‘You must become the thing itself, before you can transform it. That’s where you can get lost.’
Leo leaned into the darkness. He wanted to let go, fall blind. Hatred throbbed through his veins. He closed his eyes. Behind his lids he found memories. Scenes from his childhood streamed like coloured ribbons against the black. There was the cave where he had stood only hours ago. He remembered the glow of the stone wall, fragile now as a candle flame. But as he looked he saw again the leaping animals within it, the ancient people, the beginnings of life. A tenderness arose in him for those living beings of long ago, and he remembered how Illluminato had once stood in the same place, showing his grandson these miracles of life. Illuminato, the man who could reveal a pulse beneath a cave wall, who could bring back life to a dying boy.
In that second Leo felt at one with his ancestor, as if he had lived through every moment of Illuminato’s life. He felt the power of his hatred, the enormity of his love. But he knew, too, that it was now he, Leo, who had to choose between them.
His toes inched back from the edge. He felt the hard cool rock under the soles of his feet. And he let the living light of the cave fill his heart.
As he looked back at the lake he saw the waves thrashing all around him. He gritted his teeth. He would watch and let it all pass in front of him, like a dream. And there, tall as the sky, he saw the shape of Beatrice swirling and stretching, changing into Francesca. She was chuckling as she threw dirt into a grave—his own. Leo’s stomach clenched. But he didn’t look away. He saw his mother running from him, a village burning, people clambering over the plague-ridden bodies of others, stealing their rings, their shoes, their clothes. There before him the witch played out scenes of human cruelty and cowardice that he would never forget.
Leo watched with all his attention. He noticed every detail because he knew he would need it. Each illusion provided information to hold in his mind. Hours, minutes, the seed of Illuminato’s evil twisted and grew into countless shapes and still he watched, holding fast to the edges of himself.
But it was enough to make you want to die. To never go back and belong to the human race. That is, if you became forever what you saw.
He felt very old, standing there on the rock. If he survived he knew that, at least in his heart, he would never be the same again.
Leo had reached deep inside the seed. As he travelled further the images began to blur, rushing past him so that he could hardly take them all in. He was approaching a nugget of dark that swept everything into itself. It painted no pictures, spoke no words. Whirling like a tornado it expanded and shrank before him until, for just one moment, it held still.
His mind closed around it fast like a fist over a coin. It throbbed, a living thing, against the walls of his mind. The pain was searing—a blacksmith’s hot iron on the skin. He couldn’t hold it for long.
The only way was to transform it. ‘Then you’ll be practising the art of Metamorphosis, my boy!’
Leo was sweating all over his body. His heart thundered in his ears. The dark mass pulsed in his head. He tried to close his mind tighter. But his light was dimming. He knew he had to stop Illuminato’s dark from spreading.
Under his feet was the cool grey rock. He imagined a stone in his hand. A piece of granite. He saw tiny crystals sparkling on its surface. He knew by heart, from all his study in the forest, the millions of grains of quartz and other minerals that lay inside.
He held the two things in his mind. The nugget of darkness and the stone. He looked at them both and understood every particle of their beings. His mind balanced them perfectly for a second, as if he were a scale, weighing them, judging them. And then the choice was easy, as easy as water flowing down a mountain. He opened the fold of dark in his mind and in that instant he slid the essence of his ancestor’s evil into the stone.
A groan like the cracking of a mountain roared through the sky. The waters of the lake churned, sending up spray that leaped over Leo’s head. He saw it sparkle as it shot through the air, then settle back on the surface of the lake in a patch of silver that glowed, for a moment, more brightly than the full moon.
Leo felt a gladness spread through his body. He looked down and saw the stone, a real piece of granite in his hand. It had been born in his mind, and he fingered it now with amazement, examining its coarse-grained, greyish coloured texture. It lay there in his palm unmoving, ordinary. The air sighed all around him, and Leo looked up from the stone and saw there above him, where the witch had been, it was as bright as day. The sky shimmered with the light of her soul released, and he was content.
He gazed out at the lake, gentle and smooth as glass. Then, still holding the stone, he turned and started the long climb over the rocks, back towards the people he loved.
Chapter Fifteen
On the night that Leo returned with the stone and the lake was set free, celebrations broke out in the piazza. The sky was alight with burning torches but as the dawn came the villagers grew quiet, watching the sun rise over a new morning.
Marco had been amongst the crowd gathered at the shore that night. When Leo embraced him, it was as two grown men, father and son. Leo felt the line of his power reaching back in time and galloping forward, and he’d whispered, ‘Why didn’t you ever tell me that it was Illuminato?’
‘Why should a child start his life in shadow?’ Marco had replied.
But then he’d begun to tell Leo, there on the pebbly shore, as the crowd drifted back to the village, about Manton, his father, and how he’d returned, raving from the lake when Marco was only ten years old. Raving about the witch—the horror that Illuminato had created. ‘And I am his son!’ Manton had wailed, and he’d started beating at himself, tearing at his skin so that Marco had to bind up his hands with cloth. They’d never gone back to the cave again. Those were the last words ever spoken between them.
