A DARK ROOT CHRISTMAS
by
April Aasheim
Copyright © 2015 by April Aasheim
Published by Dark Root Press
Cover Art & Design by Jennifer Munswami at
J.M. Rising Horse Creations
www.facebook.com/RisingHorseCreations
2015
Kindle Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please visit an official vendor for the work and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.
This book is dedicated to Madeline Rose who wrote Eve's spell, and reminds me daily that children are the real source of magic.
PROLOGUE
THE STAR FELL.
It plunged from the sky like a china cup toppling from its hook, shattering into a thousand crystalline pieces as it tumbled through the otherwise still winter’s night.
“It was beautiful,” Merry insisted when she told the story to her Aunt Dora the next evening, her full lips turning into a pout. “But I wasn’t fast enough to make a wish while it was still in the sky.”
Aunt Dora, who’d been busy trying to get her electric mixer to work, nodded her soft chin, only half-listening. “Mmm-hmm.”
Merry closed her eyes, remembering the star’s dance, twisting and undulating against the backdrop of a Dark Root moon. In another moment the star broke apart. Lustrous, golden-speckled tails the color of Merry’s hair followed the fragments as they streaked across the sky.
“They were so bright,” she continued as she dipped a finger into the silver bowl while Aunt Dora wrestled with her mixer. “Every one of them. I had to hold my breath because I was afraid that if I moved, I’d frighten them away.”
“Mmm,” Aunt Dora half-heartedly agreed as she tried outlet after outlet without success.
Merry bowed her head, catching her reflection in the bowl. Her normally round face was lengthened in the mirror, lending her a shadowed glimpse of what her adult self would look like one day. “They died before they reached the earth. Every one of them.”
“Aye. As stars do.” Dora hit the switch and the mixer roared to life, before abruptly stalling again. “Someday our star will die, as well.”
“That’s horrible!”
Aunt Dora’s cumbersome shoulders hunched and then relaxed, a weighty sigh escaping her lips. “That is the cycle of life. There is a beginning and an end to everything.” Then, giving her niece a firm look, added, “And part of the reason for your being here, sweet Merry. To keep our own star aglow for as long as possible.”
It was an unwieldy burden for a ten-year-old child, and one Merry couldn’t possibly fathom, but she took her Aunt’s news with a patient resolve. She couldn’t be afraid. If she were afraid, her sisters would be, too.
Besides, the star tails hadn’t all died. There was one fragment that survived the fall, one small star seed that Merry hadn’t mentioned.
It had dropped softly into the forest just yards away from her.
She ran for it, unafraid of the night or the creatures lurking within, trying to reach it before it dissolved into an earth softened by light snow and heavy rains.
And when she found it, she stopped and gasped, her cornflower blue eyes full of wonder.
Where the star tail had fallen there was now a tiny bright light springing up out of the ground, a light no larger than the palm of her hand. It shone like a lit candle, casting a white halo on the already powdery forest around her.
And as Merry stepped tentatively forward, she saw that in that light there was a silver tree sapling. Rich on the nutrients of the star-shard and the magic of Dark Root soil, the silver tree grew before her eyes until it nearly reached the height of her knees.
“Oh!” was all she could say, then quickly recovered from her astonishment. She made a silent wish on the seedling, though she didn’t know if a wish would take when the star was no longer in the sky.
But it was her only chance and she made her wish like only a child could––with reverence and a certainty that there was someone watching over her, and that special someone had sent her the star.
It was nearly her birthday after all.
Merry didn’t tell a soul about what she’d found or the wish she’d made.
Not her teddy bears or her dolls, nor her sisters or her mother. Not even her Aunt Dora, who had now tossed out the old mixer with the casualness of one throwing out a cat for the night, and was whisking her cake batter by hand, grunting and huffing all the while.
There was one other omission to her story––the white, baby owl she’d found huddled near the sapling, covering its face beneath a wing.
“You’re beautiful,” she told the bird, taking him with her as she returned back home.
Merry told no one of these discoveries.
For she was the keeper of secrets, then, and evermore.
ONE
MERRY WATCHED HER sisters getting ready for school.
Ruth Anne’s backpack was weighted with so many books that her shoulders slumped under the weight. Maggie, still in pajamas, complained that education was unnecessary when one was slated to become a witch. And Eve was already dressed in a flowered jumpsuit and ballet shoes. From the breakfast nook, their mother sipped her coffee and read Cosmopolitan, seemingly oblivious to the chaos surrounding her.
“I still don’t understand why we have to go,” Maggie said, her eyes darting towards their mother. “Miss Sasha never makes us.”
“Mama’s busy,” Merry said, buttoning up her pea coat.
“And sad,” Eve added, clicking the soft heels of her shoes together as if they could take her away.
“And jaded,” Ruth Anne chimed in, though none of the girls except Ruth Anne knew what the word meant.
Once dressed, Merry, Maggie and Eve walked the trail through the woods towards their elementary school, while Ruth Anne took the alternate route towards the Junior High. There weren’t many students in Dark Root but the town managed to keep its schools open rather than send their children to the neighboring town of Linsburg.
