Chapter 4
“How do you do that? Is it magic?"
My younger self sat in front of the fireplace. The wood crackled and snapped with cheery reds and yellows that flickered against the darkness outside. Beside me, my mother sat behind a loom almost as big as she was, carding a yarn as soft as kittens, and smiled back.
Happiness filled me for a moment even as my memory returned. I looked down to see my small hands and thin blond braids falling in front of elf pajamas. The room was decorated for Christmas, complete with a tree in the corner beside the fireplace; out of danger from the heat, but close enough to hang stockings for the festive season.
A picture on the mantle showed me at age four, in the middle of my parents. They were holding hands and swinging me high in between them. I knew this was my memory but in the dream, something about it was different.
I frowned and looked at the scene again. I was pretty sure this had really happened, but not exactly this way. What was I sensing?
Suddenly it struck me. I hadn't dreamed of my mom in years. I looked at her again, catching the firelight as it smoothed her skin, giving her an ageless look. Her hair was black as a crow, but her eyes were mysterious sapphires. As I met them, I realized they were the same shape the mermaid’s eyes had been.
When she spoke I leaned closer, knowing I had to pay attention.
Something important was about to happen.
"I learned how to do this from my mother, who in turn learned it from hers. Come closer, dear, and I'll show you as well.”
I scooted closer and watched carefully as she took the yarn, smoothing it carefully before feeding it onto the loom. It was repetitive and intricate and even though it looked easy, after a while, I found my gaze drifting to the TV playing quietly on the other side of the room.
Love and warmth surrounded me.
I’d lost track of what my mom was showing me, but it didn't matter. I could ask again, when I was older. It was almost Christmas and I was too tired to pay attention anyway. As my eyes grew heavy, just before I fell asleep, my mom’s voice sharpened, bringing me awake and back to full attention.
I looked into her blue eyes, the same color as my own. With the yarn forgotten beside her, her words came with an insistence that stood apart from the hazy quality of the dream.
"Robin, you must listen. This is very important. You need to remember what I’m about to tell you when you wake up, can you do that for me? It is about to begin. You're in a dream, but what I'm telling you is real."
I felt my younger self nod then fall still, impressed by the serious voice of my mom, the voice I’d only ever heard when I was in trouble, or danger was close.
"Be careful what you are willing to trade away for dreams. Nothing is worth losing yourself for, no matter what."
I frowned as she maintained the same intent expression. "I don't understand. What do you mean?"
She leaned closer and gently took ahold of my small chin. "No matter what your dreams, never ever quiet your conscience in order to achieve them. You will have many choices in life. Even in the midst of overwhelming desire, you can always choose your actions. You will have great power one day, and you must use it wisely or all will be lost, including your soul. Remember."
My younger version blinked. "My soul? Does that mean I'll go to hell?"
Instead of laughing like she normally would have, my mom nodded with serious eyes. "In a manner of speaking. If you sacrifice your values and conscience for the things you wish to achieve, you will become tainted. Each step away from the light and what you know is right is another step toward the darkness. Once darkness has you in its grasp, it will do everything it can to make you one of its creatures. But you, my dear, are meant to be a warrior for the light. It is your destiny to help create and maintain balance, and heal the bruises left by the agents of darkness with your talents.”
Frightened by the way her voice echoed and by the content of her words, I could only nod. "Okay, Mom. I'll be a good girl."
She smiled, gently bopping me on the chin as she let go. "I know you will. I wish I could be here to watch you grow. I would love nothing more than to help you when you come into your full powers, but I may not be around. Do it for yourself and for your dad, and do it for me. Because one day I will see you, and I am certain I will be proud."
I smiled when I heard her say she would be proud of me, but for some reason, the rest of her words didn’t register. "Yes, Mom. I'll make you proud."
I sat up in bed and looked at the clock, startled to see it was only midnight. A wave of sadness overwhelmed me. The memory had been so intensely real it was like I’d just been there. Had that really happened? I didn't remember the conversation, and I couldn't recall ever seeing her use a loom. I definitely didn’t remember ever trying to learn, but then again, I had been very young in the dream. Around four, about the same age as the photograph I had seen. It had been two Christmases before her death; I think I could remember the tree, but everything else had felt slightly different, as if it was happening now.
As my memory warred with the dream, I couldn’t help think replaying her words. They were strangely applicable to what was happening right now. What had she meant about desire overwhelming conscience?
Was she talking about my jealousy over Melissa winning the role I had coveted? But how? There was no way she could’ve foreseen that back then.
Was there?
I exhaled and laid down, rolling over in bed. If I didn't get any sleep, morning would be far too early, and I had a test on Monday morning I needed to study for. But even as I began drifting back to sleep, I remembered the intensity in her eyes as she had spoken of following my conscience. How did that apply to what was happening with Melissa?
I tossed and turned until I fell into a fitful sleep but didn't manage to answer the question to my satisfaction.
