The Orchard of Hope

by Amy Neftzger

  Once the task had been completed, the monks went back inside, bolted the doors and waited. A smaller group of them went with Kelsey, Roland and Maggie to a second-story room. They snacked on small sandwiches and sipped steaming cups of hot chocolate with whipped cream while they stared out the windows overlooking the orchard. It was relaxing, and Maggie was nearly asleep after 20 minutes of waiting.

  Kelsey sipped the warm, creamy liquid and was beginning to also feel drowsy from all the walking she’d done in previous days, when she heard the approaching sound of padded paws on the soft grass. It sounded like large kernels of popcorn popping. She sat up straight and looked out the window. It wasn’t long before she and everyone else in the room saw what was making the dim thudding noise. There were hundreds of wolves, and they lined up outside the orchard, as if waiting for a signal. However, from her vantage point at a second-floor window, Kelsey couldn’t see a clear leader among the group.

  Without any warning, the wolves began to snarl and drool uncontrollably. Something was working them into a frenzy. It might have been the smell of hope, or some unseen sign from the leader. Kelsey watched carefully, trying to determine what was driving the madness. A few wolves began to howl loudly, and more joined in the chorus of yelping and screeching. When the noise reached a cacophonous peak, the group rushed forward. They focused on the trees as they sped toward them, occasionally snapping at one another to get out of the way as each wolf raced into the orchard, oozing with hostility. Their teeth were sharp as they glinted in the moonlight and appeared much longer than Kelsey remembered seeing on a wolf. Kelsey glanced sideways at Maggie’s open mouth.

  “Do you still want to talk with them?” Brother Michael asked. He raised one eyebrow and smiled in a way that didn’t look very friendly. Maggie stared at the floor but didn’t speak, and Kelsey noticed that Maggie’s hands were trembling.

  “Don’t worry,” Kelsey said kindly as she took Maggie’s cold sweating hand and held it in hers, “I’ve been wrong before, also.”

  Chapter

  16

  “Weather” Or Not Reality

  “We’re not scrying again, are we?” Nicholas asked as he sat down at the table in Moss' large study. His hands felt weak as he glanced at the shelf where Moss stored the scrying bowl.

  “Yes,” Moss said loudly, and Nicholas felt his entire body go rigid. “But not today.” Nicholas relaxed his tense muscles as soon as he heard the news.

  “Great!” Nicholas said with a little too much enthusiasm. “What are we doing today?”

  “Incantations.”

  “Spells?” Nicholas turned his head to one side as he asked the question.

  “Incantations are more than spells. They can be enchantments or other powerful things, but they’re extremely useful for separating reality from fiction. But don’t use incantations when reading a book.”

  “Why? Does it bring the characters to life?”

  “No,” Moss said, “it ruins the plot. It can change the order of the words on the page and you may never know if the boy gets the girl he’s loved for most of his life or if the criminal with a heart of gold gets caught stealing to help the poor and winds up in jail, or if —”

  “Moss,” Newton interrupted with a sharp tone in his voice, “give up. You made a mistake and ruined a book. Just go buy another copy so you can finish reading the story”

  Moss' eyes lit up at the suggestion.

  “Brilliant!” Moss exclaimed. He took out a pad of paper and made a note to remind himself to purchase another copy of the book he had ruined. Nicholas and Newton exchanged knowing glances. Sometimes it’s good to have a gargoyle around to keep you grounded when you’re dealing with someone like Moss. After he finished scribbling the note and had taped it to the front of the walnut cabinet, Moss turned to face Nicholas with a look of admiration on his face. “That bringing-characters-to-life suggestion, Nicholas … That is another excellent idea! I’ll begin working on that spell, also.” He stopped to write himself another note. After he finished taping this note to the cabinet door right next to the other one, Nicholas spoke.

  “So, what’s our lesson for today?” Nicholas asked, hoping to get started quickly so that after his healing lesson with Megan in the afternoon he would have enough time to play a game of gargoyle chess with Newton.

