nikoláos and the ride of the noble eight caribou (Canada and USA Addresses)

“Does an arrow fly where you aim it, or is it ordained by the air? Is it luck that brings the target, or does it depend on care? In winter, in a land of long winters where time floats like snowflakes, a boy was shooting arrows unceasingly. East, South, West, North, they raced from his bow far and near,” so spoke the Forest at Dusk to the two-leggeds eagerly gathered to hear.

The Forest at Dusk was telling the story of a boy named Nikoláos and the winter night when he road the wind with the Noble Eight Caribou. Around her branches, sat a group of young two-leggeds from the houses on the other side of the glen. They came to the Forest at Dusk during Summertime to listen and learn. It wasn’t always easy, because she spoke slowly, like branches swaying in a gentle wind. But she was telling the story from the beginning, as the Forest at Dusk always does. She continued.

“Nikoláos was shooting his bow and arrows that never missed what they were supposed to hit. His sister, who was several years older, had been staring at the rings of Thuhal that reach across our world’s horizon like the wings of an eagle, protecting us always, and like the Creator, always there. Her long, brown hair, thick as vines growing where a forest tree had fallen in a storm, years before, blew in the cold wind; held from her face only by the knit cap she wore over it when the hood of her parka was down. Suddenly she shouted, “Nicky…knock it off with the arrows!”

His eyes glared for a second, like a dying fire blown on. Then he looked down on his boots while still raising his bow.

“Please.” she added, quietly. He lowered his bow. Then he looked up at her; his stomach pushing out of his unzipped winter coat; his big cheeks pushing up on dark, watery eyes.”

“What’s wrong with Aunt Kallista; why is mom in her room, crying?” he asked.

“If I recall, my lady, the next part of this story takes place in your neck of the woods,” chimed the North Wind.” “...Ah, of course,” said the Forest at Dusk, “thank you for reminding me.” And she continued with the story:

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beginning 5

chapter one: shooting arrows in the moonlight 35

chapter two: the tale of the old caribou and

the gift of the antler tine 52

chapter three: rescued from the east 62

chapter four: the green-eyed caribou of the southeast 76

chapter five: caribou games 86

chapter six: snowstorm in the western woods 95

chapter seven: something for the sick child 110

chapter eight: the all-knowing caribou of the north 121

chapter nine: singing along the traintracks 129

chapter ten: cousin wendy baking vassilopita 145

chapter eleven: the zig-zag run and the hunter 167

chapter twelve: the ride of the noble eight caribou 181

chapter thirteen: receiving the arrows 201

and returning home

“That’s when the COLLLLD North Wind blew a leaf across the face of the bright moon. An oak leaf at that; way up from the craggly branches of the old oak! He could not see the wind that loosed it; he could not see the gravity that drew it; nor–“

Hmmmmmmm…” sighed the Forest at Dusk.

“Ah…and you call ME impatient, m’lady.” whispered the North Wind.

The Forest at Dusk blinked, and just for a moment, her leaves flashed into the luscious reds, the striking yellows and golden-orange fires of the Fall; but when she opened her eyes and stared into the North Wind, all was green again.

“You are right, my good sir,” she said, and the air was still. “please go on.” And the North Wind did just that.

The Story

The story is told by two narrators: the Forest at Dusk and the North Wind. Seems like they know each other, but don’t always get along unless they are deep in some storytelling. They tell the story of a young boy, Nikoláos, his siblings: Acacia, MC and Cassie and other relatives, and an adventure they have that eventually has Nikoláos meeting a number of caribou (some nice and some…not so nice) some hungry bears, and the questions he has that no one will answer and that he is often afraid to ask. He promised an old caribou he would go on this quest, even if he wasn’t sure what was going to happen in the end.

At times, the narrators (especially the Forest at Dusk) and some of the characters refer to the ancient stories of the Wanderers, their battle, and the sacrifice of Lurra, a Wanderer who acted to save one of those he was fighting. Each of the Wanderers is also one of the glowing spheres that move around the giant of the night sky, the everpresent, purple-hued, ringed planet called Thuhal, also the name of the Creator. At times, Nikoláos or one of his siblings will be found staring up at the amethyst and lilac rings of Thuhal that reach across our world’s horizon like the wings of an eagle, protecting us always, and like the Creator, always there.

While the Creator is a protective force, there is still sorrow, fear, doubt and helplessness that people have to face. Nikoláos faces his share of all of these while trying to fulfill his promise to the old caribou, but also gains some wisdom from others, and from his own words and actions. In the back of his mind is his Aunt Kallista, his mom’s sister, who is sick, but no one will tell him why, or what is going to happen. But it has made his mom very sad, and he doesn’t know what to do with it. No one seems to know. So one night, he starts shooting the bow and arrows his Yai-yai gave him; arrows that never miss what they are supposed to hit. He was aiming for falling leaves. What he got was an all-night journey to find and bring together the caribou who have been scattered to the eight directions.

The Cover and interior Artwork

The cover image is often your first impression of the story. We’re told not to judge the story by the cover, but often, that image is what grabs you. Just as authors put care into choosing the story title, care goes into the cover, often the kind of artistry that the author cannot do. So the choice of an artist to work with is critical to getting the images that best invite others to your story.

Though I spoke with local artists, and spent days doing internet searches, the artwork by Barb Cote jumped out at me. I emailed her, and while I waited to see if she would reply, it became clear that some very good artists just were not right for the kind of story I was writing. Barb drew animals as spirits; their images infused with energy, life and unique gifts, and I loved the departures from the ordinary. It was not just her artwork that drew my attention, but also the poetry she had on her website, www.barbcote.com, expressing a strong spirit and heart. I began to think that if she had any interest in doing illustrations for someone she’d never met, from somewhere south of the 49th parallel, this story might be a good fit for the spirit I saw in her poetry and artwork. I’ve been thrilled with the drawings she’s done, and I’m grateful she could put up with the things I’ve been asking her to do.