Chapter 5
The next morning I decided I was going to make a conscious effort to be nice to Melissa and see if there was some way I could help her. I knew it was going to be a challenge getting past my residual jealousy, but I figured I could work on it along with studying. One way or another, I had to deal with her and accept the fact I didn't need to be the best to get into university. Worst case scenario, I could take the courses I needed while I continued to try for a spot after I was accepted to a general arts degree.
"Sweetie, I'm heading to that bookstore on Sherbrooke. Did you want to come? You’ve been studying all day, and I think you deserve a treat. We can stop at Café Van Houtte, get a cappuccino or something."
I looked up, surprised to see my dad standing at the door to my room. I hadn't even heard him there, which was saying a lot, because my dad wasn't an exactly stealthy person. Stretching, I yawned then nodded. "Sure. I could use a break.”
I got ready quickly, knowing he got impatient if I kept him waiting more than a few minutes. Besides, if I moved fast enough, I was pretty sure he’d buy me more than just a coffee if I asked nicely.
Currently, I had my eye on a beautiful table book of famous opera singers of the 20th century. I was still short on cash but was hoping they would consider doing instalments so I could buy it on layaway. Better yet, maybe he’d buy it for me today if I promised to make supper all week.
With that hope in mind, I joined him in under two minutes. We took the metro to the Plateau, an area inhabited by an interesting mix of students, professors, and business people. The houses in the neighborhood ranged from old duplexes to mansions renovated into one and two room apartments and had the advantage of being cheap enough to make it viable to live close to the university on a budget. During the week it was a bustling and vibrant area of Montreal, especially on Friday and Saturday nights.
But Sunday mornings were always quiet as people recovered from their nocturnal adventures on St. Laurent or Crescent. A few of the side-streets were beginning to move sluggishly as people began to quest for coffee, but the bookstore was always quiet even with exams causing a few diligent stude
nts to look for an edge with their studies.
The bookstore we went to wasn’t one that sold the latest or flashiest books, but it had been one of our favorite destinations for years. His love of books had been passed on to me, and new or old books were one of the few things neither of us would turn down an invitation for.
The familiar chime and scent of old paper greeted us when we entered, and immediately I felt at home. I waved to my dad as he continued to the back of the store where they kept the more valuable items, turning to the left, where the music section was.
I smiled at his single-minded focus, thinking that in some ways, my dad was a Canadian version of Indiana Jones, except for his obsession being focused solely on old books instead of magical artifacts. As an English professor at McGill, he had leeway to search for volumes for both the university as well as private payers. The income from his finds was a nice supplement to tenure and helped him support us, but I knew it was something he did for the sheer love of it and would do it just as happily for free.
Already absorbed in his mission, he didn't notice my amusement or stop to see where I went, so I shrugged and turned to look for the book I’d been lusting over. I found it quickly enough and after a cursory glance at the others, decided to take it over to one of the small seating areas scattered around the store to page through it while I waited. From previous experience, I knew it could be hours until we left if my dad became enraptured with something.
As I made myself comfortable, something twinkled and caught my eye directly across from the chair I had picked to sit in. I squinted, leaning over to see a slender volume with a black spine and silver lettering.
Weird. Nothing about the book should have called to me. Was it a trick of the light? Other than the lettering, it was nondescript from the side I could see. But with the memory of the odd dream I’d had still lingering, I pulled it out to take a better look.
The front was decorated with embossed silver leaves and about the same size as the table book of opera singers now forgotten on the chair beside me. At first, I couldn't read the writing and I wondered if it was from the looping script. But as I focused, the words smoothed out and became easy to read.
A History of Magical Misadventures.
Intrigued, I forgot about the opera book altogether. I'd never thought much of magic one way or another since I was a child. If pressed on my beliefs, I would probably say magic and the like were simply wish fulfilment, designed to give people hope when times were tough.
So that made my fascination with the book even more unusual.
"Boy, it wasn't kidding when it said history," I mumbled.
The first chapter appeared to be on cavemen, and I turned back to the index with mild confusion until I saw the layout. Each chapter focused on a different time in human history. In fact, it looked very much like something my dad would enjoy reading. After studying the preface, I thought I understood a little better.
The book focused on ‘magic’ in the Western sense of the word—looking at the ‘other’. When I came to the bit where it explained how the word magic was falling out of favor with scholars, I was unexpectedly sad. I liked the word, even if I didn’t understand the history of it. Maybe this book would open my eyes.
I turned back to the first chapter, skimming through the section on prehistoric man. Interesting. I hadn't known they buried their dead with flowers alongside valuable objects and protective objects in order to help guide people on their way to the afterworld.
I also hadn’t known how old the word magic was. Apparently, it came from a Proto-Indo-European word ‘Maghu’ meaning ‘to be able’ which eventually became Mvag, or Mage in the Archaic Chinese language.
As someone who loved singing and words, I was hooked by the second chapter. Along with the history were examples of events which had unfolded and were thought to be a direct consequence of the use of magic by ancient practitioners. In just a few minutes, my need to have this book exceeded my desire to buy the opera book.
I was so absorbed in reading I didn't even notice time passing until I felt a familiar warm hand on my shoulder and looked up.
