by Amy Neftzger
“As big as me,” Nicholas said, “and I can see timers on them. This is some sort of process that goes in stages, and I think he has several batches going.”
“Is it anything to eat?” Newton asked hopefully.
“No,” Nicholas said. “It smells terrible.”
“You can smell it?” Moss and Newton asked at almost the same time. Nicholas continued to concentrate and didn’t see Moss and Newton exchange glances.
“Yes. It smells a little like bread that’s gone bad mixed with old sneakers. It’s very sour.”
“And the more it bubbles the more it smells. Am I correct?” Moss asked.
“Yes. Some of the glass bottles are bubbling more than others.” The atmosphere in the laboratory felt creepy to Nicholas. It wasn’t well lit, and when Nicholas moved around, he got a tingling feeling in his spine that felt like tiny spiders walking up and down his back. The laboratory was a dark and unpleasant place. He wished he could leave.
“Can you see anything that might go into the first pot when he begins the cooking process? Do you see anything on the shelves or counters?”
“There’s a bag that looks like grain, but I’m not sure what it is. It could be a ground up mineral. It’s difficult to see.”
“Go in closer,” Moss said with urgency.
“I … I can’t, Nicholas replied. The thought of getting closer was too disturbing to him.
“You can,” Moss insisted.
“No.” Nicholas shook his head.
“Leave him alone, Moss. This is hard work,” Newton said. He walked across the table over closer to Nicholas. “What else is in the laboratory? Look around in the places where he’s not. If I know the sorcerer, this isn’t his only project. He’s got several things going on at once.”
“Don’t tell him what to do,” Moss said.
“You’re too focused on one thing,” Newton replied. “Not to be critical, but sometimes you forget to look at the big picture.”
“And what do you know about the so-called big picture?”
“Gargoyles usually have the big picture. We spend a lot of time on rooftops overlooking the city. That’s the big picture, and there’s a lot of it to see.”
“Then perhaps you don’t understand the importance of details in a situation like this.”
“Looking at the big picture may help you to figure out the kinds of details to search for in the lab.”
“I know about details,” Moss insisted.
“You do not! You can’t even match your clothes.”
“I can. You’re color-blind.”
“You’re pattern-blind,” Newton said with a slight taunt in his voice.
“Stop it!’ Nicholas shouted. “No more arguing. I’m going to look around.”
Moss exhaled forcefully and tapped his fingers on the edge of the table.
“Is anyone else hungry?” Newton asked as he scratched the top of the wooden table with one of his talons. It made a small screeching noise when he did this.
“No,” Moss immediately snapped.
“I’m looking through the far doorway,” Nicholas said, hoping to distract them from arguing again. “He has a greenhouse.”
“Plants?” Newton asked.
“It’s probably some exotic herbs for his spells,” Moss concluded.
“They’re flowers,” Nicholas said. He glanced around at all the blooming plants. Despite their bright sun-like coloring, they gave Nicholas a feeling of despair.
“Different kinds of flowers?”
“They’re all the same. Thousands of them.
“Can you draw a picture for me when we’re done?”
“I don’t have to. They look like small yellow daisies,” Nicholas explained. “I’ve seen them around the kingdom. They’re practically a weed.”
“Can you see anything else in the greenhouse?”
“Nothing that I can see, but I smell something,” Nicholas replied.
“What?”
“The smell from the other room. I think he’s cooking it for the plants.”
“No,” Moss shook his head. “Plants are used to make spells.”
“What if the plant is the spell?” Nicholas asked.
“If the plant were created from a spell, it wouldn’t be real, and he wouldn’t need a greenhouse.”
“What if the plants were real, but he was putting a spell on them?” Nicholas asked as he glanced up from the scrying bowl. “If he did that, would the spell multiply when the plant reproduced?”
Moss loudly slapped his hand on the table, and Nicholas lost his connection to the sorcerer’s laboratory. He immediately felt as if a weight had been lifted from him, and his mood improved. Moss stood up from the table and began pacing.
“No one has ever embedded a spell into the genetic makeup of another living thing. But if this is what he’s attempting to do,” Moss said as he continued to move about in an agitated manner, “then we may be able to figure out the sorcerer’s battle strategy. He may be planning something big. If he’s harnessing the natural systems, that’s important.”
“Why would he want to do that?”
“Who knows? If we knew the reasons why he does the things he does, we might be able to predict his next move and stop him,” Moss said as he stopped pacing and stood in front of Nicholas. “The story that the sorcerer was telling … it has to be important. What else do we know about it?”
“It’s common. We’ve all heard it before,” Nicholas replied. “Everyone knows the story. That’s why it doesn’t make sense that the sorcerer would keep telling it so many times.”
“I think that makes it a clue, but as to what, I don’t know. What does the story accomplish for him?”
“The wolf in the story …” Nicholas hesitated and then continued, “Do you think it has anything to do with the orchard?”
“Perhaps,” Moss answered. “I think there’s a lot we still don’t know. We’ll need to keep studying him.”
Nicholas felt the weight in his stomach falling again. He dreaded his next lesson.
