Autumn

by Lisa Ann Brown

  Arabel sighed. A disturbing image of a very pregnant Amelia Bodean pouring brightly coloured poison into a lovely silver, bejewelled and enamelled cup disturbed Arabel’s reverie and sent her reeling back to the speckled, fragmented reality of the present moment. To distract herself, Arabel got up from her reclining position on the parlour settee and placed some sturdy, dry logs onto the fire. Arabel poked at the roaring blaze with the fire poker, absently churning the hot breath of the flame.

  Arabel felt too restless for bed. She was too keyed up to simply sit quietly by herself in the parlour, reading, or staring into space, worrying about her grandmother’s disappearance. A step on the landing was a welcome noise. Arabel glanced up to see Morna entering the room, balancing a wooden tray expertly. On the tray sat a steaming mug of fragrant smelling hot cocoa. Morna smiled at Arabel.

  “Thought you could use a wee treat before turning in,” Morna said as she placed the mug down next to Arabel and handed her a white linen napkin.

  “Thank you, Morna, it’s just what I needed,” Arabel smiled.

  The maid didn’t linger but stepped out of the room to get ready for bed herself and Arabel picked up the mug and blew gently to cool it. She inhaled the delicious aroma of the dark chocolate and took a small sip. It was even better than Arabel had thought it would be and she stared at the fireplace as she enjoyed the cocoa.

  As usual, pictures began to form immediately as Arabel watched the flickering and dancing flames. Tonight, the writhing, elongated form of a woman emerged and Arabel surveyed the shape’s twisting, flexible contortions.

  The incessant movement of the flame woman fascinated Arabel. The shape effortlessly bent and shifted; it had no reason to hold on to anything but its relentlessly fluid motion. Its very existence was based upon its own impermanence. Arabel felt something click inside of her brain. The impermanence of all things, she mused to herself. Shape to flickering shape to shape-shifters to shape to flickering shape. Arabel bandied the words in her head, feeling as if she was close to some sort of breakthrough.

  The cocoa was almost done and Arabel yawned as the clock chimed the time – twice the bells of the old clock sounded. Arabel contentedly finished the last remnant of the chocolate and got to her feet. With one further speculative glance at the flames, Arabel left the room and made her way upstairs in the dark to her bedroom. A fire flickered here as well, tended by the loyal Morna.

  Arabel’s soft nightgown was laid out prettily on the bed and a fresh basin of water and several hand towels were placed next to the tall wardrobe cabinet and dressing table. Arabel quickly disrobed and put on her warm and comfortable nightgown, then belted her yellow wrapper overtop. Arabel washed her face and hands, brushed her teeth and then climbed wearily into bed. She tucked her athame and the red stones from Baltis under her pillow and did not remove the protective ring from Mireille. Arabel made a further point of ingesting a teaspoonful of the herbal sleep remedy from the drawer next to her bedside and was then satisfied she’d then taken all of the precautions available to her to ensure her own safety and well-being.

  Sleep overtook her almost immediately and Arabel saw herself standing outside of a small, faded blue cottage. The cottage was dark and hidden deeply within the foreboding and gloomy forest of monstrous and ancient trees. Which haunted forest this was, Arabel couldn’t be quite sure. But everywhere she looked, tall, green giants crowded up to the reach the sky; they groped and competed with each other for the highest peak, the bushiest of branches and the most extensive of root canals. The massive trees had been there long before the first settlers landed in The Corvids, Arabel would wager.

  The forest was indeed old and the cottage not much its junior, judging by the drab and peeling paint and the neglected air its shabby exterior exuded. Arabel walked toward the cottage on a long row of stone steps laid within the grassy carpet of the forest floor. The scarce view of the sun began to sink into the sky; the hazy glare of the white-yellow orb descended quickly, leaving darkness in its wake.

  The cabin was a one-story structure with a smoking, stout chimney stack protruding out of the matted roof. There were large bushels of numerous and varied flower offerings at the front door and what also looked like candles, foodstuffs and knitted blankets. Arabel approached curiously.

  Should she have brought a token of respect, she wondered? There were no windows that Arabel could see but the door magically swung open at precisely the moment Arabel’s light step reached the cottage entrance.

