reminded that Medivh had been targeted. The fog, the gnolls that tracked them like animals, someone had it out for Medivh. It made Khadgar eye every visiting nurse, doctor, or worker with a hint of suspicion. He’d watch everyone and what they did around or to Medivh carefully. If he was being targeted, then it surely wouldn’t be the only attempt.

Khadgar kept Medivh’s dagger close by, promising himself that he’d return it when he woke up.

The sound of heavy footsteps drew his attention towards the door. Anduin Lothar had arrived and stood in the doorway, giving Khadgar a confused look. He then noticed the cot set up close to Medivh’s bed and frowned.

“Don’t tell me the folks here weren’t able to set you up with a room.” Lothar said. “I’ll have things sorted ou--”

“They did.” Khadgar spoke up, cutting him off. “I turned them down and asked to stay here.”

-End of Snippet- Read the rest on AO3. Chapter 6: Night of the Wicked Harvest Chapter 7: The Masks We Wear

Starting from the beginning? Chapter 1: Lucky Number 13

[warcraft-lore-archives]

A Brief History of the Church of the Holy Light and Its Sects

Approx. 2800 Years Before the Dark Portal Opens

 A human warrior named Mereldar begins having visions of beings made of the Light. They teach her and a select few others about the wisdom of virtues such as protection, justice, retribution, holiness, and compassion. Enlightened, Mereldar and the others set out to write down the beings’ teachings in a series of books that eventually inspire the formation of the Church of the Holy Light [World of Warcraft Chronicle Volume II, pg. 126].

?? Years Before the Dark Portal Opens

The Church of the Holy Light is formally established in Lordaeron [World of Warcraft Chronicle Volume II, pg. 126].

?? Years Before the Dark Portal Opens

Some members of the Church move south and found the Holy Order of Northshire Clerics on the outskirts of Stormwind City [World of Warcraft Chronicle Volume II, pg. 125].

The Dark Portal Opens

The orcs invade Azeroth, beginning the First War.

1 Year After the Dark Portal Opens

The Northshire Clerics – unarmed, untrained, and unable to defend themselves – are killed when the orcish horde razes Stormwind City, though some survive and flee to Southshore with other refugees [World of Warcraft Chronicle Volume II, pg. 125-126].

4 Years After the Dark Portal Opens

The Second War begins.

5 Years After the Dark Portal Opens

Distraught at what had happened to the Northshire clerics during the First War, Archbishop Alonsus Faol proposes the idea of training a small group of priests and knights to wield the Light in battle. They become known as the Order of the Knights of the Silver Hand [Tides of Darkness, Chapter Five].

7 Years After the Dark Portal Opens

The Second War ends.

Archbishop Faol re-establishes the mostly defunct Holy Order of Northshire Clerics under the new name the Brotherhood of Northshire [Plaque: Archbishop Alonsus Faol].

20 Years After the Dark Portal Opens

Prince Arthas attempts to suspend the Knights of the Silver Hand from service after Uther refuses to join him in culling the infected civilians of Stratholme. Though this does not hold, a rift begins opening up between the members of the order over who should and should not be allowed to join their vaunted ranks [NPC: Arthas Dialogue, Ashbringer: Death is Contagious, Ashes to Ashes].

21 Years After the Dark Portal Opens

Alexandros Mograine, the Ashbringer, dies at the hand of one of his sons during battle [Ashbringer: Ashes to Ashes].

21 Years After the Dark Portal Opens

Maxwell Tyrosus, disgusted at his comrades’ refusal to allow any non-humans in the Knights of the Silver Hand, leaves and forms his own organization that would not only continue to preach the values of the Holy Light, but also accept all races. This new religious group is called the Argent Dawn [World of Warcraft Chronicle Volume III, pg. 103, Ashbringer: Ashes to Ashes].

21 Years After the Dark Portal Opens

The remaining members of the Knights of the Silver Hand officially rebrand themselves the Scarlet Crusade and take up residence in the Scarlet Monastery [Ashbringer: Ashes to Ashes].

Approx. 23 – 24 Years After the Dark Portal Opens

A select few who shirk the Argent Dawn’s strict code of morals break off from the order and form the Brotherhood of the Light [NPC: Crusade Commander Korfax Dialogue].

25 Years After the Dark Portal Opens

The Knights of the Silver Hand are reformed by Tirion Fordring [Quest: In Dreams].

26-27 Years After the Dark Portal Opens

After the events at Light’s Hope Chapel that culminates in many death knights gaining independence from the Lich King, Tirion Fordring takes it upon himself to merge the Argent Dawn and the second iteration of the Knights of the Silver Hand into a new organization known as the Argent Crusade [Quest: The Light of Dawn].

