The Last Mage

“I am Calliope Fogg, born under the Dragon Blood Moon of the Vernal Equinox in the sacred Mondovian forest of the kingdom of Rendreley. I am the daughter of Delilah Fogg, granddaughter of Zephinia Fogg. I am the keeper of the red flame and the last mage.”

I’ve mustered up a lot of energy to deliver this speech, so even though it is quite short I am winded and sweating when I finish. The afternoon sun beating down on me isn’t helping matters. For dramatic effect, I have a large wooden stick I found while walking to school this morning and I bang it on the ground in a steady rhythm during my proclamation.

Not surprisingly, I have gathered quite a crowd as I stand on the little mound outside the schoolhouse. The little mound where the boys typically play King of the Hill after school. I’m sure they are dismayed to see me taking up residence on their precious lump but their indignation is outweighed by their curiosity.

Upon finishing I stand there like I imagine a Queen stands over her loyal subjects. Quickly shattering the illusion, the heckling begins. Some of the naughtier boys even throw small rocks at me and the girls all look at me like I just sprouted a second head. I duck and swat the rocks away, but several meet their mark and I’m certain I’ll be speckled with bruises by the time I get home. I see Virgil cowering in the back, using hand motions indicating I should hightail it out of there, but I stand my ground. I know who I am. More to the point, I know who I’m not.

I begin again, beating my stick upon the ground, “I am Calliope Fogg…”

“Daisy VanSickle! Come down from there this instant and stop your nonsense!” Shouts Ms. Peeble as she pushes her way through the throng of kids, all huffy and out of sorts, which is her usual state of being. I immediately throw my hands over my ears, knowing from experience that she’s going to reach for one of them. Undeterred, she grabs hold of my upper arm with her claw like grip and pulls me all the way back to the school house, the crowd of kids taking up their usual anthem in an annoying sing song cadence, “crazy Daisy, crazy Daisy, crazy Daisy!”

By the time I’ve finished wiping down the blackboard and sweeping the floors, the rest of the kids have gone home. Except Virgil. He’s dutifully waiting for me on the steps outside when I am released from my punishment. He’s used to it, I usually spend at least one afternoon a week cleaning the school room. I’m pretty sure Ms. Peeble takes advantage of my unique personality to complete the tasks she’d rather avoid. In addition to her churlish disposition, she’s also as lazy as an overfed house cat.

“I wish you’d just let it be, Daisy,” Virgil says as he gathers up his books and coat. I’m instantly angry. “I will never let it be Virgil. Never,” I say, with no small amount of petulance. He mutters something unintelligible under his breath, but I let it go. I know he just worries about me but still, I’m irked enough that I don’t wait for him as I storm down the path toward home. When he catches up he’s wheezing a little bit on account of his weak lungs, a parting gift from the pneumonia he suffered three winters ago. I slow down just enough to convey that I don’t wish for him to drop dead but not enough for him to believe all is forgiven. Virgil is about a head shorter than me with short black hair that points in every direction and a pair of spectacles that are at least an inch thick. We’ve been as thick as thieves since we were both deemed unfit by the rest of our schoolmates.

We walk wordlessly towards his house. I’m miffed at him but not to the degree that I’d rather go to my own house where mama will most certainly find something excruciatingly boring for my idle hands. Idle hands are considered a sin in the making in my household. Or maybe it’s just my idle hands. I think mama and daddy are a little bit frightened of me if I’m being honest. I’m sure I’m not what they had in mind when they dreamed of having children, especially a little girl. I’m aware that I am a startling looking child, with masses of curly hair as white as a field of snow, eyes a clear crystalline blue, and a complexion as fair as the day is long, I think I resemble a living ghost. Mama tries to keep my white mane contained and proper, but it grows faster than she can keep up. It’s down to my waist now and as unruly as a blackberry thicket. My folks are the two most God fearing citizens in the village of Black Bay, and much to their collective chagrin, they have a child that looks like she made a deal with the devil. I haven’t. Just to set the record straight.

Virgil lives with his granddaddy Garrett in the woods behind my own. I love it there. It’s cozy, always a fire in the stove during the colder months and always a stash of chocolate and fresh milk to be had for our favorite beverage. Hot chocolate. Garrett is a book collector and the house is overflowing with them. There are bookshelves stuffed full that line almost every wall, books stacked on the floors and piled on every surface, and they are not there just to be looked at but not touched. We are encouraged to read whatever strikes our fancies and ask as many questions as pop into our heads. Garrett believes that knowledge is power.