  The old Gypsy woman with the gnarled hands who’d read Arabel’s palm stood there. Her sharp black eyes surveyed Arabel with interest but no surprise.

  “Hello, Paloma,” Arabel said easily, brushing past the old Gypsy and stepping into the cottage briskly. Inside the room, Arabel marched up to the figure standing pensively in front of the peat fire.

  “Hello, Grandmother,” Arabel said.

  There was a rushing sensation, a roaring in Arabel’s ears. It was so loud Arabel thought her head was about to burst and it was accompanied by an intense twirling in her belly. And then Arabel was thrust abruptly into her familiar yellow and white bedroom, returned to where she’d last remembered herself to be, back within her body.

  The fire still lazily burned; the room was warm enough and the shadows were plentiful. Arabel quickly lit a candle on her bedside table to chase away the dark. Her heart was pounding. She wished the dream had not ended so abruptly.

  But had it really been a dream? Arabel wasn’t entirely certain.

  It had felt so real. And the physical sensations she’d experienced – was she really able to dream in such vivid, sensory detail? Arabel was inclined to believe that she’d just had an out of body flight, as the potion from Mireille protected her against evil whilst sleeping, but might be rendered impotent when it came to unprompted astral travel.

  Arabel realized that whether or not the incident was a dream or an astral traveling experience, what it had revealed to her was most likely the truth of the situation: Amelia Bodean was currently keeping company with the elusive and definitely-not-dead, Paloma Porchetto.

  The two women, (Arabel was tempted to call them Markus Leon’s women, at least to herself), were obviously well acquainted, and Paloma’s whereabouts could not be entirely so secretive or the tokens and supplications delivered to her doorstep would not be so plentiful. Were the treasures for the fortune-telling Gypsy given out of respect, or out of fear? Was Paloma still a Dorojenja?

  Arabel felt her heart flutter unsteadily within her chest. It seemed more important, more urgent than ever, that she research the Porchetto’s and she needed a horse so she could travel to Ravenswood Glen and visit the Gypsy settlement in the Copse straight away. She’d thankfully had at least a few hours of sleep but Arabel knew that further slumber would now elude her.

  Arabel flung the covers off of the bed and efficiently readied herself for the journey. Dawn was breaking and the impetus to move forward without hesitation had Arabel out of the house in a matter of moments. The ground was dewy and chill and Ira was dewy as well when he landed upon Arabel’s shoulder with a loud squawking cry or two. Arabel greeted him with a feather sweep and a neck rub and the bird chortled in appreciation. Ira did not seem to require much sleep either and Arabel was glad to have a sentry so capable and canny.

  “I do love you so, Ira,” Arabel effused, smiling at the beautifully black feathered bird. Ira winked at Arabel in return and then flew off of her shoulder to perform an impromptu aerial dance for her as they made their way to the stables at Murphy Estates.

  The sun was rising now and Arabel watched in admiration as the bright beams lit up the sky and framed the clouds and the world seemed to begin anew, fresh again, made whole again. Arabel relished the dawn of the world, the new beginning. She sighed in reflective appreciation of the calm; the untouched moments before the stains of the day, and of life, marred and upset the shiny, unmarked surface. But the human journey was now as it had always been, Arabel realized.

&nbs
p; Life, with all its joys and passions, was messy.

  Arabel wondered where the cottage she had seen Paloma and Amelia Bodean was located. If only she could recognize the woods, she reasoned, she would know in which township they were residing. Arabel ascertained intuitively that the two women were still within The Corvids, but where exactly they could be located, well, that was the daunting, unanswered question. That Paloma should still be alive at all, after this many years of speculation, was not entirely surprising to Arabel; she’d wondered why no body had ever turned up, if the rumours that Raoul Porchetto had disposed of his cheating spouse were to have been believed.

  But he had disposed of her somehow. Or somewhere. Paloma Porchetto had certainly not been living openly all of these years. Raoul must have hidden her, confined her, Arabel deduced, and upon his death, Paloma had been released from the harsh sentence of their marriage and all of its bitter restraints. To make her way to Crow’s Nest Pass, to spy upon me, Arabel pondered, but why?

