The Root of Magic

by Kathleen Benner Duble

  “No,” Mom says, holding up her hand as if to fend off the fury that is rippling in waves of heat from Willow’s body. “I didn’t choose for you. You will choose for yourself when the time comes.”

  “But what choice do I have?” Willow asks.

  “Of course you have a choice, Willow,” her mother says. “If you want to go back to Vermont and live with your dad, you can go. I’ll let you do that, if that’s what you really want.”

  “But I can’t come back here then,” Willow says. “That’s it. You know the rules. Either you accept your future as the waters and berries determine it, or you are no longer welcome. If I leave, I may never see you or Wisp again.”

  “How can you reject this amazing magic?” Mom says, her tone calm and steady. “This magic can stop my uncertainty. I now have the chance to see ahead, to stop worrying for the day about Wisp when all along he was going to be fine. It’s a chance we will never get again.”

  “You took that chance for you,” Willow says. “Not for me or for Wisp, but for you.”

  Her mother nods. “Yes, for me. Do you know how comforting it is to know what is going to happen tomorrow? To wake in the morning and know how his day will unfold, to know he’ll be fine all day, or at least have everyone prepared if he isn’t going to feel well? Those berries are a miracle. I will always know what lies ahead for him and for me. And…” She smiles. “And I will know a whole day before he does, when he is completely cured. I can finally lay down this awful anxiety.”

  For a moment, Willow feels her mother’s pain, and her relief in letting go of it. And Willow’s heart pumps a sad swish of sympathy for her mother. But then she thinks of what their days will look like, always the same as what they saw the night before. She feels tears at the corners of her eyes.

  She shoves the tears away, like a hammer striking iron. She cannot appear uncertain. Her mother must understand. Willow finally manages to find the courage to shout the words she knows her mother refuses to acknowledge. “Wisp may never be cured! He could die. I heard Dad say the doctors told him that.”

  There. She said it. Her mother’s eyes harden.

  “He will get better,” her mom says, turning her face away. “Stop saying silly things like that.”

  “He may not!” Willow yells. “And if he doesn’t, one day, when you eat that berry, Mom, you might see him die a whole day before he does. And then you’ll have to watch it all over again. And I’ll be gone, because I will not, will not stay here. And you will be stuck here alone without anyone.”

  “Wisp…,” Mom begins again.

  But Willow is having none of it. “Wisp! Wisp!” she manages to spit out. “It is always about Wisp. You have destroyed everything in the hope of saving Wisp.”

  Willow hears a flurry of footsteps outside the bedroom door and her heart sinks.

  Wisp has heard everything.

  * * *

  Her mom cries out for her to stop, but Willow ignores her. Instead, she runs after her brother, down the stairs and out the door. But Wisp moves quickly—faster than she has seen him move in a long time without their mom there to make him slow down. Willow is soon panting as she follows him out into the snow. He weaves from building to building, and Willow hurries after him, wondering how he is able to run this fast.

  She finally catches up to him, sitting on the bench by the lake.

  She stills her guilt-sick heart, slows her heavy breathing. She sits down beside her brother.

  The sun is setting, and the town is quiet. Drawn home for dinner, the skaters have left the ice. The last rays of sunlight beam across the solid surface, dancing their way toward the end of the day. Night has not yet drawn the shades, and so the lights have not been thrown onto the darkening lake.

  “I’m sorry,” Willow says. “I didn’t mean everything I said to Mom, and I didn’t mean to keep a secret from you.”

  “I know,” Wisp says, though there are tears in his eyes.

  His little hand finds hers. He has forgotten his coat and mittens, and Willow has forgotten hers too. They are both cold, and Willow puts her arm about him, drawing him to her.

  “So that’s Topher’s secret?” Wisp finally asks. “There’s magic in Kismet?”

  “How much did you hear?” Willow asks.

