Undoubtedly, as you dance into the wee hours of the morning with tribal drums playing as you watch the sun rise, you too will know what it feels like to have been with the faery and my guess is, you too, will keep this precious experience close to your heart, as a source of inspiration, a feeling of intense community and love that you can hold in your totems, art, jewels or crafts you take home with you, keeping you close to the faery all year long, until at last, it is time for Faerieworlds again. See you there! www.faerieworlds.com
Read the Preface below to introduce yourself to the characters. To begin reading the story go directly to Chapter 1, Magical War. Enjoy, Tara Preface: Warriors of Right & Sisters of Illusion stared at the ceiling and let out a frustrated sigh. All eyes around the table looked up, curious to see if her temper would grow hotter. She glared at Lugh with eyebrows raised. “Let me get this straight. We’re going to free the Otherworld from this curse by battling the Fomorian on the Hill of Tara, Earth. The Upper World of Earth?” Lugh winced, sour from the lemon he’d been tasting and the conversation’s turn for the worse. “OK, maybe it sounds crazy to you … but it will work.” Bechuille’s ruby earrings danced through the tresses of her thick, auburn hair. Her fiery beauty matched her disposition. Tiny gasps from around the table accompanied her every move. Each face slowly stopped chewing and stared. Bechuille glared at them all then looked down her nose and squinted an eye at Lugh. She knew him since he was a child prince, and they were as close as any brother and sister could be. She could hardly take him seriously. But then again, it might be fun. So she challenged him. “You actually plan to do this in the Upper World… of Earth?” She asked again, with a bit of a bite in her voice and just the tiniest laugh at the idea as if Lugh could not possibly understand the consequences of such a battle. “And you plan to do this completely against Council orders? And you plan to do it tomorrow?” You would think that one so skilled as might be proud or stern or even arrogant. Instead, he was a quiet one, very shy… and very mellow. Luckily he’d found that smiling seemed to work the best with people when he couldn’t possibly explain anything. So Lugh was always smiling, very relaxed and accepting the foibles of others. He could be often found dream-sailing (pleasure time travel out of the physical body), which gave him great wisdom, it seems, like a philosopher or a teacher. Everyone called him Lugh of the Longarm because he was so skilled with bow and arrow, not to mention carpentry, fishing and poetry. All was well for him except when he was rushed, like now. It was times like these Lugh’s words tumbled over themselves and made clumsy mistakes as if he were walking into walls and tripping into streams or nipping his fingers in a prickly bush. He tried to explain his plans to Bechuille, “Yes, well, right, but, uh…. Look, we simply go to the Hill of Tara, conquer the Fomorian in battle while it is nighttime and we possess the power of flight in the Earthly dimension. The Fomorian, even with their flaming tongues, cannot reach us. They will tire, we will win and that will be that.” BeChuille rolled her eyes at the ceiling. He had to do better than that. Fortunately, Ogma interrupted Lugh’s stammering with his resonant voice. The rich and tender sound cooled the nerves of everyone present. His crystal eyes shown brightly beneath his long hair and furrowed brow - Ogma, the eloquent, whose every word was carefully chosen, expressed what they all knew in their hearts. “The Council forbids flight on Earth, Lugh, because the human race is blind to us and there has been so much confusion about our presence. Whether it is day or night, the Council has decided the penalty for showing ourselves in the Upper World, is banishment. You know this, Lugh.” Now, Angus interrupted the conversation between them by gently stroking his lyre and humming a song. He’d found that music solved more problems than words. Besides, ’ honey-lipped songs and boyish demeanor could charm anyone. He knew it, too, and wasn’t short on mischief. “I could convince the Council to let us go to Earth for one day...” he looked up with his deep brown eyes, underneath that deep brown curl that fell in the center of his forehead. He smiled mischievously at Bechuille, and sang; “Hey, hey, hey… do, do, doooo, hmmm... Blame it on the Fomorian… Otherworld’s loss of magic … is no longer tragic… because we blame it on the Fomorian…. Just convince the Council, and just this once we’ll… go to Earth for a day… hey, hey, hey…” His song caught the breeze like a lullaby for the Warriors of Right and Sisters of Illusion who sat at the round table. The drain of magic power from the Earth’s Otherworld of Elven and magical people had become