  Arabel breathed deeply of the morning air and listened to the serenading birds as they gleefully shrilled their delight and good morning greetings to their companions. It was a perfect autumn morning and Arabel was pleased to be making such good time in the pursuit of her plans. She sent a telepathic message to Eli asking if he would be free to accompany her to the Copse and if she could borrow a horse.

  Eli responded almost immediately with the answer of yes to the horse and sadly, no to the journey with her to see the Gypsies. Eli had asked the stable master if he could be spared but as they were expecting the arrival of several new studs this morning, unfortunately all of the stable boys were needed on the estate to assist with the endeavour.

  Arabel was disappointed but she refused to let the news dissuade her or dampen her spirits. The day was simply too lovely and Arabel realized that she intended to fully treasure every moment of her life from now on, because one never really knew how long that just might be. Best to enjoy it all completely, Arabel wagered.

  Arabel thought of Alice-May, of Klara, and of Minnie. Had they cherished their last days? Had they known on some level that it had been their last? Or had they been unknowing, unwitting, lost in the illusion that they had forever to enjoy their current physical experience?

  Arabel doubted she would ever be privy to what level of comprehension the dead women had attained by the end of their young lives, so instead she vowed to honour their loss by making the choice to be fully present in her own life and not let bitterness eat at her nor dissatisfaction infect her.

  Energy was both contagious and addictive, she knew. Arabel had only to look at the example her grandmother had set to view first-hand how maintaining a stagnant position rendered a person useless to the shifting realities of their own life.

  Eli interrupted Arabel’s somewhat dark musings with a sudden message. Could she please stop by his parents’ caravan and procure some healing balm? Apparently Eli had cut his hand and required some powerful disinfectant. Eli reassured Arabel that the cut was far from life-threatening and he eased her subsequent worry with some silly banter and light-hearted affection.

  Arabel hastened her steps toward him. She could feel something, some energy, some form, at her back, almost touching her. It was eerie and unsettling, but when she turned to look, there was nothing visible. Ira spotted nothing either, as Arabel immediately asked the bird what followed them. But the bird, for all his otherworldly abilities, was stymied as well. The back of Arabel’s neck prickled, as if someone breathed on her, close enough to stab her in the heart.

  Arabel was brought up short. Stab her in the heart?

  What could have possibly put such a grim phrase within her head? Arabel felt for the grey energy. It was not there. But the stalking, lurking menace behind her? It was still very much present.

  Arabel’s hand felt within her pocket for her athame and she recited the protective spells she knew, simultaneously noting that the red bracelet and the ring she wore from Eli’s parents were heating up with the welcome fire of powerful psychic boundaries and ancient Gypsy magic.

  There was an easing off within Arabel’s personal space and she knew the magic spells and talismans were working hard to keep her safe. Ira flew overtop Arabel’s head and he let loose a raucous volley of crow-threats that had Arabel smirking, just a little. The bird was decidedly precocious and he brought such a warmth and necessary levity to Arabel’s life, as well as being such a staunch protector and willing companion, that she wondered what she had done before he’d claimed her.

  An intense gratitude filled Arabel. Her thoughts veered off toward her missing grandmother. The words the spectre of her mother had uttered flew back to puzzle Arabel.

  “The Gift has always been in our family,” Violetta had said softly. “It passes down our lineage through the hearts of our women”.

  A sudden instinctual knowing slammed into Arabel’s brain, practically knocking her off her feet with its powerful insight.

  ‘The Gift’, Arabel realized now, was the psychic gift; that was the gift Violetta had referred to as being passed down through the hearts of the women in the their family! Amelia Bodean was fashioned the same way as her daughter Violetta had been, and she was also fashioned the same way as her granddaughter Arabel!

  Arabel’s thoughts swam in a sudden confusion as she hacked into the past of her own memories for verification of this new intuition. But even before images formed and memories jumped to attention, Arabel recognized the truth.