  “Everything, I guess,” Wisp says. “That by eating some kind of berry Mom will know what will happen the next day? And you can choose if you want to eat one of the berries or not? If you don’t, you have to leave and not come back?”

  Willow nods. She isn’t sure how much she is allowed to reveal, and for a second, she fears what her punishment might be for telling him. But she can’t help that he overheard. “That’s the basics of it, I guess.”

  Wisp smiles, a slow smile that tickles his face.

  “What?” Willow asks. “What’s so funny?”

  “I knew it,” Wisp says softly into the evening, peacock proud of himself. “I knew there was something weird about this town. Remember the first night, when Cora put that bed and bucket in our room without even knowing about me yet? I knew it. I just knew it.” He giggles. “I couldn’t figure it out exactly, but I knew it was something. And now I know that I was right. I was right.”

  He is bouncing with happiness.

  “Yes, now you know,” Willow says slowly. She doesn’t blame him. She was excited by the magic when she first discovered it too.

  “You wish Mom would change her mind about staying, though?” Wisp asks. “Why?”

  Willow sighs. “Knowing the future isn’t as great as I thought it would be.”

  “Can you change what happens to you?” he asks as Willow sees him finally processing the magic of Kismet.

  Willow nods, plowing on even though she is unsure whether she should or is even allowed to. But how can she leave her brother in the dark now? “Little things, but not the big ones. If you eat a berry and then try to change the way the day is arranged for you, your head hurts terribly. In Kismet, they don’t believe you should change things that are meant to be. They believe everyone’s future or fate is predetermined, and you can do nothing about it.”

  “So they like knowing what’s coming?” Wisp asks.

  Willow shrugs. “They say they do.”

  “Do you believe in fate?” Wisp asks.

  Willow pauses. “I think we are all born with free will, Wisp, the ability to determine our own future. You shouldn’t give up that choice. I think it’s wrong to let some magical berries decide your day for you.”

  Wisp is quiet for a moment. “So everyone here has agreed to knowing what will happen before it does every single day?”

  “Yes, after they turn thirteen,” Willow tells him. “They eat a berry every night.”

  “Where do they get it?” Wisp asks.

  Willow nods toward the brick building. “From a bush they grow there in a little room inside. The bush and its berries are fed from the waters of this lake, which have magical powers.”

  Wisp’s eyes follow Willow’s finger as she points. He stares at Kismet’s town hall.

  “So what are we going to do?” Wisp asks her.

  “It’s more like what is Mom going to do,” Willow says.

  Wisp turns to his sister and laughs. “You are so smart most of the time, but not always, Willow. You have a choice. That’s what you believe. So what are you going to choose?”

  Willow looks down at her brother. He’s right. She does have a choice. And she doesn’t have to wait until she’s thirteen to make it.

  Willow lies in bed that night, unable to sleep. Her mind flits and flies. Her stomach rumbles and tumbles. But her head knows where her heart lies.

  While predictability has its advantages, isn’t it the surprises in life that make it sing? The rainbow after a storm? The tongue as it drinks after having been deprived of water on a long, dusty road? A kis
s when two people have been parted for many days? Hard times as well as sweet times. They are the two sides of life, and Willow does not see how you can try to slide by the one, only savoring the other—and still have the ability to experience a truly lived life.

  And so, in the darkest part of the night, when all of Kismet sleeps, Willow slips from her bed and goes to the kitchen. She picks up the receiver. In less time than there is to take back a word, she speaks out a plan.

  When she hangs up the receiver, she stands there for a moment, hoping she has done the right thing. And then she heads back upstairs to tell Wisp what she has started.

  * * *

  The next day dawns with dazzling clarity. Sunshine sparkles on the snowy mounds that line the driveways and roadways of Kismet, Maine. It glints through snow-laden trees and glimmers on icy surfaces. Sadness seems an impossibility in the face of so much sunshine. And yet heartbreak may be on the horizon, for it is a day for decisions.

