That afternoon, the village children came to wish her a happy birthday. They sang and danced, played games, and ate cobbleberry muffin-cakes until the sun set.
In the background, though, crept scowly Promulgus. He knew, of course, as the Panades and their kin knew, at the age of six Aurelia would soon have the power to see him when he was outside. So, ready for his next assault, just before dusk, Promulgus left the cave for the village. By blowing his vile breath, he created a whirlwind that forced the children to dash home, holding their noses.
As Promulgus had feared, however, Aurelia saw him that very moment. “Who are you?” she asked.
Before she could cry out, he scooped her up, dropped her into a potato sack, and carried her off into the night-blackened forest.
From Astarte’s Diary
Late at Night, on Your Sixth Birthday
The day I have dreaded has arrived. Mysteria had warned me that evil would take you sometime after you turned six. But how was I to know it would happen on your birthday? When the children ran to the bakery, shouting, “She’s gone! She’s gone!” my heart raced so rapidly I thought it would jump up out of my throat. Never have I felt such anger, such anguish, such helplessness. Not until your father calmed me could I put ink to paper. Tonight, I can write only these words, Aurelia: We shall find you. Somehow.
Maudline and Aurelia at Yawning Cave
Promulgus arrived at the cave entrance, a whimpering, petrified Aurelia slung over his shoulder like a wild hog in a gunny sack. As they entered, Aurelia sniffed the rank odor of mildew. He dumped her onto a pile of moldering hay, which expelled a dark-green cloud. Spiders, rats and gruesome vermin scattered to hide in distant crevices.
“Wh-where am I?” she whimpered. Large tears rolled down her grimy cheeks.
“Maudline!” Promulgus cried out. “Come see what I have brought you to play with!”
Maudline Morphus slipped into the cavern like a shadow and hovered in the background, glancing first at her father, then at Aurelia.
Aurelia stared through the dimness and her tears at the sallow-faced girl, who appeared to be a smaller version of herself — except for her hair. Streaming through the child’s unruly, charcoal-colored hair ran a silver streak, much like Aurelia’s golden strands. Her hair — it’s almost like mine, Aurelia said to herself.
“You are ours now, Aurelia Panade,” Promulgus continued. “Maudline, guard her well. She is not to leave your sight or this cave.”
Maudline stamped her foot. “No, Father! I don’t want her!”
“But Maudline, I brought her just for you.”
Maudline trudged over to Aurelia and pushed her. “I said I don’t want her. We don’t need anyone else, Father.”
Promulgus growled, “Maudline, do as I say. Take her to your chamber. Now!”
Maudline yanked Aurelia by the hand and dragged her into the cave-way to her chamber.
For the next several days, Yawning Cave was a noisy place. Maudline ranted as Aurelia wept. Anything Aurelia touched, Maudline tore out of her hands.
Clearly, Maudline despised this intruder, who ended up huddled in a corner, weeping day and night. Promulgus could not get his captive to eat a morsel of gruel or drink anything but water. The new child was more trouble than she was worth. What was he to do with her, now that she was his
The Chant of Seven Beats
Meanwhile, frantic to find Aurelia, the Panades, the Goodsoles, and a dozen villagers had set out to find the missing child. They searched, to no avail, until dark, when Mysteria called upon her magic powers to assist them. Milos and Ivan carried an iron cauldron to the woodstove, filled it with water, and lit the fire beneath. When the water came to a boil, Mysteria and Astarte poured in a sack-full of herbs. As the mixture bubbled, it sent vapors into the air. The two couples began to sing their most powerful chant — a song to find lost children:
Hear our chant! Beat as we rant!
Seven bangs to seven beats!
Hear our chant! Beat as we rant!
Seven times to seven beats!
They carried the cauldron to the village square and rang the large bell. Their friends and neighbors came running from their homes and shops to form a circle around the cauldron — a dance reserved for dire situations.
Hear our chant! Bang as we rant!
Seven times to seven beats!
Hear our chant! Bang as we rant!
Seven rounds of seven beats!
The insistent rhythms and powerful aromas brought the Gypsies from the valley. Everyone marched around the cauldron, beating tambourines or banging pots with spoons and mallets.
Come to us, O vengeful one!
Fury drives us to this song!
Vala Grava, strong and wise.
Vala Grava, hear our cries!
Vala Grava, help us now.
Vala Grava, show us how.
We will dance until the sun
Leads us to our little one.
Seven songs in seven ways,
Seven chants for seven days.
Hear our anger seven times
As we chant our angry rhymes.
Seven beats in every line,
Clap and bang the beats in time.
Vala Grava, in our need,
Bring us luck at lightning speed.
Hear our chant! Bang as we rant!
Seven times to seven beats!
Hear our chant! Bang as we rant!
Seven rounds of seven beats!
The villagers and the Gypsies chanted the verses seven times, dancing faster and faster in a circle, whirling themselves into a frenzy until they fell to the ground.