Small classes suited Merry fine.
Without rivalry she was always teacher’s pet, obeying every rule and sitting near the front of the class, raising her hand high into the air whenever a question was posed. Unlike her younger sisters, Merry loved studying and she stayed up long after bedtime, reading up on the next day’s assignments without being asked.
But unlike her older sister Ruth Anne, she wasn’t academically talented. She had to work for her good grades the way she worked at most everything, with perseverance and practice, until she got it perfect and right. Her reward was the compliments and praises given by her teachers, things she rarely got in her own home lately.
School was a reprieve, a fantasy setting away from the reality of her disjointed home life and sometimes despondent mother.
As she walked to school on this bright cold morning, she wished there was a bus. It was only a two-mile walk but it seemed to take forever when Maggie jumped into all the puddles and Eve stopped to admire the multitudes of pretty rocks embedded in the frosty ground.
“Can you sign my report card?” Maggie asked as they reached the road leading to their quaint, turn-of-the-century schoolhouse.
“Why didn’t you ask Mama?”
“I did.”
Merry gave her sister a disapproving look but took the card.
There was on
e A, several C’s, and one F. The lone good grade was in art, and the bad one was in science. Merry knew why. Maggie liked to argue, especially with her new teacher. Merry tried to explain that diplomacy went a long way. Arguing with Mr. Timely––a native of Linsburg where witchery was strictly forbidden––was only going to make him ask questions none of them could answer.
But Maggie didn’t listen. She didn’t listen to anyone. It was not in her nature.
“Don’t you dare move his seat again,” Merry scolded Maggie as she handed back the report card. “Or I’ll tell Mama.”
“Fine,” Maggie said, stubbornly folding the card in half and shoving it into the back pocket of her torn denim jeans.
Her red hair was curly and wild and uncombed, sticking out in all directions. Merry resisted the urge to fix it. Like Maggie herself, her hair never served to please anyone.
“But,” Maggie continued, “if he says one more time that magick died when science was born, I’m going to…going to…”
The overhead streetlight lit up, sparked loudly, and then went dark.
Merry gave Maggie a reprimanding look, but otherwise ignored her. If she paid too much heed to Maggie’s wilder magick, it would only encourage her.
They dropped Eve off at her kindergarten classroom and proceeded to their own.
“See you on the flipside,” Maggie said, waving goodbye as she disappeared down a narrow corridor.
“Don’t get into any trouble,” Merry said firmly, “or you’ll never get out of the third grade.” She said the words even as she realized they’d do no good. Maggie found trouble––or trouble found her––wherever she went.
Merry smoothed her flaxen hair and entered her homeroom.
She was early, as usual, and found her seat near the front of the class. She clasped her hands on her desk and waited. Soon, her pretty teacher and a dozen boisterous fifth graders filed inside, driven by the excitement that this was their last day of class before winter break.
While the others wanted nothing more than to be home, drinking cocoa and playing football and tag in their front yards, the holiday season was Merry’s favorite time to be in school. She loved taking in the sight of her classroom, decorated in construction paper turkeys and trees, and smelling of cider and spice from the bowl of potpourri on Miss Jocelyn’s desk. It was a comforting room and she dreaded leaving it for their two-week holiday, knowing that when she returned, the room would be stripped of color and of smell, and the walls would be stark and white once again.
The morning progressed painfully slow as students squirmed in their chairs and passed notes while their teacher tried to keep them focused. Just before lunch they began their history lesson.
“Does anyone know who founded Dark Root?” Miss Jocelyn asked.
Merry’s hand launched up.
“Yes, Merry?”
“It was founded by Julianna Benbridge in the late 1800s, exact date unknown. Julianna was cast out of Portland for witchcraft after her young husband died suddenly and unexpectedly.” Merry cleared her throat and looked around the classroom, pride swelling her chest. “Julianna was also my ancestor, and Dark Root’s first witch.”
“Yes. She was rumored to be a witch.” Her teacher’s thin eyebrows connected near the top of her nose, her expression––like most of the adults who were not natives of the town––was interested yet doubtful, but she wouldn’t dispute Merry’s claim. Dark Root’s history was built upon witchcraft and scandal, and that history made it a popular tourist destination, keeping the local economy churning and the schools open.
“Julianna also brought her sister along,” Merry continued, louder and with more authority. “Though not much is known of Great Aunt Cecilia.” She shrugged. “I think she might have been Larinda’s grandmother, but I’m not sure.”
“Larinda?” the teacher asked, as a paper airplane shot from the back row and swooped across the room. “I haven’t heard of her.”
“My mother’s cousin. She’s evil. I think.” On this, Merry wasn’t quite certain.
Her mother had warned her about Larinda but never specified why. Whenever Merry asked, Miss Sasha’s eyes would darken. If she happened to be smoking a cigarette or drinking a cup of coffee at the time, she would spill her drink or stamp out her cigarette, then retire to her room for hours after. It was a risky subject, best only broached when Mama brought it up herself.