the concern in everyone’s hearts, in their minds and on their lips, in every Elven home, since the flowers had begun to die and the spring waters began turning grey. Magical people had been shrinking - some had reduced to less than half their size. The loss of magical powers in the Otherworld could upset the balance of the entire universe. Something had to be done, and everyone who watched knew it was true. And it was time to do something – now. A cacophony of voices began, everyone responding at once to Lugh’s idea of traveling to Earth, facing the Fomorian and ending the curse on the Otherworld. Scota stood up be heard above the din. “Listen!” she called out, her golden tunic sparkling and topaz earrings dancing in yellow hair. She shimmered like the sun sparkling on a woodland stream. “I’ve mastered the magic to turn the negative into positive. If this loss of power could have been resolved within my ability, it would be done by now…. Not one of us can do it alone and even together it is a difficult task…it is wise to take action now, and not wait, even if we do not know certainly that our actions are correct. It is better to take the most right action possible, unified as Tuatha de Danann, children of Gaia, children of the Earth planet. We will not become more sure with time…” At that moment, BeChuille’s chair fell to the earth with a furious crash. She snapped at Scota. “Rahh! I can’t believe you’re taking him seriously!” She turned to Lugh, determined to be stubborn; raising her chin and pursing her lips. But she kept her eyes on the floor: it was true, she did not know what to do either, and BeChuille was not the type to admit it. She sighed and spoke to end the conversation. “I heard you. But the best I can do is to consider this whole matter an error in judgment. Yours.” She smiled insincerely, nodded at the others around the large table and fastened her cloak brooch, preparing to leave, even though her eyes never looked up from the table. Beneath those eyes, she held a thread of hope that somehow, an answer would come. Never before had the Elven people been faced with the insidious drain of magic power. It was a slow death and the Council had grown into a stupor over it. Nothing was being done and truthfully, she did not know what to do either. Ogma penetrated the silence. He also knew there were no immediate answers because Ogma was wise. He knew words had vibrations and could be used. He was well trained in swordsmanship and magic. His eyes wore the creases of many views into the suns of many worlds and the eyes of many women. And he knew that BeChuille was mad in frustration. He knew action must be taken, even imperfect action was better than none. “Though we don’t know the cause of this loss of power from the Otherworld…” “Really?” Bechuille’s voice stung, “We have been searching for the ‘cause’ for more than 500 years! What makes you suddenly think…” “…the Fomorian are not the cause?” now Micher, one of reason and fair judgment, spoke. His flaming red and most disheveled hair made him look so funny, but no one told him that it made it hard not to laugh. Lips closed to hide the smiles at his appearance and attentive ears listened. Micher was stocky, not as tall as the others with thick muscular arms and legs and a voice that rose and fell as he smiled, which he did often. Now, however, he was angry. His voice fell like the growl of tumbling stones. “The Fomorian’s flaming tongues have burnt everything we hold dear in the Otherworld. No sooner do we create gardens and palaces than the Fomorian leave them in smoke and ashes with their fiery breath. Justice is deserved.” As if he’d put out his hand to end the avalanche, Ogma spoke. “You are right.” His green eyes captured the soft light and turned it back upon them; crisp, clear and bright as moon on an icy lake. His tall, graceful physique, resonant voice and diplomatic words, quieted their whispers. “The Fomorian are far from blameless. We don’t know that rash actions are the answer.” Fionn had been sitting crossed legged with eyes closed, listening to each side of the argument. His wild black hair and beard were set from his face, like a wildcat. His wolf eyes were hot and amber. One would never think of Fionn as handsome because his look was fierce. Yet the charisma of Fionn would melt the gaze of woman or man, Elven or of any race. He could be defined by the size of his army; half a million horned men, replete with sharpened hoofs and determination to uphold the traditions and ways of magic, who trusted and stood behind this word of leadership. Fionn lifted his chin. His eyes took the strength of his millions, but his compassion would protect them from a battle with so much unknown. “My army would be pressed to battle against the Council, who is compromised in ways I know not. Our families are already holding children