Unlike at my house, where I feel like a guest that has overstayed her welcome, Virgils house feels like home. I’m always on the guest list.

Just as we are about to reach the gate to his house Virgil extends an olive branch. “I just get scared is all, Calliope,” which is what he calls me when we aren’t at school or around anyone else besides Garrett. “One day it’s gonna be big rocks they throw, and then what?”

I know he’s right of course. We don’t live in a time that embraces the different or the eccentric, but before I can respond he grabs my hand and pulls me through the gate, suddenly impatient to get inside.

As we reach the front door Virgil releases my hand. “Stay here,” he orders and hurriedly walks into his house, shutting the door in my face. I must admit, I am a little stunned by his overt rudeness, but I do as I’m told. I hear some banging around and the excited voices of Garrett and Virgil but I can’t make out what they’re saying. I consider that perhaps I should just head home, that maybe today isn’t a good day for a visit when Garrett steps out, closing the door behind him.

“Hello sweet Calliope,” he says in greeting and begins wrapping a kerchief around my head, covering my eyes. Other than a quick hello in reply I am speechless at this strange turn of events but feel the spark of excitement deep in my belly and decide to surrender to the moment. He ushers me inside where I am keenly aware of the symphony of smells swirling around me. Cinnamon, chocolate, vanilla, woodsmoke and, of course, the ever present scent that accompanies the McCallister home, books.

“Ready Calliope?” Virgil squeaks. I can tell just by the sound of his voice that he is standing on his tip toes like he does when he is unusually excited.

“Ready as I’ll ever be I suppose,” I reply as Garrett unties the kerchief.

Laid out on the table in front of me is an assortment of sweet treats, tulips in a glass jar, and what looks to be a gift wrapped in some plain brown fabric and tied with twine. There are several candles lit across the table adding to the festive ambiance.

“Happy Birthday Calliope!” Garrett and Virgil say in unison. Virgil is clapping his hands and is on the very tips of his toes, just as I’d pictured.

I am gobsmacked, perhaps for the first time in my life. I know today is my true birthday, but no one has ever celebrated with me. My birthday as Daisy VanSickle is observed on the 26th of January, but never with such joy. The air around me is filled with an electric charge, it courses through my body. I’ve never been so happy or felt so loved.

“This is all for me?” I ask in a barely audible whisper.

Virgil is beaming with delight and nodding his head vigorously.

“It’s all for you, Calliope,” Garrett say while pulling me into his side and planting a kiss on the top of my head.

“I can’t believe it, it’s all so beautiful. Thank you from the very bottom of my heart,” I say as my eyes fill with tears. Today I am thirteen.

Garrett and Virgil both wrap me up in a hug and we all start laughing, the joy of the moment filling the room.

“Now let’s get to celebrating before you have to head home, shall we?” Garrett says.

***

When I was very young I would insist that my parents call me Calliope. I would tell them about the night I was born, how my mother had run through the forest with me clutched to her chest, escaping unseen danger. I spoke of how I didn’t utter a sound but instead listened to the rapid beating of my mother’s heart, felt the rain as it began to fall upon my bare head and listened as my mother repeated these words.

“You are Calliope Fogg, born under the Dragon Blood Moon of the Vernal Equinox in the sacred Mondovian forest of the kingdom of Rendreley. You are the daughter of Delilah Fogg, the granddaughter of Zephinia Fogg. You are the keeper of the red flame and the last mage. Never forget who you are, little one.”

At first they humored me and my vivid imagination, but they soon grew weary of my stubborn resolve and forbade me from speaking of such things. They certainly refused to call me Calliope. Mama would tell me instead the story of my birth and how they had prayed for me for years before I finally arrived on a snowy winter’s night.

I knew this story wasn’t true because I remembered how my real mother had left me on their doorstep, wrapped in a worn and scratchy wool blanket just as I was falling into a deep sleep. When I relayed this fact to them, mama began crying and daddy sent me to my room without supper. I haven’t spoken of it to them since that day.

Under a strict vow of secrecy, I tell Virgil my memories. I often have extremely vivid dreams about where I came from that leave me feeling wobbly and disoriented when I wake, almost like my dreams are real life and my real life are dreams. It’s nice to have someone who listens. Last summer Garrett overheard me telling Virgil about a recent dream I’d been having and he coaxed the whole story out of me. I was trembling when I told him, so afraid he would laugh or worst of all reject me and forbid me from ever coming over again, but he was absolutely enthralled by my tale and told me without an ounce of sarcasm that he believed me.

