Aurelia
and the Library of the Soul
Gelia Dolcimascolo
Illustrated by Rob Rice
Aurelia and the Library of the Soul
Copyright © 2016 by Gelia Dolcimascolo
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the author.
ISBN 978-0-9972158-0-9 (print)
Library of Congress Control Number: 2016935663
Published by:
Autumn Gold Press
Atlanta, GA
Printed in the United States of America
We are the music makers,
And we are the dreamers of dreams.
Arthur William Edgar O’Shaughnessy
Prologue
“The dagger,” he said. “You must plunge the dagger between heartbeats to free yourself and forever silence your greatest enemy. Relinquish it after one thrust, and never use it again.”
She stared at it. “I don’t understand. This dagger? Whose heartbeats?”
“You will know where, and you will know when.”
The young girl clasped the old man’s wrinkled hand and begged, “Please tell me Aurelia’s story one more time, Gran’Papa.”
Buried under warm quilts in his bed, he sighed. A sparkling fire reflected in his rheumy eyes. “I am weary, my child, and not long for this world. And yet — ’tis a tale like no other, sweet Larissa. It may hold back the night.”
PART I
Before
Candleborough
’Twas a long time ago, in a faraway land where Gypsies roamed. A loving couple dwelled in the hamlet of Candleborough, which nestled in the crook of a valley. There they slept peacefully in an attic above their Cottage Bakery on Rolling Pin Lane. Known as the best bakers throughout the land, Milos and Astarte Panade labored from sunset until sunrise, preparing breads and sweets to feed their sleepy village.
The aroma of cinnamon bread wafted over the surrounding valley daily, drawing travelers from beyond the hills, past The Great Banyan Tree, and across the wide River. The village children, in particular, were welcome at the Cottage Bakery, where the couple doled out samples of fresh rolls and cakes to hungry little mouths. Even the Gypsy children came to the village from the valley to sample the goodies.
The Gypsies
The Gypsies passed through Candleborough every year. Dark-eyed, ebony-haired nomads, they traversed the land and knew no boundaries, yet banded together tightly, relying on one another for their very existence.
The Gypsies slept in their tents as the sun rose and awoke as it set. At dusk they often prepared to celebrate the rising moon. They lit fires to heat their bodies and danced to fuel their passions. Some chanted, clapped, and stamped to undulating rhythms while others in vibrant costumes whirled around the flames one by one and in pairs until they dropped.
“Sing me one of their songs, Gran’Papa.”
“I will need you to help me, Larissa. My voice is weak. Let us sing the ‘Moonsong’ together.”
As they sang, Larissa stood up and twirled all around her grandfather’s bed.
Moonsong
O, Moon, so passionate,
Come, help us celebrate;
Shine on us as we love,
Smile on us from above.
Though sunbeams light our days,
Warm us with golden rays,
Moonbeams of silverglow
Stir our wild blood to flow.
Brighten our world tonight
Under your silver light.
Hear how we strum and chant,
Stamp our feet, clap, and dance.
Night is still young at dusk,
Come and rejoice with us!
Under your light we’ll play
Until the sun brings day.
Tambourines set the beat,
Enliven dancing feet.
Mandolins for our souls,
Voices to make us whole.
O, Moon, so passionate,
See how we celebrate!
Let’s dance till night flies past,
Whirl round, and then collapse!
Larissa twirled right into the bed and fell onto the quilt next to her grandfather. Caressing the streak of fine golden hair on her forehead, he continued.
Promulgus Morphus
Many a night, as the Panades prepared their dough for the next baking, they danced to the rhythms of the Gypsy tambourines.
And so the days passed for the couple, except for a deep emptiness: Despite ten years of joyful marriage, they had borne no children, for the evil spirit Promulgus Morphus had crept into their lives.
“Tell me again what Promulgus did, Gran’Papa.”
“You have heard this tale many a time, sweet Larissa.”
“But I want to hear the part about the invisible spirit.”
“Ah, yes indeed. You remember, Promulgus was invisible to the human eye.”
“And what about his nasty breath?”
“And his breath could destroy the sturdiest of creatures. Promulgus lived a distance from the village in Yawning Cave. Villagers would cringe any time he was near, for his odor was the smell of danger to them. Thus isolated, he was also the last of a family of Sour Spirits of the Valley. These spirits had held a grudge against Happy Spirits for generations and especially against those with magical gifts, like the Panades and their kin, for their powers could surpass those of the sour-spirited. As each mortal girl-child turned six, this power would emerge. Promulgus, now, was alone in his misery and fearful of the Panades — and especially their potential to produce such a child.
“His alienation turned to anger, anger to revenge. Every night as they were still sleeping, he crept up onto the Panades’ roof, uttered a curse, and coughed his noxious breath down their chimney to infest the Cottage Bakery with a poison which halted the couple’s seed. His curse was almost successful, until the winter that love won.”