Chapter
15
Of Hope-Filled Dreams
Kelsey and Maggie didn’t wait to find out what was making the sound in the woods behind them. Instead, they quickly descended the steep, grassy slope toward the valley where the orchard was situated next to a large stone abbey. Maggie slipped a few times on the grass as they walked, but she managed to right herself before she tumbled very far. After the second time she stumbled, Kelsey reached over and took her hand to help steady Maggie as she descended the slope. It had been a long walk to the abbey, and Kelsey knew that Maggie wasn’t used to the exercise. Kelsey had noticed that for some time now, Maggie was having trouble picking up her feet and occasionally fell behind a few paces while they were walking. The length of the journey had taken its toll on her. Roland was with them but was taking calmer steps.
They passed through the orchard on the way to the front door of the abbey. Kelsey reached up to touch the fuzzy green striped fruit. It felt like cool velvet as her fingertips brushed over the round surface. When she squeezed gently, it felt firm like a baseball, and she wondered if the fruit was ripe. It smelled sweet and sharp, like a citrus tree. The scent was invigorating, and she breathed it in deeply. She also couldn’t resist touching the waxy leaves, and she enjoyed the contrast between the soft fuzz of the fruit and the smooth leaves. The flowers were small and appeared very delicate, so she didn’t touch them.
“Hope is beautiful!” Maggie exclaimed. “I’ve never smelled anything so wonderful.”
“I like the scent,” Kelsey agreed. “No wonder the wolves are drawn to it.”
“I feel as if I recognize the fragrance. I’ve never seen these trees before, but they smell familiar.”
“Everyone has smelled it at some point, but not in the strongest form, the way it is here,” Roland explained. “Hope smells like a mixture of the future and a promise.”
Kelsey paused to feel the deep, rough grooves in the ba
rk of a tree. She couldn’t help admiring the orchard. It was something of a paradise and certainly worth protecting.
When they had passed through a tall iron portcullis and reached the large wooden door of the building, Roland knocked on the door with his staff. The sound echoed much more than it should have, given the density of the door. To her ears, Kelsey thought the sound of the echo amplified rather than tapered off in volume, but then she heard the sound diminishing. After a few minutes, the sound eventually died off, and a small window in the door opened a crack, but not wide enough to see inside or to glimpse the face of the person addressing them.
“We’re an abbey, a place of holy retreat,” the voice from the shadows said quietly. “What do you want with us?”
“The king sent us,” Roland replied.
“I don’t think so,” the voice in the darkness replied politely but firmly.
“You don’t think what?” Kelsey asked. “We were told to come here to help you save hope.”
“How do we know that you’re not here to take it?” the voice inquired suspiciously. She wished that the speaker would show his face instead of hiding behind the tiny window shutter.
“Because the hope is outside near us on the trees. We wouldn’t need to knock on your door if we wanted to steal it,” Kelsey answered. She heard the baying of a wolf in the distance and felt the urgency to get inside. The sun had now set, and the cold air made her fingers tingle.
“I’m Roland the Red. His Majesty the King has sent me,” Roland announced. “I have a letter with the king’s seal.”
“It could be a fake,” another voice whispered from behind the door. “He looks like one of them. He’s a wolf.”
“Why would a wolf come to the door with a fake letter?” the first voice asked. “Besides, I don’t think he is a wolf. He doesn’t look like the others.”
“I don’t know. If I had all the answers, we wouldn’t need help,” replied the second voice. “Maybe the wolves are trying to get inside and kill us so they can live in the abbey and devour our hope at their leisure.”
“It seems like an awful lot of work to fake a letter, especially for wolves. They don’t have thumbs, you know,” the first voice said.
“The other two have thumbs,” said the second voice.
“The other two aren’t wolves. They’re human,” the first voice retorted.
“I’m not a wolf,” Roland insisted. “I’m a fox.”
“That’s what he wants us to think,” the second voice in the darkness said. The two voices proceeded to quietly bicker for a minute until they were interrupted.
“There are only two of them,” a third voice added his opinion to the situation. “Two humans. That’s all I see.” Maggie smiled to herself at the thought that she wasn’t the only one who couldn’t see Roland.
“There are three,” the first voice said sharply. All three voices proceeded to argue for another minute until they were interrupted.
“Let them in,” announced a new voice in an authoritative tone. “There are no wolves out there, at least not nearby.”
“Finally! Someone with reason,” Kelsey whispered in a grateful tone.
“There’s only a grim reaper on our doorstep,” the new voice added.
“You want to let the Grim Reaper into our abbey?” the second voice asked. Kelsey was about to correct the voice, but then she realized that they were about to go inside, and it was to her benefit to follow along. Kelsey patiently leaned against the cool stone wall near the front door as she waited.
“It’s not the first time,” the voice of authority replied in a resolute tone. “He’s no stranger here. Let the visitors inside.”
After the seven bolts securing the door were unlocked one by one, the oversized door slowly opened with a loud creaking noise, and Kelsey looked inside to see a candlelit hallway. It was beautifully shining with rows of yellow lights flickering along both edges of the floor as well as along the ceiling. The path was well illuminated with a welcoming feel.
