by Jill Cooper
Momma rarely cried and even now she held tears back as she stroked my head. “Dearest Abby, you are our most precious gift, and that’s why we keep these things from you and why we need you now to do what we say. Tomorrow when you see George…you can’t talk about his mother. You can’t bring it up. It’s forbidden. Do you understand?”
I didn’t understand, and I needed to do something, I needed to do anything other than just sit around and do what I was told. But that answer would never fly.
Poppa sighed. “I’m glad this item has been put to bed and we can finally move on.”
Finally? Mrs. Tippin had only disappeared twenty minutes ago, maybe thirty. How could someone’s life not matter just like that?
“One other thing,” Momma called out with a soft tone to her voice. “George and Abby’s relationship is not what they led us to believe. I caught them kissing on the stairs, even though neither saw me. I saw them.”
“Kissing,” Poppa said it as if it were murder, his voice rumbled. He spun to me with wide, angry eyes, “kissing?”
I felt great shame and stared at the floor while my cheeks raged revealing my humiliation.
“They embraced tenderly in a way I could tell was not the first time. The passion wasn’t one children outside of wedlock are supposed to share, Abby.” She said it loudly to get a reaction out of me and I felt utter heartbreak.
“I love him,” I said and held my head high even as my parents sunk down, shocked. I hadn’t said it out loud before, but I knew it was true. After everything I had seen that night, my heart ached because it was so true. “I do, and it can’t be changed. I want to be with him. I miss him when I’m gone, I crave to hear his voice, I—”
“Abby!” Poppa hushed me and placed his hand over my mouth, something he hadn’t done since I was a small child. “You won’t see him again before the wedding.”
I ripped my head away and my eyes narrowed in defiance. “You can’t forbid us from seeing each other. Town is small.”
“Then I’ll send you on an errand that will take months to complete and you will do it because I’m your father. Do you hear me?”
I glanced at my mother who was silent and refused to meet my eyes. “It’s not fair! You pretend that you love the minister’s rules, but I know you don’t. I see how you hold and touch when no one is looking. Love can’t be stopped! No matter what it is they say. There’s nothing wrong with me loving the man I’m going to marry.”
“We don’t make decisions on love. We make decisions for the good of society. That is our way. That is law. That is why we are citizens and not barbarians!” Poppa huffed away, slamming his hand down on the counter. With a huff, he stormed up the stairs as fast as his thick, wide legs would carry him.
I stared off at him with regret, the distance growing between us in ways it never had before. When he slammed the door to the kitchen, I jumped and Momma sighed. “Well, if I knew it would go that badly, I might have kept it to myself.”
If she wanted to make me laugh, it didn’t work. I sighed instead and longed to be alone in my bedroom.
Momma approached me and slipped her finger beneath my hair to stroke my cheek. “He’s worried about the hunters right now. We don’t want to lose you to them any more than George wanted to lose his mother. Emotional, hysterical, or not, a woman with an ill-tempered mind is not suited for Rottenwood. She puts a strain on her husband and in the end, the whole community.”
I didn’t believe it and I didn’t think she did either, not with how kind she had been in the kitchen to Mrs. Tippin. But why try to convince me of it so strongly?
“Will he really send me away again?”
“I’ll work on him in the morning. For tonight, go to bed. I need you to stand in the ration line and get as much as you can carry home. It’ll be a long day for you, so if you would please…go straight to sleep.”
I nodded that I would, and she kissed my cheek. It warmed me, even if my heart felt cold as ice. With a sigh, I happily peeled back the sheet that hid my room and slipped onto the blankets that made my bed. It wasn’t much, but it was mine and here I was comfortable, relaxed. And I thought of George.
Oh, George…
I unslung my satchel and pulled out my book. I felt so guilty for keeping it with me, especially when the hunters and minister had been so close. Keeping one in my bag had been a stupid decision, so stupid. So why couldn’t I part with this book, and why had it glowed like that in my bag?
Was it trying to tell me something or had something I had done triggered it?
I wish I knew.
I slipped off my boots and dug my feet under the comforter. Resting back on my pillows, my mind began to drift away. Lucky, I was lucky, wasn’t I? Maybe I wasn’t as rich or privileged as the ministers, but my bed was warm and comfortable; our home was nice and didn’t need curtains to hide the holes in the brick or cement.
Momma loved Poppa and he returned it, whether they would admit it. Mrs. Tippin felt trapped by her life in ways I couldn’t understand yet and it all came down to luck. I happened to be a merchant’s daughter, as my father was a merchant’s son.
I could’ve been Mrs. Tippin if luck hadn’t gone my way.
With a sigh, I watched the flame from my candle flick back and forth. It was the only thing left that was allowed to dance. I smiled at its beauty, part of nature but still there was something random you couldn’t predict about flame. There was something about it I liked.
When I finally felt calm enough to move on, I opened the book on my lap. Flipping through the gold-leaf pages, sparks flew up, like embers from a fire. It was so magical, it made me laugh and I crossed my legs as I leaned forward and was lost in its pages.
