The cloister wall was overgrown with ivy. Bees pollinated the purple honeysuckles which graced the air with sweet fragrance. The heather and bulrushes swayed tall in the warm spring breeze, enveloped by the golden morning light of the meadow. The joust of lark song played melodious in Gwynnlvynn’s ear, but his mind was preoccupied. He had picked blackberries and sage a hundred times by the nearby brook, but had never ventured to imagine something so mysterious and foreign could claim a place so familiar. The eerie lights beneath last night’s harvest moon were still clear in his sight. He knelt with both excitement and trepidation at the foot of the faerie tree, or so it had been christened by the townsfolk of yore, for reasons as uncertain as his present circumstance. He scanned his surrounds, confirmed his solitude, and commenced clearing the ivy, branches and groundcover beneath the trees low branches. Goosebumps peppered his skin as he tried not to consider the stories, let alone how close he was to this provincial icon of superstition. Gwynnlvynn stopped suddenly. Last night’s suspicions were confirmed. Nestled deep in the recesses of the ancient wall at the base of the faerie tree, painted by mildew and blackened with time, was inlaid a small door not much larger than a cupboard. To Gwynnlvynn’s remembrance, on the occasional rabbit hunting or mushroom picking expedition that brought him perilously close to the opposite side of the wall, there had been no matching door frame to reciprocate the one staring before him. Gwynnlvynn examined. Indented in the aged galleon planks was a keyhole. Gwynnlvynn reached into his leather satchel and felt the weight of the brass key the faerie lights had led him to. It was still there. Although he had been too afraid to accept their invitation to open the door in the pitch of dark, his gnawing curiosity had gotten the better of him. He entered the key into the hole and turned until there was a heavy clunk and expulsion of strangely sweet air. Gwynnlvynn hefted the door back on stiff hinges. From the dark safe, he removed a large leather-bound package which he opened to the light of day, revealing a heavy book. Carved in the seasoned wood cover was the ancient Gaelic inscription: Welcome Master Gwynnlvynn to your initiation in The Great Book of Spells.
Comments