The Spirit Rose Page 6

  ‘Few knew the true nature of that power. Among those who did, was a wicked man who called himself a sorcerer, but was little more than a charlatan. Though feared by many, he wielded little real power, and wanted more. He longed to control the forces within the old tree. Many times he tried to harness them, and each time, he failed. But as the old tree’s end drew near, it became less able to defend itself. It knew it must soon hand on its great charge, and began to show more and more favour to the little rose tree.

  ‘Sadly, the old tree’s chosen still had some growing to do, and could not absorb all the old tree had to give until fully attaining sixteen years of age. In desperation, the old tree begged the eagle to keep its remaining powers safe until it was time for the chosen to take full possession and control of them.

  ‘The eagle agreed and flew to the top of the old tree, where it seized between its talons a branch with five roses upon it. Its wings outstretched, it turned its head down towards the base of the old tree. Summoning all its strength, the old tree transformed its friend into a statue of pure gold, infusing it with its remaining powers and placing around it a preservation spell and other protective charms. Then the old tree withered, and was gone.

  ‘It did not take long for the wicked sorcerer to learn what had happened. Enraged, he hastened to the garden and stole the statue now known as the Keeper statue. For many days, he tried to obtain the power housed within it, but the statue was impenetrable. Only the old tree’s chosen could unlock its secrets. Upon realizing this, the sorcerer sought out the little rose tree to which the old rose tree had shown favour. Speaking softly to it, he dug it up and planted it in his own garden, where he cared for it and pretended to cherish it. He thought, once it came to trust him, it might be tricked into relinquishing the power the statue was guarding, and would one day release.

  ‘Of course, the little tree did not trust the sorcerer. It knew the great havoc he could, and would, wreak if he were to seize control of the old tree’s powers. Though it did nothing to antagonize him, it did not response to his false concern for its well-being, either, aware that its only real friend in that house was the youth, who had entered into service there in order to protect it.

  ‘Not long after this, strangers came, conquerors from a mighty empire. Their presence displeased the wicked sorcerer, who saw it as a threat to his own ambitions. He challenged the invaders’ authority, which was really not a very clever thing for him to do, for it made their leader very angry. Scornful of the sorcerer’s meagre powers, he fined him heavily for his audacity, and confiscated many of his goods.

  ‘Among the goods confiscated was the eagle statue. The invaders’ leader knew nothing of the power it contained. He knew only that it was of gold, and he liked gold. He took the statue to a house he had commandeered for himself and placed it in a room containing several other treasures.

  ‘Rising early the next day, he went to look upon his most recent prize—and found it gone. Immediately, he suspected the sorcerer, but in this he was quite wrong. The sorcerer did not have the statue and, search as they might, neither the invader, nor the sorcerer, could find it.

  ‘Someone seeking to curry favour with the invader told him the statue might be hidden near the sorcerer’s little rose tree, but a search there revealed nothing. In great fury, the invader tore the little rose tree from the sorcerer’s garden. The poor little tree was thrown onto a cart and taken to a far-off land, where it was cast into a deep, dark hole.

  ‘Though lonely and afraid, it took comfort in knowing that, through its sacrifice, the old tree’s powers could be kept safe, as the missing statue’s location was known only to itself and the youth who was its friend. The youth, however, did not take comfort in this. He worried about the little tree, and chafed over the privations he was sure it was suffering. Seeking to mitigate them, he went up into the hills one night and entered a small cave. Drawing the statue from its hiding place, he called upon certain skills of his own and cast a spell designed to channel some of its protective shielding to the little tree and afford it some protection too.

  ‘Alas, he had been followed! Seeking to either control the statue, or limit its ability to thwart him, the wicked sorcerer burst into the cave. With a cry of triumph, he threw another spell at the statue. When this spell met with the youth’s spell, defensive charms repelled both. With a sudden bright flash, the statue broke apart.

  ‘As the shards flew around the cave, the sorcerer snatched at one. Small though it was, he was rendered unconscious the instant his hand closed upon it. Full of dismay, the youth flung the other shards into a sack and fled into the night.

  ‘He was not, however, full of despair. He knew the statue could not be destroyed. If damaged, it had the ability to repair itself. Heartened by this knowledge, the youth hastened to the home of a friend among enemies.

  ‘There, in this place of refuge, he opened the sack and found the statue almost completely restored. Almost, but not quite. Tiny, but perceptible holes pock-marked its chest and outstretched wings, and one end of the branch the eagle clutched in its talons lay apart from the other. Closer inspection revealed that the two ends of the branch could not fit together because they did not match up. A small connecting piece was missing, as happens with a jigsaw puzzle if you are careless and do not put it away properly.

  ‘Though the youth waited and watched, the tiny holes did not disappear, and the broken segment did not re-attach. This caused the youth no little concern because the statue still held the old rose tree’s remaining powers, and if it was to one day transfer those powers to the chosen without hindrance, it would have to be better mended.

  ‘The youth thought long and hard and eventually concluded that, if he could but fill the holes, and set the statue before the little rose tree disfigured only by the broken segment, all might still be well, as, together, he and the little rose tree might be able to make it whole again.

