Rocky Road #21: My Favorite Place, Strawberry Banana #30: Farewell
Most people thought of magic as being a vague concept that was somehow pulled out of the universe by the clergy. On a crisp warm spring day, I discovered that this was untrue and that magic was a living, breathing thing that had been here long before humans and would be here long after. Furthermore, magic was not complex as the clergy led us to believe but rather something I understood with every fiber of my being the moment that I saw it swirling and pulsing deep in the thick of the woods that sloped downhill from the rear of the castle.
I had taken to walking in the woods in the afternoon as my relationship with my mother had become more strained and I didn’t have many friends my own age. Sometimes I would sit in my brother’s bedroom and read to him as her rested but eventually the dark room would begin to lower my spirits and I would need reprieve from the sickness and mortality that hung so thick in that east wing suite. That particular day I had gotten quite lost, which was unusual in itself because no one knew the woods with quite the same familiarity as I, but was not frightened or even hurried to find my way again.
It is difficult for me to describe even today exactly what magic looks like. Its color does not vary so much from air but has a different density that makes it just perceptible to the human eye. It moved very slowly with no apparent relation to wind or other external forces. I knew what it was instantly though I could not later explain how and my best guess to this day is that it was just so clearly not part of the natural world.
I remember cautiously walking toward the power source a finally getting enough courage to stick my hand into the stream. It seemed to go through my hand instead of being interrupted by the intrusion. It felt clammy against my skin and a series of muscle spasms ran through my hand. I pulled my hand back and looked at the spots of the substance that remained on my hand. I rubbed my left thumb over the substance and watched in amazement as red poppies seemed to bloom straight from my skin. A little gasp (of fear? Excitement? Awe?) escaped my lips and I rubbed my thumb back in the opposite direction which caused the poppies to sever themselves from my skin and fall withered to my feet. I looked up at the rest of the magic, so much of it, and slowly back away from small clearing. Finally, when sufficient (safe?) distance, I turned around and made the long trek back to the castle.
That night at dinner I sulked and chided myself for being such a coward in the woods. I resolved to go back the next day but spent all night tossing and turning and worrying that I would not be able to find it again. I didn’t need to fear, however, because the next morning I had relatively little difficulty finding the spot again. This time I did not hesitate to reach out and pull a bit of the magic into my hands. I knelt on the thick grass and ran my hands over the blades which turned a deep shade of red. Without much hope, I raised my hands to the air before me and imagined a rabbit. I often saw them on the edge of the forest in the early morning but it was difficult to get a good look at the skittish creatures.
To my absolute amazement, the air before me solidified and I found myself looking down at a very large jack rabbit. Hesitantly, I reached down and touched the creature which was amazingly solid and warm beneath my fingers. I ran my fingers down his back and watched as his fur became streaked with tan lines. I stared at him and he twitched his nose at me. Needless to say, my life became considerably more exciting after the discovery that I could hold the power of creation in my own hands.
I went to the woods at nearly every opportunity I could get away. I created fantastic buildings up in the trees that hung by little more than a branch and a prayer. I fashioned myself a bow and arrow that always hit my target, guided more by will than actual aim. I crafted a throne and held court to legions of increasingly fantastic animals. My most ambitious creation was a young man who was more beautiful than the most handsome sons of courtiers that had been introduced to me. He was perfect though I could never quite get him to talk and he required far too much instruction to remain interesting for very long.
I think to this day the magic has ruined my everyday life for me. No suitor can compare to the beauty of the perfect man I crafted and the greatest wonders of the natural world seem dull. The only negative ‘side effect’ I experience during this time was that sometimes I would be gripped with anxiety for no apparent reason when in the castle. I did not connect this symptom at the time to the use of magic. In fact, I vividly recall discussing it with my brother’s nurse and feeling relieved when she dismissed it as typical teenage hormones.
It was only a couple of weeks later when I first met Kyorak. I was lying in the center of the small clearing, surrounded by all manner of flowers, some towering as tall as a full grown man. I was beginning to drift off amid my creations when a voice said softly, “Really quite amazing.”
I sat up quickly, fearfully as I thought that I had been caught by someone from the castle. I was halfway to my feet when I caught a full glimpse of him. He was tall and muscular with sandy blonde hair and deeply tanned skin. His eyes were a light, electrifying blue and he gave me a dazzling smile. I said, without knowing why, “I’m so sorry.”
He laughed at me and I blushed, suddenly flustered by his presence. He didn’t answer immediately but his eyes swept the clearing and all of my many flowers, each one lovingly crafted in the course of the afternoon. Finally, he said, “No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you. I was just admiring your creations.”
I blushed again, “Oh, well, they’re okay I suppose.”
“How did you know how to make these?”
