Jamieson Wolf
Number-one bestselling author
A Scribes Wish Granted – A Short Story
Once upon a time, in the village of Inglewood Hamlet, there lived scribe.
He would tell tales bigger and wider than the impassable sands that bordered the Eastern side of the kingdom. He would spin tales of love that could fill the waters that bordered the Western side of the kingdom. He would write with his quill and paper well into the night, until his candles had burned down to stubs.
Many asked him how he wrote such moving tales of love. Surely there must be an inspiration? He would smile politely and thank them for their compliments, but would say he didn’t know where the inspiration came from.
The truth was, he wrote about what he wished for. There were a few times he thought he had found love, but it was of the darker variety. It would start out light and beautiful like a flower come to bloom, but every time it would end the same way, as if it were a flower with thorns that would make him bleed the tighter he held onto it.
So the Scribe let go of the dream of ever finding love, the other half of him. It was simply the way it had to be. He spent his days watching his friends fall in love and build lives with others. He could see the trees that they had planted together taking root in the ground and growing into gorgeous trees full of leaves. They could not see the trees, but he could. It was part of the Scribe’s curse, seeing that which others could not see.
When the whispering of the leaves became too much for him, he took himself to the furthest point into the Eastern border, deep into the sands that made up the desert. He built himself a small hut. He didn’t need any more space than that; space enough to sleep, eat and write. He lived only for his words now.
On his seventh night in the hut, away from civilization, he received a visitor.
He heard the sound of bells, playing a delightful tune that made him want to get up and dance to their tune. She always arrived this way. He remained sitting and put down his quill. A light began to shine in the middle of his hut and soon, it grew brighter, more vibrant. The light began to hum along with the sound of the bells and, with a small pop, she stood before him.
Her wings didn’t have much room to flutter in the small hut, so she kept them close to her back. Looking around at his living quarters, she huffed out a small sigh that sounded like wind flowing through leaves. “Well, I can see why you moved here, Jaxon. This is so spacious and lovely, it just takes my breath away.”
Jaxon let out a breath. “Good day, Suzanne. To what do I owe this pleasure?”
“Is that any way to greet your mother?” She smiled and moved closer. “Come give me a hug.”
He stood and did so, holding his mother in his arms. She was so much smaller than he was. Though she was Fey and had the smaller stature like all her kind, he knew she possessed the heart of a lion. When he went to pull away, she held on for one last squeeze and his body was filled with light.
Like all Fey, she had magic. Hers was the gift of light and wisdom. Her touch always brought light in the darkness and made your mind clear when it was clouded. To some, this was not a great gift, but Jaxon knew it for the power it was. She had inspired many an artist, helped many law makers in the land make sound decisions and had brought light to people most in need.
Now, she gave him the look he knew so well. “I’m worried about you, Jaxon. Why do you hide yourself away like this? To what purpose?”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“Oh, I’ve lived for hundreds of years and have seen more than you can begin to dream of. Really, why do you live like this? You came from magic and have magic all your own, with words that bring dreams to so many. Why do you hide away as if you are nothing?”
“It’s easier that way. I won’t get hurt that way.”
“You are hurting yourself. Do you not want to find love?”
“I do, but it isn’t for me. I’ve tried.”
“Then try again. You have to be open to love for love to find you. When was the last time you went on an outing? Almost a year ago now?”
“Sounds about right.”
“You write of the love you wish for, the love you desire, yet you hide yourself away where you cannot possibly meet any man you desire. Is there no one in Inglewood that has shown you some interest?”
Jaxon fiddled with his quill. “Well, there is one man. A man at the money lenders who I’ve spoken to through letters. His last few missives have become more open and honest.”
“Well, if he’s shown you interest, than perhaps you need to show some back.”
“I wouldn’t know where to begin.”
“It’s quite simple, people have been uttering this magical words for eons now.”
“What word is that?”
“Hello. It all begins with hello. The story blooms from there. When do you next go into town?”
“This afternoon. I’m almost out of ink and could use a new quill.”
“Fabulous. Then we have time.”
“Time for what?”
“To clean you up.”