But Merry had been taking notes and she opened her backpack on the floor to retrieve her journal.
“Merry!” Miss Jocelyn exclaimed, standing up quickly and gripping the sides of her desk. “What is that?”
The teacher, along with Merry’s classmates, stared in unison at the white bird––hardly the size of two cupped hands––that emerged from Merry’s backpack.
“It’s an owl, Miss Jocelyn,” Merry answered, genuinely surprised as she scooped the bird into her hands. She shook her head. “But I don’t know how he got inside my bag.”
“Witchcraft,” a girl named Rebecca said flatly. Merry and Rebecca were once friends but had grown apart over the last year because Rebecca’s mother discovered that Merry was teaching her how to cast love spells. “He’s cute. Is that your familiar, Merry?”
The owl swiveled his head in Rebecca’s direction, blinking and unblinking as if considering the question.
“There’s no such thing as witches,” Miss Jocelyn said firmly. “That will be enough of that talk today.”
The other students left their seats and gathered around Merry. She held the owl in her hands, protecting him, though he didn’t appear alarmed. In fact, he yawned, stretching his small, downturned beak into what appeared to be a wide smile. The fifth-graders laughed but Miss Jocelyn was visibly shaken, drawing back behind her chair with one hand over her chest.
“He can’t hurt you,” Merry said, extending her hands to show her teacher. “I found him a few nights ago. He’s sweet, really. Except that he eats live bugs.” Merry made a disgusted face to show her disdain for this particular behavior.
“Wild birds carry disease. You’ll have to remove that…” Miss Jocelyn’s voice warbled as she pointed, “…thing from the building.”
“He’s only a baby. I can keep him in my backpack and take him home at the end of the day.”
“No. I’ll write a note and excuse you for the rest of the day.”
“But my perfect attendance record! And the Christmas party!”
“This won’t affect your attendance.” Her teacher pressed her lips together, her face paling. “As for the party, I’m sorry. Now go wash your hands and take the bird to an animal shelter. It might have rabies.”
Merry’s lip trembled. She had never been in trouble at school. Not once, in her entire life. What would Miss Sasha say? Or her Aunt Dora?
She released one hand from around the owl to gather her things but Miss Jocelyn stopped her. “I’ll send your stuff home with Maggie. Just go.” She waved her hand, wiggling her fingers towards the door. “Start your holiday early, Merry. You’ve worked so hard this year, you deserve it.”
“Okay, Miss Jocelyn.”
Merry slunk from the classroom as the others watched. Once outside the room, she gazed into the owl’s large eyes.
“You’re not a thing,” she cooed to it. “You’re my birthday gift. And you’re magical.”
She repeated these words as she left the school and made her way towards the muddy trail that would lead her home.
The baby owl listened, tilting its head, regarding her with soft yellow eyes.
She had missed her class party, but she was no longer sad. She was too in love to be sad.
Besides, she had made her wish on the star. And she knew in her heart that her wish was about to come true.
TWO
SISTER HOUSE, THE sprawling white Victorian home set against the backdrop of a thick, ancient forest, looked to Merry more isolated than ever as she approached.
Merry climbed the porch steps, tucking the bird into her jacket pocket, and
stepped inside. It was shockingly quiet within, and the sound of the creaking floorboards beneath her sneakered feet echoed throughout the main room, bouncing off the antique furniture and her mother’s thrift store finds.
“Hello!” she called out to ascertain if she was alone. Hearing nothing in return, she sighed in relief. Her mother was either visiting Uncle Joe at his downtown diner or working at the family magick shop. Either way, it was a lucky break.
Miss Sasha had her good days and her bad days lately, and Merry was never sure which to expect. On her good days, her mother danced around the house, reciting incantations while twirling one of her many feathered boas Vaudeville-style, all the while regaling the girls with stories of her youth and her travels.
But her bad days were very bad. On those instances, she would lie on the couch, flipping through television channels, sleeping, smoking, and eating nothing but Hostess donuts and sugared cereal. She’d yell at the girls for minor infractions––being late, having muddy shoes, or waking her from her many naps.
Unfortunately, the bad days were increasing in frequency and duration and had caused such a disturbance that Eve kept mostly to her room, Ruth Anne hunkered down in Uncle Joe’s library, and Maggie ran the woods like a savage woman looking for war. Merry alone was left to hold everything together, taking up extra chores like cooking and cleaning and helping her younger sisters with their homework until their mother recovered from whatever dragon plagued her.
Merry climbed the staircase and made her way to the attic bedroom she shared with her sisters. Both Ruth Anne’s and Maggie’s beds were unmade, while hers and Eve’s were neat, with pink cotton linens and extra pillows. Stroking the owl’s head and giving him a kiss, she set the bird on her bed and pulled open the window. A branch from a nearby tree extended towards her, almost touching the glass. It was where Merry had nested the bird the last several nights and she had no idea how the owl managed to get out of the tree, through the closed window, and into her backpack.
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