hat story are you going to tell me tonight?”
On the outskirts of a small town, somewhere on the east coast of the United States, a charming, yet rustic Victorian house sat. Within this old and well-loved home, a child of seven waited on her bed, eagerly anticipating tonight’s adventure. Around her room, items from her imagination covered the desk and bookshelves—items she created on her own from re-purposed junk she scavenged from her grandmother’s “treasures”, all creations inspired by the characters ushered into life by her grandmother’s tales.
Her grandmother sat on the edge of the bed. In her lap rested a strange-looking leather-bound book, secured shut with a weathered cord that wrapped around its body, tied carefully in a bow.
“I thought about telling a different story tonight,” she said, her protective hands covering the leather book. “This story begins with a princess and her–”
“Wait,” the granddaughter interrupted, “this is how The Princess Bride started.” She pushed up her annoying eyeglasses and waited for a reply.
The grandmother sighed. “Well, okay. We can begin this story with the birth of a special child.”
The granddaughter shook her head. “No-no, that’s the beginning of Willow.”
Another sigh left the elderly woman. She tried again. “There was a warrior princess.”
“Come on! Xena now?”
Mumbling under her breath, the grandmother added, “A dragon that terrorized a village.”
The little girl crossed her arms in a huff. “It’s like you’re not even trying anymore.”
“A feline assassin?”
“Puss in Boots.”
The grandmother smiled. “She doesn’t wear boots.” She gave a small laugh before continuing. “Alright. There’s also a strong warrior who carries a magical weapon which gives them powers.”
“Thor, He-Man, She-Ra, Link, Green Lantern… Shall I go on?”
“Shall I go on?”
The little girl dropped her shoulders and sighed. “What else?”
“A guardian fairy who could not protect her queen.”
Within the girl’s seven-year-old brain, she thought over the plethora of pop culture she had consumed in her short life and finally looked at her grandmother, defeated. “I can’t think of anything at the moment, but I’m sure it’s been done before.”
The grandmother gave a small shrug. “All stories are melting pots of ideas that have been done before. It’s how they’re prepared and served that makes them feel fresh and new. But this story isn’t fiction. This story was written down by my mother’s own hand.” She looked at the book on her lap, her hands caressing the worn, dry leather. “This was her journal. She was a princess and a warrior. The story begins before I was born. My mother is from a kingdom called Havera. This place is on a planet, far, far, away–”
“Star Wars!” The granddaughter blurted out.
With clenched teeth, the grandmother ignored the interruption and continued. “This Havera Kingdom was governed by a monarchy, which was guided by a Supreme Celestial Wheel. This Wheel promoted a balance in all things. Where there is day, there is night. Where there is life, there is death. The opposite is to balance each other, and with this principle, there is always a king and queen, both ruling equally. It seemed like the perfect society. The people were cared for by the systems in place and greed was looked upon as a corrupting force. The kingdom also welcomed trade among the other territories. Some of these places were home to other creatures besides humans, or haverians as my mother called herself.
“The Velk, or as we know them as giants, is a proud, fierce race. They live with the land and find their strength within their communities. There are also those we call fairies–winged creatures who live in colonies throughout the other territories of this world. The other inhabitants are the Onza, a cat-like race who preferred to keep their distance from everyone.”
“You mentioned dragons,” the granddaughter said. “What about them?”
“Dragons…” The grandmother thought for a moment, recalling the stories written by her mother’s hand. “My mother only talked about one dragon, but from what I read, he was being punished by his kind and had isolated himself from others. But more about him later.
“The story must begin with my mother. She was stationed on the south end of the Havera Kingdom, running drills and training recruits. The kingdom was made from many united territories and had been at peace with the other nations, but there was a looming threat of a shattered peace, and to be caught ill-prepared meant defeat.
“My mother was also the next in line for the throne, something she was ready to fulfill since her early lessons as a child, but this also meant she needed to find her king. When it came to following the order and rules of tradition, she was the perfect player, but once she had the throne, she wanted to make some changes. In this kingdom, anyone could marry whomever they wanted, except for the monarchy. They have to be the shining beacons of the Celestial Wheel, that balance, always a queen and king. My mother knew she had to make this sacrifice for her kingdom in order to make the changes.
“She was already in love by this point, but it was someone she couldn’t marry. A queen with a queen wasn’t the reflection of balance the kingdom would so eagerly accept.”
“But you were born.”
The grandmother nodded. “My mother did find her king. He was a fellow soldier, skilled with a bow and sword, but it was his horsemanship that needed work. She began instructing him on riding techniques and his confidence increased. During this time, a bond began to form. My mother was certain she found her king and they were married.”
“That seems fast.”
“It wasn’t that fast. They courted for a year, and the following year, they were married, and a year after that, I was born.”