“I look fine.”
His mother let out a small laugh. “I mean no disrespect Jaxon, but you look as if you’ve rolled with the pigs. You smell like it, too.”
She waved her hands and the little hut he lived in was filled with light once more. However, this time he was the source of the light. He was filled with warmth and heat and every part of him hummed with magic. When it faded, he looked down at himself.
His ratty trousers were new and made of a thick weave of cotton coloured in grey. His shirt was new too, and made of a finer weave than his trousers. He even wore a little vest that was coloured in shades of gold and silver.
“I don’t look like me.”
“Yes, you do. You look like everyone else sees you now. Your magic, Jaxon, it’s time you started acting like it. Now, did you need a lift to town?”
“No, that’s quite all right, I-”
Suzanne snapped her fingers and he was standing in front of the money lenders, quick as a flash. He really hated it when she did that. He had his bag slung over his shoulder, filled with his inkwells. He stood there in front of the money lenders, not sure what to do.
Wanting to gather courage, instead of going in the money lenders, he went to a small pub that served some elixirs and foodstuffs. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness of the pub, he saw a spark of light in front of him.
The man he had been speaking to through letters, Mikhail, was there at a table; and he was looking at him.
It was as if he were propelled forward. With a few steps, he was in front of Mikhail. Though Jaxon had sensed his kindness through his letters, nothing had prepared him for seeing Mikhail in the flesh. Jaxon’s heart beat with something he could not name at first, so foreign it seemed within him. However, after a few moments, he could put a name to that emotion: Hope.
He smiled at Mikhail and said the only word that came to mind: “Hello.”
“Hello.” Mikhail responded
As Jaxon looked into Mikhail’s blue and grey eyes, the hope within him grew brighter. The light inside of him matched the light that shone from Mikhal’s eyes, and that light came from inside of him.
There are those that said on that day in the small village of Inglewood Hamlet, the sky was filled with stars. Others said that surely a great and powerful witch or sorcerer had cast a spell so large it could be seen miles away. Even more said that they saw a bright light emanating from the pub that filled them with every happy memory they had ever experienced.
There was one woman who knew what had happened, however. She looked out from the clouds at the light shining below and knew that the light meant that her son had fallen in love, so pure and powerful was the light.
Or, so the story goes…
The World of the Pen – A Poem
I don’t see the
world in the same
way others do. In
my world, there are
dragons flying overhead, soaring
through the clouds. In
my world, there are
flowers and plants that
talk to you as
you walk along the
path. Sometimes, they sing.
In my world, there
are fair folk. Some
are kind, helping you
along on your path,
showing you the right
way. Others would lead
you astray, into the
deadly swamps that await
those who have lost
all hope. Yet, there
are even more strange
sights to see, unicorns
and griffins, ogres and
trolls, battling it out
over something you have
said or didn’t say.
There are darker corners
that are full of
despicable people capable of
the darkest of deeds.
However, for every person
of darkness, there is
one of light so
pure and so complete
that it never fails
to shine in the
darkest corners of my
world, for good must
always triumph over
evil. I stop for a
moment on the path
that I’ve been walking
upon when my Prince
comes up behind me
and wraps his arms
around me in an
embrace. He is warm
and wonderful, full of
the kind of light
that shines so brightly.
“What are you writing?”
He asks. I answer
as truthfully as possible.
“I’m not sure yet.”
His scent envelopes me.
“I can’t wait to read it.”
I carry a smile within
me as he walks
away and I wield
my pen, mightier than
the sword, and wait
for the story that
wants to be set
free.
I Wish… – A Poem
As I was walking home,
I saw a man with
the bluest eyes. They were
a dark and vibrant blue,
the colour of a sky after
a storm has cleared.
I had a flash from
my youth, a wish to be
other than I was,
to not look as I did.
I had always wanted
blond hair and blue eyes.
For reasons unknown to me,
this was what I identified
as beautiful. As I
walked away from the
blue eyed man,
I whispered over and over:
“I wish, I wish, I wish….”
I stopped there, however.
What did I wish exactly?