‘And Illuminato?’ Leo had asked.
Marco had shrugged, helpless. ‘How can you justify evil? My grandfather was born with an unimaginable power. Blessed or cursed, whichever way you want to see it. He loved a woman who was not his wife. Loved her always, even when she married someone else. He kept his rage locked up, I suppose, like a monster in a cage. Until the day she wouldn’t see him any more.’ Marco looked down. ‘Poor Caterina, poverina.’
Leo had brought out the stone then for Marco.
‘We’ll bury it, Leo,’ Marco told him. ‘Deep in the earth where stones belong. Only you and I know it exists, and when we die, it will exist no longer.’
‘Do you believe that, Papà? That if no one has knowledge of a thing, then it doesn’t truly exist?’
But Marco had begun to sag against Leo, his breath rasping. He’d grabbed Leo’s wrist. ‘When you were born and I saw what was inside you, I swore that you’d never walk in his shadow the way I did. I wanted you to use your powers proudly, and fulfil your destiny.’
Leo had looked up at his father. ‘What did you see?’
‘I think you know.’
Leo had nodded then, smiling so that he’d felt his face might just split in two. For there, under the tiredness, the power of a lion was resting. It had helped him roar at the dark, and bring back life, and he could feel it still inside him, waiting, ready.
‘Some things you only really believe when you discover them for yourself,’ Marco had said softly. ‘No one can tell you.’
And Leo knew that it was true.
And so it was Leo who became keeper of the stone. He decided not to bury it as his father had suggested. In the past, too much had been buried. Too many secrets had been kept.
Leo knew he must always remember the path he didn’t choose, the consequences of the dark.
So he took the stone and placed it in the cave. It lay there on the ledge, inside a carved wooden box that Aldo Butteri had given him on his thirteenth birthday. Leo didn’t tell Aldo how he would use the box—Aldo might never have slept again!—so he just thanked him gracefully, and took it away.
Mos
t days Leo went down to the cave. He’d sit for a while, breathing in the salty air and the candle grease, gazing at the wall. He travelled very far in that place, and learned much, concentrating on the golden glow that now burned steadily inside him.
And when he was fifteen, Leo asked Merilee to marry him.
On a warm evening in July, Leo climbed down from his wedding carriage and stepped into the garden of Fiesole. He greeted the guests, thinking how much older he felt than his fifteen years. On the night that he’d returned with the stone, a weariness had come over him so that he could hardly lift one leg after the other. He’d stood still, looking at the crowd gathered on the shore, mesmerised by the flames leaping from their torches.
Leo remembered how Merilee had raced towards him, as if she couldn’t get there fast enough. ‘Leo, did you know that you’re glowing?’ she’d whispered. ‘There are silver sparks all around your head.’
Her eyes were wide open and her smile was generous. In that moment he’d loved her more than at any time since they were born. He’d wanted to ask her to marry him then. But he felt very separate, too. The weariness overwhelmed him and he could have lain down there at her feet and slept for a year and a day.
That night, Leo had seen things that people knew only at the end of their lives. Some people never knew them. He’d seen the wickedness pass in front of his eyes and it had made him feel one hundred years old.
He’d held tight to Merilee’s hand. She wouldn’t ever know how it had been, out there on the rock, but they were born at the same moment, played together all their lives, and she was the only one who could bring the warmth back to his soul.
When Merilee told them of Leo’s proposal, the Wise Women offered to hold the wedding feast there at Fiesole, where Laura had returned to study. Beatrice had become Laura’s ‘companion and teacher’, as she described it, responsible for looking after ‘the poor girl’s health and education’. Laura had come so far under her brilliant tutelage, she argued, it must be obvious that she was the only serious candidate now as Head. Brigida, who had stayed on as Head Wise Woman after the homecoming of Laura, said only, ‘There is time enough to think of these matters,’ and glided off to perform her duties.
As soon as Beatrice heard of the wedding, she began making lists. There was the food and the numbers of guests to be decided and what of entertainment? Ever since the night of the Celebrations, Beatrice had undergone a mysterious change of attitude towards Leo. She would take charge, she told everyone, and prepare the best banquet ever to grace the halls of Fiesole.
A grand wedding table was set up in the Green Room. The silken walls were festooned with flowers, and delicious aromas of sizzling meat and rice flavoured the air. As Leo sat down at the head of the table, with Merilee at his side, he looked out over the table, rich with food and friends.
His father was sitting with Merilee’s family—Francesca, Laura and Franco. There was Marco’s good friend Aldo Butteri and Signor Eco, and Isabella and her husband Alessandro. A sleepy baby called Rosa lay on Isabella’s lap.
