A Series of Imaginings

by Linda S Barth

Our beloved Beauty and the Beast reminds us we should not, as the saying goes, judge a book by its cover. Instead, why not look beneath the surface, put aside our established expectations, set our minds free to wonder and question? Think of what we might find when we spin the kaleidoscope and view things in a different way.

The stories you are about to read, all set at Winterfest, will start you off on familiar paths that lead to unexpected destinations. Yet when you arrive, you’ll find the alternate journeys can be…in some other time and place…just as real as the originals.

A hint before you begin – don’t read ahead and peek at the endings. It’s more fun to discover them when the time is right, when you find that things aren’t always as they seem…

The First Path

She stood at the top of the stairs and fluttered a hand over her softly curled hair, hoping the winds whistling everywhere wouldn’t ruin her look, one she’d painstakingly put together just for tonight. Just for him…

Sliding her feet forward in new satin pumps, she joined several other happy party-goers and descended the stony steps as quickly and safely as she could. She felt her face glow with a delighted smile as she entered the hall, her great expectations leading her through the darkness toward what she dreamed the evening might hold.

Maybe he would ask her to dance. And if he didn’t, she would find a way to ask him. She frowned and bit her lip. Would Father disapprove? She hoped he wouldn’t, but still it was a risk worth taking just to find herself in his arms, swaying to the music, and maybe afterwards wandering together to somewhere more private. Perhaps up to the tapestry gallery where she would not be surprised to find other couples hiding away, sharing a Winterfest kiss or two.

She nodded, her decision made. Yes, she could see it happening, just as she’d imagined. It could all start with a dance, and no matter what happened next, good or bad, taking the chance would be worth it. Her smile grew brighter. It would be worth everything.

Pausing to greet friends arriving from Above, stopping to chat with family members gathering from Below, she wound her way through the crowd with her goal literally in sight. There he was, standing next to Father, looking so handsome in the linen shirt and suede vest he only wore for special occasions. He’d even brushed his sometimes unruly hair so that it gleamed in the candlelight.

She sighed happily as she looked down at her new dress, floaty and silky, and hoped he’d find her as alluring as she found him. She gazed at him again and her heart grew stronger. She knew without a doubt this was the right thing to do.

It was now or never. She glided closer and felt her face warm with a blush as she wondered if anyone had noticed the longing looks she’d sent his way.

Then she shrugged and straightened her spine. It didn’t matter one bit what anyone else might think – even Father. She was brave, she was confident, she could do this. After all, Samantha reminded herself as she touched Kipper’s arm to draw his attention to her, I’m fifteen now and, just like Catherine told me, I’m a strong young woman who can do anything she puts her mind to!

THE SECOND PATH

The spacious chamber was a blur of dizzying motion. He squinted, trying to focus, but the glare of Winterfest candles made his eyes sting. That had never happened before! The gentle glow of Rebecca’s special creations had always felt so welcoming, so heartwarming. Now the light forced him to close his eyes and keep them shut tight. Yes, that helped. He took a few deep, cleansing breaths.

Excited screeches sliced through his pounding head and forced his eyelids open. He glared at several marauding children dashing through the crowd. Where had the community’s well-behaved youngsters disappeared to? This uproar was not what he needed tonight. His nose started to itch, and he reached into the pocket of his tunic for a handkerchief. He must be coming down with something. Might be best to find Peter and ask his advice, see if he had a tin of aspirin in his pocket.

A quick, decisive nod sent another jab of pain through his skull. But he persevered, as always, and headed toward his friend, swerving not quite in time to avoid a collision with Mouse and a tray of brimming mugs. He waved away the offered “Uh-oh! Sorry!” and moved on as quickly as possible, certain it would not be wise to bend and help clean up the mess, not when his head was beginning to spin again.

Resuming his quest to find Peter, he frowned at the sticky splattering on his tunic and shirt sleeves but then shrugged. William’s new recipe for mulled cider wasn’t up to his liking anyway, and he had no interest in sampling any more of it. Besides, with his queasy stomach, he probably shouldn’t be drinking the spicy brew at all.