Though my life was not
what I thought it would be,
I was happy.
Though I did not look
like everyone else,
I loved myself,
every part of me,
even my imperfections.
If I changed one iota
of who I was,
or what I looked like,
I would not be on
the path I was on today.
My life would be
different than it was now.
It wouldn’t be the life
that I was living
but someone else’s.
I was finally happy
inside my own skin
and content with the life
that I’ve been given.
So instead, I simply said
“I wish…”
and left it at that.
For to wish for something
is to invite the possibility
of magic
into your life.
As I walked home,
the air around me began
to sparkle and shine
and I knew that
I was already
magical.
The Wisdom of the Flowers – A Short Story
Here’s my second Pay It Forward 2015 offering. This is a short story I wrote for Heather Garrod.
I just thought of Heather and a dream someone had mentioned to me the other day came to mind. I decided to combine the two plus a twist of my own.
Enjoy!
The Wisdom of the Flowers
Heather believed.
It was as simple as that. She knew in her heart that there was more to the world that we could see with our eyes. She would often see things that others couldn’t, sense things that weren’t physically there. It had always been this way.
It was why she wasn’t particularly surprised to see the woman sitting in her garden.
For Heather, scents were as spiritual as anything else, even more so. There was something about the aromas of certain plants that were able to calm, to ignite or even heal. She had always grown plants and different types of flowers. They were part of the way she got in touch with her spirit.
She had gathered her gardening tools (gloves, trowel and scissors for clipping dead leaves and weeds) and stepped out her back door. She smelled the garden first, that delicious scent of wonder. The air smelled of lilacs and orange blossom and filled her with joy.
It was as she was coming around the back of the house to the garden proper that she saw the woman sitting under a large oak tree in the centre of her garden. This was unusual for two reasons: She had never planted a tree in her garden and her gates had been locked.
Heather approached the woman slowly. She was sitting in a rocking chair and she moved it slowly back and forth. It seemed to be creating a small breeze that blew even more scent towards her. She wasn’t afraid, only curious.
The woman saw her coming closer and smiled broadly. A light came from her, emanating from somewhere within. She waved at Heather. “Come closer dear. It’s all right.”
Heather knew it was, so she walked closer. As she did, the breeze that surrounded the old woman increased. To Heather, it felt as if it were welcoming her. She stood in front of the old woman, the breeze growing stronger. “Who are you?” Heather whispered.
The old woman smiled. “I am called many things. Maiden, mother, crone. The old woman, the nurturer, the princess. I’ve come to answer your questions.”
“I don’t have any.”
“Oh, sure you do. We all do! Where are we going in this life? How will we get there? Will I find love? You humans are a species that always wants to know more. That’s a great thing to have, never lose that curiosity.”
The breeze blew across her face, almost as if it were caressing her cheek. She smelled honeysuckle and iris blossoms. Heather asked the question that was burning on her tongue. “What are you?”
“Oh, to that I can give you a proper answer. I’m a dryad. I am alive only when I am near my body.” She patted the trunk of the oak tree. “I can wander for short periods, but never very far away.”
Heather let out a small breath she had not been aware that she’d been holding in . “How did your tree come to be here?”
“How did any of us come to be here? No one really knows. Science is a great way of explaining magic, don’t you think? But enough gibber jabber. You have questions. Come, have a seat.”
Heather looked down and saw a tree stump where there hadn’t been one before. Rather than sitting on the flowers that had been there before, they now grew around the stump. Heather nodded and sat down, the sun warm on her face.
Sitting this close to her, Heather noticed what she hadn’t before: the old woman’s skin was like the back of the oak tree, her hair like the leaves that grew from it. Her eyes were green like the sap that ran through the tree.
The old woman pulled out a cloth bag from the folds of her dress. “Let’s see what’s in store for you, hey?”
“I’ve had my tarot cards read a few times.”
Shaking her head, the old woman let out a chuckle. “That’s fine dear, but I don’t read the Tarot. I read the flowers instead.”
“You can’t read flowers. They have healing properties, but it’s not like they’re magical.”