slowly wilting. Our plants are dying grey from poisons that seep through the waters of our world. Our animals are suffering, weak and tired. I could not ask this of my army.” Fionn closed his eyes. “But I will go with you, Lugh.” He sighed and explained, “The Fomorian are half human, their race has embraced the human, magnifying their stupidity and disconnection from their home. Grim has turned the Fomorian race away from the magical realms with his fiery breath. They are Fomorian no longer, but lost and easily broken. I will help you restore the balance by this act of defiance against the Council.” “As will I.” It was Dermot who spoke now, pushing back one sleek lock of his black hair, showing off the rose shaped mark on his forehead. “We have all known greater hardship than one day on the battlefield with the Fomorian. Freedom means nothing without the ability to go where we will and do as we wish. We are not free here, we are trapped in this curse, losing power as each moment passes, set here with rules from a Council claiming to protect us. From what? From the foolishness of humankind? From the wickedness of the Fomorian clan? Aren’t we then prisoners? These orders not visit the Earthly dimension have done nothing except prevent us from discovering the truth. If we battle in the Upper World, we will win, and the Fomorian will be leaderless. Below, their women will fold into our ways, our children will recover some of their loss. I cannot understand the human comedy. I must meet one face to face. “ There was a long silence. Angus continued to strum his tune on his lyre. Flidias spoke softly, ending the silence, “You are right, there is no question the Fomorian are weakened, but so are we. In the Upper World they have limited magic in the daylight hours and so do we.” Her tender voice matched the delicate grace of her slender limbs. With deep brown eyes and braided locks about her face, she moved with the grace of a doe. Her dark complexion looked almost iridescent against her earrings of blue saffire against a sea green tunic. “Meet them in the darker hours, just before the dawn. You will conquer them with ease, and minimal loss. We will come to your call. They will fight for pure pleasure of it. We will banish them from the Upper World and carry out our work there. Challenge them thus: the loser is banished from the Upper World. This will hold their leaders for a while. I do not know the response of the Council they are so weak. I also believe some of them can be turned to our cause. It is doubtful the Council will follow through with action either way.” “There is no fear that would be worthy of a failure to try; there is among us none who do not know the future of our ways are lost unless we restore the Otherworld and restore the Elven ways on Earth once again. You forget, we were here on Earth almost 100 thousand moons ago. It was our home until the humans came with their closed hearts, wars and ignorance. You forget, do you - that we retired away from humanity and its foolishness. What has happened since?” Micher answered with his characteristic word of thoughtful reason; he was putting the pieces together in his mind: it was true, battle on the Upper World it was the only logical answer, despite the danger diplomacy would have allowed, despite the unknowns, despite anything. “We know little so we can be responsible for nothing while we are subject to orders from the Council, let alone resolution from any quarter.” “Yes, I believe even the Fomorian pride would be puffed for a battle.” Said Ogma, “Present it to them as a contest, since the Fomorian are a warlike race. If they win they take the Upper World of Earth and we will prepare to move quickly, taking the animal races, plants and life forms to another Earth, never to fly in Earth’s sky again, never to enjoy our mountain and cavern homes here. If we win, all Earth above and below is open to us without Fomorian intervention. It will shatter their human connection and give us time.” “Right.” Dermot was inspired: an outlaw’s contempt revealing itself in his sideways glance and mouth forming words in disgust. “I have faced them before in small skirmishes. The wretched Fomorian will damn the orders of the Council, since they revolt against all containment in the Otherworld. And they are rushing for battle at every occasion. Such a bored crowd is always up for a challenge. There is no question they will agree to this battle. Those of us in this room are the chosen ones for this battle for Earth, since we the integrity of our magic power and stature.” Segomos, who had been quiet and brooding, the fur of his giant hands and feet protruding from his boots and his breath was hot with overconsumption of wine and cakes. Lumbering Segomos barely fit sideways through the Elven portals of the Otherworld, but his gentle statement of the oblivious