Book Sunday

 Today's choice is an epic fantasy, magical realism series

Ilona resigns to live the simple life of a small-town doctor, but her life goes into a tailspin on her birthday. She finds out she was born into a secretive, ancient clan still hidden among us. She starts to develop unusual powers which she finds exciting as well as frightening. She can slow time and heal with her touch, but how and why?

BOOK ONE       BOOK TWO

A chapter from Book One

“Are we there yet?” Ilona asked teasingly, trying to conceal her anxiety. She knew the answer because the air smelled clean and fresh. Even the stars were brighter. It was dark, but enough light shone from the full moon. She looked around and saw a group of round, tented-looking buildings covered with leather, where small fires burned between them. Ilona remembered seeing pictures like that in a history book; they called those tents Jurtas. The river must have been very close as a light breeze carried the smell of fresh water.

“Yes, we are there. Actually, we are here in the year four hundred and five,” he explained to Ilona.

The lightheadedness was gone, and Ilona’s mind was clear. “Was it any different when you transported Ema?” she asked, feeling better.

“Well, it was as if we fused together for a second, and then we separated. With you, it seemed a little different, though.”

“How was it different?” Ilona asked, feeling the heat rise to her face.

“I had an experience that you might call… kind of... arousing.” He hesitated.

“Oh… I see.” Ilona searched her mind for the right reply. She felt embarrassed and blushed deeply. “For a second, the dizziness was the only sensation, and then it seemed as if we moved through something thick and sticky.” She had to tell a fib; she was too shy to mention that her experience traveling with him was something more personal.

He looked aside and reached for Ilona’s hand as he led her toward a Jurta standing apart from the others. “That’s because you’re not a Traveler, but a passenger, so to speak.” He laughed softly.

The Jurtas were lined up in a semicircle, leaving a wide plaza in the middle. Luckily, no one was in sight. They walked up to a tall and wide wooden pole in the middle of the circle. Ilona fingered the intricate designs carved into it. It was painted with brilliant colors. On top of was a giant carved falcon, standing with wings open wide, as if it was getting ready to take flight.

Ilona tugged at Zoltan’s shirt excitedly and whispered, “I’ve seen this place before! Every time I play my tune, I see this village in my mind or some other place pretty much like this.”

“Really? I always see this kind of place in my mind when I play my birth tune too! And I always see the Turul bird. I think everyone pictures a different place when they play. Mom says she feels like she sits by the Blue Danube in medieval times. Dad’s vision takes him back much further. It is curious that we both see a similar place and time,” Zoltan marveled, following Ilona’s gaze.

“Yes, it is,” Ilona agreed, wondering about the coincidence.

They reached the Jurta that stood a short distance outside of the circle. Zoltan grabbed the small wooden stick hanging on the side of the thick leather door cover, and lightly tapped the round drum hanging next to it.

“Doorbell,” he explained.

“Who art thou?” a pleasant voice sounded from the inside, in ancient Hunor language.

“The Traveler and the Healer are asking permission to enter,” Zoltan answered, in the same melodious mother tongue.

“Come hither.”

Zoltan pulled the thick leather covering aside and urged Ilona forward. Inside, the light was dim and flickering, emanating from oil lamps hanging on the walls of the wide, round room. Zoltan motioned for Ilona to take her shoes off at the entrance. They walked forward on the thick carpet covering the floor. A beautiful, statuesque, dark-haired woman slowly rose from a curved sofa-like piece of furniture. She wore a soft green, delicately decorated calf-length tunic, with loose black trousers. Her hair was braided with soft leather thongs. Ema was standing in the alcove. She shrieked when she saw Ilona and Zoltan and started running towards them but was stopped dead in her tracks by a simple hand gesture from the statuesque woman.

The young woman took a step toward them, “Elana, the Healer, I am called, ready to do thy bidding,” she said, and then looking at Ilona, she used an ancient ritual of submission by getting down on her right knee. That gesture was reserved only in the presence of Royalty. She exposed the left side of her neck by bending her head to the right. With one swift movement, she smoothed her long braids aside and placed her right hand over her heart.