  Willow closes her eyes against the glare. Her mind swims in circles, and her stomach flips with worry. Today will not be an easy day. She has no idea what Topher will do. She only knows what she has chosen.

  She dresses slowly, reluctant to start the events that will unfold in an hour’s time.

  When she goes downstairs, her mother will not look at her. But even so, Willow can see that her mother’s eyes are red-rimmed and swollen. Cora too is unusually quiet. They both know what the day holds, and Willow knows they already know what she has done.

  And yet they will say nothing to alter the day. They will not try to convince Willow to change her mind. They will allow the day to progress the way the water and the berries have had them dream it. They believe it is their fate, their unchangeable future. And so they must follow the day as given and let it all play out, accepting what the berry has chosen, forfeiting their right to choose. It is what they, as members of Kismet, have agreed to. It is why they stay here.

  Willow watches, and though she is sad, she is glad for her choice.

  “I’ll go on ahead,” Cora says to Willow’s mother. “Wisp should stay here.”

  Willow’s mother nods.

  Willow tries to eat some breakfast, but nothing wants to go down. Her brother pulls up a chair next to her. He lays his head on her shoulder.

  “We need to go,” her mother says a few minutes later, her words stiff as marching soldiers.

  “Why can’t Wisp come with us?” Willow asks. She wants to be with her brother as long as possible.

  “Only twelve-year-olds and older can be at the Decision Ceremony,” her mother tells her. “But after Topher makes his choice, all the children in town will join us either to celebrate or to see him go and say goodbye.”

  “You know what he’s going to do, don’t you? Can’t you tell me?” Willow asks.

  “I know what the berry showed me,” her mother replies, frown lines deepening at the corners of her mouth. “But unlike the rest of us, Topher has not eaten one yet. He is not subject to their magic. Children’s unpredictability is why they must commit when they are thirteen to try and keep things stable. It’s slightly possible that Topher could change his mind at the last minute, so no, I won’t tell you what I saw.”

  Her voice is firm, and so Willow says nothing more. She whispers goodbye to Wisp, holding him tight, until her mother clears her throat with impatience. Then Willow follows her mother out into the cold.

  It is a somber group that makes their way to the town hall, the sound of everyone’s boots crunching on the hard-packed, salted snow echoing eerily in the silent streets. Willow isn’t sure whether everyone is grim because of Topher’s decision or because of what Willow herself has done.

  At the town hall, everyone gathers in the large room. The little door leading to the berry bush now stands open. The merry tinkle of the waters bubbling their way toward the lake fills the hall.

  The room is still decorated, although the balloons droop, and some of the streamers have escaped their tape. Still, the fiddlers wait, hoping, Willow guesses, to strike up a happy tune should Topher agree to the town terms.

  Cora is at the front of the room, a bowl of berries in her hand, their ripe gold color and blue and green stripes glowing with invitation. Beside Cora stands the colonel. When everyone is finally inside, the colonel steps forward.

  “Welcome.” His voice is strong, though his eyes seem moist, and Willow notices a trembling in his hand. Even the military man seems to be having a hard time, knowing what might come.

  “Today, Topher Dawson must make a decision,” the colonel continues. “As we all know, at age thirteen, or when you are invited to join…”

  Here he pauses and looks at Willow’s mother. His eyes swing then toward Willow, and for a minute, Willow feels guilt rise in her gut. Then his eyes move on.

  “…you must make a decision,” the colonel continues. “Do you want to be a part of Kismet or not? Topher Dawson is thirteen. He has been given a chance to see the benefits of knowing his future, of being prepared, of the certainty and direction the berries can give him. But in the end, it is his choice.

  “Topher, please step forward and tell the town the choice you have made.”

  Topher walks slowly to the front. When he turns, his eyes meet Willow’s. Then they swing away from her and toward his mother and his brother Joe Joe. He opens his mouth. Everyone leans forward. Will he stay or will he leave?

