by E M Graham
‘He said something about wanting to see you tomorrow,’ she replied as she closed the trunk and stood up.
‘But he’s in Paris!’ I blurted out, aghast. Surely to God he was still in Europe. He wasn’t due to come back here at all before Christmas, and I would be meeting him in Scotland in the New Year. At least, that was my understanding.
‘Maybe he wants you to call him tomorrow, perhaps that’s what he said.’ Edna shrugged. ‘He kept interrupting my writing hours, so perhaps I wasn’t really concentrating on what he actually said. Something about tomorrow, anyway.’
‘I’ll call him in the morning then,’ I said, much relieved.
That would be just what I needed, Hugh showing up in the middle of all this mess.
THE SNOW STARTED the next day, falling softly, making everything outside my window a monochromatic landscape, all shades of white and silver and the palest grey, no sun to create shadows, just a luminousness, a brighter white, where the sky used to be. It was the kind of snowfall you’d rather have on Christmas Eve, a blanket settling down on the town and shutting the place up in a cozy Yule duvet.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t Christmas yet and life went on.
It was still just December 10th and the Prof was expecting my paper to be emailed in today by noon, the last possible deadline. Any later and he wouldn’t have a chance to mark it.
I reread his last email to me and the other errant students in the Folklore class. He was pretty cool, really, just a young PhD student from the mainland, desperately looking for tenure at a university like ours. It dawned on me that he couldn’t afford to have too many fails in his class, not in his precarious position. His missive to us even had a note of pleading within it.
A 5000 word paper showing you have done the necessary research to garner a deeper understanding of the chosen topic. I don’t care what form it takes – come on, guys, this is Folklore! Write me a short story if you want, just as long as it meets the minimum word count and you show its relevance to today.
Easy enough for him to say, but what was he really looking for?
I sat on my bed under the patchwork quilt and sipped my coffee, the results of my research spread out all around.
Willem proclaimed himself to his followers as the Lord of Misrule, yet the proper season for it didn’t begin until after the official holidays on Twelfth Night, or January 6 according to the modern calendar. A bit of artistic license on his part, no doubt, or maybe just ignorance which he didn’t bother to correct.
The whole tradition was little more than blowing off steam at the unfairness of life, really. Back in the medieval years, a person’s life path was pretty much seen as written before they were born. Once a peasant, always a peasant. A member of the royal family, however, would always live a life of privilege, even if they had to sponge off their richer relatives to do so. Back then, you were what you were, and there was no moving beyond it.
So to reverse the roles even if only for a couple of days, perhaps it gave people a chance to pretend, to mock their betters, to wreak a little revenge while they were at it.
Was this all Willem wanted? To ruin the ball, make a mockery of all those wielders of magic who considered themselves superior to him and had closed ranks against him? That’s the gist of what he had said to me, but I had my doubts. There was so much repressed fury in the man.
My papers were long forgotten by now as my thoughts took me further along this road, remembering those poor lost souls in Alt - human, yes, but because of an accident of birth stuck forever in the pain and misery of being unmagical creatures in a magical land, unable to imagine a better life and finding solace only in their gin.
Even myself, born from a Witch and a Normal without a foothold in either world. With the disappearance of Mom, I had been stuck in a no-man’s-land of being magical but not being allowed to exercise this power or learn to use it properly. Until Hugh had arrived and recognized me for what I was.
Hugh. Call Hugh back.
Shoot, I’d left my phone in my knapsack downstairs. Still if he really wanted to talk with me, he’d phone the landline again.
I brushed that aside and tried to focus on the paper again, and that’s when it hit me. I could write the story of Willem. It would take the form of ‘fiction’ of course, but be set in our modern times, and would definitely show that I understood the concept of the Lord of Misrule.
Laughing to myself, I set about writing on my laptop. I was going to ace this one after all, why had I even been worried?