Ilona was stunned and confused, “Why are you greeting me this way?” she asked and looked at Zoltan who appeared as puzzled as she was. He shrugged his shoulders, silently motioning that he had no idea.

“Thus, thine birthright.” Elana uttered.

“But I am not of Royalty, and I am not even sure what being one means,” Ilona replied.

“Are thee not? I say thou art, and if thee chooseth, thee couldst be more. Thy sign speaketh. On thee, the surest sign. Find thee heritage in time, thou will.” She began to stand.

Ilona was stunned. Royal? She thought. How could I be? My parents were regular people, and I only heard about the just and powerful Royals from Rua’s legends. I always thought they were mere fairy tales to entertain children in which the Royals were brave and protected good people. Elza said my birthright was to be a Healer. Why is Elana greeting me like I’m more than that? Frantic thoughts chased each other in her mind. “Please tell me. What is this sign?” Ilona asked, bursting with confused emotions.

“On thy face, thou shall beareth the sign, and thou hast the aura around thee. Accept thou the sign that shall appear when thou knowest thy destiny, as our Seer foretold thee coming.”

 Zoltan stared at Ilona. Elana noticed his confused look, smiled and turned to him. “Thou hast the aura of other sort. May hap someday the sign couldst appear, but not by right of birth. Such fate is for but the Choseth.”

Zoltan was obviously startled but didn’t ask anything.

Ema looked briefly at Elana, “Am I a Royal too, Elana? I have my Hunor mark as well, but mine is blood red, as is customary for everyone else. Ilona’s mark turned maroon on her wrist, and Zoltan’s is the same.” She smiled as she glanced at Zoltan’s arm.

Elana smiled back at her, “Your mark will appear when the time is right, and I will greet you a little differently if the time comes, and when it comes. We will find out in due time. Your future depends on many things yet been decided.”

Ema sighed in annoyance, “Whatever! Everybody tells me to wait until the time is right!”

Ilona noted with surprise how quickly her mind adapted to hearing and interpreting the old language. At first she had to concentrate, but after Elana’s few sentences she understood what she said without paying close attention.

“Ilona!” Ema shouted, jumping toward Ilona like a panther, but keeping an eye on Elana. She nodded approval, and a small smile played in the corner of her lips. Ema hugged Ilona close, laughing and sobbing in the same breath. She looked fantastic, dressed in a cream-colored tunic. She wore leather trousers and a delicately woven headdress. Her hair was braided with leather thongs flowing down to her shoulders. “You came so soon! I have so much to tell you.”

“There will be time later, Ema. I assume they have a more urgent reason for their visit. Please, be seated.” Elana motioned.

Ilona looked around, amazed. In the middle of the room, she saw a group of light, foldable, stools with leather seats. They were placed in a circle around a delicately carved table. The inside walls were covered with brightly colored tapestries. On the floor was a thick woven carpet. Oil lamps hung on the walls, and to the left, there were fur-covered beds. The other side of the room contained pots and pans on shelves and delicately carved wooden plates. Cooking utensils were suspended on bone hooks. There was a small alcove pointing to the outside. A large pot was steaming on a stone fireplace. Pillows and brightly painted wooden trunks were strategically placed around the room. Ilona walked in and sat down, finding the chairs to be extremely comfortable.

Elana’s soothing voice got her attention. “Welcome to my humble home. Your visit honors me.”

“Thank you for your warm welcome,” Ilona replied, still not believing she was sitting across from Elana, 1600 years apart, yet so close.

Elana reached toward a wooden trunk, opened the lid and pulled out delicately carved cups that she filled with a sweet and sour smelling white liquid from a leather pouch. Ilona sniffed it; the liquid smelled strong, aromatic, yet spicy and sweet.

Seeing the puzzled look on Ilona’s face, Zoltan explained, “It’s fermented horse milk and some spices.” He took a sip, clearly enjoying the taste, closing his eyes in delight.

Ilona touched the cup to her lips and took a careful sip. As it hit her tongue and the roof of her mouth, the taste was cold, sweet and spicy. It created a wonderful combination. Ilona took a bigger sip and savored it. She sipped again, and this time it was closer to a gulp.