He made his way past the game nook, another place he planned to avoid for the rest of the evening. Bad enough that earlier tonight he’d lost yet another game of chess, and to Geoffrey of all people! From the corner of his eye, he spotted Sebastien advancing in his direction with a cribbage board and a hopeful smile. Sorry, my friend, he murmured as he pivoted away. A quiet game could be enjoyable at any other time, but right now he needed that aspirin, and maybe a cup or two of strong tea or coffee.

He tried to muster a smile as he continued to edge his way through the throng of happy celebrants. He was well aware many people often regarded him as more than a bit grumpy, sometimes sullen, even occasionally unapproachable. All of which was true on any given day, but he’d always enjoyed Winterfest and the chance for light-hearted, carefree hours with family and friends. He’d looked forward to this night for weeks, and, well, it just wasn’t turning out as he’d hoped.

Next year, Cullen told himself, he’d think twice before indulging in several hours of bar-hopping with his old pals Above on Winterfest Eve.

THE THIRD PATH

He brushed a sprinkling of glittery dust from his top hat, feeling glad – not for the first time – he’d opted out of including the traditional rabbit illusion in tonight’s performance. Of course, the children would have loved it, but he had enough to worry about without being concerned that a furry creature might leave a surprise of its own in his headgear.

He sighed and rolled his eyes. He must have temporarily lost his senses when he agreed to Jacob’s request to be part of the entertainment at Winterfest. Of course, it wasn’t that he doubted his ability to amaze and enthrall his audience. After all, in his profession, being confident enough to accomplish what seemed to most like minor miracles was simply part of his everyday existence. He’d done it all before; he could do it again.

He chuckled as he plopped the hat on his head, remembering his very first performance back in college, coerced by friends to sign up for the campus talent show. He’d offered a few card tricks and other deceptively simple moves – seeming to bend the handle of a spoon, untying complex knots with the flick of his fingers, appearing to read minds. The ease of it all, executed flawlessly to the amazement of his cheering classmates, had sparked something of the showman within him, a slow burning flame that continued to simmer as the years passed.

Trust Jacob to remember that long-ago event and use some well-versed flattery to convince him to participate in tonight’s celebration! He’d picked up more than a few additional skills since those early days; surely he’d be able to put some of them to good use now. Nothing to be concerned about. And yet…

Near the makeshift stage, he checked to be sure the lock on a trunk of props was still fastened, keeping the contents safe from the fingers of curious children – and a few adults. Then he found a quiet nook under the tapestry gallery where he could rehearse his lines undisturbed. It was the one part of his act that still worried him. He knew people would see and hear what they were led to expect. It was what magicians depended on; yet he wanted to be certain nothing would go wrong.

He cleared his throat and waved an imaginary wand. “For my next effect, I shall make a pile of gold coins disappear into thin air.” He frowned, or was the traditional line ‘vanish into thin air’? And why did the air have to be thin when clearly here in the Great Hall it was not thin at all, laced with the elusive scents of festival candles and tendrils of hickory smoke from the fireplaces? Maybe he should just say into the air. Or into the ether – that was a very magical sounding phrase – or, or…Or maybe he should stop overthinking the whole thing and just get on with it.

He threw back his shoulders, trying to physically shake off his nervous energy. Of course, his skills as a magician would never be Broadway level, but he had experience, and it wasn’t like he was performing for strangers in the subway or on a street corner tonight. This was for his friends, his family. It was time to stop dithering, and as everyone in the spotlight liked to say, get this show on the road. He chuckled again, having chosen to forgo the traditional “break a leg.”

He swirled his borrowed satin cape over his shoulders and strode onto the stage. He’d surmounted challenges far greater than this. But as the eager crowd surged forward to face him, he felt a shiver of panic. In desperation, he recalled a trick he’d once learned from a colleague. Make eye contact with one person in a group who seems most receptive to you and speak directly to them.

