Our annual Fairytale Writing and Art Contest has concluded, and once again, we received fantastic entries! Whether it was a spooky drawing or a new spin on a classic story, these authors and illustrators created whimsy, magic, and fun with their works. We hope you enjoy this year's batch of creativity as much as we did!
Winner!
The Golden Dragon by Lucy L.
As legends go, stories build and twist until one does not know the true story of which they speak. Gods and Kings of Lore are created out of ordinary men, yet one does not become great often, as many men are not born great nor does life give power away freely. This is the true story of how the famous and powerful King Midas became a legend.
Before he became a king, Midas was an unextraordinary boy who had the same dreams as most of the average village boys; he wanted to become a knight. Midas grew up listening to his father's tales of defending the kingdom from some of the most foul creatures that have crossed into middle earth. He dreamed of being brave and loyal and fierce like his father- he dreamed of being the best guardian the kingdom has ever known. The king was often sought after due to his extraordinary powers to twist metals into anything he desired like weapons, homes, tools- anything. King Ory was the reason their kingdom was still surviving. However, the only problem with Midas fulfilling his day dreams of protecting the great King Ory, was that Midas was a terrible fighter. He lacked the natural reactions needed to survive a true battle and honestly, Midas was lazy and he knew it.
As much as he longed to be a royal knight, Midas secretly wished that he would never have to set eyes on the gruesome beasts that plague middle earth like the Black Basilisk or an army of 15 ft. trolls; or the most terrifying monster, the king of the dragons- the Golden Dragon.
One hazy summer day, Midas was avoiding his chores and told his father he needed to practice his sword skills in the pasture. While he did practice some, Midas was bored after 30 minutes of pretending to slay a savage bugbear and decided to lay down in the warm grass for a nap instead. As Midas drifted into unconsciousness, a voice called out to him and a dreamlike scene started to play behind his closed eyes. The voice sounded deep, and as gravely as old wheels being dragged on the rutted roads he was so used to traveling on.
"At sundown you will leave your village to begin anew on a path lit by golden sand. Follow this to the craggy peaks of Mt. Ore as you have been chosen to bear a burden as a new day approaches." As the voice rang through his drowsy brain, flashes of gold and mountains and wings as wide as the field he was laying in played over his eyelids.
As soon as the haunting voice and images stopped, Midas opened his eyes and he was somehow standing in front of Mt. Ore, home of the dragons. Midas didn't know how he got there, golden sand sparkling the ground around him, but he figured it had to be powerful magic. Against his best wishes, Midas kept walking forward as if an invisible noose was tied around his neck, leading him to his death; he eventually came to a crack along the rock face. Deeper and deeper Midas was pulled, following a path that was so thin, he had to turn to the side to fit. Finally, the path opened to a huge cavern big enough to house the entire village in which Midas lived. As he looked around the dark, rock-like cathedral, the ground started to tremble, and his knees followed suit in terror. Midas heard the ancient voice again but this time it wasn't in his head, it was in the mountain with him. A golden light as bright as a raging star flashed in front of his body and Midas quickly shut his eyes to avoid the intense sensation of fire on his eyes. At this moment Midas knew with an absolute and deep dread that this was the Golden Dragon- the one best no man can defeat, or even look at.
The booming voice spoke with such force, it felt as if Midas was surrounded on all sides. "You have been brought here because you seek greatness but do not wish to work hard for your lot in life. Your mind is weak and though you wield a sword, you lack the true strength of mind and spirit to use it. Your current King will die with the next sunrise as he has failed to keep his promises to the magic with myself and my kin. You have been chosen to replace him and become the next sacrifice to take the role as King of Middle Earth."
Midas was speechless. He was the son of a great knight, yes, but he was no ruler. With great trepidation and his eyes still closed, Midas spoke: "I know not of what you speak- I am no king or leader. King Ory would not make a deal with that which we fear the most." The dragon snorted hot breath and the force of it blew Midas to the ground.
"You know nothing but you will soon enough. I rule all, including the scum of a king which you speak so highly of. You humans have your uses but those matters are trivial to us dragons. If you must know I will tell you but it will not make a difference in the outcome here. I choose a ruler to abide by my law and in exchange, I keep the dragons at bay and protect us all from the darkness of the underworld. Your king broke one of the laws by communicating with those who dwell below. Tell me I am right that you are too idle to seek more than you are given? Too frightful to cross me? I can smell the fear deep inside your bones. You are the indolent needed to play the part of a false king." The dragon snarled and gnashed his teeth dangerously close to Midas as he shook on the ground, he couldn't deny the words of the giant beast, and he knew he was too much of a coward to cross the King of Dragons. With a barely audible squeak, Midas said, "No one would believe me to be the next ruler. I am not wealthy nor royalty, and not brutish enough to fight for power. The last king had powers of nature that gave him credibility. I have none."
