The Secret Key of Pythagorum

by Michele Angello

Kneeling down to the ground, she felt around on the earth with her hands near the splashing sounds of water over rock.

  “The brook is right here. I can feel its coolness running over my hands.”

  “Nana, you are playing tricks on me. How did you get the sound of wind and water to come here?”

  “It’s not a trick. The sounds are here because the tree and the brook are here; you just cannot see them. You try it. You will feel them just as I have felt them.”

  “You’re just trying to get back at me for winning at hide-and-seek, aren’t you?”

  “No, of course not. Just try it, Savaric. By the gods, you’ll feel it if you just try it.” She looked up at him from the ground with her ice-blue eyes flashing, exasperated at his resistance.

  “Very well. But if this is a trick…” Savaric slowly sidled over to the place where she had raised her hands into the air and duplicated the patting motion she had made.

  In an instant, like the sudden clarity from a flash of light when a dark, heavy curtain is thrown back from a large window, a twenty-foot pine tree popped into view. Savaric screamed and fell backwards to the ground, scrambling to get away from the sight. As soon as his hands left the tree, the tree disappeared again, but the sound of the wind through its branches still sighed around them.

  Nana sat on the ground with her hands propped behind her, looking as if she had been pushed down by an unseen force. Her mouth had dropped open into an ugly O. They sat frozen on the ground, breathing hard as they stared at the spot where the tree had appeared. Slowly they turned their heads toward each other, each reeling in shock.

  “What was that, Nana? Where did that vision of a tree come from?”

  “It’s not a vision, Savaric. It’s a real tree.”

  “But where is it now?”

  “It’s still there. You only have to touch it to see it again,” she said slowly.

  “I’m not touching it again. This is a terrible place. An evil place.”

  “Don’t be frightened, child. After all, it’s only a tree. And a brook. Come over here and touch the brook.”

  Savaric crab-walked away some more. “No, it will poison me. No!”

  Nana strode quickly over to where he cowered. With a strength beyond her years, she grabbed Savaric by his vest and dragged him across the ground and unceremoniously dropped him. Just as suddenly as the tree had burst into view, the tiny brook sprang into view. Savaric gasped not only from the sight as it surged around him, but also from the coldness of the water as it wet his breeches. He sat in the brook for a few moments, breathing hard as he looked around him in wonder. He then shot up suddenly and scrambled away from the brook. In a flash, it disappeared from their sight again.

  “Nana,” he wailed, “I don’t understand. You are scaring me.”

  Nana stood still, her back to him, staring at the place where the brook had disappeared.

  “Why is this happening? Am I going to die?”

  She remained still, thinking deeply. Savaric pulled at her skirts, whimpering. “Nana?”

  She muttered quietly, “More than…”

  “Nana?”

  She snapped out of her daydream and looked down at him. “Yes, child.” Her voice was soft and comforting. She put her hands on his shoulders. “I know you are frightened. But has your Nana ever hurt you?”

  “No,” he said haltingly, tears flowing down his cheeks.

  “I’m not going to start throwing you to the wolves now. Just trust me to take care of you.” She smoothed his shaggy coal-black hair from his eyes and wiped his tears with her homespun apron.

  “Hush,” she said.

  The boy sniffled a bit and leaned into her, burying his face in her skirts.

  “Can we go home now?”

  “Surely.” She took his hand, and they walked slowly out of the meadow. When they got to the top of the bowl of earth, Savaric cast a quick glance behind him. The meadow grasses bent gently in the wind all the way across the meadow, except for the spots where they had fallen in the grass. No lone tree popped into view. He dropped her hand, blinked his eyes, and looked again. Still no tree. Satisfied, he turned away, clasped her hand again, and continued their walk home.

  As the years passed, Savaric and his grandmother continued visiting the meadow to play. At first he would only play in the side of the meadow closest to the path home, but the peace and calm of the place eventually overcame his fear of the tree and the brook. Soon enough the brook and the tree became part of their games. Savaric touched the tree, and his Nana would climb it. He would watch and wait until the right moment in her climb and then take his hand away, leaving her grasping for her next now unseen branch—and stand amazed as she seemingly floated in the air where the tree had been.

  Savaric hooted with laughter as she screeched and demanded for him to touch the tree again so she could see her way to climb back down. Nana allowed him his fun, knowing the underlying purpose of changing his fears. Savaric came to love the tree and the brook and associated them with the fun and games they had away from the drudgery of work they did to keep themselves fed. But for many years he never asked about the differences between his touch and hers, never questioned the unique existence of the tree and the brook, and never asked why they never spoke of this place in front of his mother.

  One day, years later, Savaric had come to an age where he began to question the world around him. “Nana, what lies beyond that mountain? Why did that man look at you like that? Nana, how come no one else ever comes to this meadow? It’s always so peaceful here. Doesn’t anyone else like it?”

  Nana had expected this particular question for a long time, and she had prepared the words to say to him. Today they sat on the edge of the meadow, watching the grass blow in the wind, resting from a hard morning of threshing wheat.

  Nana paused for a moment, then spoke softly, her gaze still on the meadow.