It wasn’t much, but it was worth a try. He caught a glimpse of Mary’s supportive smile, swept an elegant bow in her direction, and proclaimed, “Ladies and gentlemen and children of all ages, welcome to the annual Winterfest Magic Show!” A clamor of cheers accompanied a crescendo of applause. His tension disappeared like the rabbit he’d left behind, and he grinned as he flipped a deck of cards into the air, savoring the gasps as they seemed to flicker into flames. His first attempt at magic tonight had worked; it boded well for the rest.

But even so, Peter promised himself, this would be the one and only time he’d ever agree to fill in for Sebastien at Winterfest.

THE FOURTH PATH

She shifted on the chair, still trying to get comfortable, but the lumpy old cushion wouldn’t budge. She snorted a soft laugh. She could sympathize with the poor thing since she was rather lumpy herself and also destined to stay put until her husband or some other kind soul came by to rescue her.

Oh well, she told herself, at least I was able to make it to Winterfest this year. She would have hated to miss the long-awaited celebration, or to have forced Father and Peter and Mary to miss it, too, not to mention her devoted husband. But, of course, they wouldn’t have minded at all, nor would she. Her mouth widened in a grin. Who knows? Maybe giving birth to a baby would become one of the many well-loved Winterfest traditions, like Sebastien’s magic show, William’s mulled wine, or the lighting of Rebecca’s candles. It was unlikely, but the world Below had always been a place where the unexpected occurred and dreams came true.

Slowly, carefully she leaned to one side, balanced her elbow on the arm of the chair, and rested her chin on her fist. But even those careful, measured movements managed to rouse the infant she carried, and she winced as the little one jiggled, kicked, and squirmed as if demanding to be released from the home he – or she – had nestled in for nearly nine months. Evidently, she thought with a grimace, the baby is eager to join the celebration, too.

She pushed aside her shawl and rubbed her free hand over her flannel and calico-covered belly in slow circular motions, just as Mary always advised her pregnant patients to do. She sighed with relief as the reliable suggestion took effect, and everything calmed and quieted. “You can come to Winterfest next year, my little love,” she murmured. “But for now, try and give your mother a break, okay?”

As the baby settled again, the music of violins and cellos drifted toward her. She watched pairs of dancers swirl in and out of the crowd as she wiggled her toes in her flat-soled boots, grateful for the soft suede that didn’t bite into her swollen ankles. She certainly wouldn’t be doing any dancing this year, but there was always the promise of next Winterfest and the next and the one after that.

She felt a smile soften her mouth. That was one of the things she loved most about her home in the tunnel community – the dependable flow of life shaped and nurtured by the love shared with family. Her heart warmed as she scanned the happy celebrants, each a familiar face. That sense of connection, of security, cradled her again. Even though earlier tonight she’d enjoyed visiting with seldom seen friends from Above, listening to their stories of that other world, she would never wish to be anywhere but here.

From across The Great Hall, her husband caught her eye and sent her an incandescent smile. She watched him hoist Luke onto his shoulders and heard the small boy shriek with laughter from his lofty perch, as Lena’s Cathy balanced on her tiny toes and reached up for her turn. It was wonderful to see the littlest ones enjoying the party. There were so few babies and toddlers in the community right now. It made their impending new addition even more valued and anticipated.

Peter had said he was fairly certain the latest ultrasound images had indicated the baby’s sex, but they’d decided they did not want to know ahead of time, only that she – or he – was healthy and strong, which all tests indicated to be true. Still, she could not help secretly hoping they’d soon add another boy to the tunnel family. She closed her eyes and found it so easy to picture their child as a beautiful infant, an adventurous toddler, an inquisitive preschooler coming into his own just like Luke. What a joy it would be watching him grow into an image of his father, becoming the man he was meant to be.

She hadn’t been aware she’d drifted into sleep until she felt her husband’s gentle hand stroke her hair, heard him murmur her name. Her eyelids fluttered open and she looked up into the face of the man she’d once feared she’d never see again. A conflict of their worlds, Above and Below, had forced them apart, but they’d returned to one another, and now there was nothing that could ever sever them again. He was…would always be…her heart, her home, just as she was his.

They shared a secret smile, full of memories, full of promises. He carefully helped her to her feet. They held each other and swayed softly to the music that swirled through the hall and echoed in their hearts. Just as on a Winterfest night not so long ago, they were filled with wonder as they awaited another dream about to come true.