obvious was known by all to lighten the load of solemnity. “Such a battle would change the course of Earth. And our dimension, too.” “That’s right, the sound that holds the placement of these anchoring points of the wicked who poison and harm will be let loose by the very act of battle,” Scota pressed. “This change on Earth may end the disintegration of our world. It may restore our dimension and turn our graying world back to vibrant color. It may also save humanity, though this is far from my concern.” “Humanity is expendable,” Fionn stated flatly. Dermot nodded in agreement. “Do you wish to remain here forever, your powers dwindling as each year passes?” Eocho was so angry he reared up from his seat as a horse. Eocho the master of animals spoke so furiously his words rose and fell like hooves against the table. “Have you not seen the great Manannan, god of sea and waterways, growing smaller each year, turning greyer, being worn? What is the cause of this? If our world is a mirror of Earth’s plant and animal life, we are at risk. “We know little of the causes that may be present in humankind… we don’t know how if we do not face them; if they are as slow and detached as rumors have told, then we are at great risk not to breech the orders of the Council, and return to Earth. Do you not end each day in frustration? Do you wish to fly again freely in the skies of Earth’s atmosphere and be present in the teardrops of her rain? Do you not wish to feel the sun touch your skin and her water’s song fill your heart? Do you not wish to see our fellows the bear, the heron and the eagle, once again? I no longer care for my life. The horses we left to the wild, your horse, Lugh, Nair, she still lives, she waits for you in the Upper World. She is suffering and she would let them take her life for you, Lugh, if it meant her life was even part of breaking down these walls between our worlds and bringing our ways for the one last chance to save Earth. There is no sacrifice of any one of us too great to make sure we win this chance.” Heads around the table bowed and nodded, knowing every word Eocho spoke was the feeling they had held and only whispered as a passing apprehension as the Otherworld turned cold and greyer with each season and their dreams filled with suffering of the races of the Upper world such as the bear, fox, snake, tiger, elephant, oak, salmon and dolphin. BeChuille softened and as she did so, her beauty nestled in her beautiful shape and her lips parted in a wide smile. “You know the penalty for showing ourselves on Hill of Tara for such a battle, is banishment…complete exile from the Otherworld, the land of forever youth.” Ogma’s eyes were steadfast as he looked into each face at the table in turn. “The penalty for failing to live is slow death.” “I would rather be free to fly for one night than to live an eternity without the power that made me,” spoke Flidais. “I agree,” said Scota, “I cannot change anything effectively while I am trapped here, and my abilities are also trapped. There is no reason to stay.” Bechuille undid her brooch and cloak. “A cause and a reason for your madness was all I needed. There is no need for formal vote; we are agreed. We go, and with all my heart, Lugh, I go too, just before the dawn.” “Let it be done!” Lugh’s eyes brightened, hope lifted him as he anticipated flight in the starlight of Earth. “We will fight on the Hill of Tara, Upper World, Earth, before dawn. The winner will earn the right to presence in the Upper World of Earth, the loser must face banishment from the Otherworldly dimension. Let no magical race, whether Elven or Fomorian, be the loser for revolting against orders of confinement of the Council. Let none be afraid in the face of the source of the cruelties set upon our kind; our strength will restore our dimension and our ways to Earth. Let justice be in the hands of the mighty one who generates all things, let it be done.” Angus’ lyre and honey sweet voice filled the room. He sang: Freedom to chase the earth’s blue skies Freedom as we lift and fly Freedom as we touch upon the ground Freedom will surround us give us grace Freedom to put out our hand to our kin and race Above and below, known and unknowable We face the truth, we face our own madness In the eyes of our enemy And turn it into gold Continue reading the book Chapter 1, Magical War.
BéChuille: (pronounced Bay KIL-a) Tuatha dé Danann warrior princess.
Lugh, the Shining One: (pronounced Lu) Prince of the Tuatha dé Dannan, leader of the Warriors of Right, master of magic and all the arts. He is an accomplished carpenter, smith, warrior, harpist and poet. Lugh is the son of Tuatha king and Fomorian giantess.
Angus: Tuatha dé Danann God of art and beauty. It has been said that his kisses turn to singing birds and that the music on his lyre draws all who hear it to his side.