  “I…,” he says, then stops. He looks down at the floor. “I can’t,” Topher finally says, his voice barely a whisper. “I’m sorry, Mom.”

  Everyone shudders with a loud collective gasp of distress. The band lays down their instruments. Dr. Dawson’s shoulders begin to shake with quiet tears. Everyone was obviously still hoping.

  Beside his mother, Joe Joe takes her hand, while Old Woman Wallace puts an arm around her waist to hold her up.

  The colonel puts his hand on Topher’s shoulder. “Then I’m afraid it’s time to go, son. Annie will be on the other side of the bridge to take you out.” He pushes Topher through the crowd and toward the front door. The townspeople follow. Willow’s heart beats faster. Her own betrayal will soon be revealed.

  As they walk through town toward the wall and the gate, the younger children join the group to say goodbye. Wisp is soon beside Willow and her mom. He takes Willow’s hand and squeezes it tight as they walk.

  They are a sea of people now, tidal-waving Topher away. There is no turning back for him. He will be pushed, pushed by the power of the berries and the beliefs of this town until he lands on shores unknown to him.

  In front of her, Willow can see the rigid tightness of Topher’s back, the methodical way he plants his feet as he heads toward the gate, the way his eyes never leave the ground. He is like a man condemned.

  Then they are at the gate.

  The colonel takes out his key and opens the portal. The gate swings easily in, and the crowd surges through. On they push in their journey toward the river and the road to the real world.

  Ten minutes becomes twenty minutes. And then Willow hears it—the sound of turbulent waters, greedy and grasping, rushing and running in their quest to reach the lake.

  As Willow approaches with the townspeople, there is a sudden rippling of something forming over the waters. The outline of a bridge begins to shimmer into focus.

  Willow sucks in her breath. She says a prayer that what she tried to set in motion has worked.

  At last, the bridge appears, solid and real, connecting Kismet with the outside, unaware world.

  On the other bank, a truck and two cars idle. In front of the truck stands a woman, her face mottled with anger.

  Near the cars stands Willow’s dad. And beside him, another man waits, a man with dark hair and river-bottom-brown eyes.

  “Dad!” Topher shouts in happy surprise.

  The townspeople all stop a few hundr
ed yards from the bridge. Dr. Dawson grabs Topher’s arm.

  “Cora!” the woman on the other side of the lake shouts angrily, pointing at Willow’s and Topher’s fathers. “I thought I was to take Topher if he left? And who is this other man? Did you call these people? And if you did, why did you not tell me?”

  Cora steps forward. “I’m afraid I did not call them, Annie.” She turns and her eyes rest on Willow. The eyes of everyone swing toward Willow too.

  Willow’s stomach drops, but she gathers her courage like a general gathers troops. She takes a step forward.

  “I called my dad,” she says. “And I asked him to track down Mr. Dawson, in case Topher decided to leave. I thought it would be better for Topher to go with his father rather than having to live out there without any of his family at all.”

  Willow looks over at Topher, who mouths “Thank you” to her.

  “That’s not the way we handle things here in Kismet,” the colonel reminds Willow. “To us, we are all family, not just Topher’s dad.”

  “I know you feel that way, but that doesn’t make it right,” Willow says. “None of this is right.”

  “That isn’t for you to decide!” Grace yells at her, her glare malicious as always.

  “But it is,” Willow argues. “The choice is mine to make. It’s yours too. You all have a choice.”

  “You don’t understand, honey,” Layla calls to Willow. “We want to know what our future holds. We don’t want surprises.”

  “That’s not living,” Willow points out.

  “Says you!” Old Woman Wallace hollers.

  “But it doesn’t change anything,” Willow continues, wishing they could see. “Even if you know pain is coming, you end up still suffering through it—twice. Once the night you dream it, and then again next day. The berries didn’t stop you all from being sad that Topher is leaving or Dr. Dawson from shedding tears over it.”

  “But they prepare you,” the colonel says, his lips tight. “You are ready for the pain.”