Zoltan touched her hand and laughed, “Easy there, young lady! If you’re not careful, you’ll be tipsy within minutes!”

“Oh, thanks for the warning.” Ilona glanced at him, already feeling a little buzz. She didn’t want to appear impolite to jump into asking Elana questions right away, so she placed the cup back on the small round table and turned to Ema. “What have you been doing this past week? I can’t wait to hear.”

“Ilona, this place, and time are so exciting! We got here so quickly, and I didn’t even know we were here. The ceremony in the cave was beautiful and mysterious, and then we rode horses to come here to the village. Elana explained a lot of things. I just love it here!” she took a hurried breath and continued, “I met lots of people who were very polite and welcoming. Life here is so pure and simple; I can’t even explain it. No rush, no cell phones or TV. There is a lot of togetherness, storytelling, working together and laughing together. People care for each other, Ilona; it’s not like back home. There everybody is in a big hurry to get nowhere. They use and discard each other. In this place and time, they really care! They enjoy nature and live with nature in harmony. Wow, I want to tell you everything at once.”

Ilona smiled, stroking Ema’s hand, “I’m so happy you like it here.”

“I love it here, and Elana is wonderful to me.” She beamed and blushed. “I met someone two days ago. He was on a hunt. We met at the dance they held for the hunters.”

“He is our best hunter and fiercest warrior,” Elana said, proudly.

“His name is Mundzuk, and he’s really wonderful. We talk about things. He knows so much about nature and animals.” Ema was running out of breath. She drew a deep sigh and looked at Ilona expectantly.

Ilona was stunned and happy at the same time. This was a different Ema. She was so vibrant, innocent and she seemed truly happy. “I’m so happy for you and so much has happened to you. We’ll talk more about it a little later, but first, we need to talk to Elana.”

Ema nodded, and Ilona turned to Elana. “Elana, I believe Zoltan told you about the reason why Ema is here?” she asked, trying to rein in her emotions.

“Yes, he did. He informed me about what is happening in your time. My Seer tells me that the order of things is still similar in your time, and the Law of our people didn’t change. The Elder’s Council guides and protects the people and their right hands are Kund and Csenge, the Leaders for all time.”

“What do you mean for all time? You don’t mean that the Leaders are the same people in our time that they are in the fifth century, do you?”

“Yes, the Seer tells us they are indeed the very same. Only two Leaders were chosen back in the beginning, to carry our traditions and laws to... well, indefinitely if they decided so. Until the Leaders name their successors to continue their work, they will remain Leaders.”

“How’s that possible?” Zoltan asked, in amazement.

“There are mysterious things even I don’t understand; my mind is not equipped for it. I know they have the power to stay alive for hundreds of years. Their job is to keep the law and order as well as keep the tradition alive. They were chosen a long time ago for their fairness, and because they’re able to rule in unison. They are the ultimate equal partners in life. In their relationship, there is no superiority. Mother and Father, who chose them, knew that they would be able to represent males and females equally, for all times to come,” she explained.

It startled Ilona. “Wait! I don’t understand. Who were they? Are they still alive, or are they Gods? There are so many contradicting stories and legends about them. In our time, we pray to Mother and Father, but we also pray to the Creator.” Ilona hoped Elana could clear up some of these mysteries.

“Well,” Elana went on, “The Legend says that the Gods, with the help of the Creator, came from the stars. On their long journey, they were sleeping inside the fire-blowing Falcon that we call Turul, and they woke up when they arrived. They had shiny white skin-like clothes on their bodies, and their heads were protected by a clear bubble. Blue eyes and snow-white hair marked their appearance. Our people, the tribe which the Gods chose to visit, lived here in the Carpathian basin and were primitive people, but they had a close-knit society.”

Ilona had so many more questions but decided to stay quiet and listen. Elana continued, “They never left their birthplace to mix with other clans; they were pure and healthy. The God and Goddess decided to choose mates from this tribe. They lived amongst them and taught them many things. The Goddess bore a son, and they named him Father. The mate of the God bore a daughter, and they named her Mother. When they were grown, they chose mates from different tribes and had many sons and daughters, for three generations, at which time the Gods decided to go back to the stars.”

