Storm Frost Mountain Maze

Storm Frost Mountain Maze
by Robert Schmigelsky

Cased in ice and snow,

artfully wove
above and
around
you,


the distant, jagged
silhouettes of
mountain peaks
obscured
by


a deepening cloud
of mist. Before
you, the long,
rolling
shapes


of hills guarding chilled
rock, jut into
icy roads
marred by
death.


Accompanied by
your companions
and the cold,
chilling
wind


you endure, plod through
winter’s domain,
but recall
haunting
words:

“Know many before you have sought out the hidden resting place of the dragon knights of Kalaran,” said the long-dead, ghostly-green form of a dragoon, draped in his flowing mithril blue plate, “before they could wake from their long slumber and reclaim their rightful place, riding amongst the high winds.”

You recall legends past of the dragoons of old, in their white Pegasus-winged boots, sailing and battling above the clouds in the sky before what was given to them was stolen and their ability – lost.


“A few have come wishing to do them harm; others to simply exploit them,” the revenant continued. “None have succeeded.”



“No matter your intentions, until what was taken is given back, and the legends of ages past return, only one shall defeat the mountain maze and find them – to choose to do them harm, keep them frozen or to awaken them from their slumber: to sail and battle in the skies once more.”


Ever heedful of the revenant’s words, your face tightened as you recalled the revenant’s final warning, spoken amongst broken granite columns within crumbling city walls standing before the mouth of the mountain maze:


“Now, leave or enter the mountain maze, but know this: should you choose to enter the mountain maze and brave the cold within; once inside those within cannot leave the way they entered. The only way out of the mountain maze is over the mountains or through death.”


“Choose wisely.”

Moving against the full fury of snow-carrying winds, you grimace once more, grit your teeth together

and trudge on through the snow, refusing to regret your choice.

You knew, although not always remembering it, that life at times called for hard choices and sometimes that meant trudging through the snow.

* * *

Robert William Shmigelsky is unapologetic in his pursuit of excellent high fantasy and has been writing fantasy for himself longer than he can remember, but has only recently begun to write for others.

Besides reading and writing, some of his hobbies include computers and medieval and ancient history. He has a dry sense of humor, which he blames his stepfather for. Also, he has a habit of making history jokes no one but he understands.

Robert is currently sifting through two of three novels he wrote in his younger years in an attempt to make them somewhat palatable, the first being the Gathering of the Gifts which he hopes to have accepted soon.

His first release, the aptly named Fragments Through Time, a poetry collection from Diminuendo Press, is available now.

What do you think is the most important part of a fantasy story?

Originality. If it has been done before--why do it?

The Forest Without Song

The Forest Without Song
Robert Shmigelsky

In the forest caught in
the grip of a dimensional rift
tall and narrow
and evenly spaced
chestnut trees,
wearing their bushy green crowns,
ran in sequence into the distance
left, right and before you:
their boughs coming together
at the ends to form
forest halls.

Songbirds sang their tunes,
but their voices were not heard.
The calls for mates were not made.
Thieves and woodsmen, travelling through,
signaled and gestured in the language of signs.

Having miss stepped
stepping out of
fabric depths,
their ancestors--
shadow travelers
called rangers--
stretched forest bounds
into boundlessness
and--
a piece of themselves, future descendants
and all forest creatures
caught and left behind in
unmeasured depths not easily traversed--
took their voices away,
and perhaps more,
leaving
the forest caught in
the grip of a dimensional rift
as the Forest Without Song.

* * *

Robert Shmigelsky, a residential care aide, is unapologetic in his pursuit of excellent high fantasy. Robert has been writing fantasy for himself in his spare time for the last seven years, but has only recently begun writing for others. Besides reading and writing, some of his hobbies include computers and medieval and ancient history. He has a dry sense of humor, which he blames his stepfather for. Also, he has a habit of making history jokes no one but he understands.

Robert has an upcoming "dragon knight apprentice" short fiction series due to be published this June at Yesteryear Fiction and is currently sifting through the first of three novels he wrote in his younger years in an attempt to make it somewhat palatable.

What advice do you have for other fantasy writers?

If it has already been done before -- don't do it, or at the very least try to put a new twist to it.

Gaze of the Gorgon

The Gaze of the Gorgon
by Robert Shmigelsky

The presuming hero
who, well-versed in the ways to slay me, will come—
unlike those who came before him—
bearing a golden mirror shield alongside his sword and torch.
In his thirst for adventure, spoils, the hero’s glory—
my supposedly slithering serpent head held aloft in his hand,
to be paraded around as a trophy before those that now denigrate me—
he’ll follow the flow of mountains to where waters meet.
There he shall find, after descending winding marble steps
of my depilated white temple, the creature’s lair.