27 Years After the Dark Portal Opens

The idea of a “Scarlet revival” made from an elite cadre of the Crusade’s most faithful emerges. It is not until the Scarlet Crusaders leave the Eastern Plaguelands arrive in Dragonblight that their leader, High General Brigitte Abbendis, officially sanctions the Scarlet Onslaught [Item: The Diary of High General Abbendis, NPC: Lord-Commander Arete Dialogue].

32 Years After the Dark Portal Opens

The Knights of the Silver Hand are revived for a third and final time following Tirion Fordring’s death at the Broken Shore [Quest: A United Force].  

[chriswolak]

Moore Free Library, Newfane Vermont

Moore Free Library, Newfane Vermont

On the drive up from the shoreline of Connecticut to the Green Mountains of Vermont to attend Booktopia at the Northshire Bookstore in Manchester, my friend Emily and I stopped for a visit at the Moore Free Library in Newfane. VT. The library was established in 1898 by Philura Celucia Wakefield Moore (1825-1915). She built the library which opened with 2,000 books. According to her obituary,…

[ivorytowerblr]

NaNoWriMo 2021: Nov 1st

Hey, it’s me again. I haven’t died and I haven’t quit writing, though I’ve struggled with creativity and consistency, as well as posting writing progress on Tumblr.

::gestures vaguely to her AO3 account:: Take a look, if you like.

So anyway, I’ve decided to give NaNo a shot again. This isn’t what I’d expected to work on, but here it is, nonetheless:

Title: Warcraft: Invasion (Vol 1 of Reborn AU) Word Count: 2122 (of 50000) Includes: Violence, mature sexual content, strong language. Summary: It was a dark and stormy night when the rift opened. From it spilled warriors of an alien culture bent on finding and destroying the cause of a sickness that plagued their world, all unknowing that the true cause was right under their noses all along.

Five years after the birth of his son, Llane Wrynn, Crown Prince of Stormwind, would learn of a terrible threat to his people, his nation, and his very world. The only natural thing to do is send his son to the protective walls of Northshire Abbey and, all unknowing, to the protection of a great hero, the prodigy-knight Mara Fordragon.

When sickness ravages your very world, you have no choice but to do whatever it takes to cure it, even if it means traveling to another world by means of the foulest of dark sorceries. It means standing at the side of a butcher, a monster, an abuser, a warrior, a chieftain, a hero to your clan. It means putting aside what is right to do what you must.

All these threads and more weave together to bring about a war like any other; two worlds will never be the same again.

Warcraft: Invasion

Prologue

“It took the better part of five years of work to find them again - while my subordinates promised me that they were ready, it still took time to find the right mind. As it turned out, he was looking for me too, and with the connection made, we began.”

Excerpt from the Book of Medivh, 583 A.F.

Lightning cracked across the sky, splitting the dark night with a streak of too-bright illumination. For just an instant, it brought into relief the lines of the trees, bowed under the weight of heavy rainfall. The storm had started at midnight, and now, three hours later, it showed no signs of abating. The waterways were filling, flooding over the shallow, soggier land. Some places, at higher elevations, remained dry.

One such place was a stone altar, standing a man’s height above the sodden ground, and twice as long across. The stone, too, was wet, though the stains had long been washed away. Not far from where it had been erected stood a figure that the light did not quite reach, no matter how sharp or bright.

The figure watched the altar, and waited.

After a moment, a shaft of light pierced the space above the altar. Small at first, it began to crawl downwards, the rift growing to the size of a person. Thunder boomed as nature itself rebelled against this defiance of the laws of space, time, and reality.

The lightning came faster now, striking the rift itself. With each crash, the rift widened until it was nearly as wide as the altar itself. The flashes became more regular, rhythmic, a beating of war drums struck by the hands of gods.

There are no gods, the figure thought, smiling to themselves. At least, none that can stop me at this hour. Their hands were folded inside the sleeves of their robes as they waited, watching with eyes that glowed in the dark, not with light, but with smoldering coals.

As the moment stretched into eternity, someone emerged from the portal, stumbling briefly before regaining their balance. Night-dark clothing, reddened with dust, immediately soaked through as they stood in the driving storm.

Instead of fleeing for shelter, they tilted their face up towards the rain. In the fleeting light, the visitor had soft, rounded features with green skin, and dark, curling hair that spattered droplets in the rain. After a moment, the hooded figure cleared their throat lightly.

“I... oh.” A woman’s voice, low and light. Her attention turned towards the figure. “I wasn’t expecting rain like this.”

“I have heard that the weather on Draenor has become more and more hostile,” the hooded figure said, a man. “You’ll find the storms here are also dangerous, but perhaps not in the way you’re used to.”