  ‘After consulting a book of wisdom, the youth melted down the broken segment and used some of it to fashion three medallions. Each featured a lovely five-petal rose to mark its connection with the little rose tree, and on one of them, mystic words were inscribed beneath the rose. From the rest of the molten gold, he fashioned other pieces of jewellery, five in all, each in a different form, but possessing the same rose design as the medallions.

  ‘This task complete, the youth cast a spell to bind these five trinkets to each other, and another to bind them to the medallions. He then bound all these pieces, which would come to be known as Keeper Pieces, to the Keeper statue, but was not yet content. The missing shard was still in the possession of the wicked sorcerer, who was sure to put it to bad use. Certain he would also try to corrupt these newly formed creations, the youth cast yet another spell. This one ensured that the power within all but one could only be called upon by those who were, like the little rose tree, and the youth himself, below sixteen years of age. Aware of the fluctuations of Time, and able to measure its ability to move within itself, he further decreed that this magic was not to begin for a thousand years, and granted certain users glimpses of its nature.

  ‘Returning to the hills, the youth hid the eagle statue in a crevice within a different cave and surrounded it with his own enchantments. Enchantments that would veil its presence and hold it fast until circumstances warranted its emergence.

  ‘Once these enchantments were complete, he cast his final spell. When he had finished, there came a great roar. A swirling mass of colour appeared above his head, then descended and roiled across the floor of the cave like a fast-moving stream. Into this stream he threw four of the golden trinkets he had made, letting it take them where it would. It was his intention that these Pieces should move about in the world, touching the lives of many before seeking each other out and making their way to the little rose tree so that it might fulfil its destiny.

  ‘The last Piece he flung backwards, against the stream’s current, saying “Fly, O Preserver, to a land yet unknown, that the rose tree may blossom
and join with its own.”

  ‘This Piece, the most powerful of all the Pieces, was a safeguard, an aegis to be held by one who could protect it, so that it could, in its turn, protect. The youth feared that, through the missing shard, the sorcerer might find a way to disrupt his plans if there was naught in place to defend against it.

  ‘The medallions the youth had crafted were not thrown into the stream. They had other roles to play. One was to be worn around his own neck, but upon returning to the house of his friend among enemies, he gave one of the others into the care of his friend’s sister. The sister was about to travel to the far-off land where the little tree now languished, and had promised to take the medallion to the tree, and help it in any way she could.

  ‘To the friend himself, the youth gave the inscribed medallion. Upon surrendering it, he implored his friend to guard it, and its secrets, well, and charge his descendants with doing the same, as it was only through them that the lost could be found, and the powers within the statue delivered to the chosen.

  ‘Having, for the moment, achieved all that he was able, the youth withdrew to a secret place to sharpen and strengthen his skills in readiness for the day on which all that he had set in motion would come to fruition. He knew the little rose tree would also be preparing for that day, and would patiently await those who would pull it out of the deep, dark hole and plant it in the sunlight once more.

  ‘It is still waiting, my dears. Waiting for all to unfold as it must, for, if, upon reaching maturity, the rose tree cannot bloom, and the chosen receive the old tree’s legacy, the consequences will be most dire. It falls to us, to the line of the restorer, to rescue the little rose tree and avert disaster. Not all are suited to the task, but one or more of each generation must turn the key and step through the door, aiding those beyond it as well as they are able. It is only in this way that the statue can become whole, and the old rose tree’s chosen take charge of that which it holds. But be warned! There are those who would have it otherwise. That you may be aware of them, I feel obliged to offer up this caution —

  ‘Those seeing this can certain be

  That our line still serves the tree.

  The vow the very first did make

  His rightful heirs will not forsake.

  Each generation must the pledge renew

  And without exception, its duty do.

  But heinous blood has joined this stock

  And would the others’ labours block.

  These scions bred through infiltration

  Work for the rose tree’s ruination.

  The disc empowered to heal all

  Must never into their hands fall.

  -Finis-’”

  Chapter Seven

  Dane closed the book and looked around at the others. “Well?” he said.

  “Well, I’d say that was quite a lengthy insight,” said Paige.

  “Indeed,” said Grantie Etta. “Now we just have to figure out what it means.”

  Everyone thought for a moment; then Uncle Edmond said, “Dane was obviously right about Rosalina using a rose tree to symbolize Varteni. The old Keeper of Time tree symbolizes a person as well. An important person whose knowledge, power, and/or influence, was coveted by the fellow Rosalina referred to as the wicked sorcerer.” He glanced around. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I got the distinct impression Varteni’s dear old guardian—whom I took to be the wicked sorcerer of this tale—was not, as in the accounts I’ve read, and told you about, Varteni’s doting master, or even kindly disposed towards her. Quite the opposite, in fact. Perfect example of the type of historical distortion that sampler over there warns about.”

  He nodded towards a sampler Grantie Etta had stitched as a young girl.

  It read — Believe not all that has been told. Chronicles support the bold.

  “He must have been a bigshot, too, and influential enough to control what got written about him,” Paige agreed. “But if what Rosalina said is the real deal, why did she make him into a sorcerer? What’s the sorcerer symbolic of?”