“On that bleak hill-top the earth was hard with a black frost, and the air made me shiver through every limb. Being unable to remove the chain, I jumped over, and, running up the flagged causeway bordered with straggling gooseberry-bushes, knocked vainly for admittance, till my knuckles tingled and the dogs howled.”
I pulled myself from the story and felt a sort of mind fog. Like I had been lost for years in a different place that was real, yet wasn’t. I imagined the forbidden romance and the dresses, the handsome men, and the woman of the court. What would a sunny day feel like? What would grass feel like when it was lush and green under the dew of an early morning?
Closing the book, I slid my hand along the leather cover, my palm growing warm and glowing where it touched the book. I thought it had been the book about Oz that was special, but how was this one special, too?
Suddenly, the flame of my candle grew taller, soaring as if gasoline had been poured onto it and I gasped, moving further away. Whatever happened was a mystery and as I lifted my hand off of the book, a spark flew out and landed in my palm. It stung and on instinct, I made a tight little fist.
Holder of the flame. Illuminate what is hidden.
A woman’s voice, but where had it come from? I glanced around. “Who’s there?” My voice quivered as I pulled my legs in closer. “Show yourself.”
Nothing. And yet a gentle breeze came from somewhere and blew my candle out.
My heart pattered with fear as the gust of wind blew my hair and I gazed down at my floorboard to see it, too, was lit up.
I peeled the floorboard back and saw that simple paper I had gotten from Ralph wasn’t so simple. It was lit up like the morning sky. I reached out for it with trembling fingers and pulled it onto my lap. I ran my fingers over it, yet nothing was there. There was no reason for it to glow as it did.
My cupped fingers relaxed and the amber I had caught grew into a single flame, bobbing on my hand as if it somehow was alive, as if somehow it understood things it couldn’t. It was crazy; I must’ve drifted to sleep and was dreaming, yet I had no memory of sleeping.
The flame leaped from my hand onto the paper. It dissolved as if sinking to the bottom of a glass and slowly it spread like ink. It scattered, racing across the page with a golden haze of glitter in all directions. I
n its illuminating wake, words revealed themselves to me that hadn’t been there before.
Just as Ralph had told me. And I ran from him—in fear I ran.
My heart ached as my finger traced over the words:
The Untold Prophecy.
And she will read, almost like magic from birth. She will be called to the books as others are called to her. She will stand against Creighton in the world’s darkest era and all will realize that we begged for this fate. We asked for it for safety and protection and one by one we lost what we needed the most.
Creativity. Passion. Unyielding Love.
She will release magic, art, and the word back into the world and it’ll once again rush with color. She will find what needs to be found. The lost library. And from there the golden staff that can destroy the Dark Lord Creighton and bring an end to his evil reign.
Only she will be able to read these words, only she can command the passion and loyalty so strong as to control the flicker of the flame. She is curator and she will be my ancestor.
And she is our last hope.
I was numb as my finger traced the golden staff drawn beneath the words. The top was a sphere and inside it held something…a crystal? I was in awe of what I’d read and terrified.
I had read it and if it was more than a stupid joke, or a stupid old myth, that meant that I was the curator. I was the one born to defeat the Dark Lord Creighton. The notion was so foolish and stupid that I immediately hid the paper under my floorboards along with my books.
Then I threw myself beneath the covers and hid, quaking at the notion that I could be anything but a merchant’s daughter.
Chapter Nine
Sebastian
The rebels—those who resisted against the evil of the Dark Lord Creighton—made their home in the cursed places along the barrier beyond the land of Imagination in the outskirts of the Civilized Land. The beginnings of Imagination fused with the museum where the rebels worked and hid from the hunters. They used underground tunnels that have been fused with stone and precious metals that went miles through the earth.
People gathered in clusters, families, and others continued down the ladders deep into the caverns that make up meeting grounds and homes to forbidden objects rescued from the Forgotten Lands and those the civilized cursed as illegal contraband. Here, magic and science haven’t been forgotten but instead were treasured.
Here they lived with those who had leaked from the books when they’d been destroyed in the great fires of the reckoning. Trolls, pixies and fairies, some famous—others not—all working together to stay hidden, so they wouldn’t be destroyed by the culling of the hunters. Eventually they hoped, they, too, would get to go home.
Carrying a series of parchments, Sebastian hurried down the steep metal ladder and into a narrow hallway. It emptied into a mineral-lined room where children—human, troll, and pixies alike—sat crisscrossed where Penny Thomas taught them. She’s a fine woman with a narrow nose who wore a halo braid from ear to ear, and she cocked her head at him when she spotted him.
For a brief moment Sebastian took in her beauty and his heart skipped a beat, even though in his life there wasn’t room for romance. He couldn’t think of anything but the curator.
“Class is in session, Sebastian.” Penny tapped the floor with the tip of her pointer. Behind her, symbols on the chalkboard denoted that they were studying ancient history.
“Forgive me, but I must see Markus. I have news. Big news.” He swallowed hard and didn’t want to voice what he knew as the children glanced at him, their little eyes shining with curiosity.
Penny’s eyes held hope and she smiled. A beautiful sight, Sebastian thought, even though he could never tell her. “I suppose I can forgive you then. Rush on.” For a second her hand touched his, but she dropped it to her side quickly as she returned to her duties.