“I don’t care,” the woman declared. “Anything is better than back through the Portal.”

“Speaking of which, are they ready?” the man asked, gesturing behind her. “Once this begins, there will be no stopping until it’s over.”

“Yes,” she said, and gazed over at him. Her eyes were grey and seemed to glow faintly in the darkness. “Though, this doorway seems small. I think they were expecting something bigger.”

“There are limits to even my power,” the man said. “I fear I will need to ask you to let them know to come through. If you don’t return, they’ll believe that the spell has failed and I can’t have that. I need them.”

“I know,” she replied, shivering. “They are waiting.”

“Go on then, and child...” The hooded figure paused, and reached for his hood, pushing it back. As rain streamed over his face, his pale skin, cropped beard and mustache, and greying brown hair were all visible. “Welcome to Azeroth.”

~ * ~

“The storms are getting worse.” A brown-haired woman looked out the window, peering through the water-streaked glass. “It’s like the wrath of gods out there. Have you ever heard the old elven tales of the storm that broke the world?”

“No, Lady Mara.” The woman turned, and smiled at the boy moving through the room. He had a rag in one hand, and was diffidently examining the shelves, then wiping at any dust he found. “I’ve never met an elf before.”

“Just Mara, Uther,” the woman replied. “I haven’t met many elves, only one or two, but the stories can be told by anyone. The one I remember most is about two brothers fighting over a beautiful queen, but she didn’t love either of them. Their duel broke the very world into pieces, and a great maelstrom marks where they did battle, right in the middle of the ocean.”

Uther shivered, and tugged his thin acolyte robes closer. “I don’t think I’d like to see it. It sounds terrifying.”

“I think it might be a little bit exciting.” Mara folded her hands over one knee, and leaned towards him. Like Uther, she wore robes, but hers were ill-fitting, tight around her broad shoulders. She fixed green eyes on him. “Haven’t you ever wanted to go on an adventure?”

“I did go on one,” Uther said, moving further through the room, looking over the books stacked on the table. He picked one up and smiled, leafing through the pages. “I came here.”

“I suppose leaving your home to come and study at the Abbey is an adventure when you’re young,” Mara observed. “You don’t wish for anything more?”

“No,” Uther said, shaking his head. He focused on the page’s words, a study of Elwynn’s wildlife. Better that than to remember the shouting, the sound of flesh striking flesh. Better to see the colours of an oak tree’s leaves during Autumn than to think of split flesh and broken bones. “I want to stay here until I’m as old as the Abbot.”

Mara rose from her seat at the window and crossed to him, leather shoes noiseless on the stone floor. She put a firm, strong, hand on Uther’s shoulder and squeezed gently. He gazed up at her and smiled tremulously.

Outside, thunder rumbled, and the wind howled.

“Why don’t you take that to the reading room?” Mara asked. “I’ll even keep Bolvar busy, since I doubt he’s asleep. I wouldn’t make a six year old try to sleep through all of this.”

“I don’t mind Bolvar,” Uther said. “We can read this book together. He might find it interesting, even if it’s not about horses or soldiers.”

Mara’s pleasant expression wavered for a moment. “Abbot Faol had something to say to me about that again today. He doesn’t like me trying to ‘teach violence’ at the Abbey. As though I’m instructing him to be a murderer and not answering his questions about sword stances.”

“Our sect abhors violence,” Uther reminded her, closing the book. He set it back on the table, and moved around it, wiping at the surface to rid it of any dust or grime. Mara sighed, and picked up the books, leaving the one Uther had picked up, and started shelving the rest, making a small tally mark on the list pinned to the wall. “It’s not the easiest path to take, and not one that most of the nobility care for.”

“I’m no exception, I suppose,” Mara replied lightly, though there was tension in her words. “It was my life until I had Bolvar, and these six years in this sleepy little abbey, praying and cleaning, have not been easy.”

“You asked me if I wanted to have an adventure,” Uther said, looking over at her. “Do you want one? We’d take care of Bolvar, I promise. I’d make sure he went to bed on time every night.”

“He’d have you wrapped around his fingers in a month’s time,” Mara said. “A week's time. He’d convince you to feed him milk and honey soaked bread for three meals straight, then you’d need to roll him around everywhere in a wheelbarrow.”

Uther imagined it, the little boy who was a spitting image of his mother, as round as an orange, and laughed. Mara chuckled lightly, and shook her head. “I’m glad you came here, even if it meant you weren’t having many more adventures. It was a night like this, wasn’t it?”

“I think this night is worse, but on the other hand, I’m not trying to cross Elwynn in it, seven months pregnant and without a horse or a partner to help me,” Mara replied. “No matter what differences the abbot and I have, I will forever be grateful to him for taking me -- us -- in. I wouldn’t have made it to Stormwind. Not through those hills.”

