Marie-Hélène Lebeault
Clarity Castle
First published by Beaches and Trails Publishing 2021
Copyright © 2021 by Marie-Hélène Lebeault
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
Many creative liberties were taken in portraying a number of Canadian schools, organizations, and events.
Legal deposit - Bibliothèque et Archives nationales du Québec, 2021
Legal deposit - Bibliothèque et Archives Canada, 2021
First edition
ISBN: 978-1-7776027-3-4
Editing by Marios Pagonis
Cover art by Marie-Hélène Lebeault
This book was professionally typeset on Reedsy
Find out more at reedsy.com
“Time and space are illusions. Everything exists at the same time. We only see what we are tuned to the vibration of to see.
As we change our ideas, we change our vibrations, we start to see a different world, literally. Because we have shifted our consciousness, our focus, to a different version of Earth that exists simultaneously with the version we were on a moment ago.
And we are experiencing a progression through different versions of Earth.”
-Bashar, channelled by Daryl Anka
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
About the Author
Also by Marie-Hélène Lebeault
Chapter 1
I’d like to say I noticed it right away, that I somehow felt the strangeness in the air. However, the truth was that I had just gotten a less than desirable grade in my latest math test, and I was walking it off. The one-kilometre walk to the woods had taken the edge off my disappointment, and I was able to bring the self-recriminations to a low simmer. As I entered the woods, the world disappeared. There was nothing magical about that; it was just nature. It instantly grounded me, the earth pulling out my worries like so much fertilizer.
I loved walking these woods. There used to be more of them, but our town had been developing like crazy the last few years. As it stood, the little patch of heaven spread out over roughly eighty-four thousand square meters.
Most of the time, I would walk around the woods, looping the various trails for about thirty minutes, and then I’d go home. But when I had more time or needed a longer break, I’d cut through the quarry and follow the trail that led to the lake.
That’s where I was heading on that fateful day. There’s a barbed-wire fence around the perimeter of the quarry, so the aspiring trespasser would have to know where to cross. Over the years, people started leaving clues. Just off the trail, there was a red ribbon tied to a tree. When the trail got muddy, good Samaritans placed rocks or fallen logs to ease the way.
It was always a little blinding when I came out of the woods and into the clearing. Once my eyes adjusted to the light, I saw the lake across the field of flowers. Wait, that’s not right. There should be a clearing full of weeds, a road, and a parking lot between me and the lake. I blinked, thinking I’d lulled myself into my own imaginings. But there it was again—an expanse of perfectly manicured lawns and patches of flowers and shrubbery.
Compelled to investigate, I took a few steps and felt an unfamiliar firmness under my feet. There was a stone path etched in the dewy grass. Looking up as I walked the path, I turned away from the lake towards what should have been the quarry and stopped dead in my tracks. To my utter astonishment, instead of a pit of rocks, I saw a castle. Perhaps it was merely a mansion; I honestly didn’t know the difference. It was enormous.
Poor math grade notwithstanding, I was pretty good at math. I remembered reading that the quarry site was twenty-five acres. The owner wanted to build cooperative housing on it a few years back, but nothing came of it. My house sat on a two-acre lot. This house, or whatever the structure was called, had to be at least five times as big as our lot.
It looked like it was about four stories high. The huge stone structure was either square or rectangle in shape; it was hard to tell from where I stood. I started walking towards it. Each corner had a circular turret. The view of the lake must be amazing from there, I thought. On either side of the carriage doors were a pair of stone staircases that seemed to lead to a walled-in patio.
I followed the stone path to a larger path of pebbles or crushed stone. This one looked like a road or a driveway. One way led up to the castle, one way led to the lake, and another led to a group of smaller buildings to the left of the castle. I was torn. Where should I investigate first?
It occurred to me then that I was either dreaming or had somehow been transported to the past. I really should have taken the time to learn about our town’s history when we moved here ten years ago. In my defence, I was six years old at the time, and this was never covered in school.
If I were dreaming, it wouldn’t matter where I went. I could explore at my leisure, and nothing could go wrong. If I had been whisked to the past, I was likely trespassing, and that could turn out badly. I had read enough time-travelling and historical romance novels to know I would need to blend in, and quickly.
I looked down at myself and saw I was still wearing my jeans, t-shirt, and sneakers. If this was a dream, I could close my eyes and choose a more suitable attire. But which one? What time was this? In any case, there was no time in the distant past where tight-fitting trousers and a V-neck top were appropriate. At the very least, I should choose a loose-fitting dress that covered most of my exposed skin.