There was no need for spoken words, yet they smiled as they whispered them to one another.

“I will always love you, Catherine. And I will cherish our daughter – or son.”

“I will always love you, Vincent. And I, too, will cherish our son – or daughter – now and forever.” 

THE FIFTH PATH

It was almost time to descend the windy staircase to Winterfest, but first there was something he needed to do. In the chamber he’d called home for almost as long as he could remember, he chose a spot from the crowded shelves and surfaces and returned a book to its proper place where it joined the many others he’d collected over the years.

He knew they probably should be housed in the central library chamber, but while he was always willing to let anyone borrow them, there were certain volumes he just wasn’t willing to surrender completely. Each was filled with meaning, laced with memories.

They shared a long history, the books and him. Once strangers, books had become old, cherished friends. In the beginning, the words he grew to love had been read to him in a voice low and soothing. When he finally could read on his own, their stories continued to help calm his fears, nourish his imagination, compensate for all the things that would never be his. And, just like the family who took him in, books had always accepted him for who and what he was.

Many of his precious books had aged along with him. Their pages had become somewhat tattered, their illustrations had begun to fade, their spines were ridged with cracks. Yet they were treasured for their own unique beauty, and they had become part of him – his heart, his mind, his voice. He could not let them go.

He carefully fit The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn into its special place on the shelf, joining others that would always resonate with him – Treasure Island, The Little Prince, Aesop’s Fables, The Time Machine. He traced each title with his fingertip and recalled the early days when books had been filled with symbols his young mind could not yet decipher. How thrilling it had been when those marks turned into words, and the words transformed to images of realities he had never seen in his small world…and never would. But he would always see them in his dreams.

Elephants trampling through the golden grass of a savannah. Spaceships launching toward Mars and Venus and his favorite of all, the moon. Sloops and schooners skimming over open water. Jagged mountain peaks iced with snow. Fields of lavender and poppies and daffodils, imagined colors so vivid they almost hurt his eyes.

Every word depicted something he longed for, and he loved them, even knowing it was all far beyond his reach. As time passed, those sought-after visions made of words had truly become part of who he was, if not in reality, then in his hidden heart, his secret voice. And if his beloved books continued to show him things he would never see or do or be, he’d learned not to care so much about that…or so he told himself. It was enough. It had to be.

And tonight at Winterfest, there were other pleasures to enjoy. He leaned against a wall in The Great Hall and scanned the lively crowd, his gaze flowing from one face to the next. So many people whose lives were nothing like his, yet all of them were part of one another, pushing back aloneness, welcoming in family. Like the books that had been among his first friends, these people never seemed to judge him, never made him feel less or unseen or unloved. They heard the things he couldn’t say; they saw the man he’d somehow become. He shuddered. If not for them, where and what would he be now?

He had only the vaguest shadow memories of how it had happened, and he couldn’t be certain they weren’t simply illusions conjured from the story of his finding they’d all heard so many times. He’d been rescued from a cold, desperate, and – he shivered at the thought – what surely would have been a brief existence. When a stranger took a chance on a small, lost soul, his life had been changed forever. In the eyes of the world, it was an insignificant moment; to him it was a miracle.

He watched his family, his friends enjoying the gift they all gave to one another, a celebration of light and renewal and community. He would be forever grateful, even if sometimes, especially in stolen moments when he wandered Above, he might wish for more; still, he was at heart content with what he had. A home where he’d never again be scared and hungry, lost and abandoned, shunned and repelled for his differences. A family who would love and shelter him without question. A world that had given him a voice and nurtured an amazing mind that would otherwise have been silenced forever.

And, as improbable as it would always seem, the promise of a love of his own.

He took a few steps forward, eager to become caught up in the color and warmth and love of Winterfest. He grinned as he saw a familiar figure weaving her way through the crowd, coming straight toward him with her hands outstretched in invitation. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you! William just put out new pitchers of cocoa – with little marshmallows – and our favorite dessert!”

“S’mores cupcakes?!”

