Divided Paths

by Katrina Cope

  She hands me a bucket then picks up the other and leads me out the door.

  “Can I carry the bucket for you?” I ask, watching her struggle with the weight.

  “No, I'm a big girl. I'm ten. I don't really need your help. I just wanted someone to show my animals to.”

  I smile as I follow her. The girl seems trusting, considering she has been so sheltered. Or perhaps her sheltered life is the reason why she trusts easily.

  We reach the pigs and slop a large portion of the food over the pen's fence. With their pink skin covered in mud, the pigs stick their noses into the food. The smell of their pen is strange, rather potent, and not the best fragrance. I cover my nose. Studying the pen, I realize it’s all a mixture of rotten food, mud churned up by the pigs, and added excrement.

  Ava places her bucket down and climbs over the fence. She grabs a shovel. I have a feeling I am not going to like the next task.

  “I have to pick up the poo, Papa says.” She watches me intently, and her humor accentuates the pure green of her eyes.

  Even though I thought this would be our next job, I screw up my nose with exaggerated disgust.

  She giggles heartily.

  I leap over the fence and grab another shovel. “Let me help.”

  Her smile lights up her face. “Sure. I'd love some help. I hate this job. My mama and papa always make me do it.”

  I chuckle and add some sarcasm. “I can't imagine why. It smells beautiful.” I hold a shovel full of manure in Ava's direction.

  Ava giggles, and her eyes are so pure green that it seems as though there is a light shining behind them. There is such joy in her face.

  We both scrape up the mess and throw it over the fence in the far corner where the plants grow.

  As I wander around in the mud, a pig approaches and steps on my foot, wiping its dirty body up against my pant legs. I groan. “Look at my pants. The mud covers them all the way up to my knee.”

  Ava looks at me and giggles, and I pretend to glare at her.

  “You have to watch that one. He likes to share his mud. He's very naughty about that. Mama always gets upset with me when I come home dirty. I've learned to keep away from him.”

  She searches the pen. “We’re done. Now the pigs won't be walking in it.” She returns her shovel, and I follow. I don't need to be told twice that we can leave this smelly pen.

  I pick up the heavier bucket and leave the emptier one for Ava. The bucket holds a large number of seeds and other produce. She leads me to the chicken house, and a chicken comes running up to her. It's Mademoiselle, the one that I saw her playing with when I was watching her in my invisible form. She drops her bucket then squats down, picks it up, and pets it.

  Ava looks at the bucket in my hand and says, “You need to tip it out. Make sure you spread it through the pen so many chickens can eat at once.”

  I feel stupid as I gaze at the bucket in my hands. I should have known that already. “Yes. Of course.” I scatter the food on the ground, watching the chickens come running from all different directions.

  I grab a handful of food and hold it out for the chicken in Ava's arms. It pecks until the food topples off my palm. “That one seems to like you,” I say.

  Ava reaches down and scoops up a handful of seed and holds it up for the chicken to eat while she carries it. “Yes, she does. I've nursed this one since she was a baby. A fox killed her mummy.” A slight cloud eclipses the pure color of her eyes.

  “That's sad,” I say. I study her, wondering if she knows about her past. She pets the chicken a few more times then places it down on the ground.

  “Yes. It is sad. The chicken and I share a lot in common.”

  “Oh, really. How's that?” I raise an eyebrow at her, nudging her to go on.

  “My mom and pop were killed too. That's when Mama and Papa decided to take me in. Papa was my dad's best friend.”

  “I'm so sorry to hear that. Your mama and papa seem to be taking good care of you, though, and you seem very happy.” Seeing the tarnish on those beautiful eyes, I try to take away some of her sadness.

  “I am. I still miss my mom and pop.” Her eyes pool with sadness, and my heart sinks.

  “I'm sure you do. But at least you have someone who cares for you deeply. Your mama and papa would do anything for you to keep you safe and looked after. You know that, don't you?”

