by Jan Bozarth
“No, but there’s a handball court in the basement of this building,” Aunt Tuula explained. “I’m sure we can use it in the afternoon, when most of the resident handball players are at work or taking their children to piano lessons or having afternoon tea at the café.”
“That would be great! I’ll practice at midnight if I have to!” I said.
“Hopefully it will not come to that,” Aunt Tuula replied. She took a sip of cider, savored the flavor, and frowned. “Almost, but not quite right,” she muttered. Setting the wooden spoon on a shiny silver spoon rest, she opened a bag of spices and added a few pinches to the steaming pot.
“There’s almost nothing better than hot spiced cider on a cold January day,” Aunt Tuula said as she continued stirring.
“What is better?” I asked.
“Hot chocolate with nutmeg and marshmallows, or French vanilla tea with sugar and cream,” Aunt Tuula replied. She looked at me over her shoulder with an impish grin. “It depends on the day or the mood or both.”
“Why is today a hot-cider day?” I was genuinely curious and very interested.
“Because hot cider with cinnamon tastes wonderful with warm hot cross buns,” Aunt Tuula said. “A famous chef in Paris gave me this recipe. He told me I was the only person he had ever given the recipe to.”
The individual mounds of dough had fused together during baking. Using a spatula, Aunt Tuula separated a square bun from the others in the pan, lifted it out, and put it on a plate, which she handed to me.
I bit into the warm bread. “This is incredible!”
Grinning, Aunt Tuula sampled a bun and nodded with approval. “Perfect! I’m so pleased when my creations turn out right. They don’t always.” She lifted out a third bun and put it on the maple-leaf dish.
There was no need for a third plate unless we were expecting a third person. “Is Rona coming home early after all?” I asked.
“No, I’m afraid not.” Aunt Tuula sighed. I could tell she was both happy and sad about my sister’s success with the ballet, like me.
I frowned, puzzled. “Then who gets the third bun?”
“The kitchen elf,” Aunt Tuula answered. “You should know from Britta that it’s wise to stay on good terms with elves. They can be such stinkers when they think they’ve been wronged.”
Britta was my mother’s name. “Of course, Aiti told us,” I agreed. “But it was just a part of the sto ries; I didn’t know that elves were still here, in the waking world.”
My sisters and I had fallen asleep many nights listening to my parents tell us folktales. Many of the stories were about elves. Guardians of their homes, elves bring good fortune and health to the people who live or work within the same walls, but only if the elves are treated with respect. Disaster befalls anyone who fails to repay an elf’s favor or takes an elf’s gifts for granted. Santa Claus, the most famous elf of all time, is a perfect example. Children think he won’t bring presents if they’re naughty. My father said that Santa rarely withheld gifts, and then only in the worst cases.
“I’ve never seen an elf here myself, but I know they are around,” Aunt Tuula went on. “They stick to themselves for the most part, even in Aventurine, but your great-great-grandmother Elsa met an elf. She said he was quite unpleasant.”
“Why was he unpleasant?” I asked.
“Well, the story goes that Elsa had a terrible fight with her sister, Marjo,” Aunt Tuula explained. “They stayed angry for so long, Elsa couldn’t remember why they had argued, but it was over something silly—like missing socks. The elf demanded that Elsa conduct herself as a proper member of the Pax Lineage and make peace with Marjo so he could get some sleep.”
I mulled that over for a moment, then asked, “Why couldn’t the elf sleep?”
Aunt Tuula paused to look me in the eye. “It is said that our family’s destinies and the fate of elves are intertwined.”
“Seriously?” I asked.
Aunt Tuula chuckled. “It’s what my aiti always said. The theory has never been proved, but it hasn’t been disproved, either.”
“If Grandmother believed it, then I do, too,” I said.
“You’ll have an elf in your kitchen someday, whether you can see it or not. We all do,” Aunt Tuula added. “They prefer kitchens.”
I nodded. “That’s where the goodies are,” I said, taking another bite of my bun.
“That’s it exactly.” Aunt Tuula cast a fond glance at the elf figurine on the leaf. “I suspect this little guy comes to life and snitches treats and makes tea at night when no one is up and about to see.”