“And I, for all I pray every day to the holy Light that you set aside your personal preference for violence, am very glad that you are here too,” said Alonsus Faol, Abbot of Northshire Abbey. Clinging to his robes, as simple as those of his companions, was Bolvar. The child’s cheeks were wet, and Mara held her arms out to him. Bolvar rushed to her and she lifted him easily, for all he was getting bigger by the day.

“It’s so loud, Mama,” Bolvar whimpered, burying his face against his mother’s shoulder. “My sword didn’t help at all.”

“It’s a stick,” Mara murmured to Faol’s disapproving look, and rocked her son. “He likes it.”

“Anyone can use a stick,” Uther put in, hoping to forestall another argument. “For walking, for closing the attic windows, for--”

“If it brings him comfort, he should have a stick,” Faol said. “But I think his mother’s embrace is of greater comfort, hm?”

“I was just watching the storm,” Mara said. “It sounds like the beginning of a dark tale, doesn’t it? ‘It was a dark and stormy night...’ I’d probably laugh if I heard it.”

“There is no darkness here, only Light,” Faol said. “Come, it’s warmer in the common area, we can sit and drive back the darkness with our words.”

The elderly man turned, missing how Mara rolled her eyes. Uther bit his lip, gathered up the book, and hurried after Faol. It wasn’t uncommon for encounters between his two mentors to end in one or both leaving a room, but it seemed that this night was not to end in shouts.

At least if the two of them got into a fight, Lady Mara would be sure to win, Uther thought to himself. So long as it was a battle of arms and not words. Behind him, Mara was carrying Bolvar on her hip, moving easily. He’d seen her lift heavy barrels and bolts of cloth during the Spring months, completing chores with ease that always caused him such trouble. He had tried, a time or two, to emulate her exercises in the orchard, but his skinny arms, lost in the sleeves of his robes, were not meant to thrash gnolls or fight duels.

“We were put on this earth not to do battle, but to expand our minds and learn,” Faol said, as though picking up Uther’s thoughts. “To open our hearts and to love. To--”

“--open our mouths and give speeches,” Mara commented. Uther winced, and the wall sconces flickered around them. “No, Alonsus, I don’t intend to start up again, so long as you don’t. We can do without philosophizing for one night, surely. Especially this one. Unless you really do plan to lecture this storm into leaving so Bolvar can sleep.”

Faol chuckled. “No, no, there’s no need for that Mara, my dear. We’ll talk about something else.”

“Will you tell us a story?” Bolvar asked, perking up as they passed meditation cells, the doors closed against outside noise. “A big one!”

“A big story, hm?” Faol considered, stroking his bare chin. “I suppose I can come up with something. I used to travel, you know. I walked all of Azeroth, from Redridge to Westfall and back again. I saw many things and heard many more.”

“That can’t have been very safe,” Mara commented as they rounded a corner into the reading chamber. Whereas the library was meant to store books, this was where those books were discussed. The fireplace at the back of the room was large enough to warm the grey-white stone used to build it. A few rugs were scattered on the floor near the dozen comfortable, mismatched chairs, and tapestries depicting nature scenes hung on the walls.

Uther’s heart swelled, all worries forgotten as he claimed a chair, though he left the one closest to the fire for Faol. This is my favourite place in all the abbey. If I could live somewhere for the rest of my life, it would be right here, with all the books I could want. There’s no other life for me.

[aaknopf]

Today, a poem from Jane Hirshfield’s collection Come, Thief (2011). As a poet of profound attentiveness to her surroundings, Hirshfield has kept her eye trained on the underlying mathematics—the facts we can see and account for—as well as on the movements of spirit and beauty that live invisibly within.

First Light Edging Cirrus

1025 molecules are enough to call wood thrush or apple. A hummingbird, fewer. A wristwatch: 1024. An alphabet’s molecules, tasting of honey, iron, and salt, cannot be counted— as some strings, untouched, sound when a near one is speaking. So it was when love slipped inside us. It looked out face to face in every direction. Then it was inside the tree, the rock, the cloud.

More on this book and author:

Learn more about Come, Thief by Jane Hirshfield.

Browse other books by Jane Hirshfield, including her recent collection, Ledger.

Hear Jane Hirshfield read her poetry on April 13 (The LOGOS Collective), April 26 (Terrain.org), and April 29 (Northshire Books).

Share this poem and peruse other poems, audio recordings, and broadsides in the Knopf poem-a-day series.

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[lawyerd]

445 | Yet another extremely cute independent bookstore!! I Northshire Books, Saratoga Springs, NY (my college town!)  

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