I closed my eyes and tried to imagine a simple gown that would make me look respectable in any century. I envisioned a blue Victorian dress over a muslin chemise and petticoats. I twirled on myself to let the skirts fan out, but I saw no change in my attire as I opened my eyes. Shit. Not a dream.
Should I go back to the woods? Perhaps I had inadvertently walked through a portal or crossed a veil. I retraced my steps but felt no different as I entered the woods again. Observing attentively, I saw no difference. The best way to find out would be to head home.
After about ten minutes, uneasiness crept upon me. I should have reached the beginning of the new street by now, but I was still in the woods. I kept walking. The path, or rather a well-worn strip of forest floor, continued ahead. I followed it to the road. It was hard to find my bearings, but I was sure this should be highway 104 heading to Knowlton and Sutton. Instead, it was a wide dirt r
oad, with no cars in sight. There was nothing but woods on either side of the road, in both directions. This was a Cowansville of the past. One where my home didn’t exist.
When one was lost, one should head to the nearest store to ask for directions. Barring that, the nearest home. That was the castle. Surely this road led to the castle, as it was the only one I had encountered thus far. I started walking.
After about twenty minutes, I reached a lane. Squinting, I could see the castle at the end of it and headed down the lane. I would at least be arriving at the front door. As it grew nearer, I was again struck by its size. Seen from the front, it was majestic. The lane went around a circular topiary garden, though a narrow path went through it.
Once inside the garden, I realized it was much larger than I had estimated. My head barely cleared the manicured shrubs bordering the garden. It was reassuring. I didn’t feel quite as exposed as I had while I had been approaching the castle, though my presence had yet to be detected as far as I could see.
I hovered at the edge of the garden. Once I crossed the lane, I’d have to go up the stairs and knock on the door. I had a feeling there wouldn’t be a doorbell.
I felt the hairs on the back of my neck rise. It was that creepy feeling you got when someone was watching you. Instinctively, I looked up and saw movement in one of the upstairs windows. Like a ghost, the person vanished behind a swish of drapes.
Someone was home. Chin up, I made my way to the door and grasped the ancient brass door knocker. I raised it, then knocked hard three times. Straining to hear, I could detect no sound coming from inside. Clasping my hands behind my back so they wouldn’t shake, I checked my posture and plastered a polite smile on my face.
The butler swung the door open, gave me a once over, and bowed as he moved out of the way to let me enter.
“Good morning,” I said nervously.
The man, oblivious to my greeting, extended his arm and motioned for me to precede him in the hall. Once he had closed the door, he pointed to a large upholstered bench. I sat. He bowed and left.
Though the outside of the castle looked downright medieval, the inside had more polish. Where I had expected wall-to-wall stone, I found the hall to be entirely decked in a dark, well-polished wood. I was itching to get up and look around, but I stayed put. I was trespassing and poorly attired; it wouldn’t do to be caught snooping as well.
From where I sat, my eyes followed one of the staircases to the second-floor landing. There were portraits up there, but I couldn’t see the faces clearly. I saw a bit of a blue skirt peeking out from behind one of the columns. I was about to call out to my little ghost when I heard someone approaching on my right.
“You’re right on time,” said the elegant lady as she glided across the floor, arms outstretched as though to embrace me.
On impulse, I stood as she neared me. I opened my mouth, but all that came out was, “I… I..”
“Goodness, what are you wearing, Clare?” she asked.
“How do you know my name?” I asked, finally finding my voice.
Her smile dimmed a little, and she peered at me, pursing her lips. “I see,” she replied. Turning on her heels, she walked back the way she had come and called out, “come along, Clare.”
How does she know my name? I wondered. She clearly thought she knew me. Perhaps we had met, but I had forgotten. I checked my head for a bump and found none. This really was most peculiar.
The lady had stridden to the far end of the hall before she noticed I had not followed. “Don’t just stand there; come meet the others,” she beckoned.
Chapter 2
The lady led the way to a bright yellow sitting room. There were a dozen or so girls in the room already. A few were reading; some were playing cards.
One was playing the piano, one the violin, while another was singing. I didn’t know the song, but they were good. One girl was painting a landscape by the window, and another was furiously scribbling in a notebook. A restless one was pacing back and forth, checking the time on her sports watch. Amid the chaos, one girl was meditating, and the last girl was doing needlepoint and humming happily along with the song.
Though they all seemed to be about my age, no two girls were wearing the same dress style. Looking at each of them in turn, I wondered if I’d stumbled onto a TV set. It looked like they were about to shoot a girl power commercial or something.
Each girl seemed to represent a stereotypical activity with its corresponding attire. I had no idea what my jeans and t-shirt look was saying about me. That was probably why the lady had asked about it. Was I auditioning for a part I didn’t know about? The restless girl was wearing a futuristic catsuit straight out of a sci-fi movie.