She grabbed his hands. “Right! All his pastries are delicious, but those are the best!”

“Better than best!”

She pulled him into the crowd. “So, let’s go get some before they’re all gone!”

“Okay, good!” He grinned at her. “Okay, fine!”

The words he uttered were, as always, familiar and simple, not like the intriguing, intricate ones from his beloved books. But it didn’t matter. Mouse knew what they meant, even when he couldn’t say them, and the people who truly listened could hear all the words he spoke from his heart.

THE SIXTH PATH

He gently nudged the woman next to him, then waited until he had everyone’s attention. “Have I ever told you how we first met?” He took a dramatic pause to enjoy the shaking heads and murmurs of “No, I don’t think so” from friends sharing a small table in a corner of the Great Hall. Then, with a grin, he delivered his punch line. “Would you believe she was stark naked at the time?” As expected, his audience responded with raised eyebrows, gasps of surprise, and a reddened face or two.

He turned toward the subject of his story and watched – not at all surprised – as she rolled her eyes and shook her head in exasperation. But he knew it was all an act when he saw the grin she couldn’t quite hide. As she quickly clarified his tale with a few pertinent details, the array of shocked expressions dissolved into laughter. He knew he’d gotten away with it again, although he suspected he’d be hearing about it later.

She swatted him on the arm. “I can’t believe you keep telling people that story! It’s embarrassing!”

He shrugged, knowing it was probably the last time he’d be able to share that little confession, since nearly everyone else had already heard it at other Winterfests. He flashed a grin her way. “Nothing to be embarrassed about, especially after all this time! It’s a very sweet little memory.” He glanced toward the others. “Completely innocent, right?”

“Well, I suppose,” Sophie conceded with only the hint of a smile. “But even so, it’s not something a young woman wants shared with others. She needs to preserve her modesty, you know. Until she told us what really happened, well, I had imagined something quite different.”

“Me, too, so I’m glad we heard the truth.” Mischa grinned at the pair seated across from him. “Now I never really believed she’d be up to no good, but I wouldn’t be surprised to learn you were! Still, it’s good to know the real story, and…” He glanced at his wife and chuckled softly. “I have to admit it reminds me a bit of the way Sophie looked the first time we met.”

Sophie clapped a hand over his mouth. “You’re as bad as he is,” she proclaimed, tilting her head toward the storyteller. “But I’m not giving you a chance to say another word about any of this! Not unless you’re looking forward to sleeping on the sofa tonight!”

Her husband gently removed her hand and gave it a kiss. “Well, ours is a good story, too, but not worth risking a consequence like that!”

The others laughed and shared a few mildly embarrassing tales of their own pasts. Everyone agreed to remain quiet about what they’d just heard, but they all knew those promises weren’t likely to be kept, especially when next Winterfest rolled around and barrels of William’s homemade ale became depleted.

“Now, Elizabeth, I hope you’re not planning to commemorate any of these stories on the walls of the Painted Tunnels,” Dr Wong said. “Especially mine!”

Elizabeth laughed as the others chorused, “Not mine either!”

“I promise I’ll never do that without your permission, as long as you promise you won’t go telling my story either.”  She waited while everyone nodded and again pledged their secrecy. “I have to admit I’m tempted though, especially about the tale that started all this. After all, there’s still so much empty wall space just waiting to be filled…”

The artist looked toward the original storyteller and his cohort. “A scene of the night you first met would make a particularly interesting addition to the gallery. It certainly would draw a lot of attention! And as you said, it was all completely innocent, so no need to worry about being embarrassed.” Her eyes twinkled as she smiled at the pair of potential models. “You know, I can just picture the moment – in all its glory – but, don’t worry. If you let me paint it, I’ll be as discreet as possible. So, what do you think?”

Everyone grinned as they awaited a decision.

Two pairs of eyes opened wide. Two faces turned scarlet. She bit her lip. He squirmed in his chair. But before either could find their voice or the words for a firm refusal, Elizabeth added, “I would need a few more details though, just for the sake of accuracy. Now, Kanin, did you truly not know Livvie was using that bathing chamber the first night you moved Below?”