  “Many years ago, before you were born, this was a place where people from the village came for the same reasons you and I come here. To rest and have peace. But after a time, people began to hear water rushing and wind through a pine tree. They soon realized that there was no brook here and there was no pine tree here. This terrified them, and they decided that this place was haunted. The story of this place spread until the whole village believed that this place was cursed and that the spirits of this place would possess anyone who came here.”

  “But, don’t they know…”

  She turned to him and smiled. “No, no one knows but you and me.” She continued. “As your mother and I have told you before, your grandfather was a terrible man. He drank ale till he could no longer stand, and spent all our coin for food and left us hungry. He whipped me with a switch when there was no coin left for his drink. It is a good thing that you have never met him. I came here to escape his rage and hurt. I did not care whether it was haunted or not. At least ghosts could not tear my flesh the way he did. I also knew he would never look for me here. This place became my refuge, and though I could hear the same noises everyone else could here, I did not feel evil in this place. One day, as I looked for a reason for the sounds, I walked into something sharp. It gashed my head and I bled terribly. I knew that only real things could cut flesh. So I put my hands out in front of me and realized I was touching a tree. I couldn’t see it, but I could feel it,” she said emphatically.

  “I didn’t understand how these things could be. But I realized there also had to be a source of the water sound. So I got to my hands and knees and patted the ground until I found the wetness of the brook. It ran right by the base of the tree, feeding its roots directly with its waters that could not be seen. It took me some time, but I gradually came to understand that the seed that started this pine tree took its first drink from the brook, so it grew as an invisible tree, just as the brook was invisible.”

  She stopped and tilted her head, which rested on her knee, toward him and waited for the questions.

  “But if it’s not haunted here, why don’t the
villagers come back?”

  “Because you and I are the only ones who know this,” she replied.

  “Does anyone know that we still come here?”

  She sighed deeply. “Yes. Some people have suspected this for many years.”

  “Do they think we are ghosts because we come to this place that they think is haunted?”

  “No, they don’t think we are ghosts. They think that I am a witch. That is why some people look at us so strangely when we are in the village.”

  “Witch! But, Nana, witches cast spells and brew bats’ eyes. You aren’t a witch!” he exclaimed. He paused a moment. “Are you?”

  “I’m not what they say I am.”

  Savaric seemed satisfied by this and leaned back, deep in thought.

  “Mother never comes here…”

  “She does not know what to think. She sees me every day and knows that I hurt no one. Yet sometimes she wonders if the villagers could be right. I have never told her what I learned about this place. I think she is a little afraid to come here and find out, knowing that I share her roof. For her, not knowing makes her happy.”

  “Why is the brook invisible?”

  “Ah, Savaric,” she said fondly. “You have come to the end of my knowledge. I have no more answers for you today. Come, it’s time to feed the goats and chickens.” She stood up and pulled him to his feet. “I think that the goats would love some of the fresh sprouted spurge growing up along the path, don’t you? Shall we gather some of it for them?” And with that, they wandered away from the meadow and back to their everyday life.

  Savaric seemed satisfied with her answers for a few months. But Nana would frequently find him staring off in the distance, looking worried. When she startled him back to reality, he would pretend with false laughter that everything was fine. She let him be, knowing full well that the next round of questions would come soon enough.

  CHAPTER 3

  “All things which are similar and are therefore connected, are drawn to each others power.”

  -Law of Resonance, Heinrich Cornelius Agrippa, Fifteenth Century

  One afternoon as they tended to the animals in the shed behind their cottage, Savaric suddenly blurted out, “Nana, am I a warlock?”

  Nana dropped the brush she held and turned to him. “What? No. Warlock? No.” She looked out the window back over to the cottage. “Why would you think such foolishness?”

  “Well, it’s obvious to me that I have powers. I know I’m untrained yet. But I think that I could be your assistant and learn to be a great warlock.”

  “Shhhh. Stop saying that…word,” she whispered. “You don’t want anyone to hear ye. What powers?”

  “Nana,” he said, exasperated. “You know, with the tree.”

  “Ah. That.” She picked up the grooming brush and turned away from him and began brushing the pony again.

  “Nana, what is it? You aren’t telling me something.” He stood waiting for her to speak. She continued brushing.

  “Nana, that pony will have bald spots by nightfall if you don’t stop brushing that spot.”

  The pony nickered softly and stamped its foot. Nana stepped back and let her hands fall. As she turned around slowly, her ice-blue eyes met his.

  “Aye. I’ll tell ye then. But not here. Not now. Finish your chores.” She turned away and started brushing the other flank of the pony.

  Hours later, after Savaric finally finished his chores, he came into the cottage where his grandmother kneaded bread. “Now?” he said quietly.

  Nana stopped kneading the dough, put it in a bowl, and covered it with a thin cloth. “Yes.”

  Savaric followed her as she strode out of the house and up a small forested hill, where she stopped and listened, making sure no one lurked close by. She stood rocking back and forth slightly, like a frock on a drying line, her arms wrapped around her. She took a breath as if starting to speak and stopped abruptly. Savaric stared, not used to her hesitation.