Zoltan and Ilona looked at each other in amazement, and then Ilona motioned Elana to continue.

“They took Mother and Father with them and chose thirty-nine of the worthiest of their children. Twelve of them were chosen as the Original Royals. Their descendants had been given a gift to bring forth powers according to their needs and to help others, but only if they prove to be worthy. The Original Royals went with the Gods, and it was foretold that when the people will need them most, they would return to us. Csenge and Kund were given the gift of life as well; they became the Leaders of the People. In every generation, two potential leaders are born, a male and a female. If they are chosen, they become leaders and Csenge, and Kund live out the rest of their lives as Elders. Also, it was foretold that a King would be born. The legend doesn’t say when, but he will be the first True King of all the Hunors. He will unite the clans, and his Royal descendants will be born with the potential to become King and Queen if they’re proven to be worthy. The rest of the twenty-four became Elder Council members, and when they died, their descendants took over the role. The Leaders, however, will not die until they choose to, but first, they must appoint their successors. We pray to the Creator and ask help from Mother and Father equally because they were the closest to the people and promised they will come back to help when we will need them most. According to the legend, the people worshiped the Gods, but we pray to Mother and Father.”

“You said thirty-nine…” Ilona did the math.

“Yes, there is one more…” she sighed. “Joland was not chosen, he was not of the original noble blood, but he’s very clever and conniving. He stole knowledge from the Gods and learned how to live forever. It took smart planning, conniving and ability to solve riddles to find the well-guarded secret. Therefore, the Gods appointed him to become the Law Keeper. When he united with Mora, they came close to overpowering the Elders and ruling the people, but they were caught, separated and punished. That’s all the legend says.”

“You can’t even imagine how much more I want to learn. Everyone seems to know more than I do, and it makes me feel like I’m stumbling in the dark.”

“It is as it is supposed to be. You are of the royal bloodline; you have to learn everything on your own and prove that you are worthy of your destiny.”

“What is my destiny?”

“It will be revealed to you later when you find out everything that you need to know.”

Although Ilona wanted to ask more questions, Ema’s safety was more pressing, “Well, I can’t worry about that right now. We need your assistance with an urgent matter. In our time, we couldn’t let them find Ema; otherwise, they will destroy her. There are only the three of us who know where she is. They can’t read Zoltan’s mind—only mine, and some of Elza’s, but we can’t take a chance. Do you know how we can prevent them finding out where Ema is?”

“Oh, that’s easy. I can give you an herb. When you take it, your mind will be protected,” Elana informed.

“What? That’s it? This is unbelievable!” Ilona shouted in excitement, she couldn’t believe her ears and looked at Zoltan for confirmation. He had the same disbelief on his face.

Elana continued, happy for their excitement. “The knowledge of this herb has been passed down from Healer to daughter for generations.”

“That’s wonderful!” Ilona exclaimed. “We don’t really use herbs in my time for healing.”

“How do you heal people then?”

“We use manmade medicine and we can heal a lot of diseases.”

“Hunors are not treated by Healers anymore?”

“Oh, yes, they are. As I found out recently, the methods are a little different.”

“What about preventing pregnancies? A woman’s body can’t handle giving birth every year like barbarians.”

“We have contraceptives and different methods. The couple decides how many children they will raise. Do you use herbs to prevent unwanted pregnancies?

“Yes, it was discovered by my great-great-grandmother a long time ago. Women were dying very young because as soon as they gave birth and became fertile again, they got pregnant. There were too many mouths to feed and children became malnourished when food was scarce. I heard from my mother that, although the Healer had risked punishment, they used the herb too.”

“Why not? They’re women too.”

“You see, the punishment for ‘getting out of line’ is a short life. We could never reach the age to become Elders if we give up celibacy.”

“What exactly does ‘getting out of line’ mean?”

“Well, when a Healer chooses to fall in love and have a relationship with her First Rite mate... that is considered breaking the Law. We’re not supposed to live in a relationship. We are supposed to dedicate our lives and all of our energy to healing,” she answered.

