Once
upon a time,
there lived a Wise Woman who was very old, and wiser than even the
Gnomes below the mountains. She had made her home on an island that
was hidden behind a wall of fog -
it
could only be reached sometimes, and even then only by very few
people. The Wise Woman’s house -
a
simple one room hut with a hearth and two cots -
sat
on top of the highest hill on the island; it overlooked the silvery
waves and the golden beaches and the dark green forests.
The
Wise Woman knew the time would come when she would leave her hut and
her island to travel to the Blue Isles where the other Wise People
now lived, for she was the last Wise Person from her time. New Wise
People would be needed to make sure that Wisdom did not die.
One
day, the Wise Woman was tending her garden
-
she
stood up and wiped her forehead, looking out over the crashing waves.
As she leant against her walking-stick, the Wise Woman saw a dark
cloud on the horizon. That cloud had always been there, but her
Wisdom had been able to keep it at bay - now, it was growing larger
and she felt her heart sink, for she understood what was happening.
She hobbled into the house and took a seat in front of the fire.
‘Arela,
my daughter, come to me!’ The Wise Woman called out. Arela was a
beautiful child, so beautiful that the waves calmed to see her and
the blooming flowers turned their petals to sigh at the sight of her.
Arela ran into the hut and stood before her mother.
‘Mother,
what is it? What has you so worried?’ Arela asked.
‘I
am old, daughter, and without Wisdom, there will be no Wise People
once I travel to the Blue Isles. We have not had visitors to this
island in many years, and I am afraid that everything I have feared
will come to pass. Wisdom is fading, the Light of the curiosity of
mankind is growing dim, and there is a dark cloud looming on the
horizon. Something is stirring deep within the Earth, my child, and
if it grows large enough, it will make this world cold and quiet.’
Arela
remembered the old tales, of a time before even her mother's mother's
mother, a time of silence and colourlessness, a time of ignorance.
‘Mother,’ she said, ‘You are very wise, the wisest living
person on Earth - you can tell me how to help, what to do. I will do
anything.’
‘We
must find the purest children, a boy and a girl. They must be young
enough to still have Wonder, and they must be Curious.’ The Wise
Woman said, looking deep into her daughter’s eyes. ‘Only they
will be able to accept this challenge. They must be honest, kind, and
generous - but above all, they
must be brave.’
She pulled her daughter close so as to whisper in her ear:
‘Their
task is to bring back what has been and is being lost. They must
listen to the stories, to the elderly; they must ask questions and
heed the answers; only then will they find their way here and herald
the return of the Wise People. When you find them, listen to their
hearts. They must have so many questions. You must help them to start
their journey. Give them this.’ The Wise Woman took a heavy book
from the table beside her chair and handed it to Arela. It had
intricate and complex gold designs on the front and strange letters
on the spine. ‘They must fill this book with every letter of the
Alphabet - there will be twenty-six letters in all. Each letter they
place in this book will bring them closer to this island and the end
of their quest.’
‘I
will do as you say, mother.’ Arela placed the magic book in her bag
and kissed her mother goodbye.
‘Be
quick, daughter, and be careful. Ignorance has seeped into this
world, it is around every corner.’ The Wise Woman said. Arela
nodded and left the hut. She ran down the path looked out over the
waves. When she reached the cliff, she jumped. Instead of falling,
Arela changed into a large Owl and took flight over the ocean.
***
Arela
flew over blue waves and green forests and golden deserts; she heard
many whispers from the animals and the people; she met many children
in many lands. But none met the criteria her mother had laid before
her.
As
she passed over a frozen landscape, she stopped to rest in a tall
tree. Below, a house stood in the centre of a clearing, the forest
wrapping around it except for a wide path leading away from the
structure. Two children, a boy and a girl, were playing in the snow
as their parents gathered firewood. Arela hopped down to a lower
branch and listened to the children’s hearts.
They
were gathering twigs to make a dolly for a sick girl down in the
village; they were kind, and though they bickered often and sometimes
refused to share their toys with each other, they were generous
children at heart. They had a desire and a need to learn, they asked
many questions - too many, from what Arela gathered from their
parents. This made Arela the Owl laugh, which came out like a broken
hoot.
The
children looked up into the tree and saw the Owl. The girl, who wore
a light purple cloak, smiled and waved at the Owl. The boy, who wore
a crimson cloak, lifted his arm and beckoned Arela off the branch.