THE SEVENTH PATH

“It’s time to go.” Catherine took his hand in hers and was not surprised to feel a slight trembling. “Vincent will be waiting for us, and he’ll worry if we’re late.”

He summoned a shaky grin. “Since when has being on time become a priority of yours?”

“Since you showed up unexpectedly this morning and said you wanted to go to Winterfest! And if we’re going to make that happen, we need to leave now.” She tugged on his hand and pulled him from Vincent’s chamber where he’d found temporary refuge. “Come on!”

He sighed and let her lead him onward. But they hadn’t progressed even half the distance to The Great Hall before his steps slowed and stopped. “I’m not so sure this is a good idea after all. It seemed like it’d be fun at the time, but now I think it’s a mistake.”

Her smile was as gentle as her voice. “It’s a great idea. Everything will be fine. I’m certain of it.”

“That’s easy for you to say. Everyone here knows all about you. They love you. As for me… I’m virtually a stranger.”

“But after tonight, that’s not who you’ll be any longer. It might take a while, but before you know it, everyone will have accepted you, welcomed you in. And you’ll realize you’re part of a family again.” She watched him run his fingers through his dark hair, heard the wistful sigh in his voice.

“I’ve spent so much time drifting from place to place, person to person. I haven’t had a real family in a very long time.”

She gave him a quick hug. “It’s what you’ll always have again if it’s what you want.”

He held onto her like a lifeline. “It is what I want again, more than anything. I’ve been wandering for far too long.” He sighed softly. “I hoped I’d find a home here, but I wasn’t sure I’d be accepted. After what happened, what I did, I was afraid to believe it could be a possibility for me.”

“I know it is.” She gently moved out of their embrace. “Will you trust me on this?”

His grin returned, still shaky but sincere. “We’ve had our differences on the issue of trust, haven’t we?”

She grinned back at him. “We certainly have, but that’s all in the past now.” She frowned just the slightest bit. “You’re not going to show us what you can do and then take off again anytime soon, are you?”

“I’m done with that, Cath…at least for now.”

She rolled her eyes as she linked her elbow with his. “Just try to be on your best behavior for one evening. Think you can do that?”

“Sure.” His dark eyes twinkled down at her. “There’s always hope.”

For a few minutes, they walked on in silence until he tugged on her arm, urging her to pause. “What did you and Vincent tell people? Does anyone else know about where I’ve been, what I’ve done?”

“We haven’t said anything. We’d never betray your trust.” She waited until she saw the tension in his body begin to ease. “Well, of course, Father knows. But it’s up to you to choose whatever information you wish to share with others. We just said we were bringing a guest to Winterfest, a very good friend of ours.”

“A very good friend, huh?” He felt the ghost of a smile tug at his clenched mouth.

“That’s what you are – that and more. We love spending time with you, even if we never know when you’re going to show up. Ever think about using a planner or even a calendar? Maybe dropping a note once in a while?” She smiled as she nudged him gently with her elbow. “But you’re thoughtful and kind, and you always bring a special light to our lives. You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself, so defensive.”

A slight blush warmed his face. “You make me sound like a pretty great guy.”

“That’s because you are! And the others will see it, too. But there is something you might want to think about before we get there. You know how at parties people always ask newcomers where they live, what type of job they have, where they’ve traveled, that kind of thing.”

“Yeah.” He exhaled a short sharp sigh. “Pretty sure most people aren’t ready for the truth on all that. But I do live in the city, at least for now, so if anyone asks, I’ll tell them I’ve decided to settle down for a while and I have a place in the West Village.”

“That will work. But what about your job? It’s sure to come up in conversation.”

His frown matched the one she couldn’t hide. “That could be a problem, considering my dubious history when it comes to careers.”

“Actually, I think you’ll be all right if you don’t mention anything too colorful or far-fetched. You can always say you’ve done various types of work but you’re between jobs at the moment – maybe doing temp work in a shop or a restaurant or gallery, that kind of thing.”

“Yeah, that makes sense.” He nodded in approval. “Nothing specific or too far outside the box. Got it.”