Passing those that came before him, his weary blue eyes slanted down
below his bowed shield so not to chance a glimpse of my hideous face,
he keeps his sight tied to shadows
that lie still in the night before hovering back in retreat
as he passes the procession of twelve solemn pillars in my hall,
hunting me with his false conjectures:
delving into the gloom, first to my raised dais
then every corner and room
until, at last, there is no place left for me to hide
and I turn and look with my variegated gaze, see my
sharp aquatic face and eel-like hair reflected back upon me.
My beauty fade, turn to marble-white
as misconceptions murder me.

* * *

Robert Shmigelsky is an aspiring fantasy writer trying to improve and better organize his writing. Robert has been writing fantasy for himself in his spare time for the last seven years, but only now has begun writing for others.

Besides reading and writing, some of his hobbies include computers and history. He has a dry sense of humor, which he blames his stepfather for. Also, he has a habit of making history jokes no one but he understands. He is currently working as a certified residential care aide (nursing assistant) in beautiful British Columbia to support his writing.

Illusionist Blossoms

Illusionist Blossoms
by Robert Shmigelsky

Stretching, spreading upwards
from the ground, the stem
from which bends—a bulb,
white, funneled, and closed.

Opening only once before withering,
illusionist blossoms do not open
for any ordinary reason:
a certain time of day or night
or only during a certain season.

Each flower waiting for a specific moment,
illusionist blossoms only bloom
on those rare unmatched events
when near the end of the night
the fates seem to have arranged
something extraordinary to occur:
such as lovers’ first embrace,
a novelist finishing his masterpiece.

When destinies collide,
great potential reached,
seven star-shaped leaves
slowly part open,
revealing in tiny measures
a lustrous white cloud within;
from which flows out
wisps of light
that, touching the ground,
spring up into illusions
of those embracing,
memories of days spent in slow toil,
and all the other marvels, imaginable
and unimaginable.

When illusions end, fade away
new illusionist blossoms pop up,
replacing the one that gave way.

* * *

Robert Shmigelsky is an aspiring fantasy writer taking English courses at Okanagan College to try to improve his writing. He says: Besides reading and writing, some of my hobbies include computers, football and history. I have a dry sense of humour, which I blame my stepfather for. Also, I have a habit of making history jokes no one but me understands. I am currently working as a certified care aide in beautiful British Columbia to support my writing.

Where do you get the ideas for your poems?

My ideas generally come to me while listening to music. When you're feeling a little out of it, nothing gets you going like a little inspiration.
Sometimes it helps just to start jotting ideas down. I believe 90% of what writers conjure up is unintentional. I have this idea in my head I'm busy translating onto paper and the next thing I know what I'm writing is completely different than what I originally intended.

In this case, the idea came to me while writing a short story about a gardener and I decided I needed to invent my own kind of flowers.

I am Golem

I am Golem
by Robert Shmigelsky

Almost as tall as these mountains,
wider than the trunk of a tree,
as unwieldy as cooled ore,
yet as gentle as a faun.
But as full as a shallow stream.

Rocks and pebbles rolled into body and bone.
Clumps of earth, between, jumble as I trundle.
Vines and leaves tangled into shirt and sleeve.
From emeralds green, from them I see
the walls of a chasm split asunder
after Gaia yawned and nudged two peaks over.

From hollows sculpted, at the side of my face,
so I can heed, from them I hear
an encompassing, restless wind
born from the distant bellow of a wind-swept peak
reflecting off frozen time and barrier
encompassing behind me tranquil, winter and kingdom,
enthroning this lord of storms.

This wind would tickle had I skin.
But I don’t. So, it won’t.
It only summons that not possessed:
the feels, tastes and smells granted to all men;
the feels, tastes and smells neglected to those like me.
And so up and down, here I pace, hither and thither
waiting this great wind to weather and dig
until rock and pebble become soil and dust.

* * *

Robert Shmigelsky is an aspiring fantasy writer taking English courses at Okanagan College to try to improve his writing. He says: Besides reading and writing, some of my hobbies include computers, football and history. I have a dry sense of humour, which I blame my stepfather for. Also, I have a habit of making history jokes no one but me understands. I am currently working as a certified care aide in beautiful British Columbia to support my writing.

What do you think is the attraction of the fantasy genre?

After just finishing writing a research essay on R.U.R (Rossum's Universal Robots) about humanity's technological hubris, I would have to say the reason fantasy is so attractive to me personally is that it gives any writer the ability to visit worlds unlike their own, offering unique settings to get across those important messages to the reader. Of course, there's always the fun factor.