I sat up straighter. “Is that why Aiti never washed the dessert plates until morning? So the elf in the kitchen tapestry could have the crumbs and the pieces Rona never finished?”
“That or she was just tired from being a mother of three energetic girls.” Aunt Tuula pulled a yellow sunflower pot holder off a hook. “Britta bought the tapestry that hangs in your living room when she was twenty, shortly after we became fairy godmothers. It always looked to me as if it had been woven in Aventurine, or at least by someone who had been there.”
I nodded. Over the years, I had spent hours staring at the woven picture of the elf sleeping under a toadstool surrounded by ladybugs, butterflies, flowers, and ferns. I was constantly spotting tiny things I hadn’t seen before. I wondered if anyone was leaving cake and cookie crumbs for the elf now that my mother was gone. Maybe when my grandmother came over, she would tell Biba.
I changed the subject. “Where did Great-Great-Grandmother Elsa meet the elf?”
“In Aventurine,” Aunt Tuula said as she brushed crumbs off the countertop.
My aunt’s reluctance to talk about the fairy world had been as frustrating as my messing up in soccer practice. Now that the topic had been broached, I quickly asked another question.
“Did you go to Aventurine?” I nibbled the last piece of my hot cross bun.
“Of course,” Aunt Tuula admitted. “Every girl from a fairy godmother lineage goes to Aventurine at least once when she’s young, and a few go many times. It’s where we learn our craft and gain the wisdom to do our jobs.”
“Do you ever go back to visit once you are a full-fledged fairy godmother?”
“No, never,” Aunt Tuula said with a shake of her head. “Grown-ups cannot go except under very special circumstances.”
“What kind of special circumstances?” I couldn’t stand the thought of never seeing fairies again or of being barred from their lands. I hadn’t had an amazing adventure of my own yet or learned enough about magic.
“The thing about very special circumstances, Kerka,” Aunt Tuula explained, “is that you don’t know they’re very special circumstances until they happen.”
“I hope they happen to me a lot,” I said.
Aunt Tuula sensed my dismay. “It doesn’t seem like it now, perhaps, but you won’t miss Aventurine as much when you’re grown up.” She paused, sipping her cider and staring past me with a faraway look.
Shaking off the moment, Aunt Tuula continued. “Our lives progress through a series of phases, and we’re usually ready to leave the old phase behind when it’s time to move on to the next.”
“Like when I become a fairy godmother?” I asked.
“Yes, like that.” Aunt Tuula wrapped the pot holder around the handle of the cider pot. Gripping the handle with two hands, she carefully poured the hot amber liquid into two mugs. “But before you can be a fairy godmother, you have to be a fairy-godmother-in-the-making.”
I paid attention to my aunt, but Queen Patchouli had told Birdie and me the same thing the week before.
“The fairies in Aventurine teach fairy-godmothers-in-the-making everything they need to know to use their gifts for good in the real world.” Aunt Tuula dropped a cinnamon stick into each mug. “But not every girl who enters Aventurine becomes a fairy godmother.”
I knew that girls could fail. Queen Patchouli had warned Birdie that her future as a fairy godmother depende
d on the outcome of her quest. And Birdie’s mom had given up trying to be a fairy godmother when she was only a little older than us. I remembered the Willowood fairy queen’s words: “There are things you have to learn to become a fairy godmother. Things about yourself, other people, the way the world can be changed.”
Aunt Tuula handed me a mug. “With Britta gone, I’m the only full fairy godmother in our branch of the Pax Lineage, and so I’ll remain until someone from your generation completes a quest in Aventurine.”
“Who?” I asked. “When?”
“Britta wanted you and your sisters to learn the lessons of the Pax Lineage together,” Aunt Tuula went on. “However, since Biba is so much younger, the beginning of your training was delayed.”
“We learned our first Kalis dance move just over a year ago,” I said, “when Biba turned seven.”
“You and your sisters have done extremely well, considering,” Aunt Tuula said with a sad smile. “But all you have are the most basic dance moves.”
A shiver shot up my spine. “What do you mean?”