Hearing the clamor from the village, Promulgus slipped from Yawning Cave to see what was happening. As he watched and listened, he shivered. He recognized their song — the “Chant of Seven Beats” — a mighty cry of rage which, when sung seven times, empowered its chanters so they could lead the villagers to Aurelia — and his hiding place. If they found out where he lived, he would be in a cauldron of boiling trouble himself. Once inside Yawning Cave, Promulgus became visible to mortals. Even worse, he would become visible to anyone who saw him outside the cave as well. Thus, he would lose much of his power.
Aurelia’s Reprieve
Promulgus shouted, “No! They may find their precious child, but they will not find me! Who needs this nuisance? They can have her back. My revenge will come at another time.” He dashed back to his lair and prepared to rid himself of the child.
That night, he sprinkled a teaspoon of “Sleep-and-Forget” powder into Aurelia’s water bowl. She swallowed a mouthful. Before a bat could wink, she fell fast asleep.
While both girls slumbered, Promulgus carried Aurelia into the forest and placed her under the boughs of The Great Banyan Tree.
“You will never recall these last three days,” he muttered. “But I am not done with you.”
The next morning, Maudline searched for Aurelia in her chamber. “What have you done with Aurelia, Father? I was just getting used to her.”
“She is back where she belongs. DO NOT speak to that wretched child, Maudline. I forbid you!”
Of course, all Maudline needed to hear from her father was “DO NOT!” to do exactly that.
“But Aurelia didn’t remember anything, did she?” asked Larissa.
“She forgot the horrible event, which nevertheless planted a kernel of dread into the core of her soul. She carried with her a terrible, wrenching fear of Promulgus, though she did not realize why.”
“And the villagers found her?”
“Aye, they found her by the tree. They rejoiced heartily.”
“But what about Maudline, Gran’Papa?”
“Ah, Maudline. Now, she had her own troubles. Yet, strangely, her troubles led her to seek out Aurelia.”
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sp; Maudline’s Tale
For years after Promulgus put Aurelia out of the cave, Maudline suffered her father’s wild moods. At first she would run off into the woods to avoid his wrath. And occasionally, she would peep into the bakery and play with Aurelia, who had no memory now of who Maudline was. The two would become quite good friends. For Maudline never revealed she was Promulgus’s daughter but instead pretended she was a Gypsy child. Often she would taunt and tease Aurelia, calling her names and hiding her toys from her or even taking a few to the cave. She loved to trick her, hiding bakery goods until the end of the day so she could steal a few for herself at night.
As Maudline grew older, she disappeared from Yawning Cave more often and for longer. One summer, when she was no longer a child but a budding young beauty of fifteen, she wandered into the Gypsy camp. The warmth and vivacity of these colorful people drew her to them. They invited her into their tents and fed her their exotic foods.
Late at night, however, the spirit of Promulgus within her led to seamier activities. She soon joined the rowdy young Gypsies, who would drink and carouse until dawn. Eventually, Maudline stayed in the Gypsy camp for days at a time, returning to the cave only to catch up on sleep and prepare for more nights of revelry.
Meanwhile, the lovely Aurelia blossomed as sweetly as the pastries in the bakery, where she worked daily alongside her parents. And Maudline came by less and less often.
Romando and the Troubadours
Over the years, in the Gypsy camp, the little onyx-eyed boy, Romando, had grown, too. His father was a carver of mandolins, and music was the center of the family’s lives. Romando often sang lullabies to his younger brother and sister. He guarded them through their sleep while the Gypsies danced, and he fed the children breakfast as their parents slept.
Romando had developed a melodious voice, and by the age of sixteen, he joined a band of singers. He grew to be a young troubadour whose rich tenor weaved through the harmonic strings of his mandolin. Some evenings he and his companion, Nicabar, scoured the villages and the countryside in search of a few coins for their songs — and perhaps to serenade a lonely maiden.
Many a night, the villagers heard Romando’s favorite song:
Moonquest
Where is the source, the stream that will start
To fill the empty vessel of my heart?
Somewhere over the grassy knoll,
Beyond the hill? I seek her sweet soul.
As a mandolin’s strings await caress,
My heartstrings thirst for happiness.
I wander far to lie in her arms.
O, Moon, I beg you, keep her from harm.
When you spy my maiden-mate,
Let her know my yearning fate,
And when you find my love-to-be
Light her path, bring her to me.
In addition to his musical talents, Romando, like his father, had developed into a superb mandolin craftsman. On market day, he carted his fine-carved instruments in hopes of selling them to the villagers.
One chilly autumn eve, Aurelia, now sixteen, was wiping off the pastry counter while her parents cleaned the bakery kitchen. Maudline, who had been up late the previous night in the camp and hungered for some breakfast pastries, was paying Aurelia a rare visit, snitching a tart or two.
Strains of lilting music caught the girls’ attention. Two young men strolled up to the cottage bakery. One was strumming a mandolin.
“You know, Aurelia,” said Maudline, “I’ve seen these two before — in the Gypsy camp.” Struck by the exquisite music, Aurelia slipped into the kitchen.
“Mama, there are two strangers outside. I think they are Gypsies.”
Aurelia hid behind a pastry rack, and Maudline ducked behind the counter. Astarte entered the bakery front, rubbing her hands on her apron. She stood at the open door, listening and watching them strum. One of them had eyes as dark and sparkly as onyx. She fingered the black beads of her necklace.