“Children…who remembers the symbol we use for the thirteen original colonies that so long ago started the settlement of our fair lands?”
Sebastian hurried on through the classroom. Through the cavern it twisted, and he took the rock facing staircase down into what they called the belly. There was no way out but to come back the way you came. If the hunters or the ministers ever found a way down here, whomever was in the belly would be trapped.
They prayed that’d never happen and it was worth the risk.
Down in the belly, Sebastian, one of the last historians, passed the double-wide doors and into a large, sprawling room of treasures of the ancient times that had been saved such as a knight’s armor, swords, and weapons which fired under propulsion. He walked between the large desks and into another room Markus used as an office.
Always in a suit, he stood in front of the circular white desk. Behind him on the wall was an oil painting, the only one left in the world that Sebastian had knowledge of. A great man sailing across a river to secure freedom for our ancestors. The beauty of the painting enthralled Sebastian, and this time was no different. That man’s name was lost to to the world, but he stood with such confidence and grace as he raced into battle.
The world could use someone like that again.
Over in the corner of the room, trolls in bifocals worked, looking through papers and scrolls. What was it that they searched for? What had been lost?
Sebastian stood tall and took a deep breath to prepare himself. “Word has come for Effletown. Rumor of a girl rescuing books from place to place. She passed through days ago.” He took a deep breath and his lip perspired as he dabbed at his forehead and studied Markus’s expression.
Markus didn’t glance up, instead continuing to shuffle the papers he held. Sebastian couldn’t make out the letters on the pages and he never could summon the courage to ask if he could try. Markus’s face remained unchanged and Sebastian wasn’t sure if Markus processed what he had just said.
“Didn’t you hear me? We’ve found her. She’s real.” Sebastian placed his hand down on the desk beside him and peered around at Markus’s face. No longer young, wrinkles set around his eyes made them appear sunken and a white mustache covered his top lip. “The curator lives.”
“It could be a trap to lure us out. The ministers would leap at the chance to finally flush us out of hiding after all these years,” Markus said, his words making the trolls huff, either in agreement or otherwise. It was hard to tell the opinion of a troll.
“It’s no trick. The townsfolk spoke of the stories she read from the pages. How those pages glowed, and how the story came alive in their minds. She read to them and unleashed the magic. She’s as real as we are, and we need her help.” Sebastian’s eyebrows rose. “She’s going to need our help just as much.”
He paused and waited for Markus to say something. When the man didn’t answer, Sebastian grew impatient. “She won’t know what she is! Not without you to guide her!”
Markus turned, and Sebastian saw defeat in his eyes—maybe the old man had been down here too many years, maybe he had waited for the curator for too long. “If our spies heard these stories, so has the enemy. For any of us to rush out there after her will be nothing but a death sentence.”
Sebastian couldn’t leave the curator to stumble around in the dark. If the hunters and the ministers were to be defeated, he needed to find her and teach her the history of their ways. She needed to know what she fought against, and it wasn’t anything other than pure evil. An evil brought into the world by man during the ancient times.
“Then I alone will go. I’ll follow the trail and pick her up. I’ll escort her here, so you can instruct her. Teach her what needs to be done if we’re to be freed from our slavery.”
Markus put his papers down and faced Sebastian, his arms braced on the tabletop behind him. His eyes swept through the messy room, taking in every tapestry and artifact. “The journey will be long. If you manage to find her, you may not make it back.”
“I will. I’ve trained for this. I know how to defend myself. I know how to blend into a crowd as if I wasn’t even
there. Father, please. We must help the curator before she’s lost to us for good. Isn’t this what we’ve been striving toward for centuries?”
“Hiding in the dark? Hiding in the shadows? I don’t know what we’ve been striving toward other than cowardice.” Markus mumbled, and Sebastian feared his answer. Sebastian followed close behind as Markus limped toward another table. He picked up a crossbow and held it away from his body, angling it toward Sebastian.
“It’ll be useless against the hunters. There is only one who wields the magic to destroy them and she doesn’t know it yet.” Markus’s eyes were shadowed and uncertain—confusion and uncertainty lining them. “If she’s to understand, you must bring her here. She must be trained and taught about her duty before all else.”
“I can do this.” Sebastian stepped up with excitement, his chest rising and falling with a deep breath. “I was meant for this, Father. Someone has to find her.”
“I know…” Markus’s gaze fell to the floor. “That is why I already mourn you, as I have since the day you were born. It’ll be hard. It’ll be tough, but you must prevail. If the Dark Lord Creighton finds her, he will reduce her to a hunter. She’ll never know her greatness, Sebastian, and the world will continue along as it has.”
He offered Sebastian the crossbow; Sebastian took it, taking a moment to feel both the weight of the weapon and that of his mission as he holstered it.
“Move swiftly through the dry plains once you exit Imagination. If the ravengers spot you there will be nowhere to hide. If they do see you, you must not lead them back here. You’ll be on your own, son.” Markus patted Sebastian’s cheek, the show of affection not lost on him. Then the old man hobbled further down the expanse of the vault.