More than a dozen monks in brown robes were standing around the entrance, and it took about half of them to move the cumbersome wooden door. The large iron scrollwork on the door made it appear even more formidable.
“As I said, I am Roland the Red. I was sent here as a representative of the king. These are my associates, Kelsey, a member of the king’s army, and Maggie, an apprentice diplomat.” Roland said. He motioned to each person as he made the introductions.
“You’ve been here before,” an older monk said accusingly. “I’ve seen you. I’d recognize you anywhere.”
“I’ve been here many times,” Roland replied. “I’ve been coming here on official business for years, since before some of you were born.”
“Yes, I remember you,” another monk replied quietly, and the group seemed to relax at the recognition. The monks took turns introducing themselves and greeting their visitors.
“We don’t have much time,” Roland said once the introductions had been completed. “We could hear the wolves on our way here. I think they’re getting ready to strike again, and I’d like to save this crop of hope.”
“Should we get the Sisters of Mercy so we can make a plan?” the brother named Stephen asked.
“Let’s not involve them,” Brother Michael replied. He waved his hand in a dismissive manner. “They don’t want to hurt the wolves. If we let them have a say in how we solve this problem, nothing will get done.”
“Nothing except that our hope will be eaten alive again,” a third monk said, nodding in agreement.
“They may get upset,” Brother Stephen countered. He raised his eyebrows as he waited for Brother Michael’s response.
“Let them be upset. Their anger is a much easier issue to deal with than the wolves,” the monk turned to face Roland. “What’s the plan?”
“I have memories,” Roland replied.
“We all have memories,” said Brother Stephen. He exchanged glances with several of the other monks and then turned to face Roland again. Maggie was glancing around uncertainly. She couldn’t quite follow the conversation since she was only hearing half of it, but she had already learned that she would eventually figure out what was being said if she could be patient to see where the conversation went.
Roland asked for the jars from Kelsey’s backpack and then held up one of them so that the candlelight enhanced the glow of the shimmering liquids. Brother Michael took the jar and sniffed the top of the lid.
“It smells like hope,” he said. “Is this is juice? Or an extract of hope?”
“These are memories of hope-filled dreams,” Roland said. “My plan is to use this as a distraction. We can pour the contents of these jars around the edge of the orchard. The wolves that absorb these memories will begin to believe that hope exists only in their dreams and will stop looking for hope in real places, like the orchard.”
“And you think this will work?” Brother Michael asked. “There are hundreds of wolves, maybe more.”
“It won’t solve the problem permanently,” Roland explained, “but it will temporarily thin the pack and buy us more time.”
The monks looked skeptically at one another and nervously shuffled their feet. The rustling sounds of their subtle movements were amplified in the stone hallway, and Kelsey felt awkward. She tapped her foot a few times, adding to the reverberating noise in the hallway. When no one else spoke, she became impatient.
“Do any of you have a better idea?” she finally asked. “We’re not saying it will solve the problem. We’re trying to keep this crop of hope safe while we find a more permanent solution.”
“Excuse me,” Maggie said when no one else replied to Kelsey, “but has anyone tried talking with the wolves?”
The monks broke out in laughter as they held their stomachs. The gold tasseled rope on Brother Michael’s robe shook as his large belly moved rapidly up and down, and the magnified noise of the raucous laughter was so loud, it hurt Kelsey’s ears.
“Wolves don�
��t talk. They devour,” Brother Michael said. “Have you ever tried to converse with one?”
“No,” Maggie replied. She looked down at the smooth tile floor.
“Then what makes you think you can talk to them?” Brother Michael asked. Maggie studied the diamond pattern in the tile floor for a few moments before looking up to face him.
“Well, I’ve never talked to a monk before today, and I’m talking with you now.” When Brother Michael’s look of surprise faded, Maggie continued: “I’m thinking that if we approach them the right way, they might want to talk.” She took a deep breath and gazed firmly into Brother Michael’s eyes, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he turned to the entire group and spoke with conviction.
“None of us are getting close enough to those vicious creatures to talk,” Brother Michael announced. “Tonight we’ll pour the memories around the orchard to make sure the wolves don’t get to the hope without crossing through the memories. We’ll start right away before the wolves descend to the orchard. Then tomorrow we’ll meet with the Sisters of Mercy and discuss our next steps.”
Without further discussion, the monks took the jars and set about the task in an orderly manner. It was as if they already knew what to do, but Kelsey also noticed that there was an order to this monastery: There were higher-ranking monks who gave orders to lower-ranking ones. Sometimes these orders were unspoken, and the lower-level monks understood what to do by watching their superiors.
Several of the monks put on gloves and tied kerchiefs over their mouths and noses to prevent inhalation of the memories as they worked. They quickly began the task of pouring the memories, making sure that the circle was unbroken and that the memories were evenly distributed around the perimeter of the orchard. Once the first circle was complete, they created another circle of memories just outside the first one, so that the wolves would need to cross two lines of memories to reach the fruit of hope. The monks worked from the inside of the circle toward the outside, so that they never crossed the line of poured memories. Kelsey admired the orderliness and swift nature of their work. It was like watching an army in battle maneuvers.