  The cloud leaves her eyes, and they become bright again. “Yes. I do. They have been very good to me.” She grabs the empty bucket off me. “We must gather the eggs.” She heads toward the henhouse, and I watch while she squats and disappears into the tiny hole.

  “I hope you're not expecting me to crawl through there. There is no way I would fit.” I squat down with her and stick my head through the hole. There's no way the rest of my body will fit through. I pretend to squeeze my upper body through the space, and Ava giggles.

  “You're funny. You're too big, silly. You're never going to fit.” She giggles and playfully whacks me on the upper back. I pull my head out and grin.

  “Then I'm not going to be able to collect the eggs,” I say, making sure I look disappointed as I watch her through the hole.

  “You can search the yard,” she says as she gently places another egg in the bucket. “Often, there are silly hens that lay their eggs out in the yard. If I'm lucky, I can collect them early and beat the wild creatures to them.” She continues her search, scratching around and collecting the eggs in the tiny house.

  I rise to my feet and explore the yard in the areas I saw Ava search on my first day here. I find a few lying under trees and other random spots and place them gently in the second empty bucket. Ava crawls out of the henhouse and squats next to it, slowly pulling the eggs out of her scooped pinafore and putting them into the bucket before retrieving the other bucket from inside the hen house.

  “You did well,” she says. “You found more eggs than I usually find when I'm out there. Or maybe a few of them laid extra eggs in the wrong spot.”

  “I have an excellent teacher.” I watch the pride splash across her face.

  She looks at me, her eyes wide. “Would you like me to show you something special? You're not allowed to tell Mama and Papa that I showed you, okay? They will be mad at me. I'm not to show anyone what I do.”

  I am curious. Of course I want to see what she wants to show me. I whisper, “I promise I won't tell them. It'll be our secret.”

  Her face beams. Her trust in me is clearly showing in her eyes. It almost makes me sad because I know that she's in danger, yet she is so trusting. It probably stems from having such a secure upbringing. As I watch, her expression changes.

  “I've wanted to show someone for a long time.” She retrieves an egg then balances it on her slightly scooped palm. Her lips move, and I think I hear a sound coming from them, but I'm not sure. I can't recognize any words, and they are so quiet. I watch her mouth while trying to work out what she is saying. Suddenly, her lips stop moving, and the edges turn up in a smile. I look into her eyes, trying to find the meaning of her smile, and they beam at me brightly. I don't know what caused the change of expression, but when I look at her palm, I notice the egg is gone.

  “Where did it go?” I ask.

  She smiles wryly. “It's disappeared.”

  “Where?” I’ve seen magic tricks before, and I know that ordinary people can make things disappear down sleeves only to have them reappear in another place. These instances were just trained tricks. Surely, Ava is not doing that.

  “It's invisible. It's on my hand still, silly.”

  I reach out and feel for the egg. Sure enough, it sits in her palm, invisible. Thinking it is about to disappear for real, I keep touching it and look into her eyes. “What happened? How did you do that?”

  “It's my secret gift. It's one of the reasons Papa is so protective of me.”

  I must be looking at her dumbfounded—I can feel my mouth open. How could she possibly have made the egg disappear? Humans can't do that. It isn�
��t some trick. It’s impossible. “Can you make it reappear?”

  A cheeky smile spreads across her face. “Of course. If I don't know the right spell, it will take a couple of hours to reappear.”

  “The right spell?” I repeat in shock, wondering if I heard correctly.

  “Yes, the right spell.” Her lips move almost silently. I still can’t hear the words, but within a few moments, the egg reappears on her hand.

  I feel my jaw drop. I'm not doing too well at hiding my shock. Humans aren't able to do those sorts of things. They have no special powers at all. She shouldn’t be able to do any of this. I gawk at Ava, and a satisfied grin spreads across her face.

  “That's incredible. How are you able to do that?”

  Her smile widens. “It's something my mom and pop taught me.”

  “You mean Mama and Papa from the farm?” I ask.