“I don’t really know,” I confessed, relaxing a little now since he did not seem angry with me for being here. Looking back, I suppose another part of it was that I was a very lonely child and not used to someone taking a personal interest in me, “I just have been playing with it for a while, I suppose. I can try to show you, if you like.”
He seemed very amused by this but said, “Okay. Show me.”
I knelt again in the grass an easily formed a rose without thorns and a huge head of petals that should not have been able to stand upwards. I smiled at him and he gave me that easy smile again, “Would you like to try?”
“Sure,” he agreed, kneeling next to me.
He took only the slightest amount of magic in his hands and formed a large rose bush with every fully bloomed rose a different color. He tapped one of the branches with his forefinger and a large cocoon formed there. He urged me with a gesture to be still and I watched in amazement in a matter of seconds as the cocoon broke open and a very large butterfly emerged. It took flight a few seconds later and hovered before me. The creature uttered one word in a small voice, “Shayla.”
It didn’t even occur to me to ask how he knew my name, but I leapt up in excitement and exclaimed, “You made it talk! How did you do that? I can never get them to talk!”
“It’s one of the more difficult parts of using magic. You’ll get there.”
“Oh, I’m not . . . I’m just . . . playing with it, I guess. They’re just silly ideas.”
“Hm,” he said noncommittally. “What’s the best thing you’ve made so far?”
“Oh, well, Baxter is my favorite.”
“Baxter?”
As if hearing his name, or perhaps just appearing because he was in the forefront of my thoughts, the rabbit from my second day in the woods hopped toward the two of us. The man next to me looked puzzled, so I endeavored to explain, “He’s just my first real creation.”
“How . . . sentimental.” He frowned slightly, almost thoughtfully.
I somehow sensed his disapproval, so I tried to change the subject, “What’s your name? I’m certain I’ve never met you before.”
“I’m not from around here,” I found this supremely confusing since everyone knew there was nothing beyond the kingdom. There had been plenty of expeditions which had discovered nothing but lands that grew more and more wild. While there had been expansion to some of the more distant lands, they were usually met with disaster that forced settlers back inland. He flashed her that smile again that seemed to clear her mind of all worries, “And my name is Kyorak.”
“Kyorak,” I repeated, thinking what an odd name that was. I suddenly noticed how dark the sky had begun to get and said, “I really should be getting back to the castle. I don’t want to get in trouble.”
“Of course not. Your mother will be worrying.” I was reluctant to go, but he took my hand and said, “Shayla, would it be all right if I came and visited you sometimes here? I could show you some more tricks with magic.”
Of course, I agreed, and he came every day for the next two weeks. He created huge creatures that rose from the earth - made of dirt and stone and grass - that lifted me straight into the air in one giant palm. He crafted giant wings that sprouted from my back and allowed me to fly was as much grace as the butterfly he had crafted on the first night. My favorite, however, was a fox he had crafted that spoke only in rhymes.
I can’t pinpoint when exactly his creations began to change. They were less whimsical and a little more frightening. There were several toward the end of our time together that I remember refusing to approach despite his reassurances that they wouldn’t hurt me including a scaled, flying beast with a human face. The day came quickly when I truly began to question who he was and what I really knew about him.
I had arrived before him in the clearing and began calling for Baxter to keep me company until he came. I began to wander to look for him when he didn’t come and I found him not far in a thicket of trees. For years after that day, I would vividly recall the sight of his mangled body and the way it broke my heart. I sunk to me knees and I remember that I was already crying. The fox that Kyorak had created approached a few moments later and I immediately noticed the smear of blood on his coat. I let out a little cry of anger and aimed a kick at it that missed.
Kyorak was beside me instantly and quickly seemed to take in the scene. He hissed something at the fox in a language I didn’t recognize and it disappeared seemingly into thin air. He looked at the remains of Baxter, my Baxter, and said, “Shayla, I’m sorry. I can fix him.”
He lifted his hands over the rabbit and I gave him a little shove, “Don’t! Don’t touch him!”
I was hysterical. I stood up and began to run back toward the castle, my long skirts that were the style back them hampering my progress, and he grabbed my arm, jerking me back toward him, “Shayla, don’t go. Don’t be afraid.”
“Let me go,” I whimpered, sounding pathetically weak, “Just let me go. I’m not mad. Just let me go. I want to go home.”
He sighed, but released me from his grasp and didn’t follow me any further toward the castle. I spent the rest of the day in my bed, telling my mother that I was ill and she hovered as though she wanted to say something but eventually left me to my troubled rest. I woke up in the morning not feeling any better about what had happened and wishing for someone to talk to more than anything else. I sat down tiredly at the table by the window where I took breakfast every morning. Next to my plate that had been delivered by my maid was a small bottle that seemed to be empty. When I held it up, however, my breath hitched to see that the consistency was different than the air outside the bottle. Magic.
With shaking hands, I lifted the note that was attached with gold twine, Until we meet again.