***

As we finish stuffing ourselves with fudge and hot chocolate Garrett puts his hand over mine and says, “I have something special for you and it comes with a story of my own.”

Later that night, restless and unable to sleep I give up, light my bedside candle and pull out the book Garrett has given me from its hiding place behind my bookshelf. I haven’t had much of a chance to look at it and am cautious to bring it out as it needs to remain hidden from my parents. I know they would destroy it if they found it. It is full of magical tales and all manners of impossible creatures…at least according to them. The story he told me has my stomach filled with jitters; I’m anxious but excited.

According to Garrett, when he was just a boy, many, many years ago, his mother, like many mothers before her, would tell him and his younger brother stories before bedtime. She wouldn’t read from a book of fairy tales, but would recite them from memory. Fantastical stories about witches, sorcerers, elves and giants all living in a magical land beyond the veil. As Garrett got older he began asking questions during story time, oftentimes interrupting his mother and annoying his little brother. The thing that most captured his curious mind was the veil his mother spoke of, but whenever he asked she would shush him gently and resume her tale. One night, his father stood in the doorway of Garrett’s room while his mother told the story of a young wizard with more power in his little finger than he knew what to do with. It was a comical tale, as the young wizard caused chaos wherever he went. His father laughed along with them and absentmindedly said, “Can you imagine what kind of damage he would have done on this side of the veil?” Garrett’s mother looked abruptly in his fathers direction with a look Garrett recognized as a stern request for silence, Garrett had been on the receiving end of such a look many times. His father, suddenly sheepish, just hung his head and left the room. After that night his mother never told another fairy tale even though Garrett and his brother would beg her to for years to come. She would shut down any mention of the veil with a look of stone, impenetrable. Over the years, Garrett forget about the tales his mother would tell, forgot about the mysterious veil, forgot that at one point he believed in the existence of the characters in that magical land.

That is until I came along.

***

The old book cracks and pops at the spine as I open it on my lap and I am immediately drawn to how beautiful it is. It is covered in a deep mahogany leather. Smooth and soft to the touch, with no words printed on it. Nothing to giveaway what’s inside. The illustrations alone could captivate me for days on end. I’m also keenly aware of a warmth emanating from it, in both temperature and in an emotional way, as in, I feel love pouring out of it. I feel connected to this book in a way I’ve never felt connected to my own parents, which strikes me as exceedingly sad. I don’t even read it as I lay there, I just let it surround me with love and eventually, I fall asleep.

The next day, my book and I are out the door racing to Virgil and Garrett’s before the rooster has a chance to crow. It’s the start of the weekend and I can’t wait to pore over the contents of the book with Garrett as my guide. If they are surprised to see me at such an hour they don’t show it.

“You are clearly chomping at the bit, Calliope,” Garrett says. “Why don’t we start from the beginning. Tell us everything you remember about where you come from.”

So, I do. A little impatiently at first because all I can really focus on is the book and the story Garrett shared. I’m soon caught up in my own tale however, and Garrett’s calm presence leads me forward. I tell them again about the Mondovian forest, about my mother and the words she spoke to me, how I can still remember the feel of her kiss on my forehead.

“Do you remember leaving the Mondovian forest?” Garrett asks. In the strangest moment of my life a memory unfolds in great detail as if unlocked by his question.

Mother and I have made it to the edge of the forest. The rain has stopped and the fat moon sits heavily in the night sky. Before us is a giant boulder, it is covered in strange markings and all around it are candles burned down to various sizes, non of them are lit. “The time is nigh dear one,” mother says. She looks down at me, her crystalline eyes matching my own. She touches the center of my forward with soft fingers and traces my face. “This journey will be dangerous, but it is necessary. You will be safe and your safety is all that matters, to me and our people.” Tears are sliding down her freckled cheeks but she does nothing to wipe them away, instead she kisses one away that has fallen to bridge of my nose. With that she begins chanting, “Allindre invastus maloricum caye” she says quietly at first. “Allindre invastus maloricum caye!” She says again louder, bolder. I am frightened but barely stir, I have a deep knowing guiding me. I am safe despite evidence to the contrary. The wind picks up around us, blowing the hood from my mothers cape off her head. “ALLINDRE INVASTUS MALORICUM CAYE!” Above us, the moon has turned red, the wind comes to an abrupt stop, I have still yet to make a sound, I just watch. A strange glow catches my unfocused eyes and I know that the candles are now burning. My mother takes a deep breath and clutches me tighter to her chest, takes a step towards the boulder. She places her free hand against the grey giant and repeats her chant one more time. “Allindre invastus maloricum caye.” An eery silence falls over us, time seems to stop around us, affecting everything but the two of us. Mother relaxes her grip on me and I see that what was once a rock is now a door. She kisses the top of my head one last time before turning the knob and walking us through.