A flare of gold fire landed in the cliffside just below Midas at this response. "How do you think he got those magic powers?" the dragon roared. "Men do not become powerful on their own no matter what they claim. I gave the old king those powers as dragons must give some part of them away to make a binding deal- it is our way. You will have the same deal, a piece of my magic transferred to you in exchange for your unwavering loyalty. You may never be brave or fierce, but you can be loyal. Pick up your sword and strike the ground. You will see what power is chosen for you by what happens to the sword. If you refuse, you will never see the light of day again."
Midas knew he wanted to live so with shaking hands, he picked up his sword that fell to the wayside moments before, and struck the rocky ground. Before Midas could comprehend what was happening, the sword started turning gold, from the tip on the ground and to the top of the hilt. He could just start to feel the gold move to his fingertips when Midas yelled and dropped the sword. The dragon gave a flap of his wings with satisfaction and snarled his approval of the magic given. "You have acquired the touch of gold. This magic is power but it's also a powerful loyalty curse. You must not put any other power above me- I am the source of all things light. I will infest your thoughts with my voice and you must never put others' wants in front of mine otherwise the one you love will turn to gold. A cold, shiny, gold statue that you can cherish forever. Be careful what you touch- not all power is as golden as it seems." The dragon's voice faded as he flew away, a new chapter of King Midas began as the golden light faded away.
Second Sunrise
A Weird West Tale
Written by Richard S.
(Weird west is a subgenre that blends elements of the wild west with fantasy, science fiction and horror, either set in the classic wild west, or the distant future, even on other worlds, such as this story, where, once upon a time, in the wild, weird west, a steampunk cowboy named Sawyer rode his cyborg stallion into fame, fortune—and faith...)
Marshal Sawyer’s Report, Day 103.451 Lunar Cycle: The Deadwood—my spaceship named after the legendary city—docked at the orbital rail of Gear Gulch IV as the sonic clock chimed the hour of thirteen, right at the first sun’s rise. I leapt onto Ironhoof and we charged straight onto that moon—his cyborg steel charging—his pistons firing, snorting steam. Didn’t take long to track our fugitive. The dust tells tales, even on the moon. I saw the tracks before Ironhoof bent to sniff. Irregular, unnatural. They cut deep. With a whoop we were off, down to the mine. I told Ironhoof to halt, went in alone. I pulled my goggles down from my brim, moon rocks lighting the way. About halfway in, I heard it. It tried to ambush me, but I heard it, slithering in the dark. I lunged and aimed— my clockwork Colt blasted the maw off that thing. It fell with a screech. I leaned in, and that’s when it got me—the thing wasn’t quite dead. Wrapped its tentacles round me and squeezed me real fierce. I heard my clockwork heart crack. Thought I was a goner. But that’s when the varmint shrieked, despite no longer having lips— my grandpa’s crucifix had fallen out from under my shirt and I reckoned this demon didn’t like that. That moment was all it took. I had dropped my gun but I pried my Bowie out from my boot— stabbed the beast three times— once for each of its eyes. It dropped me right onto rock, hard. I grabbed my Colt, rolled and fired once more. The thing tumbled—and this time, stayed down. On that day, I kissed my grandpa’s crucifix and left it hanging out. Next I took hold of that varmint and hauled him topside. Ironhoof was waiting for me, along with the moon miners those that survived. They waddled towards me, patted me on the back with their webbed hands, told me I did my grandpa’s legacy justice. I got choked up with that part— but I still took my fee, in moon rocks. Heck, man’s gotta make a living, even among the stars. The miners invited me to stay for a drink, something they assured me a human could stomach, but I said Ironhoof and I had to be getting back to New Dodge City. Doc wanted the fugitive back in his lab. I said I reckoned once Doc gets his claws on this dead thing’s blood he’ll find ways to bring back men who oughta be dead, themselves. I swore to the moon miners if he did, I’d be back. I tipped my hat with a grin. Ironhoof and I hauled that varmint to the brig, just in case it wasn’t quite dead, yet— again. I plugged Ironhoof into his stable to recharge, then checked myself in the cracked glass hanging above my bunk. I smoothed my wild brown locks into something not quite as wild. My face was still smooth—despite this being my third bounty, no scar yet though I reckon it’s waiting for me out there somewhere in this solar system. I winked at my reflection, then winked at the holographic portrait of Selena. Her saloon girl red feather dipped like it was waving at me as she smiled back, her teeth sparkling brighter than stars in the Nevada Nebula. I slumped in the chair with my boots on the control panel, set the dial for a return trip. We blasted off into the stars before the second sunrise. (And so, Sawyer rode on through the wild, weird west, carving a legend in the stars...)
Killer Cat by Rowan S.
Demon Kid by Griffin S.
Pretty, Pretty Princess by Lilly S.
If you’re already excited for our next competition, our annual Gingerbread Person contest begins December 1! Participants of all ages are invited to create a book-inspired character that will be displayed on the bulletin board in the Youth Department. Public voting begins on December 26, and winners in each category will be announced during the second week of January.
We’re also bringing back the Kill the Pen! Art Contest. Starting December 1, entrants can pick up a posterboard and pen, and they have until February 28 to use up all of the ink in their pen.
We can’t wait to see the next masterpieces submitted by talented artists in Hartland!