  “A sorcerer. No symbolism involved. Except for Varteni and the other rose tree person, the other characters are all actual people. Under a variety of names—Zoravar, Vartan, Khatcheres—Rosalina’s sorcerer chap is billed as a sorcerer in most other accounts as well. She said he was little more than a charlatan, and in bygone days, most so-called sorcerers, magicians, and what-have-you, really were just people with a flair for trickery or a little more scientific knowledge than their neighbours, but that doesn’t mean they all were. A few really might have had uncanny powers of some kind, and, charlatan or not, she implied this one did demonstrate some ability in the field. Which means he could have been the genuine article, even if he wasn’t top of his class at sorcerer school. With the medallion itself defying rational explanation, I don’t think we can dismiss the possibility.”

  “We certainly can’t,” said Granddad, “because, much though this story reads like a fairy tale, it seems to be based on real happenings. The Wolverton family tree doesn’t go back quite far enough to prove we’re descended from that youth’s ‘friend among enemies’, but Rosalina seemed pretty certain of it. We are the line of the restorer, and her book was a one-off, intended only for medallion users. I doubt there were any copies, and it might have been better for her if she hadn’t has this one made.”

  “How so?” Grantie demanded.

  “Well, I don’t know how old she was when she got this dream-insight, or how old she was when she wrote it down, but you spoke of her having a series of illnesses when she was young. Breakdowns, possibly. If the book’s print date of eighteen-eighty-seven happens to coincide with the first of those ‘illnesses’, the two could be connected. Does it coincide?”

  “Yes. Yes, it does. She would have just been coming into her twenties then. And I believe Aunt Sarra’s letter regarding the manuscript did also contain the first reference to an illness.”

  “Where is that letter? Do you still have it somewhere?” Paige asked.

  “My dear girl, Grantie has everything somewhere,” Uncle Edmond retorted. “Are old family letters still kept in one of those filing cabinets in the library, Grantie?”

  She nodded. “Go fetch it, Edmond. It’ll be in the drawer marked ‘Papa’s Personal Correspondence’, in a file labelled with the year.”

  Grantie’s library adjoined her sitting room. Uncle Edmond disappeared through the connecting door and returned about fifteen minutes later.

  “Your father received a prodigious amount of letters,” he commented, settling back into his armchair with the one he had retrieved.

  “Most people did, back then,” Grantie replied dryly. “Few homes were equipped with a telephone. As for texting, or that Skype thing you sometimes have me do with people, well, those were concepts beyond imagination.”

  “What does the letter say, Uncle Edmond?” asked Jack.

  “Well, most of it’s just the usual chit-chat, but the relevant section reads — ‘The trouble over Rosalina’s little book seems to have come to a happy conclusion. I must confess to having been deeply concerned. Once she became taken with the idea of publishing it, she was not content to submit the rough account she wrote down against our wishes six years ago. She spent hours composing the text to her liking, and the illustrations took even longer, though she draws most beautifully, and usually without effort. It quite taxed her strength, and when the satchel containing both text and drawings was snatched by some miscreant en route to the printer, I feared, also, for her sanity. She was completely distraught, saying dark forces were at work. She reproached herself bitterly for dismissing our objections to her putting the story to paper, but, as you know, she would have it so. She had no patience with the suggestion that we simply pass an oral account of her extraordinary dream down to those to whom it might be of interest. The moment Uncle Holly told her his solicitor’s nephew had a print shop, she gave him no peace until he agreed to have the refined version made into a proper book
. Not that he took much persuading. He indulges her shamefully, claiming it is a godfather’s right. I was so relieved when a message came from him saying the stolen satchel had been recovered with all the contents still inside. The thief obviously found them of no value and threw it away in a fit of petulance. Little did he know how large a reward we would have offered! What luck that someone found it and returned it. Had it remained lost, I think we could have despaired of our dear sister’s affliction ever abating, but now that the book itself has been safely delivered to us, she is quite herself again, though perhaps a bit more melancholy.’”

  He put the letter down. “You’re right, Avery. This book definitely caused some Rosalina some problems. Her hand-wringing over ‘dark forces’ even has me willing to exchange my ‘intriguing’ for your ‘sinister’ in regards to the unknown interference we were discussing a few days ago. It obviously goes back further than we thought.”

  “But how far? Maybe all travellers have experienced some kind of interference, and just didn’t realize it because things righted themselves again, like with Rosalina’s lost manuscript,” Paige conjectured.

  “We righted that,” Dane said slowly. “The satchel Hetty and Pip found when we went mudlarking with them back in Victorian times has to be the same one because of that ‘Uncle Holly’ bit. Who else could that be but Clive Hollingsworth? We know he was Rosalina’s godfather, and the day we met him he was going into his solicitors’ office to see about something. Most likely, the manuscript, which, thanks to us, Mr. Henshaw was able to give him.”

  Paige grimaced. “Mmm, yeah, I’ll admit that occurred to me, too, while Uncle Edmond was reading. I wasn’t sure if I should bring it up because, well, it’s kind of creepy. But it could be an example of how things work out if something goes wrong or something weird happens. So the missing Keeper Pieces business we’ve been stressing over might work out too.”