“It’s because they have healing properties that makes them magical. You know this, dear. Now, reach into the bag and pull out five petals and we’ll see what’s coming your way, hmmm?”
Nodding, Heather reached into the bag and pulled out a petal. They were white and shaped almost like silver dollars. “I’ve never seen petals like this.”
“That’s because they aren’t petals yet, they have to become. Pull four more and place them in a line on the table.”
“Table? There isn’t one.”
The old woman looked down. “Oh, silly me, hold on a tic.”
She waved her hands and a branch grew out of the ground between them. A leaf began to grow from the end of the branch. It grew larger and, as the leaf settled, it lay on its side and flattened out, making a perfect table top.
Heather had never seen anything like it. She took a breath and drew out four more petals, putting the five of them on the leaf table top. Then she looked up at the old woman. “What do I do now?”
“Well, you turn them over of course. You said you had experience with Tarot cards? This works the same way.”
Heather took a breath and turned over the first petal. There was a shimmer and then colour began to grow from the middle of the petal. As it flowed to the edges, it changed shape. When it was done, there was another little shimmer and the breeze stopped flowing around them, almost as if it was afraid to disturb the petals.
The old woman smiled. “A Begonia petal. That’s a lovely start, wouldn’t you say?”
“What does it mean?”
“Why it stands for rich, hidden treasures that you’ll find on your path through happenstance. It promises something rare and beautiful. Flip the next one.”
Heather did and watched it shimmer and turn from white to a deeper, creamer white. She knew this one. “Calla Lily.”
“Quite right dear. Another beautiful one. It symbolises a well of deep knowledge and intuition. It catches your dreams and holds on to them and speaks of your beauty, both of heart and soul. Draw the next one dear.”
Heather reached for the third petal. When she flipped it over, it turned into a beautiful light purple petal. She knew what these were, too. “Crocus flower. What does this one symbolize?”
“It’s a powerful symbol. Many believe this flower brings about openness, to capturing the goodness in life and all that is part of it. It’s a powerful flower. Draw the next one.”
She reached for the fourth petal and this time, she felt the woosh of magic all the way up her arm. The petal turned a beautiful shade of pink with an outline of yellow. She immediately felt more cheerful upon seeing this and wanted nothing more than to smile.
“The hibiscus.”
“Quite right dear. You see, I knew this wouldn’t be wasted on you with all your knowledge of flowers. Sometimes when people see flowers floating past them in the air, they don’t pay attention to what they could mean. Just because flowers can’t speak doesn’t mean they don’t have a voice.”
“What is this one trying to tell me?”
“It represents joy. Pure happiness fully realized. It’s about your dream realized, every step of the way, seeing beauty in everything and celebrating the small things in life.” She motioned with her hand at the remaining petal. “Turn the last one dear.”
Heather turned it over and watched as turned purple at the tip and white at the end. She would know that smell anywhere. “Freesia.”
“That’s right dear. This is one of my favourite flowers. It is the flower of trust. You are being guided by force of the cosmos on your path and you have to trust that everything is unfolding as it is supposed to. Trust yourself, you already know where you’re going.”
The old woman stood. “Well, my dear, I must be getting back.”
“But what does all this mean? What are the flowers trying to tell me?”
She smiled and it was a warm, beautiful smile. “You’ve had Tarot card readings done before?”
“Yes.”
“Much like Tarot cards, their meaning is up for your interpretation. However, I’d say one thing is clear: we can expect great things from you.”
The old woman reached down and collected the petals. Then she pressed her hands together. When she drew them apart, all five petals hung on a silver chain like charms. “This is for you. So you will never forget the wisdom the flowers have bestowed upon you.”
Taking the chain from the old woman, Heather power emanating from her. “Will I see you again?”
“Perhaps. Perhaps not. Know that I’m watching over you regardless of whether or not you do. You are never alone, child. Know that, too.”
“I will, thank you.”
“Now, perhaps it’s time for you to open your eyes, hmmm? You don’t want to spend all day sleeping in the sunshine do you?”
