Aurelia and the Library of the Soul

by Gelia Dolcimascolo

  The two set forth to commemorate their loved ones. They met with the villagers to plan an annual festival to honor the Panades. Each family was to bring a dish to share, along with cobbleberry wine and other drinks.

  On the day of the festival, the villagers talked of the wonderful times they had all shared with the bakers. But poor Aurelia sat in silence on a distant boulder or wandered off by herself throughout the day and into the evening.

  Even Maudline returned. Seeing Aurelia, she ran up and, tugging at Aurelia’s dress, implored, “Please, please listen to what I have to say. I am so sorry. I didn’t know. Can’t we ever be friends again?” But Aurelia pulled her skirt from Maudline’s hands and ran off into the forest. So Maudline left the village and reluctantly returned to Yawning Cave.

  Still, the villagers continued their fest. Then the Gypsies arrived, bringing their colorful costumes, dances, instruments, and delicious treats. As the festivities began, the village began to come back to life. Cobbleberry wine stained the streets as children leaped, pirouetted and rolled from the hilltop over the grassy knolls. And with the Gypsies came Romando with his mandolin, leading a troupe of dancers and singers. Above them all, his voice floated over the entire countryside — the song of a cardinal courting his sweetheart that infused Candleborough with his effervescence.

  Aurelia and Romando

  Romando spotted Aurelia on the edge of the throng, carrying a bouquet of pimpernels. The tick-tock, tick-tock of the village clock came to a halt. Time ceased.

  He sang:

  Where is the source, the stream that will start

  To fill the empty vessel of my heart?

  Somewhere over grassy knoll,

  Beyond the hill? I seek her sweet soul.

  Hearing the familiar tune, Aurelia turned to him, then turned away, ran off, and disappeared into the thicket. No one seemed to notice — except Romando, who followed her.

  Aurelia leaped across a stream to the roots of The Great Banyan Tree, where she knelt beneath a bough, weeping. Hidden behind her, the troubadour paused, words momentarily frozen in his throat. Then he continued:

  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.

  Aurelia stood and turned to him. Her eyes glittered in recognition.

  He strode up to her, knelt, reached for her hand, and kissed it, then rose and bowed. “Do you remember me?”

  Aurelia shrugged her shoulders and smiled.

  He bowed again. “I am Romando, humble Gypsy at your service. My friend Nicabar and I came to the Cottage Bakery some time ago. We sang to you, and I have not forgotten you since. I am so sad about your loss, and I can only imagine your pain. But I hate to see you weep so, lovely maiden.”

  Locked in silence, Aurelia beckoned to him to follow her, then handed him a small sprig of pimpernels. She led him to a section of the Banyan Tree’s gigantic exposed roots, where she placed the remaining flowers. Carved on the trunk above them were the initials of couples who, over the centuries, had promised their love to one another. And largest of these was a heart surrounding the names Astarte and Milos — her parents.

  “I see,” said Romando. “Astarte and Milos. Is this where you honor your parents?” Aurelia nodded.

  Romando gazed at tree. “How majestic it is. Do you know the song of the Banyan Tree?”

  Aurelia shrugged her shoulders and shook her head.

  “I will sing it for you in a bit.”

  The Legend of the Great Banyan Tree

  Larissa leaned up on one elbow. “Gran’Papa, tell me where the tree came from.”

  “No one knows exactly how The Great Banyan Tree came to grow in the valley near Candleborough. Such trees typically thrived only in tropical countries. Legend has it that while roaming from land to land, the Gypsies carried the banyan fruit from the tropics. Villagers sang of the tree’s legacy. Sing along with me, Larissa.”

  The two lay side by side on his bed, singing the verses:

  Across the land the Gypsies rode

  From sunrise until eve

  With pots and pans and sacks of grain

  From lands they had to leave.

  One old Gypsy wore a pouch

  Filled with banyan seeds.

  Alas, the pouch began to shred

  And dropped them on some weeds.