16
I FINISHED THE SHORT STORY just half an hour after its deadline and smiled to myself as I closed down my laptop. Apologies for the lateness had been sent with my work, but I was pretty sure he would enjoy it. Might even decide it was well worth the lateness, and give me accolades for my cleverness and originality.
My foot had fallen asleep for Hal the cat had cuddled on top of it, and he was no lightweight. I dislodged him as I got off the bed and stretched. He moaned for a moment as if mortally wounded, but soon rolled over and the groan morphed back into a snore.
Bouncing down the stairs, I was feeling the buzz of accomplishment and decided to finally phone Hugh back. My call went straight to voice mail, and he hadn’t called me either.
In fact, nobody had contacted me, not even on FaceBook. A little disgruntled and wanting to spread my good feelings around, I tried Alice, but she wasn’t picking up. Jack hadn’t answered my text.
The fridge had food in it anyway thanks to Mark, so I ate a small lunch and then looked at the steamer trunk still on the kitchen floor. It was the solid kind, created from wood and leather and made to withstand the rigours of a trans-Atlantic steamship journey.
The silk dress still lay on top where Edna had dropped it when Mark told she couldn’t attend the ball. I fingered the soft satin with velvet detail on the tiny cap sleeves and at the waist. Normally, I’ve always been a hoody and jeans kind of girl, but something in the fabric spoke to me. I laid it against my body as Edna had done last night, and let myself imagine actually wearing an outfit like this ‘fifties confection, the large skirt with the stiff petticoats floating out all around, and I twirled as if in a dance.
Could I ever be the kind of person who wore this dress?
Maybe, after I finished my course in Scotland and found my place in the world, maybe then I could discard this tomboy self and be a full-fledged witch, maybe work with Hugh with his witchy Interpol even, and be sophisticated enough to be invited to the Witch Kin balls.
With my free hand I took my hair and piled it on top of my head, the way Sasha did sometimes and I danced on my tiptoes as if I wore her Manolo Blahniks. For that moment in time, I floated on dreams of my bright future.
My graceful turn around the kitchen brought me smack up against the window and the sight of the unshovelled driveway outside. The snow was letting up a bit, I could even see patches of blue sky trying desperately to break through the heavy clouds. That could only mean the wind was rising.
‘Edna?’ I called out. ‘Edna, you think the parade is still going ahead with this snow?’
I held my breath. If the parade was cancelled, then the ball probably would be too, and I would be under no obligation to the sorcerer tonight. I would have time to sneak downtown and pick open the lock on Zeta’s store and rescue the medallion and try to figure out what to do about Brin. I swallowed, and shoved the dress back into the trunk, feeling just a little guilty for not making him my top priority that morning.
‘Yeah,’ I heard her shout from inside her office, deep within the house. ‘It’s turning to rain, the radio says, so you better shovel now while you can. The snow’ll get too heavy to move soon.’
‘Maybe Mark’ll want to do it,’ I called out to her as I eyed the four inches of snow covering everything on the ground. Guys liked doing that stuff, it made them feel manly, didn’t it?
‘Just shovel the god damn driveway!’ she barked back at me. ‘Don’t leave it for Mark. And then figure out wha
t you’re wearing for a costume!’
With a heavy sigh, I took all my cold weather gear stuff from the closet in the hallway where they’d been stored for the past six months. Boots. Parka. Hat, scarf and the felted mitts that Edna knit. I’d been putting this off as long as I could, like I did every year. But the fact of the turning of the seasons was inexorable, especially here in Newfoundland, and we’d be lucky just to have four months of this weather.
Mark had already left for work in Edna’s jeep, I could see the tracks through the snow, He was such a gentleman, he wanted her to drive his SUV because it was more sturdy on the snow covered roads and hills.
My mind worked as I began to uncover the gravelled driveway beneath the mantle of snow. A full one third of our lives were spent in the harsh grasp of winter here, a fact easily forgotten when the summer sun beamed its glorious rays on us and the world was green. How much we took the good weather for granted, how short our memories were.