  “First of all, you know that there are many potential realities and that it’s possible to find the one true reality by comparing all of them and identifying the false ones because they contradict one another.”

  “Yes, but I still don’t know how to do it.” Nicholas shifted his sitting position in the hard wooden chair.

  “All in good time,” Moss replied. “It’s important to be present for incantations, but not as important as it is for scrying. For now, we’re interested in learning about the theory behind incantations.”

  “Theories are boring,” Newton said flatly. He was sharpening his talons with a pencil sharpener. He inserted a talon into the hole for the pencil and then turned the handle on the crank with his opposite paw.

  “No one asked you, Newton,” Moss retorted.

  “I’m just telling the truth.” He pulled the talon he was sharpening out of the machine and blew on it before inspecting the tip. He tapped it on the wooden table top to test the sharpness.

  “Reality is not boring,” Moss retorted. “And theories bring us closer to reality.”

  “Reality can be very boring,” Newton said as he studied the talons on his left front paw. “Take this lesson about theories, for example. The reality is that the lesson is boring.” He looked up at Moss and continued, “What this kid needs is some action. He needs practice.” Newton started working on sharpening his back talons, which proved to be a bit more awkward.

  “Perhaps I could have a little of both,” Nicholas interjected before Moss and Newton got into a heated argument. Moss stared defiantly at Newton, and the gargoyle stared coolly back at the sorcerer. After a few moments, the two of them broke eye contact and leaned away from each other.

  “I don’t think that will be a problem,” Moss agreed. “We can do both.” He stroked his beard a few times and then added, “As long as Newton is quiet during the lesson.”

  “Agreed.” Newton replied. He pushed the pencil sharpener away and squatted in place to observe the lesson.

  “You just spoke,” Moss snapped.

  “The lesson hasn’t started,” Newton said in protest.

  “We can start it now,” Nicholas said loudly. He turned to Newton and put his finger to his lips. Newton took a few steps backwards and then flew up to perch on top of a cabinet and watch.

  “You know I hate it when you stare down at me,” Moss said with a hint of irritation still in his voice. Newton remained stoic and didn’t respond. He was like stone.

  “Now,” Moss said as he turned to Nicholas. “Words, as you know, have power. But what you don’t know is that the frame of mind in which the words are spoken gives them even more power. Words can become authentic reality, but not if the words are spoken with malice or the intent to deceive. This is why the sorcerer can’t create a true reality. He simply creates false realities that confuse people.”

  “But it’s possible to create a true reality with words? Like creating something out of nothing?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Then why don’t we create an authentic reality where the sorcerer doesn’t exist? That would get rid of him and his spell.”

  “Because that incantation would involve malice – wishing the sorcerer the harm of non-existence – and those types of incantations cannot create realities. You see, it’s not quite as simple as it sounds.”

  “This is tricky,” Nicholas agreed as he put his elbow on the table and rested his chin in his hand.

  “It is and it isn’t. It all boils down to your intent. Sometimes you have a positive intent to help one person or a group of people, but at the same time it has a negative intent for someone else. You can create incantations, and th
ey’ll have effects, but they will never become a reality. It will merely become a false reality.”

  “I’m not sure if I can follow this,” Nicholas said. “It’s a bit complex.”

  Newton cleared his throat dramatically. Moss glared at him for a few moments and then took the hint that Nicholas needed experience.

  “Perhaps if we begin trying a few simple incantations you’ll gain some understanding. Remember that it all has to do with the purpose for the action.” Moss glanced around the room before continuing. “Perhaps a few weather spells would be a good start. These are simple and yet very useful.”

  “What do weather spells do?” Nicholas asked.

  “They control the weather, of course,” Moss responded with a wave of his hand. “But the type of weather is controlled by your mood when you cast the spell.”

  “Should we maybe take this lesson outside?” Nicholas asked cautiously.

  “Oh, no, that won’t be necessary,” Moss said as he stood up from the striped chair he had been sitting on. “First of all, you can create sunshine.”

  “And we don’t need to go outside to do that?” Nicholas asked.