Heather woke. She was sitting in a deck chair that she didn’t remember moving. It was sitting on the edge of the garden. She did notice one plant she hadn’t before: a small shoot of a tree. Heather was sure if she looked up what kind of tree it was, it would be an oak tree.
Standing to get up, Heather felt something around her neck. She put her hand up and felt what was there. A chain.
Taking it off, she saw that she held a silver chain with five charms dangling from it, each shaped like a different flower petal.
She looked down at the little tree. “Thank you.” She whispered.
Picking up her tools, she set to work weeding the garden, feeling that all was right, or would be, with the world.
The Beautiful Sound of Song – A Short Story
This is my first offering for Pay It Forward 2015. It’s a short story that I’ve written for Pam Chartrand.
Not only is she a wonderful friend, she’s an awesome human being. She also gave me the impetus I needed to go back to Inglewood Hamlet (the town featured in my book of fairy tales, When Love Blooms) once more.
So this is for Pam, with love and gratitude.
The Beautiful Sound of Song
Once upon a time, there was a small country by the name of Inglewood Hamlet.
There were four borders to the country, marked by the cliffs, the fields, the sands and the waters. Inside a tower that was located on the very highest point of the cliffs, there lived a Princess named Pam. One day, Pam’s life changed forever.
When she thought back on it, Pam decided that out of all the moments from the day her life had changed, she would remember the birdsong most of all. It had been a harbinger of the change she had been so desperately wanted. She had thought she was happy with her lot in life, but that was before she had seen the bird.
Pam had woken early, her handmaiden had brought her breakfast on a little silver tray and she had dressed in one of her most luscious gowns: gold brocade with details in silver. It had no petticoats so it fell to the floor. She loved how it would sweep along the ground, almost as if it were whispering to her while she walked.
She had taken a cup of strong tea made from camomile blossoms and ginger root out into the garden. Her handmaiden, a lovely girl by the name of Anna, would have her breakfast ready upon her return. It was always this way.
Every morning, Pam awoke, dressed, went for her walk with a cup of tea and she would look at the wall, wondering what was beyond it. Then she would return to her tower to break her fast and she would read for the rest of the day. It had always been this way.
Being a Princess was an easy job, but frightfully boring. She spent her days in her tower, surrounded by a wall which was almost as high, with only Anna for company. Anna was a kind soul and good company, but she longed for her Prince. That was the whole point of the Princess gig, after all.
Her job was simple: amuse herself until her Prince came along. That was all well and good, but in her experience (which was albeit very limited) most men needed to be given direction. She had lived in her wall encased tower for forty years. She was now well past the accepted age for a Princess, but she didn’t care. She still wore her small tiara, despite the fact that she should be wearing a crown and ruling by now.
The country of Inglewood Hamlet was a small country that did well, even without a ruler. They had had a King and Queen and a Prince before, but they had all disappeared. Pam was the only one left in the royal line to rule and her country didn’t need her. So not only was she imprisoned in the tower, when she got free, she would merely be a figurehead, nothing more.
It was as these thoughts ran around inside her head that she herd birdsong. She stopped, looking for it. Though she had trees and a garden inside the walls of her tower, they were too high for most birds. It had been years since she had seen any wildlife. The wall was higher than any bird was willing to fly, higher than any squirrel or chipmunk was willing to climb, so there were no animals in her walled tower garden.
That’s why even the sound of birdsong was alarming. She looked around and finally located the bird, a male blue jay. He stood on the edge of the tower wall, serenading her with song. She stood there with her eyes closed, the tea in her hand forgotten, and just listened to the beautiful sound of song.
Her eyes snapped open when the song stopped. The blue jay was still there, but something was happening to him. A light started glowing from his feathers, as if he were made of the sun itself. The glow intensified until he a ball of light, brighter than the sun itself. She shielded her eyes but kept looking. Pam had never seen anything so beautiful.
With a soft pop, the light disappeared, but in its place was a man.
He sat on the edge of the wall, clothed in leather breeches and a poet’s shirt, both blue in colour. She put he hand down and lay the teacup on the ground. Pam could only stare at him. He had a strong chin with soft layer of stubble upon it and long dark hair that hung to his shoulders. He had blue eyes that were so clear and so bright, they seemed to be looking right into her.