Scota is the Tuatha de Danann Goddess of passion, positive magic; she who can slip through the surface of things and restore balance – Elven World, T.E. Pelton Scota: An Invocation for Our Times I call upon Scota in these times when we are looking for the way These times when we are asking for peace and end to suffering To carry away the mind of fear, judgment, trauma, perceptions of the past As leaves that fall and blow, as lifting a burden of material world I call upon Scota for the energy of the heart that changes the past, That heals the sick and lost and for whom she gives Sight to any student asking to know from the heart I ask Scota for the chance to change the darkness to light within my heart To find the way to love by any means She who I call to see love, to walk the path of love By which beats the wisdom of now. My heart sings the same song as the sun Sounds the same vibration as the moon I call Scota who walks the path of the wolf Who waits, silent and hungry Who dances in the water of the rivers Who flies above the cool of the mountain top Who designs this universe in perfect form and geometry I ask you teach me to turn in the way of the heart The way of light And in my view to see kindred instead of loneliness To see abundance without lack To see perfection in every movement of the grain as she stands Swaying in the wind And from this place, outside of the slavery to this dimension, I am not alone but watching I am not rejected but unheard I am not ignored but beyond the ability of mind to perceive From here in your way, I can also learn The changing mind to heart, hate to love, ignorance to compassion And lies to truth. Blessings
Nature is Love; all of the Celtic Gods and Goddesses exist in the Druidic tradition of nature. Each animal, plant and breath are an expression of the divine and from whom we learn our place and presence as humans. This divine is yours - holding her arms out to you, kissing your lips tenderly. All that is required to find this love is to listen. Love - is the highest, most radiant of all human emotions is right before you - in every flower, seed and ocean wave. If you listen. It is you who choose to see beyond the trapped up human world, and let her heaven exalt you. Elven World book series is about this Love and is expressed in a story just as we have always done in the ancient ways of Druidism. It is written for children ages 6-16 and especially for those who are learning the ways of magic love of the Light Elven and the Fae. Sign in at www.elvenworld.org to receive a free copy to read to your children, for them to connect with the gods and goddesses of ancient Ireland. It is a gift from my heart to yours and to all who pass along this way. Enjoy.
We join as a family across the globe to pray for our mother earth. Please pray with us. - T.E. Pelton, Author Elven World mythologies Hopi Elders Call for Prayer for Japan and Our World
YES!!! I throw up my arms and call to the sky. The past is not the present. I am here, now, living, loving, admiring with the eyes of the gods in that divine place between the heavens and the ardent, fiery center of the Earth. I see the white heron rising from the bush and appreciate her breath, strength, majesty and sense of adventure. I have vanquished the hideous; rendering the wicked unable because my sword of light is Love. I am learning to wield its power with ever-greater depth and fortitude; polishing it to shine and protect. I am joyful with a sense of belonging that comes from the best of humanity – that connection with friends who inspire and comfort in moments of quiet passion. This is the Golden Light of my Fellows – You! I have ended decades of suffering as enlightenment flows to me from within I am willing to kill the façade of truth to let the true light in which is known by her goodness. I am beyond the limit of my body, my name or personality or any boundaries of the third dimension, receiving guidance as Nature, as the Fae and Elven that imbue the inanimate with sparkling life energy and by every name which she is known. I who am One with all that is, was and will be, beyond time and space. I am touched throughout in an infinite ocean of light. YES!! Love, T.E. Pelton (Tara)
Elven Blessing for all of us How to live in the Physical World on Earth Nothing happens without a reason Everything passes Everything grow in elation and connection with the divine
Blessings; May you feel the Elven song within, hear the voice who speak from your heart space. We are Tuatha de Danann, the children of Nature and the stars. –T.E. Pelton A quick note to commemorate one of the most beautiful things I have seen lately, or even ever so far in my life: On the morning of 1.11.11 I walked out by the river under the San Gabriel mountains where I saw 3 great white heron sitting at the top of the tree, taking in the expanse with their vivid curiosity and divine wisdom. They were so mesmerizing I stopped for a long while just to drink in their beauty. I felt the their golden light fill me with radiance, compassion; My heart opened. Ah, One is becoming a new person moment by moment.