They reached the top of the windy staircase. From the open doors below they could hear the inviting sound of laughter and music, see the warm glow of candlelight, sense the people waiting to welcome them in.

“Do I look okay?” He cast a worried glance at her. “Maybe I should have borrowed some tunnel clothes.”

She tilted her head as she considered his question. “You look fine just the way you are. No one would expect you to be dressed like people who’ve been living here. And there are plenty of guests from Above. There is just this one thing –”  She smoothed a few featherings of his dark hair back from his forehead. “Perfect!”

“Picture perfect?”

They shared a grin.

“Sure, why not?” She took a single step forward, then looked back at him. “You can do this. Think of it as another beginning, another adventure in your journey, one that can bring you a lot of happiness.”

“I know you’re right.” He took a deep breath. “Let’s do this before I lose my nerve.”

“You lose your nerve? That’s something I’m certain will never happen!”

Her light laugh eased his way forward until they reached the threshold to the hall where Vincent was waiting for them. He clapped a hand on the man’s shoulder. “I’m glad you didn’t leave. I thought maybe…”

He huffed a chagrined laugh. “Yeah, I do have a way of vanishing at the drop of the proverbial hat. But not this time.”

“Good.” Vincent smiled at him. “I know there are a lot of people who will be happy to finally see you.”

He took another deep breath. “Then, let’s get this party started.”

With Catherine’s hand holding his and Vincent’s arm around his shoulders, Kristopher entered a welcoming world of warmth and light and acceptance, one he’d almost stopped believing might be a possibility for someone like him.

THE EIGHTH PATH

In the cluttered chamber, she stirs the cauldron once, twice, three times, and listens to the lilting music of her own voice reciting the words she’d learned as a child. “May you be blessed. May all good things come to you. May nothing harm you.”  A softness of smoke, light and translucent, rises from the swirling liquid to caress her face, as if to answer, “Yes, daughter, sister, mother, may our ancestors bless you as well. May it always be so.”

Her smile glows as she breathes in the familiar fragrance. To others it is an aroma of herbs, earth, spices. To her it is the essence of heritage, destiny, home.

Soon all must be ready for Winterfest. Another measured swirl of the spoon, another breath of the drifting scent, another sigh of satisfaction at what her work will produce. She doesn’t need to see what lies before her. Her handiwork, her artistry has been manifested many times before, and its image is embedded in her heart. Everything she creates is part of her, of the girl she once was, the woman she will always be.

She circles the chamber to make her way carefully to an old, battered worktable and reaches out to touch a trio of ancient wooden bowls. Maple for prosperity, health, and love. White Oak for strength, wisdom, and protection. Birch for rebirth, beginnings, and healing. Each vessel holds part of her past, helps safeguard her chosen family’s future.

She wafts a scarred hand over the bowls, then in turn eases her workworn fingers into their contents, the first as silky as rose petals, the second as prickly as rosemary needles, the third as soft as finely crushed crystal. Intuitively, she removes just the right measures, no more and no less, before she sprinkles the mixture into the cauldron. Again an enigmatic smile curves her lips. No one else knows that these special ingredients are part of what she creates, but they’ve all benefited from their secrets.

She shrugs. No one really knows who she is either, or the truth of what she has offered throughout all the years she’s lived Below. They only see what they’ve come to believe; they only trust what their eyes have told them. But there is so much more to her than just another woman who helps provide what they need. Although no one is likely to ever realize it, there are things only she can give them.

She has sometimes longed for a partner, a confidante, but there is no one Below quite like her. She finds some measure of happiness in that; she has always been very comfortable in her own skin. Proud of her singular talents, glad to share them, grateful to be part of the greater good. Her smile fades and her lips tighten. But there is no escaping the aloneness, or the truth that years have a way of passing, carrying all living things forward to an inevitable ending. Not even her special kind of magic can change that.

Perhaps now is the time to find another to someday carry on her work. Someone she will teach and prepare, just as she was once guided, to use and celebrate those special skills when she no longer can. She sighs, hoping that final day is still well into the future. Like most, she’d prefer to believe she has eternity on her side, but she will not delude herself with such foolishness. She will someday move on, like everyone else, and she needs to leave her precious legacy in place. It would be beyond imprudent to tempt fate, to wait for some nebulous someday that might not come.