The Winter that Love Won
The valley surrounding Candleborough was besieged with the most violent snowstorm in decades. On the coldest of those long nights, even Promulgus, ill with winter malaise, could not pass through the wall of ice surrounding Yawning Cave. He huddled in his damp home while the villagers, too, burrowed into their snow-bound cottages. Since he could not send his curse into the Panades’ chimney, Milos and Astarte conceived their first and only child that very night.
By spring, news of the baby’s impending birth had spread throughout Candleborough. The villagers rejoiced and prepared for the festivities to welcome the baby in the fall. Even the Gypsies, who had returned from warmer lands, celebrated the good news.
From Astarte’s Diary
For Aurelia
On the Eve of the Autumnal Equinox
I have known you will be a daughter; my dear twin sister, Mysteria, has knowledge of such things. Tomorrow we shall meet in your new world.
At this time before your birth, I am thankful and yet a little frightened. Soon I shall hold you not within my womb but in my arms and at my breast. How I long to hear your cries, your laughter, your first words. And words, too, will accompany us on our journey. As will these onyx beads, which I shall wear each day for good luck. So I write this diary for your eyes only. But how will I protect you, my little one, from the dangers of life?
During the night of the autumnal equinox, Astarte Panade delivered a baby girl who was clearly her mother
’s daughter: A streak of golden strands ran through her fine auburn hair, just like Astarte’s. Her parents named their daughter Aurelia.
Friends and neighbors celebrated day and night for a week. Among the children who came with their parents to see the new baby was little Romando, a Gypsy-boy with eyes black as Astarte’s onyx beads. As he smiled at the sleeping baby, he caressed her warm head with his hands.
Though the tiny Aurelia cried and fussed, as all babies do, her father’s soft, deep voice often soothed her back to sleep. Night after night, Milos rocked their daughter to a Gypsy melody, making up the words as he sang:
Sleep, gentle baby,
Awake in my arms.
I shall protect you
And keep you from harm.
Each morn as you waken
To bluebirds’ sweet sounds,
I’ll greet you with kisses,
And hugs will abound.
Whoever will meet you
Will care for you, too.
Wherever you travel,
We’ll sing songs for you.
When you become restless,
Remember my song.
Be calm, dear Aurelia,
Dream sweetly and long.
Milos’ joy at his daughter’s birth sent him into a baking frenzy. He stayed up all night, baking so many breads he gave them away to their circle of family, friends, and neighbors. Eager to ensure Astarte’s and the baby’s good health, he created a recipe to include the most nourishing ingredients he could find. He dug deep into the recesses of his brain to come up with his recipe for Heart-Tea Bread, which he distributed freely to all who came by to view Aurelia.
Before long, Astarte and Milos were back in the rhythm of baking together, their infant daughter sleeping in her cradle as they kneaded and mixed.
From Astarte’s Diary
Month Four of Your Life
During the past three months, I have barely had strength to put pen to paper. For months you suckled at my breast, slept little and cried upon waking. In the beginning, I slept only while you did — until your sleep-nights finally lengthened. Since I have regained my strength, I feel a closeness to you I never dreamed of. As I look at your lovely face, your eyes flicker beneath closed lids like a pair of candles. You must be dreaming lovely dreams, for you are smiling, even as you slumber. My vow this and every day hence is to protect you, to nurture you, to comfort you, and to prepare you as best I can for your life’s journey.
The Aroma of Bread and Danger
Early one autumn morning, Milos and Astarte, covered with powdery flour, were busily braiding breads and rolls. The aromas of cinnamon, steaming hazelnut milk, and piping cobble-berry butter scones floated through the forest.
The enticing scents reached Promulgus Morphus as he slept in Yawning Cave, drawing him to the Cottage Bakery. Hidden from view by a holly bush, he crouched under an open window.
The Panades’ song pained his angry ears:
Wintry morning, chilly night,
Making, baking sets us right.
When we knead, we feed our souls,
When we eat, we warm our toes.
And so we work to fill our hearts —
First the breads, and then the tarts.
As for the nasty winter blues,
We’ll make our favorite: Chocolate Muse!
Infuriated, Promulgus blew an icy hoarsbreath, clouding the early morning sun.
Feeling the chill and smelling the dank scent of danger that would surely ruin the rising breads, Astarte slammed the window shut, then fingered the onyx beads she wore around her neck for good luck.
“We must stoke the fires,” she told her husband. “The weather is changing.”
“Aye,” said Milos. “Winter is upon us. The villagers will want some of our Chocolate Muse to keep them merry.”
“Indeed,” said Astarte. “Let’s prepare them as the breads rise.”