“Come into the living room, where it’s more comfortable.” Without further comment, Aunt Tuula picked up her mug and walked out of the warm kitchen.
I followed with my Kalis stick in one hand and my mug in the other. I had done okay, even well, when I was with Birdie in Aventurine, but it had not been my quest. Was I somehow not prepared for my own mission in Aventurine? Birdie was from the Arbor Lineage, and her green magic was so strong that she had traveled to Aventurine with only half of the Singing Stone, the talisman that helped her family’s girls get to Aventurine in their dreams. Birdie knew the names of a million plants and spoke Latin, so she had been, in some ways, prepared for what happened in Aventurine.
Powerful gusts shook the window panes in the living room and seeped through the smallest cracks. Aunt Tuula set her mug on the coffee table and began pulling the curtains against the draft. Slipping my Kalis stick under a large throw pillow, I snuggled under the Scottish plaid blanket on the sofa, as I waited for Aunt Tuula to speak. I held my mug in both hands to warm them. I hadn’t told Aunt Tuula that I had been to Aventurine already, because … well, I wasn’t sure why; it just wasn’t something I wanted to talk about with anyone but Birdie. I wondered if I should have said something, and if it was too late to speak now.
“There, that’s better.” Aunt Tuula sank into one of the chairs and picked up her mug.
“Will you help me with my Kalis training, Aunt Tuula?” I couldn’t hold back any longer, and I didn’t give her time to answer but plunged ahead, making my case. “Aiti died before she taught us the last basic Kalis dance move. I know it’s the hardest, and I want to make sure I learn it correctly. I promise that I’ll work hard and practice every day, even if I have to give up soccer.”
“I have no doubt,” Aunt Tuula said. “Your determination to survive and succeed will serve you well in the challenges that lie ahead.”
I shifted uneasily and set my mug on the coffee table. The words of praise had an undertone of something not quite right.
“But you are still underprepared.” Aunt Tuula rested her elbows on her knees. She suddenly seemed worried to me. “Turning thirteen is a big step for every girl, the moment when she crosses the threshold between childhood and early womanhood.”
This was not what I wanted to hear. I knew I couldn’t stop time, but I was determined to put off growing up as long as possible.
“When Rona turned thirteen, your mother told her more about our family and our special heritage.” Aunt Tuula paused again to clear a catch in her throat. “Britta told me years ago that if anything happened to her, I was to tell you the same things on the eve of your thirteenth birthday.”
“That’s today.” I had to catch my lip in my teeth to keep it from trembling.
“Yes, it is,” Aunt Tuula said gently. “Listen, Kerka. The things your ancestors learned can guide you through the trials that lie ahead. I already told you about Great-Great-Grandmother Elsa and the elf. But there is more to know.”
I put my head on the large sofa pillow and fell asleep to the soothing sound of my aunt’s voice, holding on to my Kalis stick.
Part Two
Hurricane
3
Into Aventurine
I didn’t want to wake up, but the ground was hard despite the dry leaves.
Leaves?
My eyes snapped open. The light was dim, and I was lying in a forest clearing, staring into the soft brown eyes of a squirrel. Where am I? I thought for all of two seconds before I knew the answer: I was back in Aventurine!
The squirrel sat on its haunches, chewing a nut and staring back at me.
“Hello,” I said to the squirrel. I didn’t remember ever seeing a squirrel the last time I was here.
The squirrel scampered away when I sat up. I looked around and quickly recognized where I was: the center of the Willowood, where the Willowood Fairies live. The circular clearing in the middle of the willow trees was filled with mist, and a soft light was coming from one side, as if the sun was just rising. Last time, Birdie and I had all sorts of crazy adventures just trying to reach the Willowood. Already being here had to be a good thing. The queen of the Willowood Fairies could tell me what my mission was, and I could get started right away.
I stood up to start looking for Queen Patchouli or any of the fairies, and I noticed my backpack on the ground. Last time I came, a special map was in my backpack when I arrived. I picked up my backpack and opened it. Except for my orange Kalis stick, which was tucked inside, the canvas bag was empty: no schoolbooks and no map tied with red string.