“Everyone, this is Clare,” said the lady, putting a hand on my shoulder. “She’s a—” she paused and looked at me, trying to assess my provenance.
“Student?” I supplied, biting my lip.
“No dear, what’s your skill?” she replied.
My skill? I thought in anguish. I had no skills. That was the problem. I was an average girl, living an average life. Hence the generic outfit.
Having stopped what they were doing to listen to the lady, the girls started moving closer and calling out their skills as though it wasn’t already obvious. The restless girl said she was a gymnast. These girls had their stuff together. I had no idea where I was going.
Before I could stop myself, I blurted, “worrying.” I immediately clasped a hand over my mouth.
I was about to ask for their names. Surely, I wouldn’t be addressing them by skill. Then, Singer approached me, hand outstretched.
“So pleased to meet you!” she said. As I shook her hand and looked up to her, now up close, the automatic greeting, I was about to provide died on my lips.
I stared at her in confusion. She was me. I was she. I stared dumbly at our identical hands clasped together, then back at the lady who had brought me here. Dear God, she was me, too! An older me. I let go of Singer’s hand and looked around wildly at each of the girls’ faces. They were all me! Most were wearing looks of understanding. The writer observed, ready to pounce on my reaction to jot it down for posterity in her notebook. The card-playing Clares giggled.
“Clare, perhaps you should sit down,” said older me, leading me to the sofa. Needlepoint offered a cup of tea which I took but did not immediately drink. The piano girl came over with a glass of an amber liquid which had to be alcohol. I frowned at her and shook my head. She shrugged and knocked it back as she strode to the piano and started playing. Violin joined her, and most of the others went back to their previous occupations.
I was left with the older me and Singer. Needlepoint sat down and resumed her quiet humming.
“Rest assured, we all had the same reaction,” Singer said kindly.
As the words left my lips, I knew that this was the lamest of questions, but I just didn’t know what else to say. “Am I dreaming?” I asked, taking a sip of tea to occupy my hands that were starting to shake.
Older me—she really was quite beautiful, as vain as that sounds—was the first to respond.
“Yes, and no,” she said cryptically. She stood then. She put her hands together and took a breath. I recognized the pose immediately; a lecture.
My mom did that all the time. She called them ‘teaching moments.’ In the middle of a regular conversation, or even a movie, she’d stop and turn into lecturing mom. Not the kind of lecture where she scolded me, but the kind one would find in a university class. She’d share some bit of knowledge or experience that was meant to change my life in a profound way.
I loved my mom; she was truly an amazing woman. But when she went into lecture mode, I cringed. Not because her lectures were irrelevant or uninteresting, they were often fascinating and entertaining. But because they seemed to come from a place that assumed I needed the information. Bless her heart, like most parents, she failed to realize that times had changed, and they were evolving fast. Her wisdom, though sound, wou
ld likely never be put to use.
I placed the teacup on the coffee table and assumed the avid listener position. Earnest facial expression, back straight, hands clasped in my lap.
“This,” she started, hands out on either side to encompass the room, “is Clarity Castle. It is situated out of time and space. For you, it appears to be near your home, but likely in an unusual spot.”
I nodded. “In my reality, there is an old quarry where the castle stands. And that whole space by the lake is a community nature park,” I supplied.
“Right. The Castle is the same for all of us, but its location may differ for some of us. You could say it’s our home base or headquarters,” she said.
“Headquarters for what?” I asked. Was I part of some secret order of clones?
“I don’t know if you know this, but the name Clare is derived from the Latin word clarus, which means bright, clear, or famous. That is why the castle is named Clarity. Every one of us is seeking clarity in some way or another. And this is where we find it.”
She let that sink in for a moment. Do I seek clarity? I wondered to myself. After a moment of reflection, I had to admit she spoke the truth. I hated it when people didn’t communicate clearly. I preferred to deal with someone who was straight-up rude than with half-truths and double-entendres. I must have been nodding because older me continued.
“The Castle is our true home. It is where we begin. Where we come back to rest, heal, grow, learn, and explore. As we go out in the world, we often forget about it and only return when we are asleep, through what appear to be dreams. Eventually, we become aware of it and can return anytime. That is what we call the Awakening.”
I frowned, aware now that this wasn’t clear and that it was annoying. And I was annoyed at being annoyed. I sighed and shook it off.
“Well, then. Am I awake or asleep?” I asked, hoping for a more comprehensive answer.
“You are awake, but you haven’t yet, Awoken. You are currently walking in the woods near your house, in a state of relaxed contemplation that doesn’t require all of you to be present. A part of you has come here,” she replied.
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