Chocolate Muse
Larissa clapped her hands. “Oh, I love the song they sing when they make the chocolate pastry. Will you sing it with me, Gran’Papa?”
“Let me rest and listen to your lovely voice, my child.”
So Larissa sang the song which never failed to spread a smile across her grandfather’s face:
Winter doldrums, go away!
Bring some joy to us today.
We shall make the perfect cake —
Something only we can bake:
Melt the chocolate, butter, too;
Beat some cream and blend it through;
Then we’ll sweeten just enough,
Whip it lightly to a puff.
Fold in egg whites, almond paste,
Honey, nutmeg, spice to taste.
Add a smidge of baking powder.
Let it bake for just an hour.
Cool the layers on a rack;
Wait an hour, then come back.
Next we’ll make a chocolate cream
Richer than a golden dream.
Then, as morning lights the night
You will see a scrumptious sight:
Chase your winter gloom away,
Taste our “Pastry of the Day.”
So if you think you’ve got the blues,
Just have a plate of Chocolate Muse!
Snake Bread
Promulgus turned away from the bakery and skulked back to Yawning Cave. “Hmmmph! Chocolate Muse, indeed. I’ll show them what to bake. Time to make Snake Bread!”
Not to be undone — or outdone — Promulgus conjured his next move. Grumbling under his noxious, cold breath, he prepared to mix some coagulum. He opened his Cook Book of Rare and One-Time Evils and turned to the page with the recipe:
Snake Bread Coagulum
Measure 1 cup spider powder
Add 2 cups desiccated snake flour
Sift together
Add 1 tsp. warm worm blood
Mix for 45 minutes with a barbed maul
Add tincture of sour spirit
Stir in tears of a young virgin
Mix for 15 more minutes
Let the coagulum sit for three weeks. When the mixture smells as putrid as rotten stinkweed, add one pound of flour and bake in a very hot oven. Let cool and dry out the entire loaf for another month; then grind the dried crumbs to a fine powder in a wooden mortar with a pestle.
Back in his lair, Promulgus concocted this latest mixture as he stewed and brewed his next scheme.
“The people of Candleborough may get a reprieve this year, but I’ll get them next winter,” he announced to his empty cave. “The entire village will suffer. They’ll see what Promulgus Morphus can do!”
Completing his evil deed took Promulgus weeks, for he had to scour and scavenge the countryside for the proper ingredients. After baking the Snake Bread, he let it dry, impatiently stomping around his cave. At last, when it was ready, he ground it into a fine powder.
Larissa sat up. “What was he going to do, Gran’Papa? I forgot.”
“His plan was to spread deadly disease throughout the village by blowing his Snake Bread powder across the valley — after he tested it on the Gypsies.”
“But why the Gypsies?”
“It was easy to make the Gypsies ill, for they stayed very close to one another.”
“Did his Snake Bread powder work?”
“Indeed, it did.”
“What happened to them?”
“They became horribly ill. That winter, the Gypsies were so sick they could not travel to the warmer lands they visited each year.”
Fortunately, by next springtide, the Gypsies recovered. Astarte’s twin sister, Mysteria, who had the power to predict future happenings, warned Astarte they must prevent the plague from striking again.
“Milos,” said A
starte, “the Gypsies were violently ill this winter. And some of the village children are now falling ill. Mysteria has looked to next year. She warned me that we must prepare for the coming winter, when the icy wind will surely carry the plague back into the heart of the village. Now is the time to draw upon our special powers.”
Heart-Tea Bread
So once again, before the onset of the dreaded winter-plague season, the Panades made Heart-Tea Bread for every villager. This time, however, they chanted a magical spell to give the bread its unique power. With this spell, even one slice would counter Promulgus’s poisoning attempts for an entire year.
The Panades labored over their loaves, kneading and chanting for much of the night:
Binkum, Bunkum, earthy flours,
Bring our people special powers:
Binkum, Bunkum, Heart-Tea Bread,
With but one slice, become well fed.
As we cast our magic spell,
Make our village folks feel well
Before the ills that come our way
Can thrive for but a single day.
White flour, brown flour, wheat germ, mix.
Count backwards now from fifty-six.
When we get to forty-three,
Add the oatmeal, salt, and tea.
Soften butter, just a bit.
Add the yeast, and let it sit.
Blend the dry and yeasty mix,
Then count from one to ninety-six.
Binkum, Bunkum, knead the batter
As it rests, the dough grows fatter,
Rising with our magic words,
Which mortals’ ears have never heard.
Set it in a toasty place.
Tip-toe round with gentle grace.
When we have our risen dough,
Punch it down, then watch it grow.
Punch down thrice, then let it rise.
Aurelia and the Library of the Soul Page 1