My dad winked at me. "Ready to go? There's a coffee with your name on it if you’re still in need of one."
The familiar teasing made me smile. "I can always use coffee.”
I looked down at the books in my lap. I still wanted the opera book, but I needed the book on magic for reasons I couldn’t explain. Turning them both over, I checked the prices. Ouch.
“Um, I’d like to buy both books but together they're too much. I only have enough money for one. I don't suppose…"
The magic book wasn't too bad, just under thirty dollars. But the opera book was nearly one hundred. Definitely no way I could afford both, and it was a big ask. Maybe for my birthday, but it was several months away. I wanted them both now.
He looked down and raised an eyebrow. I conceded defeat immediately.
"It's okay. I'll show it to you. Maybe you could buy it for my birthday or something like that." I held the opera book up for my dad to look at, then tapped the black magic book on my lap. "I have enough money to buy this one. I'd like them both but I'll just get this one today."
My dad tilted his head to the side to read the cover, frowning suddenly. If I wasn’t mistaken, his face paled slightly.
"What is it?"
He looked up quickly, shaking his head and smiling as if nothing had happened. "Hmm? Oh, just a little peckish. I think I may get a coffee for myself as well. Feeling a little old and tired this morning. Shall we?"
I got up and paid for the book on magic, asking the cashier to place the opera book on hold. As I’d hoped, they were willing to do layaway so I put my last ten dollars on it as deposit as he placed the magic book in a paper bag and I followed my dad to the nearest cafe.
It was just around the corner but as I left the bookstore, I saw Rachel exiting a building beside the coffee shop. I hadn't expected to run into anyone I knew and lifted my hand to wave awkwardly for politeness sake.
To my surprise, she looked right past me as if I wasn't even there. Frowning, I decided maybe she didn't recognize me with my dad. I likely wouldn’t have thought anything of it had I not looked at the sign in the window.
Tarot and Tea leaves.
Know the Future,
Change your destiny.
A shiver went down my spine. I told myself it was due to the cool April breeze, and it was just a coincidence I’d found a book on magic then seen Rachel come out of a building with a sign about magic and prophecy. I was letting myself get creeped out over nothing.
“Are you coming?”
Startled into movement when my dad nudged me, I smiled and deliberately forced my mind away from the odd encounter. “Yes, sorry. The sun was in my eyes.”
He gave me a suspicious look as he waited for me to go first. After cashing in on the promised cappuccino, we headed home. Once there, I made myself put the book aside until after I had finished all my homework.
I’d knew I’d never be able to forgive myself if got a bad mark on a test because I’d been distracted by a book on magic. I managed to focus on studying long enough to get through the material a few times before rewarding myself by opening the black book again.
We spent the evening in front of a fire that crackled and popped merrily along with the tick of the grandfather clock. In a way, I felt almost as if I was in a magic spell myself. Other than a short break for soup and sandwiches, we read in companionable silence in our comfortable chairs.
It seemed to me that every chapter focused on the narrow margin between magic being helpful or harmful and had the specific aim of instilling caution in the reader. According to the text, the difference between the effect could be as small as the intention of the user or dumb luck.
One thing I found particularly disturbing was how often people seemed not only willing but downright eager to give up everything in order to achieve their hearts desire, including offering up their own hearts and so
uls. To me it was odd and counterintuitive; why would anyone be willing to give up something so important for something so fleeting? But over and over, the book gave examples where that was exactly the case.
Once the chapter was finished, I closed it and shook my head.
"What's so funny?"
I looked to find my dad watching me, head tilted to the side with a bemused smile. "Oops. I didn't even realize I was laughing."
He leaned forward and rested his chin on his hand. "What could be so funny in a book about magic?"
I rolled my eyes. "I'm sure it wasn’t meant to be funny. And really, it isn't. I was just considering how ridiculous it is that throughout history, magic has been seen as a way to achieve your dreams. There’s so many examples in here of people giving up everything for it. According to this book, it never turns out well." I shook my head again. "You think they would've learned at some point not to keep repeating the same dumb mistakes."
My dad sighed, looking unexpectedly troubled and my smile faded at his sudden seriousness. "You would think. But as someone very wise once said to me, a narrow balance is maintained between good and evil. While it doesn't take much to tip to either side, magic can be both an equalizer and the means by which that balance is destroyed."
I narrowed my eyes. "Does that mean you think magic is real?"
Now he looked uncomfortable. “Would you believe me if I said yes?”
Snorting, I shook my head. “Hardly!"
A faint smile crossed his face. That, more than anything else, convinced me he actually did believe magic was real. I did a double take.
"Wait, you're serious?"
He shrugged. "All I can say is I believe there’s more to the world than we understand. Even sometimes when it involves those who we love.”
His eyes took on a faraway cast as he looked into the fire for several moments. After a long pause, he began to speak again, his voice slow and thoughtful.
"Your mother was an amazing woman but I always knew we wouldn't be able to keep her forever."
Kingdom of Crowns and Glory Page 11