She took flight and did a lap around the house, then spiralled down
on to the boy's arm. The children giggled. She could feel the wonder
in their hearts and the questions in their minds. Their parents tried
to give them the answers they sought, but even parents do not have
all the answers.
‘You
are a pretty Owl.’ The mother said, calling over the yard. Arela
hooted in response and stretched her wings. ‘Come along children,
we should finish that dolly for Merida before the sun sets. We need
to bless it and wrap it with herbs tonight.’
‘Coming
mother!’ The children replied. The boy nuzzled Arela and the girl
gave her a pet on the head. ‘We will leave a treat for you
after supper, if you are still here.’ Arela took flight
and perched in the tall tree.
She
waited until the sun had set and the moon was rising. The family sat
down to their supper, said a blessing and began eating. Arela flew
down to the ground and became a girl again. She checked her bag and
made sure the magic book was still safe. When she was satisfied that
it was, Arela walked to the door of the house and knocked.
The
mother answered the door. ‘My name is Arela, and I was sent by my
mother, the last of the Wise People.’ She explained.
‘Come
in out of the cold. Would you like a bowl of soup?’ The mother
asked. Arela shook her head.
‘I
am waiting for a treat, and I don’t want to spoil my appetite.’
She said loud enough for the children to hear. She caught their eyes
and winked at them, smiling. ‘I am here to find brave,
wonder-filled children to take on a quest for my mother.’
‘Conn,
fetch this girl some tea and honey, come sit with us by the fire.’
The mother called. The father, Conn, obliged and brought the girl a
steaming cup of honeyed jasmine tea. ‘My name is Mor, this is my
husband Conn - our children are Bran and Bryn. How can we help you
with this task of yours, dear girl?’
‘I
have listened to your children’s hearts, I have heard their
questions, and I have sensed their wonder. They are kind, generous,
and truly curious. I have come to lead them on a quest for Wisdom.’
Mor
looked at her husband, then looked over her shoulder at her children.
They were very young, Bran barely old enough to keep an eye on his
sister outside. How could she let them go on such a quest?
‘You
must understand that we are wary of your request. They are so young,
and this task sounds dangerous.’ Conn said, holding his wife’s
hand. ‘Can you guarantee their safety?’
‘I
can promise you that, as long as their hearts are true and their
curiosity never waivers, they will be safe.’ Arela stated. Conn and
Mor took another look at each other, then at their children. 'Your
children need not leave your country village to fulfil this quest -
many of the answers may be found in simple tasks, others
in the forest or the hills. Nothing should take them farther than the
hills to the north, there and back being well within a single days
journey for them.’
While
Arela was speaking with their parents, Bran and Bryn had stopped
eating and were listening. They looked at each other and smiled.
‘A
quest?’ Bryn whispered.
‘For
wisdom?’ Bran giggled. Both children did not realize that the
others had moved to the table and were watching them. Mor smiled at
her children, and Conn ruffled Bran’s hair.
‘Children,
finish your supper. We
have something to speak with you about.’ Their mother motioned for
them to continue eating, but their stomachs were filled with waves of
excitement and they could not finish their food. They placed their
bowls on the floor for their shaggy haired dog to lap up, and stood
between their parents and the guest by the fire.
‘We
will begin
in
the morning,
a fresh day.’ Arela said. She adjusted her bag with the book and
turned to the door. ‘I will be here to collect the children when
the Sun’s first rays hit the snow.’ She opened the door and
walked out into the night. Mor and Conn looked at each other, both
knowing they had made the right choice but still fearing for their
children.
Bran
and Bryn were too excited to sleep when their parents told them it
was bedtime. They snuggled into their blankets and listened as Mor
told them the tale of Briar Rose and the Spinning Wheel. They were
fast asleep as their
mother
stood from her chair and closed the door behind her. She sat down in
front of the fire and watched her husband whittle in silence.
***
Just
as she had promised, Arela returned with the first light of the Sun
the next morning. The children finished their oatmeal and went to
their room to gather their bags. When they returned to the front room
of the house, they hugged and kissed their parents. Arela gave both
adults a kiss on the forehead and whispered a blessing.