  “Of course not.” Moss spoke with a tone that suggested Nicholas was the one spouting nonsense. He raised both his arms and gently stretched them in the air by extending them out at his sides. His loosely fitted sleeves fell and bunched up near his shoulders, but he paid no attention to them. He closed his eyes and the room gradually became brighter, illuminating everything. The glass bottles and metal gadgets were reflecting the light as if they were mirrors. The light was also generating so much heat that it felt as if the sun were somewhere in the room with them. Nicholas was awed by the warmth and brilliance until he detected the scent of something burning.

  “Sufferin’ sunshine!” Moss exclaimed and dropped his arms. The light and warmth immediately vanished, revealing a rather large scorch mark on the ceiling. “I always burn something when I do that indoors.” He pushed his round spectacles firmly onto his nose and studied the black mark on the ceiling for a moment.

  “I do rather like the pattern,” he said with admiration. “If you look at it in just the right way, it resembles a fruit bat. Not a bad mark, really,” he mused. After a few moments, he turned his attention back to Nicholas. “Never mind the scorching,” Moss said, turning away from the damage, “I’ll fix that later.” He walked back to where he had been standing when he had produced the indoor sunshine. “Now I’ll show you rain. It’s simple. It’s also very similar to snow, but we can work out the difference later. He raised his arms again and scrunched up his forehead as he closed his eyes in concentration. It started drizzling over everything in the room, and Nicholas glanced around at all the fabric and paper that was getting wet. He shoved his notebook under his sweater to protect it just as the heavy downpour began. The rain was thick and cold, and it made Nicholas shiver.

  “Everything’s getting ruined, Moss!” he shouted above the noise of the pouring rain.

  “Nonsense,” Moss shouted back as he continued to concentrate, and the rain kept flowing. Soon the water was building up and pooling around their feet. Nicholas felt a chill from the water around his ankles, and he began to shiver more.

  “I think that’s enough of an example,” Nicholas shouted. “I know what rain looks like. I’m familiar with it.”

  “Just a little more,” Moss insisted.

  “More? For what?”

  “Effect.” Moss continued to concentrate, and the rain continued to flood the room until Nicholas felt the urge to stand up in order to keep his head above the water level. Nicholas wondered if the room would ever be dry again. He also wondered how many rooms in the castle Moss had destroyed by burning or flooding them.

  “I think we have quite an effect now,” Nicholas shouted.

  “Are you sure?” Moss asked.

  “The water is almost up to my shoulders.”

  “It’s not up to my shoulders.”

  “One set of shoulders under water is enough of an effect, don’t you think?” Nicholas asked. He raised his arms above the level of the water, but didn’t know where to put them.

  “One set is enough if they’re the right shoulders,” Moss replied. “Are your shoulders under water?”

  “They are now.”

  “Good,” Moss replied firmly as he dropped his arms and, as he did so, the rain and the water vanished. Nicholas’ eyes glanced from object to object, inspecting everything in the room.

  “How did you dry everything so quickly?” he asked.

  “I didn’t,” Moss replied. “I did something better: I never got things wet in the first place.”

  Nicholas quickly glanced at the ceiling to see whether the scorch mark was still there. It was.

  “The water wasn’t real,” Nicholas said, “but the sunshine was.”

  “Precisely!” Moss exclaimed. “And do you know why?”

  Nicholas thought carefully. He could see that an illusion had taken place – a very good illusion, too. But something real had also taken place. He recalled Moss' theory lesson from earlier.

  “Your intention was different,” Nicholas explained. “You didn’t mean to burn the ceiling. You were only trying to warm the room. However, you wanted to flood the room. That’s a destructive thing to do, and that’s also why the rain wasn’t real.”

  “That’s it!” Moss exclaimed. “You’re a natural!”

  “Thank you, sir,” Nicholas said with an embarrassed smile.

  “Now it’s your turn.”