What the hell were we thinking, all of us Newfoundlanders? Hadn’t anyone done this math before? I grumbled till I’d shovelled the grouch right out of my system and found myself at the road just as the rain was starting. I hadn’t realized the wind was getting warmer, working furiously as I’d done. I threw the shovel into the snowbank I’d created at the side of the house and ran to the porch. With the heavy cloud cover, it was already dusk, and still only three o’clock in the afternoon.
A quick check of my phone showed me that no one had contacted me. Not even Willem. I bit my lip. I had agreed to meet Willem in Zeta’s store before the parade began.
He’d promised he was only going to raise a little hell and havoc and embarrass the Witch Kin, though why he needed my help for that I couldn’t conceive.
‘THAT’S WHAT YOU’RE WEARING?’ Edna stood before me. ‘Just a pillowcase over your head? That’s not very imaginative.’
‘Edna, it’s cold and wet out there,’ I said. ‘I’m going to wear this stupid dress over my coat, alright? Just not yet, I have to do something before the parade begins. I promise I’ll put in on afterwards.’
I picked up Great Aunt Sadie’s flowery house dress as proof, then held it against me and smiled up at Edna.
She caught her breath and looked at me, a horrified recollection on her face. ‘Marian wore that one year... Oh God, you look so much like her.’
I clutched the dress to me, and now I remembered too, the last time this dress had been worn. Mom, one summer evening, coming out to the lawn from the French doors, giggling and laughing as she twirled around in Aunt Sadie’s voluminous dress and little else, not even sandals on her bare, tanned feet.
Dad laughing with her, getting up to dance with her to the music which poured out the windows from the old stereo, I think it may have been the Beach Boys.
This was back before the fighting had started, before the anger.
I shook the memory from me. ‘Well, it’s time this dress went out and fun again, don’t you think?’
Edna herself wore her full regalia of men’s rubber boots (with thick hand knit socks inside), the oversize pants with suspenders, a couple of sweaters and a windbreaker underneath the checked flannel shirt. She held a large straw sunhat in her hand – it would go over the filmy scarf meant to cover her face and hair.
‘Okay then,’ she said. ‘Let’s go – I want to leave the SUV up by the park, so we’ll walk down to City Hall.’
The Mummer’s Parade traditionally started at City Hall, with speeches and everything from the Mayor before it wound its way up through Duckworth Street and Cochrane then in front of the Lieutenant Governor’s mansion and on to Bannerman Park.
The sidewalks along the route were cleared at least, and she took the last parking spot outside the ice cream store, still open even in this weather. She made me take the keys, seeing as I had deep pockets in my coat. From there we headed down Queen’s Road toward City Hall but as we reached the short lane that led steeply to Duckworth, I mumbled my apologies and told her I’d catch up to her later. Before she could say a word, I darted down the hill to Zeta’s store.
I flung open the curtained door and there was Willem waiting for me, his cheeks flushed in his usually colourless face, in a state of high excitement. Black candles were lit in strategic spots, and the air itself was thick with the smell of burning incense.
He shot me a look which sparked right into that tiny corner of my mind, that dark space I had been trying to ignore that leapt to meet him. His pale eyes were almost luminescent from the shadows.
‘Come here, my dear,’ he said in a soft voice. ‘Our hour of glory is upon us.’
I found myself drawn to his hand before I could fight that horrid fascination and tear my eyes from his.
‘Where’s Brin?’ There was no sign of the elf, the center of the shop was cleared of everything, including the chairs. I looked around wildly searching as if I might see my friend tucked away under a shelf. Dear Jesus, had Willem sent him back to Alt already?
‘Your elf?’ Willem laughed. ‘I’ve moved him down to the cellar. We need the pentagram for more important things.’
‘I thought he was stuck in the circle,’ I said as I approached the center. I slowly moved my hand through the air over where Brin had sat just yesterday. Nothing stopped me this time.
‘That was just for show,’ he said as he shrugged. He wore a clean black robe today, I noticed, and his short hair was freshly cut.