‘Be
back by sundown, children – and be safe, and remember all of the
lessons we have taught you about the wilderness!’ Mor called out as
she watched her children leave the yard, led by the strange daughter
of the Wise Woman.
‘Come
children, your journey is long and this is only the beginning.’
Arela led them outside and down the path. They turned right, into the
forest, and continued walking. When she was sure they were out of
hearing range of Mor, Conn, and the village, she knelt in front of
Bran and Bryn. ‘Here is the magical book that you must fill.’ She
handed Bran the book. ‘You must find the special symbols, the
knowledge that has been lost. Only you will know what the symbols
are, but there will be twenty-six in total. You must record each
symbol in this book, and once it is finished, you will know the way
to my mothers island. It is a long way, and you must listen to the
stories of the people you meet
– listen
to your elders, and listen to the world around you.’
Just
then, a small buzzing distracted Bryn and she turned away from Arela
and her brother. A small, winged creature hovered over a patch of
late-blooming heathbells, touching the petals and checking for signs
of frost.
‘A
pixie.’ Bryn whispered, bending her knees to rest on the ground.
The creature turned around at the sound of her voice and scoffed at
her.
‘Psht,
I am a Flower Faerie, not a pixie.’ The creature chimed. Bryn
leaned closer and nodded.
‘I
am sorry, fair Flower Faerie.’ She apologized. ‘Why are these
flowers blooming so late? I thought the first frost would have put
them to sleep for the Winter.’
‘That
is what I am trying to find out, child. At this time, I do not have
the answer. Perhaps it is because the weather is not yet freezing
every day, and the warmth from the Sun convinced one last bloom to
bring colour to the forest.’
‘Perhaps…’
Bryn shrugged. ‘May I have a bloom for
my flower book?’
‘Certainly.
Thank you for asking, child. Most children just pick them and the
whole plant whithers.
They do not know the process, and that you must care for the stem
once the bloom has been plucked.’ The Faerie turned and picked a
small bloom that had bent the stem over with its wait. She touched
the bloom lovingly, and when the bloom told her it was time, the
Faerie moved her arm up and swung down against the stem, making a
clean cut. She handed the bloom to Bryn and looked at her crossly.
‘Never pick just the bloom from the stem, and never just pull.
Always cut, at an angle, in order to save the plant from dying. Now,
away with you child. I must tend this plant and sing it songs, so it
does not mourn the loss of its bloom.’
‘Thank
you, fair Faerie, and thank you fair Heathbell.’ Bryn bowed to the
Faerie and the plant. She put the bloom in a pouch she carried on her
belt, and turned back to Bran and Arela. Her brother and guide had
been watching the exchange, and Bran smiled at his younger sister.
‘The
Heathbells are blooming late this year
– did
the Faerie have any answers?’ Bran asked. Bryn shook her head.
‘Only
theories, but that is a start.’
Arela
smiled and knew she had made the right choice. ‘Keep a tight hold
on that book, for once you begin to fill it, there are those who
would try and take it from you. I must return to my mother, but
here,’ Arela handed an Owl shaped flute to the children, ‘this
will call me should you ever need guidance. Should anyone ask inquire
about what you are doing,
it
would be best if you just say that you are looking for answers – I
do not have a doubt that they will believe you.
Do not show them the book, do not tell them of the symbols.’
Arela
tapped her chin, trying to remember if there was anything else she
needed to tell the children. Snapping her fingers, she remember
something important. ‘I cannot tell you where the symbols will be,
or how
you
will learn them, but I can tell you the first five symbols will sound
like a song. These
symbols will
help you
once
you have collected all of them. Now, do you understand?’ The
children nodded.
‘We
understand. Thank you Arela.’ The children said together. They
hugged her and waved her off as she turned into an Owl and took
flight. She circled three times three times three, the magical number
of protection, and left the children on the path. Bran placed
his hand on the book, which was secure in his bag, and Bryn looped
her arm around her brother’s as they set off into the forest to
find the first symbol.
Arela
returned to the hut on the hill and
sat down beside her mother in front of the fire. ‘I am proud of you
daughter, you did well. Now, we can only sit and watch the world for
any changes. Tell me, who are the children that have accepted this
task?’
‘Bran
and Bryn, brother and sister, from a village in the North-West
forest. They are incredibly kind children, and very curious.’
‘Good,
good. Let us watch, then.’