Tribal. Rhythmic. Living Art. Faerieworlds is an experience in modern myth-making, magic and ceremony created spontaneously. It is living art in color, song, costume and dance. The vibration of the space created at Mount Pisgah in Eugene Oregon for Faerieworlds, is formed with lights that bless the circle, establishing the sacred space before the ceremonies begin. A stage with enormous wings goes up, waiting for the artists who grace it with sounds in a style resonant with otherworldliness, rich with elements of earth, air, fire and water expressed through Celtic drum, harp, cello and long trance notes sung by women with sinewy voices. While many of the visitors and vendors are visiting from Renaissance or middle ages festivals, the vibration here is mythical. The magic you find here is not slight of hand, but a tentative step toward real magic, a space that is being reborn purely from common memory, from heart. One that is much, much older and shamanistic. Costumes are professionally done with care to every intricate detail, any one of these designs being the product of talented artists, imagination and abandon. Winged creations in bright flowing colors, belly jewels and body paint, they express the visions of the faery that come to us, shimmering, ethereal, other worldly. Watching them dance in the faerie circles, and parade through the walking “streets” is watching living, breathing art. It is mind-blowing to see this creation, this art form take place before your eyes engaging your participation. The line between the artist and the audience fades and we all become the art itself–expressing to the divine source, our message of appreciation and delight. At one point, dancers whose belts are harnessed in the trees, float down among us in their sparkling, sinewy expression, reminding us that magic is right here all the time; it is you who open to its perception. The most common words you hear spoken here at Faerieworlds are: “amazing”, “wonderful”, “love”, “heart.” The air contains more than oxygen, it sparkles and holds faeriedust that makes everyone mellow and relaxed, respectful of all life, each other and the universe. I am enjoying my friends many of who have been named for the natural world or to honor their totem animals such as: Sparrow, Raven and Rain. A friend of mine, Spring, has been taking photos of Faerieworlds for many years, (I’m hoping she’ll post them up on elvenworld.ning.com soon!). She captures the space in the lens right at dusk, when the light of the camera and the light of the sun are in such a way to show the faeries to our human eyes; which has been called the time when the “veil between the world is thin.” Her photos show tens of thousands of “faerie orbs”: white or gently colored orbs that look like bubbles fill the air, rising up from the stage and gently floating and sparkling all around the place. If you believe in faeries now, this place is as close as you’ll get to “home” that exists on Earth. If you weren’t sure about the faeries before this experience, no one will convince you, only welcome you into our world to participate in this spontaneous praise to the gods and goddesses of the Earth.
Are you Elven? Are you Fae? Do you have magickal blood running through your veins? So begins the poetic message that introduces a modern legend Elven World: Restoration of the Tuatha dé Danann Kingdom. Irish Mythology Tuatha dé Danann means “tribe or children of the Goddess Danu.” Danu is the Earth or Earth Goddess. People of this race are also known as Elven or Fae. It is known that the Tuatha dé Danann civilization flourished on Earth more than five thousand years ago. Ancient Irish legend tells the story: that upon arrival of the Milesian, the Tuatha dé Danann disappeared into another dimension with their magic. Entrances to the Other World appear in sacred sites such as Hill of Tara and Newgrange in Ireland. Tuatha de Danann The message of the Tuatha dé Danann is so strong it calls to us through the ages––with the belief that the Earth is sacred and the source of our magical power. Thousands around the world consider they are members of this illustrious tribe guiding us to find our harmonious place in the ecological system of the planet. Their voices bespeak our connection to our higher selves and teach us to develop our magical skills as spirits of Nature. Return of the Elven to Our World Today Elven World is continuation of the story that began so long ago, with the return of the Tuatha dé Danann to our world today. It is a legend that embraces multiple dimensions, where time travel is ordinary and where our place upon the Earth and in the cosmos is revered. This story is expressed to youth of today in this first novel of a series called Elven World: Restoration of the Tuatha de Danann Kingdom, a delightful, magical adventure of the Elven gods and goddesses. Full of adventure, romance and a sense of humor not often found in modern storytelling, it may appeal to young people who are searching for higher meaning in their lives. It will find its place among those who count themselves a crystal, indigo, highly sensitive, empaths and especially loving toward Nature Spirits, as well as those interested in Celtic lore. Elven World is available at amazon.com or by special order at your local bookstore. The author writes inspirational Elven Blessings upon request at the even social network www.elvenworld.ning.com or meet her on Twitter as “ElvenWorld” Blessings!