Slowly, I become aware of my surroundings. Garretts beloved books. Virgil’s steady gaze. Garrett’s hand upon mine, warm, anchoring me once again to the present.

“It’s just as I thought Calliope. Look at this,” Garrett says. He opens the book he gave me to place marked mid-way through. Without hesitation I recognize the woman illustrated before me as my mother. I realize now that I would know her anywhere. Yes, her eyes are the picture of my own but that is where the resemblance ends. She is small, I am sure I would tower over her even now at thirteen. Her hair is a rich auburn, her skin freckled and tanned. She looks delicate but I know she is anything but. Without reading, I turn the page. I am aware of how strange it is to be seeing the story of my origin in what looks to be a book of fairy tales, but I am too intrigued to follow that line of thought. The story I have just told is laid out before me in vivid detail, but there are elements I wasn’t privy to at the time it was unfolding. There is an entire sequence of events that takes me by such surprise that I am speechless for the second time in as many days. Everything I thought to be true about my life is suddenly turned on its head.

“They’ve known all along?” I ask of no one in particular. I am looking at a picture of my mother hugging mama VanSickle. I skim the words until I find what I’m looking for. “We will keep her safe Delilah. She will be loved. And when the time comes, she will go home.“ The only mother I’ve ever known, my mama, knew my real mother. Promised to keep me safe and love me. Daddy is in the picture as well. They are holding hands as my real mother leaves. I am asleep in a basket near the wood stove, my white hair peeking out of a bundle of blankets. That is the final illustration in the story. “It seems so,” Garrett says.

“But how? Why?” I say, I am gutted. My whole life I have felt like an outsider in my own home, an oddity best left in the shadows. It is clear to me they couldn’t keep their promise to my mother. They don’t love me, they never have. I slam the book shut and stand with such abruptness the chair I was sitting in tips backward and falls, clattering to the ground. Startled, Virgil jumps. I had forgotten he was there he’s been so quiet. “I have to go,” I say, heading towards the door, leaving the book on the table behind me. “Calliope, wait. Sit,” Garrett says with such kindness I can hardly bear it. He picks up the chair and nods towards it. We find ourselves caught in a brief stare down, but eventually I give in and take my seat. “What we are talking about is a dangerous thing. Women are put to death at the very suggestion of magic arts. You have been kept safe here in an unsafe time for thirteen years. That’s no little thing,” he says.

I have several rebuttals loaded on the end of my tongue but none leave my mouth. All I feel is how acutely unloved I have felt my whole life. How alone. How it didn’t have to be that way.

“I must go,” I say. “I need to understand.” This time he doesn’t stop me, he just nods his head. I grab the book and head for the door. “Thank you, Garrett. For everything,” I say and walk the path I’ve walked a thousand times back to the only home I’ve ever known.

Mama and daddy are in their favorite chairs when I get home. Mama knitting and daddy reading. I don’t bother removing my shoes when I enter as I want the very sound of my anger to be at full volume. I stomp to the table and slam the heavy book down. Such theatrics are a rarity in this household and it has the desired effect. Mama and daddy stop what they’re doing and look in my direction, both look ready to begin a finger wagging scolding. I beat them to it as I open the book to my story and demand answers. Both are on their feet in an instant and come to see what I am in such a tizzy about. Daddy immediately takes a seat and releases a heavy sigh, mama leaves the room without a word.

“I guess you have some questions, Daisy,” daddy says with an air of resignation. “It’s Calliope. My name is Calliope!” I hurl my words at him like stones. “Yes, your name is Calliope. Why don’t you sit down so we can talk,” he says. Mama walks into the room, she is holding a wooden box I’ve never seen before. She takes a seat at the table and puts the box in front of her. I don’t know what I expected but this isn’t it. They both seem calm, calmer then they should be, certainly calmer than me. Mama speaks first. “We knew this day would come, we just hoped it would be when you were much older. Now that it’s here, we have work to do and not much time to do it. The full moon is in two days, we have until then to prepare you for your journey,” she says.