“Pray, what did you do with the bird, sir?”
“Oh, he’s right here. Why don’t you come up and fly with me?”
She laughed even as the sound of his voice stirred something in her. “I have no wings. Why don’t you come down?”
“Would that I could, dear lady. I would break my legs if I jumped from here and the wall is too tall to fly down into, I would never be able to fly out again. There is a magic that prevents this, shimmering over the top of the tower.”
“Fly? You were the bird that sang so sweetly?”
“Yes.”
“Then are you a shape shifter?”
He cocked his head to the right as if thinking of how to respond. “Does it matter?”
Pam thought about it for a moment. “No, just sing for me again. It was so beautiful.”
“Come up here and I shall. You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
Blushing, Pam asked him: “What do they call you?”
“I am Gregory. I’ve heard the maiden you live with call you Pamela.”
“Pam, please, there’s no need for ceremony here. If you’ve watched us, why are you only showing yourself now?”
“I was afraid, dear lady. There are not many who would have me as I am. I was afraid of showing myself to your maiden.”
“Ann would have loved to hear you sing. Are you sure you cannot come down here?”
“No lady, look.” He picked up a stone that sat on the walls edge and threw it at the opening at the top of the tower. Something sparked in the sky and it was gone. Then the sky shimmered as if made of water. “It is as I’ve said, there is a barrier.”
“So you mean to tell me that this is the reason no Prince has come to my aid?”
“Why do you need the help of a Prince? You merely have to help yourself to break free of this life and live the life you want.”
“How am I to get up there?” Pam asked. “It’s so high, you ask the impossible.”
“Nothing is impossible if you believe. You have to believe, Pam. Grow wings and come fly with me.”
“It’s that simple?”
“Yes. You just have to believe.”
“There must be more to it than that.”
Gregory shook his head. “You are talking to a shape shifter, a being once thought to be mythical yet here I am talking to you. Come on Pam, believe.”
The third time he said the word, a breeze came down to run its fingers along Pam’s skin and through her hair. She shivered with wanting and closed her eyes, wishing that she could find a way to lift herself up into the air, that she could find a way to sit beside Gregory.
She wished with every fibre of her being but it was not to be. She was saddened that she would not get her happily ever after.
“Pam, open your eyes.”
Pam did so, and nearly screamed: she was floating off the ground and a curious light was emanating from her skin. “What magic is this?”
“You’re just like me, Pam.”
“No, I can’t be.”
“You’re unique and beautiful. Grow your wings. Believe in yourself.”
Pam did the only thing she could do: she closed her eyes and did as Gregory told her. She took in a deep breath, taking in the scent of the breeze that had so enticed her. She took in another breath and it was as if her blood had become the air itself.
Her whole body had become lighter. She reached out to touch something, anything, and realized that she didn’t have fingers. Opening her eyes, she saw that she had wings. It was as if she was floating on a cloud of light, so bright was the light that emanated from her.
When she reached the top of the wall, she slid through the layer of magic that was there as if it was water. She felt it slide along her skin and then a hand grabbed hers. Gregory looked into her eyes. “I won’t let your fall. I won’t ever let go of you.”
“Nor I. I’m yours for life, if you’ll have me.”
Gregory pulled her closer to him and Pam’s body swooned with need for him. “That’s a good thing as blue jays mate for life.”
There was a blinding flash of light and a blue jay danced in the air in front of her. It pulled at her hair playfully and sang at her. Pam laughed and let the breeze run through her body until she glowed briefly bright and then transformed.
Pam let out a song of her own. Finally, she knew freedom. She finally knew love. Gregory let out another burst of birdsong and Pam let out her own as she followed him through the air and towards her future.
So the story goes…
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Jamieson Wolf has written a compelling story about navigating multiple sclerosis and cerebral palsy. His story will touch your heart, make you cry, then laugh, and inspire you. A touching memoir with a bit of magic…and tarot! ~ Theresa Reed, author of The Tarot Coloring Book
Jamieson Wolf 