Still, if she were to speak aloud of the gifts she must bestow on another, she’d probably be thought quite insane. She laughs softly, picturing the faces of some of her more pragmatic friends if she ever divulged all she knows. William’s eyebrows shooting upward, his bottom lip jutting as he shakes his head hard. Mary’s kind eyes filled with disbelief and concern for her friend’s mental wellbeing. Father’s disapproving frown and tight-lipped grimace as he waves a dismissive hand.

No, best to maintain the persona she has presented, for in fact, that too is truly part of who she is. She will keep the rest to herself as she always has, and yet she knows things cannot stay the same forever. Tears dampen the shadows in her eyes, but she blinks them away. There is no point pretending the years won’t continue to turn, that destiny somehow might be escaped. She touches her face, feels its familiar curves and angles, runs a hand through her hair and tightens the knot on the scarf slipping from it. She straightens her shoulders, still aching from the long task she’s just completed. She grins, reassured that while she is long past maiden, she is not quite ready to advance to crone.

For now, in the binding ribbon of life, she remains mother. The thought makes her soft smile stiffen and drop. Although mother she may be, she has no child, no maiden daughter to destined for her birthright. The presence of the old ways in the tunnel world cannot be allowed to fade; her magic cannot someday die with her. While there is no one blood-bound to inherit her legacy, still it can be granted as a precious gift. But not to just anyone. The daughter must be hers as surely as if her own body had given the maiden birth. The special one is here somewhere in the maze of passageways, the continuity of chambers and caverns. She is certain of that. But who is it…and how will they recognize each other?

She sighs heavily. She believes with all her heart there is an answer waiting to be whispered to her when the time is right. She stills a sharpness of impatience, a shiver of fear. Such a revelation cannot be forced or summoned. She will draw patience from within; she will trust that all will be well. There is no other choice. Offering a silent prayer, she vows her intention, assured that the knowledge will be granted to her in its own time.

Time. She must not lose sight of its passage; she must honor it with her own form of vision. Winterfest is still three weeks ahead, but there is much to accomplish that only she can do. She has no doubt her efforts will yield what is expected, that she will have everything ready for the celebration, but for tonight, her work is done.

She slowly, carefully wends her way through the crowded chamber, then pauses at the entryway to press her hand against the rough rock wall. A voice, one she knows, one she recognizes, trills toward her from the darkness. The words it utters have been heard numerous times by others, creating a Winterfest tradition of their own. But tonight there is a message cradled within them that only she can hear – steel and softness, prophecy and promise, hope and heritage.

She offers a heartful of gratitude for a solution sought, yet never expected quite so soon. To others, what is to come would all seem so improbable, something from a folk tale spun by worlds they’ve only glimpsed in books and legends and dreams. When it happens, as it will, it will appear to them as a pastime, a hobby, a favor. But she knows the truth. She knows it is reality, it is right, it is as it should be.

The candleglow of a smile softens her face. She doesn’t need a mirror to see her own image. She knows it reflects a fulfillment of hope, a soul-deep understanding that two lives are evolving just as they should. She feels the fear vanish from her heart. Her work will continue day after day, year after year, Winterfest after Winterfest. Maiden, mother, crone. The endless cycle will not be broken. She might not be able to see it, but she knows it exists. It will always exist.

Within her soul the path grows brighter with the sound of light, approaching footsteps. It is the maiden who will in time learn to open, to cherish, to employ the gift she does not realize she already holds within herself. The woman, the mother, awaiting her hears a silent whisper, reassuring words from a Christian mystic of medieval times, his wisdom now held in the hearts of her own people.

 “All shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well.”

She turns to welcome in the daughter of her heart. “I’m very glad you’re here, Samantha.” Her smile widens. “I think I know why you’ve come.”

The girl’s laugh lights the chamber. “I’m not going to let Kipper and Geoffrey win again this year! Can I help you get the Winterfest candles ready, Rebecca?”

Together they walk toward light, toward destiny, toward forever.