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When a human character in a book is created then the reader already comes equipped with a background story. Everyone knows that the characters (usually) have had parents, been born, raised, educated etc.etc. because they themselves have had that experience. However, when an author creates a non-human protagonist it is difficult to explain exactly who or what they are without interrupting the flow of the plot. Of course I could just explain what they are in one sentence and leave the rest to the reader's imagination. If you are such a reader then look no further. However if you would like more detail than your imagination can provide by itself then here are some short stories to 'fill in the unknowns'
Here are some extracts The full stories may be downloaded (in Pdf format) and read offline by clicking on the appropriate button below. Grettle is short; only about 10k words, In Search of Mischief is a little longer at about 22k words and The Vanbörneldra debt is 31k words...enjoy!
As ever, feedback
is appreciated.
These works, when downloaded, remain the copyright of John Molyneux( the author). I consider it a matter of honour that you respect the copyright and do not disseminate or modify their content for monetary gain. Sharing them freely (with an acknowledgement) in the grand tradition of universal storytelling is permitted.
Warning!!! Since the characters do appear in the main books their origin stories may be considered spoilers for the main plots. If you don't like spoilers then maybe you should wait to read these until after the character has appeared in the books. The choice is yours!
That said, the stories below are complete in themselves; they are not dependent upon the main book series. Admittedly one requires a little understanding of Medieval Viking terms. Another uses characters from the first five books. However, never fear, I have added some notes!
Grettle
(Extract)
Eisvald near Christiana (later Oslo) Norway 1853
Greta Christiansen fondled the ears of her dog. Normally the feel of the velvet smooth fur that covered them soothed even her worst fears and nightmares. However it wasn’t fear that she was feeling now, it was anger and frustration. “Grown-ups, they always thought that they knew better,” she thought, “Well, she’d show them that she was as powerful as they were even if she hadn’t been to any fancy academy.”Grettle was mostly Sheepdog with a little Irish Setter in her but even the combined intelligence of the two breeds couldn’t fathom her little mistress’s distress. She whined softly and licked the girl’s hand. Greta’s anger faded and she smiled at the sad eyes and mournful expression on the dog’s face. “It’s ok Grettle, I’m not angry at you.” She took the dog’s head in both her hands and planted a kiss on her nose.
Grettle brightened, she wasn’t sure what she’d done but her mistress wasn’t angry any more so she put a paw on the girl’s shoulder and gave a soft encouraging woof and nuzzled her affectionately.
Somewhere in the house there was the soft boom of a dinner gong. Greta would have missed it but Grettle had keen hearing and knew what it meant, it was her favourite time of day. She gave a yelp and went over to the bedroom door and pawed it gently.
In Search of Mischief
(Extract)
Iceland 983 AD
The bloody hands of the midwife passed the newborn child to her father.
Erik Thorssen looked at the tiny baby; another girl! Had it come to this? Was he now only able to produce girls? Four out of the last five of his children had been girls, and the single boy child was feeble and weak. Maybe it was time to give up and concentrate on his fishing and warring; he knew he was good at those. He voiced his thoughts to his wife. “If all you can give me are daughters then maybe I should take a new wife.”
(Extract)
Iceland 983 AD
The bloody hands of the midwife passed the newborn child to her father.
Erik Thorssen looked at the tiny baby; another girl! Had it come to this? Was he now only able to produce girls? Four out of the last five of his children had been girls, and the single boy child was feeble and weak. Maybe it was time to give up and concentrate on his fishing and warring; he knew he was good at those. He voiced his thoughts to his wife. “If all you can give me are daughters then maybe I should take a new wife.”
Gutrun looked at him from the birthing bed; privately she gave a prayer of thanks to the gods. That last child had nearly killed her. Let him go rut elsewhere, she’d welcome the rest. She’d borne him eleven children, seven sons and four daughters. She loved them all but enough was enough.
She said “Oh husband I am distraught. How could you think of leaving me when I have given you such healthy sons and beautiful daughters? What shall I do? I will have to go back to my father’s house and seek shelter there.”
She knew that these words would have the desired effect. If she went back to her father because Erik had set her aside then the law said that he would have to return half her dowry. She also knew that her father would consider it an insult and would declare war on Erik’s clan. Her father had ten times as many men as Erik.
Erik couldn’t afford either option and she knew it. He’d just go and find a tavern wench or some foreign slave to vent his lust on.
She didn’t care just as long as he left her alone.
The Vanbörneldra Debt
(Extract)
East Anglia 1949 AD
“Careful boy, you nearly had the whole lot over,” the man shouted. The cart containing a tonne of beet steadied and the boy who was driving it muttered something under his breath.
The man said, “What did you say?” but the boy answered, “Nothing Sir.”
Max Schierling had heard the boy clearly, he’d said, ‘bloody foreigners’ but Max let the insult go. He wouldn’t have ignored it a few years before but nowadays Max was more circumspect. The change in attitude was a necessary part of his disguise and it had almost become second nature to him now. Max sent the cart on its way and went back into the farmhouse.
(Extract)
East Anglia 1949 AD
“Careful boy, you nearly had the whole lot over,” the man shouted. The cart containing a tonne of beet steadied and the boy who was driving it muttered something under his breath.
The man said, “What did you say?” but the boy answered, “Nothing Sir.”
Max Schierling had heard the boy clearly, he’d said, ‘bloody foreigners’ but Max let the insult go. He wouldn’t have ignored it a few years before but nowadays Max was more circumspect. The change in attitude was a necessary part of his disguise and it had almost become second nature to him now. Max sent the cart on its way and went back into the farmhouse.
The war had ended four years before and ex-Leutnant Maximilian Schierling, late of the Waffen SS had considered it wise not to try to return to Germany since his side had lost. Germany would hold the possibility that an allied military commission would ask awkward questions about his wartime activities. There were aspects of his record that some might take exception to and so Max and his wife Lisl were living on an isolated farm in Norfolk. They had spent so much time in England that they could easily pass for refugees. Their cover story was that Max and his wife were from Poland and had escaped at the beginning of the war. Max had bought the farm using the funds he’d been given by the Reich to finance his sabotage of the allied war effort and he had enough money left over to live comfortably. He didn’t think that anyone from his old side was going to ask questions. They now grew beet; not the most exciting occupation after years of clandestine military operations but Max had found he enjoyed the quiet life.
Max looked at the calendar which said 10th May 1949. It was seven years to the day since he’d sought the help of an ancient wizarding sect called the ‘Old Ones’ in freeing his men from a prisoner of war camp. There was a debt owed and he’d promised to pay for that help when the time came.
I have also written some short stories that I have shared with my friends in the local doggie walking fraternity. They range from coffee break stories to longer ones that need a little more time These are not connected to any of the books but are stand alone
The shortest one is a four liner ....
The line clicked as the call connected,
"Help! Police, They're coming to kill me!"
"Hello, your call is important to us. Please hold the line and you will be connected to the next available service agent. You are number forty three in the queue."
Opening bars of Vivaldi's 'Four Seasons'.
The current titles are: Nature Reserve, Late Return, The Lady of Charlotte, The Gate at the End of Hobsnatch Lane, Anchors in the Sea of Time, The Frog Prince, A Fistfull of Daisys, Marena, The Owl in the Thorn, Tryptich, Radio Dada, The Dragon and the Ram, Stolen Moments, It's all your fault Jimmy Briggs, Sunset, The Temple of the Blue Sun and I am adding to the list continually.
Unfortunately there are so many now that I can't keep up with them on this page.....if you would like to join the circulation list please contact me directly. The stories are 'Free' however, as always, feedback is appreciated... enjoy!