The Frewyn Herald: Home of the Haanta Series

In the last few months, I've had my hands in many literary pies: The compilation of Myndil the Missionary stories was published from Pendelhaven Press, another Myndil book is currently being written, Martje's cookery book is coming along, and I've been writing several songs for the Frewyn Music Project, a collaboration with songwriter and musician Noah Tolhurst (Stillbuster). I have been considering an album of Frewyn songs for a while, but it was Noah's darling wife who had the genius idea of putting us together in a room with bodhrans and mandolins. My books have many songs, like The Creature of the Deep and the Merrow in the Barrow, but due to the Tolhurst enthusiasm, I've been more keen to put down more. I have no idea when the album will be out, but here is something to tide you over, a song about our Frewyn friend Mad Queen Maeve: The Ballad of Mad Queen Maeve The apples in winter don’t fall from the bough They cling to the autumn without knowing how...

For all those who suffer from malaise this time of the year, I hear you. And so does Bilar:                 The mirk of midnight sinuated in, the luminaries pullulating across the sky, the moon hanging heavily in the humidity between sungates, the canopy blanketed in starlight. The capital tripped into its natural sloom, the glink of water on stone whelmed the docks, the delicate footfalls of soldiers patrolling the streets and marching along the wall pattering over the landscape, lights in windows simmered into a sobering hue, the churchyard and issuing square were silent under the splendour of the coming holiday, and the castle keep lapsed into its slumbering state, everyone having fallen asleep in the arms of some other,   the sconces along the halls surrendering themselves to the insuperable gloom, the thrill of an early winter whispering their seasonal secrets to the gales. The sun delayed its app...

You're twenty-one, Myndil. Get the hell out of my house. At last, a place for Myndil was found in a neighbouring parish: it was at a newly established church, to be a caretaker of the building and the issuing grounds, and though the position was not what Myndil deserved, it was a something to get him out. Head Brother Crannach was given the office of breaking it to Myndil. He was a large and lumbering man, kindly and affectionate, one who had installed himself as a father figure for the orphans, one who had always been fond of Myndil and was sorry to see him go; like Myndil, Head Brother Crannach was fond of most people, had a tempered resolve, and had forbearance even for that which distressed him most. He was not one for long and laborious conversation, but communicated more effectively by gesture rather than word, and when he came to Myndil, to speak to him about what must be, his words and heart both failed him. He instead inclined his head and gestured toward the garden...

Myndil is one of the many characters in the upcoming Creatures of Fairytale and Myth. He is a missionary, one that davers over the landscape looking for novitiates, and while he always seems to talk his way out of trouble, new enemies are never far behind. An introduction: L ife happened to most people, but Myndil Plodostirr happened to everybody else. Where other men had grown up with the usual complaints of harsh mothers, small dinners, and work to be done after daily lessons, Myndil had a comfortable home at the orphanage, a good establishment with right-minded well-meaning matrons and masters, where Myndil was tricked into an early education and out of physical labour, where his natural understanding and high glee were wasted on addled children who knew no more of kindliness than they did their daily prayers. Other orphans had nominal friendships: knowing they were going to be adopted and separated from one another, they kept their schoolfellows at a distance, limitin...