“You said she already loved someone else.”
“Oh, she was still a part of her life. Nothing was secret between them, between the three of them. My mother wrote that her heart had two halves and that each one found their balance within the two she loved.”
“What happened to them? How did you get here?”
The grandmother smirked. “Magic, of course. But that’s also later in the story.
“My mother was not yet on the throne, so all of her plans for reform had to wait and remain within her trusted circle. She talked about the growing threat within the ranks of the Academy. The Academy, as my mother called them, started as a small collective of magic users. These wizards had apprentices, usually one at a time. They were very selective in who they deemed worthy to practice magic. This was to keep their power in this world in check. Another form of balance.
“Those who begin to study magic and use their energies to manipulate the world around them become susceptible or perhaps open to a darker entity within this world. No one knows what it is, but it’s something all magic users grapple with and struggle to avoid. Wizards of that time saw themselves as guardians of the world. Those who fall under the command of this Whisper are seen as corrupted. They are then shunned and bound to never use magic again. Some were even executed for their crimes.” She patted the journal. “My mother, in her searching through the historical records of her kingdom, discovered the frightening truth. Ya see, in her lifetime, all the world knew of the wizards was the islands in the south, and their numbers were in the thousands. They even had their fingers in all of the kingdoms, nations, and territories. This was not the humble wizards from five hundred years ago. Something had changed. The balance was no longer there. My mother also saw their plans. They wanted to take command of the world and they were using magic to do it.”
“Did she stop them?”
“I don’t know. Her last entry was a message of despair and remorse. It was before the day she decided to leave her kingdom for Exile. But something must have happened. I never knew my mother. The ones who raised me were–”
“Jane and John,” the granddaughter remembered.
The grandmother nodded. “Those weren’t their real names. When they arrived on Earth with me, they chose those names. My mother entrusted them to care for me. It was their hope that she would return to them one day.”
“You told me they went to live in Orlando.”
She flashed a brief smile. “I never knew what happened. It was an ordinary day. I returned home from school and they were gone.”
“Do you think they went back to find your mom?”
“That’s what I think happened.”
The granddaughter tilted her head, more interested in this side of the story than wizards or fairies. “What did you do after that?”
“I carried on and waited for them to return. I lucked out that no one cared to check, and I was good at hiding I was alone.”
“What did you do for money?”
“The house was already paid for, and I had access to Jane and John’s checkbooks. After that, I got a job. Life moved on. Got married, had your mom, and now we’re here.”
The granddaughter fell quiet for a moment. “Do you think my parents… They disappeared like Jane and John. Maybe they…”
The grandmother smiled at her and reassured her, “Anything’s possible, right?”
“… I guess.”
“I know this isn’t a good place to stop for this story, but it is time for bed. I’ll tell you about the Giants tomorrow night. It’s a story about a magical sword.” Giving another smile for reassurance, she helped her granddaughter settle further into the bed, tucking her covers with care and placing a small kiss on her forehead. She then turned on the star lamp, sending sporadic pin-lights of stars to blanket the room. Still seeing the sadness on her granddaughter’s face, she went for the easiest path to happiness. “Pancakes for breakfast?”
The little girl nodded. “Real syrup?”
“Oh, of course!” the grandmother exclaimed, as though any other choice was blasphemous. She carefully removed the eyeglasses from her granddaughter and placed them on the bedside table near the humming star lamp. With the journal in hand, the elderly woman exited the bedroom, leaving the door cracked as she headed downstairs and into the kitchen.
The quiet, cottage-like kitchen was like a second home within a home. Most of the activity within this house was centered around this one room. It was truly the heart and sanctuary for all who have called this place home.
Sitting at the old oak table, the grandmother sat and pulled close her freshly poured chamomile tea. Her eyes went to the leather-bound journal resting near the flower-adorned cup. With care, she tugged on the weathered cord that kept the journal closed and opened it. She flipped through the yellowed pages and stopped on a certain page.
There was no journal entry on this particular page, but rather a drawing. The ink sketch was that of an infant, wrapped in a soft blanket and fur. The blanket was bound with a belt and secured with an ornate, pendant of an eagle and serpent. The elderly woman then fished out the hidden necklace she had been wearing. A pendant dangled from the beaded chain, the same one as depicted in the drawing. The golden eagle and silver serpent spun in the low light, appearing to be lost within their unknown dance.
The grandmother placed the pendant on top of the drawing and picked up the mug. Staring at the hot tea, she gave a small puff. The liquid began to move, swirling and stirring under an unseen force. The edges of the tea began to crystallize and slowly branch out. Then in a whoosh, the entire contents of the mug became solid. The elderly woman frowned at the mug.
“Dammit.”
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