  Nicholas stood up and spent the next few hours trying to make rain. He pooled together every angry thought he could ever remember having and concentrated on those angry thoughts being present in the room and filling it with water. His first attempts were weak, and only a few drops fell. After some additional coaching from Moss, he generated a light sprinkle. It would take another week of practicing before he could work up a storm with thunder and lightning, but Moss was pleased with the progress.

  Nicholas also tried to create sunshine. This was much easier for him, and he warmed the room nicely after only about 30 minutes of practice. In fact, he was so adept at creating sunshine that Moss mentioned how he might finally be able to dispose of his socks altogether – both the ones for his feet, as well as other extremities.

  “Some things will always come easier for you than others,” Moss advised when they had finished the lessons. “That’s normal. We all have talents, even within the field of sorcery.”

  “This was fun,” Nicholas replied. “I like this so much better than scrying.”

  “Scrying is still important.”

  “Do all spells work this way?” Nicholas asked. “The intent part, I mean. Can the same spell produce different results depending upon the reason for creating it?”

  “Certainly,” Moss replied. “It’s a bit like listening to the same spoken phrase in different languages or with different tone. That’s why it’s important to understand the languages. Emotions and beliefs color much more of the perceived world that any one of us can imagine.”

  Nicholas thought about this and then suddenly made a connection. He looked from Newton to Moss and then back again.

  “You made Newton real,” Nicholas said.

  “Yes, although sometimes I regret it. He’s a bit more stubborn than I had anticipated, but I suppose I should have expected it with him being made of stone and all.”

  “You made him real because it had to do with your purpose. How did you do that?”

  “Things spoken in love always become reality.”

  “Then … he became real because you loved him?”

  “It’s a little more complicated, but yes.”

  “That’s incredible,” Nicholas said with wide eyes as he looked up at Newton perched on the cabinet. Newton was still sitting perfectly still with his breast puffed out.

  “It is indeed incredible,” Moss replied. “It is the greatest, the simplest, and yet sometimes the most difficult magic.
But it is also the strongest.”

  “This is the magic I want to learn,” Nicholas said with conviction.

  Chapter

  17

  Debating the Merits of Hope

  The hope-filled dreams were a success. Once the wolves crossed the line of memories that had been poured over the soil around the trees, the pack became confused and disorganized. Some of them shook their heads, as if trying to rouse themselves from sleep. Others stopped walking and stared off into space. After some in-fighting among the ranks, over half the wolves had run off with one large dark grey wolf leading the pack. They sprinted as they left, as if on the scent of some prey. Their actions were deliberate and gave the impression they wouldn’t be coming back. The remaining wolves had sniffed the fruit of hope with uncertainty, but none of them stole or ate any of it. Hope was still alive on the trees.

  The brothers in the abbey were pleased that Roland had bought them another day to plan a strategy for defeating the wolves, but they also knew they would need to consult with the other half of the abbey residents: the Sisters of Mercy. The main problem with this group, the brothers had explained, was that the sisters were always interested in giving someone a second chance. They were pacifists. While the brothers viewed the wolves as vermin in need of extermination, the sisters had a very different view.

  Kelsey, Maggie and Roland’s first breakfast in the abbey was quite an extravagance. Kelsey loved the fragrance of bacon, eggs, and pancakes cooking. These smells always brought back memories of being at home with her parents before her life had become complicated. The abbey cooks didn’t normally prepare such lavish meals, but since there were distinguished visitors from the king, the Brothers of Discipline and the Sisters of Mercy had made an exception. In general, they usually ate a breakfast of plain oatmeal that was typically cold by the time it reached the table. This morning’s meal was extraordinary, and they might not have another like it for another year or two.

  There were four long but very durable rustic-looking tables in the dining hall. Kelsey had the urge to carve her initials into the surface, but she resisted. Instead, she ran her fingers over the rough wood grain and concentrated on eating. Maggie was still a bit rattled over the initial impact of seeing the wolves the night before. The sound of their teeth gnashing as they raced toward the trees was still ringing in her ears. She was reminded of it every time silverware clinked against the ceramic plates. Maggie pulled her shoulders up close to her ears and slid down in her chair. She wasn’t eating much.