All around the room, the Wise Women of Fiesole sat at tables, talking. Beatrice hardly sat down, hovering over the tables like a hawk. She checked each dish as it was served, the quality of the wine, and Laura’s health. ‘Don’t catch cold now dear,’ she urged as she inspected a dish of rice, ‘I’ll bring your cloak when we go out into the garden. These spring nights can be treacherous.’ She bent over Signor Eco’s shoulder and whispered loudly, ‘Laura’s still quite fragile, you know. Does too much, always planning some new course, writing that book of hers. If I didn’t watch over her and make sure she was eating properly and getting some rest, she’d never manage. And then, of course, it’s really me who has to keep the whole place running smoothly . . . Oh, well, I like to be useful. No one could say that I don’t play my part!’
Isabella rolled her eyes at Leo. They had become good friends. Isabella and her husband lived near Florence, on Alessandro’s younger brother’s estate. Leo would always feel grateful to Isabella because it was she who’d brought Marco to the lake that night. She had come to Merilee’s village to ask for her help in seeking Alessandro, just as Beatrice had raised the alarm.
Leo raised his glass to Isabella. He remembered her first comment on meeting him. ‘Why Merilee, you never told me he was so handsome he glowed!’ He reddened now, just thinking of it.
‘Hey you, husband!’ Merilee reached over and pinched his cheek.
‘Give us a song, Meri!’ Aldo Butteri called out from across the table.
Merilee, who never needed much urging these days, took out her recorder. Aldo tapped his glass for quiet and into the space of held breaths and half-finished conversations Merilee’s dance tune leaped and skipped. She tapped her foot as she played, jigging amongst the tables, and people clapped their hands to the rhythm as the cutlery at their elbows jumped and the wine trembled in the glasses.
Leo watched, grinning. He looked at the people’s faces, many from his village, and thought how different they seemed. More open, less fearful, happy. He remembered the night, three years ago, when the villagers had come up to him, one by one. They’d touched his hair, still sparkling with wizard-light. They’d taken his hand and kissed it.
‘We will never forget this,’ Fabbio had told him.
‘And we will never tell,’ another promised.
A loud burst of laughter came from Leo’s right. Marco and Aldo were locked in battle over something and Francesca threatened to pour wine over Aldo’s head.
‘Va bene,’ Signor Butteri surrendered gracefully. ‘I’ll bow to the good sense of a lady.’ He poured them all another cup of wine and slapped Marco on the back. ‘Drink up, old friend, it’ll improve your digestion and nourish your blood.’
Marco clinked his glass with Aldo’s and drank.
When Merilee came back to the table, after many bows and cheering, Signor Butteri remarked to her, ‘With your talent, you’ll soon be playing at court.’
‘She is already,’ cried Leo, ‘next month. For the Duke of Urbino, no less.’
Aldo shook his head in wonder. ‘What a blessed pair you are. And isn’t it good to see your papà doing so well?’ Signor Butteri leaned close to Leo. Quickly he touched the iron of the table leg for luck. ‘It’s the wine that does it, I believe. That, and the purifying waters of the lake.’
Leo and Marco grinned at each other.
Aldo Butteri was convinced that the waters of the lake now had healing properties. Every morning you could see him wading in, his hose and shoes neatly piled on the pebbly shore behind him. He swore it did his legs good, and he could stand at the bench of his shop for much longer now, after he’d had a good soak in the crystal waters of the lake. Who knew, Leo thought, maybe it was true.
Sometimes Aldo would persuade Marco to come with him to the lake and they’d wade together in the water, watching the miracle of little fishes darting around their legs. In summer, with the day’s work finished, people from the village brought picnics of cheese and wine down to the lake for supper, and the children paddled at the edge.
Suddenly overcome by good fortune, friends and the warmth of his favourite wine, Aldo Butteri stood up and made a toast. ‘Here’s to young Leo Pericolo, saviour of the lake. Our blessings to you and your new wife—good health and tanti bambini!’
Leo and Merilee stood up, raising their glasses to all the company.
In that moment, with love brimming inside him like the wine in his glass, Leo felt prepared for whatever may happen next.
About the Author
ANNA FIENBERG gets her ideas from her own dreams, people she meets, snatches of overheard conversation. She always carries a notebook with her in case she hears something interesting.
Anna likes to live in books as well as real life. She was once Editor of School Magazine, where she read over a thousand books a year. She wrote plays and stories for the magazine and then began writing her own books. She has written picture books, short stories, junior nov
els and fiction for teenagers and young adults.
Anna’s first novel, Pirate Trouble for Wiggy and Boa, was shortlisted for the 1989 Australian Children’s Book of the Year Awards, The Magnificent Nose and Other Marvels was the winner of the 1992 Australian Children’s Book of the Year Award for younger readers, and Tashi was shortlisted for the same award in 1996. Ariel, Zed & the secret of life was the winner of the Alan Marshall Award in the 1993 Victorian Premier’s Literary Awards, and Power to Burn was shortlisted for the 1996 NSW Premier’s Literary Award. Borrowed Light was an Honour Book in the 2000 Australian Children’s Book of the Year Awards for older readers, and received the 1999 ACT Top YA Read Award.
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