  A raven spied the tempting seeds

  And took them in its beak,

  Flew o’er the valley, far and wide

  Until its wings turned weak.

  Then suddenly a wind burst forth,

  And banyan seeds rained down

  Beside a lone pine’s sturdy trunk,

  And thus, a seed was sown.

  Larissa stopped. “I don’t know the rest, Gran’Papa. What happened to the seed?”

  “The song is not yet ended, child.” He took a deep breath. “The seed sprouted, matured, and grew aerial roots that entwined the pine trunk and reached down into the ground for the warm springs below. As they thickened over the centuries, they strangled the pine that had first given it life. Come. Hum as I sing the words:

  The Banyan Tree devoured its pine

  As years and years passed by

  Until the pine tree lost its strength,

  Withered — and then died.

  The banyan’s trunk grew branches,

  which dropped taproots of their own.

  The Banyan Tree became a grove

  Throughout the land renowned.

  Now many folks from near and far

  Sing round the King of Trees:

  ‘The Banyan Tree will bring much joy

  To lovers ’neath its leaves.’”

  “But Gran’Papa, how could a tree from warm lands live in such cold winters?”

  “Villagers believe warm springs deep underground must have kept the tree growing.”

  Protected from winds in the valley by the surrounding pine groves, the banyan sent its taproots downward from its heavy branches to drink from the warm underground streams. As the tree flourished, its majestic arms offered both shelter and seclusion. Villagers celebrated their festivals in the shade of its boughs, decorating it with ribbons and flowers while children sang and danced to “Here We Go Round the Mulberry Tree” and played “Hide and Go Fetch.”

  At night, lovers caressed one another under the heart-shaped leaves. To affirm their love, they carved each other’s names or initials into the soft bark. Once a couple’s name was engraved into the bark of The Great Banyan, they would be forever united. To pledge eternal love, the lady had to carve her young man’s initials, and the lad would then chisel hers beneath his — all with a silver dagger — as had Milos and Astarte many years prior.

  And so it was that Aurelia and Romando found their way over the creek bed and into the arms of The Great Banyan, where they, too, carved their initials. They sealed their blossoming love with a long, passionate kiss. Romando said, “You and I must never part.” However, never is a long, long time. But since love needs no language and knows no time, she assented, taking his hands in hers and kissing them.

  Love’s Interlude

  Although having vowed never to part by carving their own names in The Great Banyan’s trunk, Aurelia and Romando were not to enjoy the fruits of their love quite yet.

  “Farewell, sweet Aurelia,” Romando said to her as he readied himself to return to the Gypsy camp. “Let us meet tonight here at The Great Banyan to make our plans.”

  Aurelia waved at him, blew him a kiss, and skipped back to the
village.

  When she returned to her aunt and uncle’s house, Aurelia learned that her cousins, by now spunky youths, were planning to spend the night in a cavern near the forest. They begged their parents to let them stay out for the night.

  Mysteria and Ivan were reluctant to allow the children such freedom, but a little cobbleberry wine and the day’s festivities had loosened them.

  “Only if you take Aurelia with you,” said Ivan. “She is older. She will be in charge. And you must come home for breakfast.”

  And so, at dusk, after the villagers ended their revelry and the Gypsies returned to their camp, the three youngsters headed toward the woods, knapsacks slung over their shoulders and adventure in their heads. Little did the family know of Aurelia’s plan to slip away later that night, when the towheaded boys would be fast asleep.

  Aurelia and her cousins arrived at the cavern and prepared a fire. Night fell.

  “Let’s tell stories,” said one of the boys.

  A chill settled around them. While the three huddled by the fire, the boys chatted about the Myth of the Ice-Oven as Aurelia listened:

  “The ironsmith’s son said it lies beneath Yawning Cave. Promulgus blows into it, making it as cold as Snow Mountain or as hot as Fever Volcano.”

  “I heard he tosses his victims in and slams a slate cover on it, like a tomb.”