When the music ended, she said to the young men, “It is getting chilly outside. Won’t you come into the bakery?”
As they followed her, the troubadour continued to strum and pluck his mandolin while the young men sang:
We who travel from afar
Warm our hands and hearts with song.
We bear no riches, nor gold coins,
And we may not stay here for long.
We’ve left the land of sunny warmth
And suffer chills of winter’s pain.
We’ll linger for a little while,
Then leave to travel once again.
Spying Aurelia behind the pastry rack, he stopped mid-song.
“Let’s change our tune,” the strummer said to his companion. “This song is especially for the young ladies. We call it ‘Song without Words’; ’tis for young maidens’ ears.” As he played, they harmonized a melody so haunting it brought tears to Aurelia’s eyes and made her heart flutter.
When the music ended, Astarte whispered in her daughter’s ear, “They must be hungry. Let’s give them some pastries. We have but one Puit d’Amour left.”
“Give it to the one with the black eyes,” whispered Aurelia.
Her mother selected the Puit d’Amour and slipped into the kitchen, where she sprinkled a special sugar from a tin onto the pastry. When she returned, she handed it to Aurelia, who offered it to the dark-eyed man. “This pastry is for you,” she told him. He kissed her hand.
Astarte turned to Maudline and handed her a plum tart. “You may give this to the other gentleman, Maudline.” Both men bowed. Then they sang:
And so we leave you with our song,
The only gift we own,
For we must soon be on our way
To yet another town.
As quickly as they had appeared, they turned and left the bakery.
“But we don’t even know your names!” Aurelia called out as the door closed.
The old man stretched his arms. “Of course, Promulgus did not care for this development.”
“Why not, Gran’Papa?”
“He did not want any young man near Aurelia for reasons I will explain to you later. A romance could be his downfall. He decided it was time to take serious action.”
Promulgus Commits the Unthinkable
After the bakery encounter, Promulgus fumed for days in his cave, grumbling under his putrid breath. “I smell love-dust in the air. This must not be. No, Aurelia, your end must come soon. Tonight will be your last at that bakery. I will do away with you. Forever.”
From her cave chamber, Maudline overheard him plot once again. This time, however, she wanted to protect her only true friend in Candleborough.
She ran to the village to find Aurelia and warn her that Promulgus was up to no good. When she found her delivering breads near the square, she tugged at her, imploring, “Aurelia, you can’t go back home tonight. Something dreadful will happen to you if you do!”
“Why? What will happen? Is this one of your tricks?”
“Truly, no. This one time I really mean it. I can’t tell you what, but tonight you mustn’t go home. Tell your parents you are staying with one of your friends. We can hide in the woods. Meet me after the bakery closes. By the oak tree near the Gypsy camp.”
Something in Maudline’s voice caught Aurelia’s attention. That evening, she and Maudline sneaked out and met by the oak, far from the cottage.
Later that night, Promulgus headed unseen to the village. As he neared the Cottage Bakery, he inched along the gravelly path. When he reached the front, he flattened and slithered his cumbersome body under the closed door, toppled a flaming candle, and fled.
Quickly, the bakery became a giant, violent fire ball. The villagers, smelling the burnt-tar of disaster, clanged the fire bell and rushed to the water buckets. Alas, too late.
&
nbsp; From their hiding place, Aurelia and Maudline could hear the clamor and smell the horrible smoke. Maudline
squeezed Aurelia’s hands and shouted, “You’re safe! You’re safe!”
They heard voices shouting from the village: “Where are the Panades? Where is Aurelia? They were in the bakery. It is gone! They are all gone!” Wails and screams seemed to echo endlessly.
“Maudline!” cried Aurelia. “What is going on? What is happening?”
“I didn’t know he was going after your family, Aurelia, I swear! I thought he was going to take you away and kill you.”
Stunned, Aurelia turned from Maudline and ran back to the villagers. Maudline, tears streaming down her face, disappeared into the darkness of the woods.
When Aurelia reached the town square, she found only the embers of her home, the villagers crowding around, silent in shock. Finally, Mysteria sat her niece down and told her the devastating news. Aurelia collapsed.
Aurelia awakened late the next day. From that moment on, her voice was silenced. And the Cottage Bakery was to become but an ashen remnant in the village.
“That is so sad, Gran’Papa.”
“Yes, it is. The unspeakable loss silenced Aurelia to her bones. She spoke not a word after that horrible event. But ‘never’ is such a long time.”
“What happened to her afterwards? Where did she go to live?”
“Aurelia went to live with Mysteria and Ivan and her boy cousins. It was a household in mourning.”
“And Maudline?”
“Maudline was so wracked with guilt she buried herself in Yawning Cave.”
After that horrendous night, for weeks and weeks, Maudline attempted again and again to talk with Aurelia, but the grieving girl would have nothing to do with her. And so a friendship, too, burned away.
Candleborough Begins to Heal
For an entire year, the Goodsole family mourned their terrible loss until one day Mysteria announced to her husband, “We cannot live as though we have all died. Astarte and Milos would want us to celebrate their lives.”
Aurelia and the Library of the Soul Page 3