Under the Light of a Tender Moon
Tales of Wonderment
by
In contemporary society, the spheres of the real and the fabulous rarely meet. But there exists a moment, that fleeting second between sleep and wakefulness, when these two worlds seem to blend and become one. Such is the realm of Under the Light of a Tender Moon.
Here, in tales of dragons and heroines, soldiers and jewellers, churches and castles, we are reminded that the “happily ever after” of both fairy tales and real life seldom comes without great travail and never without sacrifice. And yet, it cannot be denied that the sempiternal luminosity of the ending makes the pains of the quest infinitely worthwhile.
ISBN 978-0-9813044-0-3 | Trade Paperback, 5.5 x 8.5 in., 120 Pages | Short Stories
$ 16.95 CAN • $ 20.95 US • £ 9.95 UK | Release date: November 17, AD 2009
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Excerpts
The dragon regarded her sadly and said:
“There is a way happiness can be regained, but it is easier for snow to fall in summer from a clear sky than for such a task to be accomplished. You would need to retrieve my heart from the vaults of the Fortress of Dreams where it is kept. But the Fortress is in the city that lies buried in the sky, and no man can travel thither.
“Fare you well, Lady Kristabel. Know that I have loved you to the end, that I love you still and that I always will. But now Doom is calling me and I must not be late for our rendezvous.”
And without another word, Love flew away and Stillness came to reign over the silent lake, and over the golems that no longer moved, and it banished the sorrowful maiden from the palatial cave. And the only item Kristabel took with her was a fine box made from a single hollowed sapphire, in whose interior, wrapped in silver silk, rested the dearest of her possessions: the only flower that had ever bloomed in winter.
—from The Winter Bloom
The aurora broke in an explosion of red across the eastern sky, heralding the culmination of placid dreaming even before the incandescent disc of the sun emerged on the horizon.
The bird awoke and surveyed for the last time the vast expanse of land in which it had struggled daily for sustenance, suddenly aware that there would be no fighting over seeds that day. The moon which still lingered in the sky was the sole witness of the shy and short, soft and final, morning song of the feathered being.
And when at length the lovely brilliance of the gentle moon was obliterated by the fierce radiance of the fully risen daystar, the crimson bird took to the air in a direction it had never flown before, high over the contested terrain that bore the scars of the battles great and small of so many creatures.
And its intent flight went all but unnoticed.
Except by the soaring peregrine...
—from The Flight of the Red Bird
About the author
Henry Godnitz began writing fiction in AD 1991, but this is his first published work, product of his deep love for Lord, Lady and Land.
His home is Regina, Jewel of the North, in the Canadian prairies, and his love
for Saskatchewan is made manifest in the prairie imagery in his tales.