  “Someone told me it lies under the Lake of Frozen Rainwater. The outside is a beautiful but deadly icicle-sphere.”

  “But he bakes snake bread and venom-cookies there. Then he eats them!”

  “He roasts little children and swallows them whole!”

  Locked in her silence, Aurelia shivered.

  The crackling fire illuminated the cavern walls, casting ghostly silhouettes around them.

  Aurelia’s Nightmare

  Aurelia drifted into a dream-sleep filled with visions of crystal-blue ice statues melting into a lake. The lake turned crimson, then bubbled into huge magenta clouds swirling across a fiery sky. The clouds spiraled, forming a blood-red mountain of solid lava. In her vision, Aurelia clawed her way up the mountain. Each handful of lava-ashes scorched her fingers, making her slide backwards toward the steaming ground.

  She awoke in a drenching sweat. Although comforted by the dwindling fire and the sight of her sleeping cousins, she shuddered with foreboding. Then she drifted into The Land between Sleep and Awake.

  PART II

  After

  In the Land between Sleep and Awake

  Sounds of mandolins caused Aurelia to stir. Was she still asleep? Where were her cousins? A gentle breeze cast moving shadows in the moonlight.

  Out of nowhere, a ghostly aquamarine figure appeared, a lantern in his hand. He began to hum and dance with the music. As he swirled, he sang:

  Fear not these dreams, for they are your friends,

  Though they may lead you through turbulent bends.

  When others have left you, your dreams will be here

  To warn you or guide you, if only you dare.

  He stooped and reached his hand to Aurelia, who was rubbing her eyes in wonderment.

  “I am Vollov. Come. Follow me to my secret grotto, where only the chosen may enter.”

  His voice rang familiar to her ears, but Aurelia could not place it.

  Mesmerized and still unsure if she was truly awake, she rose and followed Vollov a distance along a path and past a grove of trees. Together they flew over Roaming River and landed at a tunnel entrance. As he led her through the herb-scented tunnel, Aurelia inhaled deeply. Soon they stood inside a cavernous chamber with stone benches. Below them, a multi-colored waterfall cascaded into a large lagoon. Above them, a wooden sign studded with garnet gemstones announced:

  THE LIBRARY OF THE SOUL

  Inside the Library of the Soul

  Vollov lit a row of lanterns, revealing a malachite stage in front of a cerulean curtain. The music Aurelia had heard earlier channeled into the chamber from somewhere unseen.

  Vollov lifted Aurelia onto the stage and sang with the voices:

  I am Vollov, keeper of evaporating memories.

  Here is the underworld of darkness and light.

  He clasped her hands and waltzed her around the stage, then danced them both off the stage and into the chamber.

  Dizzy, Aurelia steadied herself against a wall. “Wh-who are y-y-ou? Where are we?” Her hands flew to her mouth. “OH! Goodness! I am speaking!”

  “You certainly are!”

  “B-but how can it be?” she asked, shocked by the sound of her own croaky voice.

  “Healing vapors in this chamber return your voice to you, but only here, and only now.”

  “Then, wh-why am I here now? I was setting off to meet Romando.”

  “Follow me. You shall soon learn.”

  Vollov guided Aurelia to a pedestal with a large, thick ledger, a peacock plume, and an ink bottle.

  “See who has arrived here before you.”

  Aurelia inched closer to the book. She read the last signatures: “Astarte Panade . . . Milos Panade . . . ” She drew in a deep breath. “What does this mean?”

  “This ledger is signed by all whose lives have enriched the world, those who have preceded you. Yours is a family that goes back for centuries — they are all here.”

  Vollov picked up the plume and dipped it into the inkwell. He placed his hand over Aurelia’s. “Go on. You may sign, too. It is your family legacy to do so.”

  While Aurelia carefully wrote her name, he cautioned, “To have one’s name entered into this ledger while alive is a rare and secret privilege. Tell no one of this. Because you have lost your wonderful parents so young, you alone are now the bearer of their special gifts to the world.”