“What journey?” I ask. I’m losing patience. I wanted answers but I am more confused than ever.

“Calliope. I can call you that now. Your memories have always been accurate. Unexpected, but accurate. You were put in our care so that we could keep you safe until your destiny came calling. When you started proclaiming to anyone who would listen who you really were, we thought it best to treat you like an eccentric child, nothing more. These are, as you know, dangerous times and your safety has always been our number one priority,” mama says.

“I still don’t understand. Who are you, why did my mother leave me?” I ask.

“You will get all the answers you deserve, but in time,” daddy says. “Just know this. We have always loved you, always been proud of you, always wished you could be who you were born to be. Now is that time.” Mama nods her agreement.

I am completely stunned. Love? That can’t be. Before I can argue mama slides the box closer to me. “Open this,” she says.

Inside is a beautifully ornate brooch. It’s a simple barn owl but it’s stunning; an intricate silver design with emerald eyes, it’s wings spread as if in flight. I reach for it but mama stops me. “The brooch has a spell on it. Once you, and you alone, touch it, you will see the answers you seek. It is the lifeline to your destiny. Protect it,” mama says.

I take the brooch out of the box and close my fist around it. For a moment nothing happens but slowly I feel it warming up. Suddenly, it’s as if the blood running through my veins turns to icy water. It’s not uncomfortable though, I become very aware of my body, my thoughts, the beating of my heart. Everything comes into sharp focus. It doesn’t come like a vision, just a knowing that settles over me and I know what I must do. It’s time I go home. Mama was right, I have to make my journey on the full moon. My destiny is clear.

In an instant I shed Daisy VanSickle and fully embrace Calliope Fogg. I am filled with the knowledge of my home and what has befallen it. I am aware that a dark force on the other side of the veil has been leeching all the magic from the citizens of Rendreley, my home. My people who have lived and enjoyed their powers for centuries in peace. Mages, sorcerers, elves, even dragons; beings I only dared dream about. The year before I was born an underground rebellion was formed by the elders and a plan was made to get at least one child from each species to safety on the other side of the veil, into the hands of allies, until the time came to return home and bring magic back to the realm. It was a dangerous plan, as crossing the veil into the land occupied by humans came with risks of its own, but the survival of the realm was at stake.

For the next few days, I read and reread the book Garrett gifted me. What a wonder it is! I learn about Rendreley and feel it’s call. I spend precious moments with Garrett and Virgil and keep nothing from them, they have earned the right to know. Both are thrilled and saddened by what is to come. I will miss them terribly.

On the day of the full moon, I am a bundle of nerves. I trust this knowing that now lives in my belly, but I have never shown any magical abilities…how am I going to be of any help to Rendreley? Mama has decided to throw me a party and has invited my only two friends, Garrett and Virgil. Two parties in one week! It really is a miracle. We drink hot chocolate and tell stories about my crazy antics over the years. I share tender moments with each one, tucking them away in my heart for safe keeping. I have learned just how much mama and daddy sacrificed to raise me and I am grateful. I even feel their love. I look at them with a different set of eyes, and now that the cats out of the bag they have opened up in ways I never believed possible.

As night falls I gather my nerves and put on my coat. The four of them watch me silently. I must make the next part of the journey by myself, through the woods to a giant boulder that I know the way to because the owl brooch has shown me. I quickly hug each of them, suddenly not wanting to say goodbye. “Who knows, perhaps someday I can visit,” is all I can think to say.

I move silently through the forest, remembering the first time I made this journey, wondering if my mother will be waiting for me on the other side. The moon is at its highest point in the sky when I make it to the boulder. I am cold and anxious. I finger the owl that is pinned to my shirt under my coat and begin to chant with my free hand pressed to the cold surface of the rock. “Allindre invastus maloricum caye, allindre invastus maloricum caye, allindre invastus maloricum caye,” I say, feeling more than a little bit foolish. But, once again time seems to stand still, the moon turns red and a door appears. I turn the knob and begin to walk through when I hear it. “Calliope, wait!! You forgot your book!” It’s Virgil, he’s running towards me as I am being pulled through the portal. I can’t control either thing, neither his running towards me nor the pulling from the other side. “No Virgil! Stop!” I scream, but it’s too late. Virgil is propelled towards me like he’s just been shoved from behind and we both tumble through the open door. I grab his hand as we fall to the other side of the veil.