I’m not sure how Zally’s magical map came to be in my backpack when I met Birdie, but I hoped it would show up if I needed it again. I had no doubt that I would need it. Zally, a girl around our age who drew the map and sent messages in explosions of sparks, had told us that the geography of Aventurine changes with every dream and every dreamer.
“Good morning!” The voice was a familiar one.
The mist cleared to make a path down the middle of the clearing, and I could see Queen Patchouli on the far side. She was standing in front of what looked like two giant toadstools while a pair of fairies built a fire beside her. “Come, Kerka!” she called.
I looked down to brush dirt off my jeans. But I was no longer wearing jeans! Instead, bits of leaves and moss stuck to a long navy T-shirt with a golden bear on it, long navy shorts, white kneesocks, and cleats. It was the soccer uniform that I wore in Finland—maybe that’s what I had been about to dream of before I was pulled into Aventurine! I smiled, thinking, I’ll have to tell Birdie about this.
Then I really smiled when I remembered another cool thing about Aventurine. There was no need to brush dirt off myself—Queen Patchouli would give me clothes to fit whatever journey I was about to go on!
I shook leaves and dirt off the blue mountains and yellow stags that were embroidered on my backpack and slung the bag over my shoulder. As I headed across the clearing, I watched where I put my feet. Squirrels, chipmunks, rabbits, and mice seemed to be having their breakfasts in the clearing. It was interesting: when Birdie and I were here, everything was covered with flowers; now there were as many small woodland animals as there were plants.
As I drew closer, I heard the buzzing of the bees that often circled Queen Patchouli. A net of morning mist swirled about her flowing emerald gown, and sprinkles of starlight shone in her long hair. A shimmer of green was reflected in her huge iridescent blue wings, which opened and closed like a butterfly’s. Long wind-chime earrings made a pure but quiet sound when she moved her head, making me think of the wind chimes at Aunt Tuula’s.
The fairies tending the fire, like the queen, were human-sized and had large wings. One wore a blue-green gown that changed hues like water in sunlight, and the other wore a dress that looked as if it were made of yellow and orange rose petals. The rosy fairy scattered petals around the two gigantic toadstools set back from the fire. When
Queen Patchouli sat on the larger toadstool, its dome sank to form-fit around her. The mist flowed up to rest on her shoulders like a shawl.
I do not have a shy bone in my body, nor do I flinch when facing the unknown … usually. Aventurine, however, does not follow normal rules, and I wasn’t certain how familiar or how formal I should be with the fairy queen. Birdie had been the center of her attention during my last visit. I stopped two feet back from the fire and waited while the fragrant smoke washed over me.
“Sit down, Kerka.” Queen Patchouli patted the top of the smaller, spotted toadstool. “It’s quite comfy, which seems especially appropriate, since the circumstances are not.”
“They aren’t?” I asked, taken aback. “Am I not supposed to be here?”
“Quite the contrary,” Queen Patchouli said. “Your presence is essential, but we’ll get to that later. There are other matters to attend to first. Sit down.”
As I settled on the mushroom, it firmed up around me, and two fairies rushed over. One pulled my backpack from my hand and flew off. A glance from Queen Patchouli silenced my protests. I knew my bag with my Kalis stick would be returned, but not having it bothered me. The other fairy brought me peach nectar in a daffodil cup and a cake made of sunflower seeds, nuts, and berries held together with honey. It was a small snack compared to the feast the fairies had served on Birdie’s visit. Perhaps Queen Patchouli knew I had eaten a hot cross bun with cider before I fell asleep.
Queen Patchouli waited patiently, but when I swallowed the last bit of cake, she stood up. Gossamer swooshed, and the mist unraveled from her shoulders and drifted to the ground. A flurry of bees buzzed about in momentary disarray.
“We don’t have another minute to lose,” the queen said. “You must hurry, Kerka. Taking your time is not an option.”
“What do you mean? How much time do I have?” I asked.
“I don’t know. Follow me.” Queen Patchouli’s response left me no choice but to walk in her wake and trust that my questions would be answered when the queen was ready.