‘Is he okay?’ I asked. ‘I want to see him, I want to make sure. I don’t trust you.’
‘Oh, ye of little faith,’ Willem said, shaking his head. ‘We are partners, are we not? I gave you my word. But if you insist, go ahead. He’s just down there.’
He flicked his thumb at the curtain leading to the basement stairs. I parted the strings of hanging beads. The darkness stretched before me.
‘I need light,’ I said, and moved to take one of his candles with me.
‘No, don’t disturb that one,’ he squawked. ‘Don’t you know anything?’ With a huff, he handed me a tiny pocket flashlight, the kind you get at the dollar store.
I flicked it on. At least it worked, although the light was dim, and I made my way down the stairs.
There was Brin, in the same chair as yesterday, sitting inside a pentagram roughly scratched out of the packed dirt floor. He looked like he hadn’t moved a muscle since I’d seen him last.
‘Brin?’ I called softly as I stepped onto the last tread. But he either couldn’t hear me, or if he did he couldn’t move. I tried but couldn’t get through Willem’s magic circle to touch him. Like yesterday, it was as if the elf was sitting in a dome of glass.
I shone the light on his face and saw how pale the elf had grown, how drawn his face was as if his life force was slowly trickling away in his grief-stricken dreams. Through the despair that was emanating from him, I could also catch the hint of the medallion somewhere, the thing that had started all this.
‘Oh Brin,’ I whispered. ‘I’m so sorry. I’ll get you out of this, I promise, real soon. Just hold on till then, okay?’
He gave no indication of having heard me. There was nothing more I could do for him, not at that moment so I turned my back and rejoined Willem in the shop.
‘What exactly are you planning to do tonight?’ I asked him.
‘I told you,’ he said, his eyes hooded by the candlelight. ‘Create havoc and mischief, let the Witch Kin know they’re not the only ones who hold power in this town.’
‘But how?’ I pressed. ‘Does it have anything to do with those horrible creatures you created?’
‘Oh you are the clever one, aren’t you?’ he said. He stopped what he was doing and stared at me. ‘Those creatures, my creations, are as you have probably guessed, so much more than simple papier mache. Tonight they will come alive again, in their true forms. Tonight I will show the Witch Kin they don’t hold the monopoly on power in this town after all.’
A shiver ran through me at those words.
‘How do you mean
? I thought you were just going to crash the ball.’
‘I don’t want to go to their stupid ball! They think they are so almighty, so ... needed, in keeping the veil between Alt and now firmly closed,’ he said, then he laughed. ‘You remember those poor souls down there, in the Grog Shop, don’t you?’
I nodded.
He leaned closer to me. ‘You asked if there was any hope for them, if they were doomed to live their lives of pain, finding solace only in the bottle and in their opiates,’ he continued, his voice growing soft. His eyes were focused on mine, I couldn’t lift my gaze from him. ‘It is the Witch Kin who keep them there, stuck in a past so wretched that they have no hope for escape.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘It was the Kin who brought the veil down and have kept it in its place for all these years, do you not see this? It is they who decided to place all supernaturals on that side of the veil, and all who could not escape, those considered subhuman, they left them there without a lifeline out of it. The Witch Kin thought they knew what was best for everyone else.
‘But you and I, Dara, my own sweet Dara, we will give those forlorn souls hope tonight. Together, we will rip apart the veil of Alt and free them, allow them to take their rightful place in human society.’
‘Lift the veil?’ I whispered in horror, a cold chill freezing my spine as I realized the scope of his plans. ‘But... but the others in Alt?’ The vampires and the dwarves and the fairies and trolls and God alone knew what other dark creatures who lurked there in Alt, the ones that the Witch Kin had barred from real time. Was he saying he would also free them to come amongst the modern world? This was awful. ‘How about them?’
‘Too long have the Witch Kin imposed their rule on the worlds!’ he thundered, bringing his fist down on the counter top. ‘You and I will be known in both lands for bringing freedom, for toppling those arrogant worms who believe they are at the top of the heap.’