  “No. I mean Mom and Pop. Mama and Papa don't know any magic.” She says this nonchalantly. “Magic scares them. I don't blame them because that's what got my parents killed. Mama and Papa tell me that people fear people with magic because of what they can do.”

  “Seriously! Did someone kill your parents because of this?”

  “Yes. They knew a lot more than me. They were special. Papa knew my father could do this. He still was his best friend, though. They were friends since they were children. I know that people kill people who can do things like this. It wasn’t just my parents.” She looks deeply into my eyes. “But I trust you. I have trusted you since the first day. Even Papa is starting to, and he regards everyone with suspicion.”

  “You're not wrong about that.” I chuckle.

  “Don't hold that against him. He's a good man. But don't tell them that I told you about my magic,” she says with more urgency. “They would distrust you even more, and they would become furious.”

  “I won't tell them.” I shake my head. “What else can you do?”

  “I can make things move with my mind.”

  “Are you the one responsible for making the doll dance at night and the candle flicker and your curtains do weird things?”

  “Yes. That's me. They connect with my dreams. If I have a happy dream the doll dances and the candle does too, but when I'm having a sad dream or nightmare, they turn to angry movements.”

  “Do you have many nightmares?” I ask.

  “I have nightmares every night, usually about Mom and Pop being killed.”

  I rub my forehead. “That's understandable. I guess now that I know it's you who is making them move, I'll stop worrying.”

  She looks at me, her striking eyes full of innocence and curiosity. “Were you worried about me?”

  “Yes, I was worried about you. I heard the weird noises and went to investigate, but I couldn't see how they were doing it.”

  “Well, it's just me, so you don't need to worry.” She puts the egg back into the bucket. “Papa doesn't worry about them anymore. He used to, until he knew what it was from.”

  I think back to my conversation with him and our discussion of the weird noises. He didn't show any sign of knowledge. He is one tricky bluffer. He didn't technically lie, so no warning signs alerted me of his deception. “I did ask him about it. He didn't answer me. Instead, he acted as though he didn't know anything about it.”

  “That's probably because he would have to admit that I had magic. And he can't do that. He would put me in danger.”

  I look at the young girl before me. She acts so maturely for her age. She has been through so much already. “Well, he's right, so I don't want you to tell anyone else. Okay?” I give her a solemn gaze.

  She nods.

  “I'm keen to know, is there anything else you can do?” I ask.

  Her face fills with thought. “There's one thing I can do.”

  “What's that?” I edge closer, curious.

  “Ava,” a voice calls from near the house.

  My shoulders sag, and my heart sinks. I was starting to get somewhere with why this girl is so important. At least I got something. Now, her father is calling her from the house.

  Her face pales. “Now remember, don't tell Papa. Okay?” She fixes me with a warning glare.

  “I won't tell him, I promise. But we do have to go.” I stand and grab her hand, pulling her into a standing position, and I take the bucket of eggs from her arms. Together, we approach the house.

  “There you are.” Piers eyes us suspiciously. He can't help himself. “I was starting to worry.”

  “Ava was showing me how things work around here. It's a very important role she has, picking up all the eggs and feeding the pigs and chickens,” I say, nudging her lightly.

  Her face fills with pride. She beams. “It was fun showing Zacharias where everything is. I'd like to do it again sometime.” She grabs the bucket from me and holds it out for her father to see the collection.

  He peers in the bucket, cocks an eyebrow, and nods. “We shall see. We have much work to do before winter time. Come, Zacharias. We must go.”

  Ava dashes inside as I follow her father. He isn’t lying. There is much work to be done. The time goes quickly as I think about what Ava did and what else she might be capable of. It's no wonder I was sent to protect her. Her heart is full of innocence. It would be a shame to have someone turn against her because she’s different. I can’t help but wonder if perhaps I’m also here to steer her in the right direction. Someone with power could go either way, into good or evil.