  Then Nana shook her head and took another deep breath. “It is true. You and I are special. We are not witches or warlocks, but we have magical… tendencies. We feel and see what others cannot. Many people with eyes the color of ours have such gifts. Then on the night that you were born, I tended to your mother. After I cleaned you, I gave you some of the water from the brook in the meadow. You drank its waters before you drank of your mother’s milk. Just as the tree drank of the brook and none other, and became invisible, so you drank of the brook as well.”

  Savaric stared at her, his face reddening and contorted.

  “You. You made me this way!” he screamed. Nana flinched as if she had been struck. He backed away from her, stumbling.

  “Who are you to decide such things!” He ran away from her, deeper into the woods. She watched him run and made no attempt to follow, knowing that his temperament would make him unreachable for a time. She grimaced, pulled her shawl around her tightly, and picked her way through the rough ground back to the cottage.

  Silence reigned in the house for days. Nicola fussed, saying, “By the gods, why don’t you two make up. I can’t stand much more of this silence.”

  “I’m not the one being silent,” Nana replied. And so Nicola and her mother carried on the conversations, with Savaric lurking silently in the background, leering at them.

  Ten days later, Nana cornered Savaric in the shed. “I don’t know why you’re so angry with me. You get to be invisible,” she hissed at him. “It’s not like I made you into a hideous monster.”

  “You might as well have for all the people that hate us in this village,” he retorted, pushing past her.

  She sighed and watched him stalk off, yet again.

  After more days of recriminating, hateful looks and stewing silence, Nana watched as Savaric stalked off in the direction of the meadow. She turned quickly to close the gate to the chicken shed and followed him.

  When she walked along the curve in the path and looked into the meadow, she saw Savaric leaning against the base of the pine tree, which stood visible at the moment. She walked over and sat next to him on the ground.

  “Savaric, I’m so sorry for what I’ve done. You had no choice in the matter, and I should have thought of all the consequences before I gave you the water.”

  He sat stone-faced, tearing apart pine needles in his hand.

  “Can you forgive an old woman her foolishness?”

  Silence.

  Nana sighed and settled in to wait. After a few more tense minutes that dripped in anger, Savaric began to speak, then went silent again for a few moments. He reached up to the tree and ripped off a few more needles and continued to pluck at them. Fragments of pine needles flew in all directions, landing on his arms, on his black hair, and on his breeches.

  “I suppose I can.” He stood up abruptly to stalk off again, too much in a hurry to escape the uncomfortable confrontation to bother with brushing off. And as he did, the most amazing thing happened. He disappeared.

  CHAPTER 4

  “Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding.”

  - Khalil Gibran

  Nana watched speechless as the meadow grasses bent, showing the path Savaric took out of the meadow. When she could finally summon her voice back to her throat, it came out in a croak. “Sava…Sava…Savaric. SAVARIC!” she cried out, trying to coax her voice out.

  Halfway out of the meadow the footprints stopped, their owner affected for once by the shock and desperation in her voice.

  “What?” he replied, exasperated.

  Nana waved her arms. “Look, look,” she gasped, stumbling toward the path.

  “At what?” he replied rudely.

  “You, You. You’re gone!”

  Savaric looked down at his body. Nothing. He tapped his chest with his hands, trying to find what he couldn’t see. He dropped to his knees, tapping his legs, head, and arms.

  He screamed hysterically, “What happened to me, where am I? What spell have you cast, witch?”
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  Nana stumbled across the meadow to him and reached out with her hands, trying to find him by the sound of his voice.

  “No, no. This can’t be,” she cried. “It can’t happen that you would disappear. Can you see me?”

  “Am I dead?” he cried back.

  She paused, still grasping around for him. “No,” she said, trying to reassure him, but sounding unsure.

  She found his leg and grabbed onto it. Her hands fumbled over his clothes until she reached his shoulders. She pulled him into her arms and tried to comfort him, rocking him back and forth. Despite his accusations and overwhelming fear, he let her. They sat and cried together, clinging to each other.

  After a few minutes, she said, “You can’t be dead; I can still hear you and feel you.”

  “You didn’t do this, Nana?”

  “No,” she said firmly. “You were sitting right next to me. Did ye see me cast a spell, or say any strange words, or put anything on ye?”

  “No,” he said quietly.

  “Then I didn’t do this to ye.”

  “How then, how?” he said desperately.

  “I don’t know. I can’t, I don’t know.” She pulled away from him and the fierce grip he had on her shoulders. She stood up and glanced around the meadow, looking for a person staring malevolently at them from the trees. She saw no one. Leaving Savaric’s quivering heap on the ground, she walked around the top of the meadow, searching the ground. She looked at every inch, trying to find a footprint, an unearthed stone, a broken twig, anything. Finally, she gave up and came back to where Savaric sat.

  “No trace of anyone, anywhere,” she reported quietly, lowering herself to sit beside him.

  “What does that mean?” he said, his teeth chattering.

  “Whatever did this had to come from in the meadow.”

  “But nothing happened! We were sitting under the tree. You were talking. I listened. We have done that here a thousand times!”

  “Something had to be different this time.”

  “NOTHING WAS DIFFERENT!” he shouted at her.