  Amelia Bodean was the same as the rest of the women in the family: witchy and different, able to see and hear things most folk couldn’t. Able to talk with the dead and both see and manipulate energy. Able to travel via the astral plane and intuit the future.

  Arabel realized the drinking had probably dulled her grandmother’s abilities. It would have withheld her from fine-tuning her intuitions and from learning how to progress magically, and Arabel wondered if Amelia Bodean had chosen to do this on purpose. Had she felt trapped by her own psychic talents? It seemed likely, given how she’d always been so negative about Arabel’s budding psychic knowledge and then there were her sniping and disparaging comments in regard to Violetta, and of Arabel’s inherent similarity to her.

  Events which had long troubled and confused Arabel now fell into place with an ease and comfort that amazed her. So many things made sense now! The relief which poured through Arabel was tangible, and strong enough that she’d momentarily forgotten the invisible entity breathing down her back. Arabel quickly checked for it and found she was still protected. Whatever purpose the creature had intended, it had not been able to complete its task. This meant, of course, that it would return.

  Arabel sighed. She was getting almost used to these attacks. Almost. Not to say that she relished them or was nonchalant about surviving them. No, she was just becoming accustomed to the warrioress way of life. Constantly being watchful, on alert, and on the move, Arabel was forging a new path for herself. No longer content to watch the interplay of life from a comfortable position on the sidelines, Arabel knew she was fully engaged and that the stakes were as high and as desperate as any since the grey energy had first emerged in its current incarnation.

  Arabel rounded the last hill and viewed Murphy Estates spread grandly before her. She half ran, half jogged to the stables, feeling full of energy and excitement, and Ira flew ahead to scout out Eli. The stables were busier than Arabel had ever seen them before. There were men and horses and shouting and whinnying and assorted chaos everywhere Arabel looked. But no Eli. Arabel turned to enter the stable and the mayhem within its large space.

  Eli spotted Arabel first and he gave a last stroke of affection to the mare he’d been giving a grooming to and made his way over to Arabel. Eli grabbed her by the hand and Arabel was assaulted by the colours – the red, the pink, the indigo. Her heart bumped loudly in her chest and the very air shimmered in front of her. Delighted, she reached for him.

  Their lips met briefly in a heat scorched lock bef
ore they separated and Arabel stood back to survey him.

  “You look rested,” she said, admiring the sparkle in his brown eyes, the relaxed set of his generous mouth.

  “Not so rested, I must say, but it’s seeing you that puts the light in my eyes,” Eli responded softly, smiling, tugging at a piece of her long and glossy ebony hair.

  Arabel knew she mustn’t linger. Eli had work to do and although he enjoyed the distraction of her visits, Arabel didn’t want him to shirk his duties and lose his position. She was also eager to begin delving into the history of the Porchetto’s by interviewing any Gypsies in the Copse who would speak with her. Eli leaned over and kissed Arabel again, firmly, decisively. She smiled at her handsome beau.

  “I will see you upon my safe return,” Arabel promised, taking the reins Eli passed her, glad that the horse she’d be taking was her old and familiar friend, Whipsie. The lovely mare nuzzled into Arabel’s palm and Arabel passed the horse a carrot she’d had tucked away for the it in her pocket. Eli walked Arabel out into the sunshine and gave her a lift up into the saddle. The colours danced in dizzying profusion between them.

  “Your injury!” Arabel exclaimed, remembering suddenly that Eli had asked her to bring healing balm back from Mireille.

  Eli held out his right hand. “Barely a scratch,” he said, showing it to her, and Arabel traced the angry red line with her finger. The cut wasn’t overly deep but it did need balm to enhance the healing.

  “I promise to remember,” Arabel swore solemnly. She filled her gaze with Eli for one last full moment and then urged Whipsie over toward the paddock and the outside track of the estate.

  Eli saluted Arabel’s retreating form and then re-entered the bustling stables. There was a lot of work to be done this morning and his day had barely just begun. Eli straightened his athletic shoulders and returned to the tasks at hand, but his link to Arabel was strong and he checked in on her progress from time to time when the duty he was involved in didn’t require his complete mental attention. He hadn’t let Arabel see it, but Eli was worried about her investigative journey to the Copse today.