  - Chapter Twelve -

  Years pass, and Ava grows into a teenager. Not one threat has come near her, and although I occasionally disappear to help Michael, I’m always back before they know it. I'm invited to the house to eat with the family at every meal. I feel as if I belong. And each day, I watch the love between Caitline and Piers grow stronger despite everything they endure. Often, I watch their loving exchange, and it stirs emotions within me. There aren't any female angels, and we are forbidden to have a relationship of this sort with a human, yet I can't help feeling as though something is missing from my life. I know I'm created to serve, but seeing their contentedness makes me think that some companionship would be nice. At least I have Michael as my best friend and brother, although I know better than to think it is the same.

  The family often teases me, and when they catch me watching them, Caitline and Piers often say that I will find a sweet girl someday. They joke about my skin, which never ages. It’s true—my appearance doesn’t show signs of age despite getting older. Little do they know that I am immortal. I can't age.

  After lunch one day, I watch Ava lie on her stomach in the yard, filling out a book. I have seen this book a few times in the distance. It is large with leather-bound pages. I have seen her several times with a distant look on her face as she lies in the yard over its open pages. Today is one of those days. I spot her in the distance with a pen in hand, scribbling on its pages. This time, I decide I will go and check it out.

  As I approach through the trees, leaves crackle under my feet. Hearing the noise, she turns, almost looking slightly embarrassed. She wipes it off her face when she sees that it's me. She slams the cover shut. I manage to catch a glimpse of its design. In the center is a round turquoise rock embedded into a shaped copper circle with decorative trimmings. Swirls and leaf-like designs protrude from the center. Forged onto a hard leather surface is a circle with points facing the external edges. These points indicate north, south, east, and west as though they are the center of a compass. Black vignettes adorn each corner of the book. It’s beautiful, and I can tell it took a lot of work to decorate it.

  “That's a nice cover,” I say as I peer over her shoulder. I am lucky to get a good look through her long blond hair. “I've watched you draw in this book many times. What's it for?”

  Our friendship has developed more over the years as I've watched the young lady grow. She doesn't have any other friends. It feels natural for me to question her as a friend despite our age difference. She scrambles to sit up straight then
grabs the book and hands it to me.

  I take it from her. “It's heavy.” I am surprised. I run my fingers over the front. “Such craftsmanship. Where did you find it?”

  “It's something I've been working on.”

  “Do you mean you made it?”

  She nods.

  I admire the intricate detail, running my fingers over the front, feeling the bumps and the design on the leather. The pages are thick and heavy—I can tell even with the cover closed. My fingers rest on the page edges. I have a feeling it is a private book, so I look up at her and ask, “Can I take a look inside?”

  She studies my face, her eyes thoughtful. I can see the trust there even though she hesitates. She nods with a slight tilt of her head. I take that as a yes, and I pull at the covers, keen to see what is inside and what she's been doing. But the cover doesn't budge. It stays firmly in place, tight against the pages. I pull harder, trying to pry it open, my muscles flexing in my arms as I focus their strength to pull the covers in the opposite direction. No matter what I do, they won’t budge. I am starting to think that it will never open for me and that I am using too much force. I’m afraid I will wreck the book. There has to be a trick. After persisting unsuccessfully for a few more moments, I look at her.

  “What's the deal with this? It won't open.” I am bewildered. I am a seasoned warrior with incredible strength and energy, yet I can't open this book. It is then that I realize that she is laughing.

  “What's so funny?” I ask, my pride a little hurt.

  “I've charmed it.” She giggles. “Unless you have witch blood and a pure heart, you can't open it.”

  I can't believe it. How could she possibly do that? I gaze at the cover, bewildered, and run my hand over the front again, feeling the different textures. I let out a long breath. “It's beautiful. I wish I could open it. I promise I am pure of heart, but a witch I am not.” Despite my disappointment, a sense of satisfaction fills me. It’s a spell that she created—they must be pure of heart. This gives me hope that she is aiming in the right direction. Her heart is only for helping people, not for killing them or ruling over them with her powers.