  He replaced the quill, led her to a table with a glass scope, and continued. “Anyone who enters The Library of the Soul and looks through this glass will see his or her own soul. Look into it.” Aurelia peered through the scope.

  “What do you see?” continued Vollov.

  “Words. I see many glittering words in letters of many colors.”

  “Words, then, will be your gifts. They will be ingrained in your mind, and you will speak them after you have completed your mission.”

  “My mission?”

  “That, dear lady, is the final chapter of this visit to The Library. Follow me into the next chamber.”

  The Inner Chamber

  They entered a large cavern lit only by Vollov’s lantern. In the darkness, a multitude of fluorescent stalactites, stalagmites, and cave blossoms shimmered purple, cerise, and green. Vollov lit a path of candles to brighten the chamber. Sheer silken fabrics were draped against the walls. A kaleidoscope of prisms danced all around them. The tinkling of crystal wind-chimes invited her to look closer.

  Suspended scrolls of ivory and silk wafted in the gentle breeze. As Vollov placed his index finger on them, they glowed cobalt blue. He read each gold-inscribed panel:

  Listen to your dreams,

  for they are your loyal companions.

  Know who your true friends are.

  Your past is your future.

  A fourth scroll, still tightly rolled up, shimmered crimson when he touched it. As it unfurled, a small silver dagger fell out onto the ground.

  Aurelia gasped. Romando’s dagger! He used it to carve our names in the Banyan Tree! She stumbled back against a bench, sat down, and bent forward to pick up the knife.

  “Not yet, Aurelia. First you need to hear of its purpose.” He lifted the knife, slid it into a leather casing, and read from the scroll:

  To free yourself

  and forever silence

  your greatest enemy,

  plunge this dagger

  between heartbeats.

  Relinquish it

  after one thrust,
/>   and never use it again.

  “The dagger,” he said. “You must plunge the dagger between heartbeats.”

  She stared at it. “I don’t understand. This dagger? Whose heartbeats?”

  “You will know where, and you will know when.”

  A final message brightened into an array of colors as Vollov tapped it and read:

  Seek ye the magical marbles,

  but release them, one by one.

  Still perplexed, Aurelia asked, “Wh . . . What do these signs mean? And why are you showing them to me?”

  “Aurelia Panade, I have seen the evil grip Promulgus holds on your family. These messages will help guide and free you.”

  Vollov drew open a huge curtain, which revealed rows of malachite shelves carved into the walls. Hundreds of gold and silver chests of varying sizes lined the shelves. He walked over to a shelf marked PANADE, pulled forward three of the chests — two of gold, one of tarnished silver — and turned to Aurelia.

  “Each of these three chests offers you a different gift. You may select only one, so choose wisely.”

  “How will I know which to pick?”

  “You will know.”

  Aurelia stepped onto the stage to look closer. Drawn to the tarnished silver chest, she lifted it easily and then replaced it. Next, she tried to pick up the smaller gold chest, but it was too heavy. The last gold chest was so large Vollov had to help her lift it.

  Aurelia stood still and silent, pondering. Her heart pounded wildly. She inhaled and let out a slow breath. At last she pointed to the silver chest. “This is the one I choose. I think I have seen it before.”

  “You may open it now. Here is the key.” He brought forth the small dagger and placed it in a sheath on a leather belt, which he fastened around her waist. Aurelia sat on a nearby bench. She withdrew the dagger cautiously, inserted its tip into a keyhole on the chest, and turned it. The lid flew open. She replaced the dagger into its sheath and leaned forward to inspect the contents of the chest. As she drew close, the aroma of cinnamon filled her nostrils. There, neatly wrapped with a string of tiny onyx beads, lay a packet of parchment pages. She gasped. “Those were the beads my mother kept in this silver chest! My grandmother gave them to her!” Aurelia unraveled the string of tiny onyx beads and read the inscription on the top page: RECIPES.