“I’m afraid that the punishment still exists in our time. I’m sure that my parents were killed because of it.” Ilona informed her, sadly.

“I guess the law is strong enough to last,” Elana sighed, and then continued, “We cannot fall in love or marry like others.  We get pregnant and have one daughter. That’s how it has been for all times. My grandmother, after she had my mother, was secretly pursued by my grandfather who was chosen by her. He fell in love with her. They met in secret, and they loved each other. As a precaution, she took herbs to prevent further pregnancies. If she had become pregnant again, the Elders would have found out for sure that she broke the celibacy law of the Healer.”

Her statement shocked Ilona, and she listened to Elana’s words with increased intensity. “What about the herb that shields the mind?”

“One day my grandmother was informed of Csenge’s visit by the Seer. She was frantic. She knew that with the hand touch, Csenge would be able to read her mind, and she could discover about their love affair. She said her goodbyes to my grandfather. They cried and spent their last night together. In the morning, they waited for their fate. They knew it would be no use hiding. If she were not there when Csenge arrived, it would raise suspicion. The Law Keeper would hunt her down. In her despair, she remembered the herb her mother had told her about. The name of the herb was the White Shield. The knowledge of this herb was passed down from generation to generation, but it was rarely used and only by Healers who ‘got out of line’. The only ones who could read minds were the Leaders and the Elders, and most of the previous Healers had nothing to hide from them, until my grandmother, and although I’m not sure, maybe my mother as well.”

Ilona’s mind tried to absorb what she had heard, what she was saying. Could that be really true that the Healer can’t have a relationship until her First Rite? Is that the reason for my unsuccessful attempts at relationships? Oh, rats. This is way too much coincidence for me!

Elana continued, “My grandmother quickly rummaged through her store of herbs until she found the White Shield in a clay jar. The herb was crushed and mixed with crystallized honey. She remembered how to take it; she had to put a piece under her tongue before she met the person who wanted to read her mind. She thought there was nothing to lose. She tried and to her surprise when Csenge touched her hand, nothing happened. Csenge was not able to entirely read her mind. She couldn’t read the memories and thoughts my grandmother wanted to conceal.” Elana smiled.

“This is incredible! So I can go back, and when the Leaders touch me, I don’t have to be afraid that they will read my mind.” She looked toward Zoltan, who was smiling at her with relief.

“Yes, that’s correct. As long as you take the herb when you meet them, your mind will be safe from prying thoughts. They can read only what you let them or want them to know.”

“How does it work?”

“I’m not sure, but my grandmother told me that it reacts with something in the body that makes you anxious to hide certain memories. It creates a barrier around those memories and enables you not to think about them. For a probing mind, those memories are in the dark, as if they don’t even exist,” she explained.

“This is great. We got what we came for, but I don’t want to leave yet.”

“We can stay as long as you like,” Zoltan assured her. “You remember when I got back after dropping off Ema? For you, not even a split of a second went by, but I had two days’ worth of whiskers and beard. I like the electric shaver and didn’t want to use a sword or something to smooth my face.” He laughed.

“Okay, we’ll stay until tomorrow, and we can return to visit at other times too.”

Ema clapped, “Yay, I can tell and show you everything.”

Ilona laughed. “Yes, tell me everything. I want to know all about your fierce warrior too.”

Elana sniffed the air and stood up, “I think dinner is ready. We should eat first.”

Ema winked at Ilona playfully, “I’ll tell you everything after dinner. I’m starving.” She stood up and reached for her hand.

“I would like to use the bathroom to wash up first,” Ilona announced.

Elana looked at her and then turned to Ema questioningly. “Bathroom?”

“I’ll show you!” Ema jumped up, grabbing Ilona’s hand and pulling her up. “She means the private,” she explained to Elana, who nodded with a smile on her face.

They stepped back into their shoes and walked beneath a flap in the door. Ema led Ilona behind the Jurta toward the trees, lighting their way with an oil lamp. There was a small, rectangular wooden building separated from the rest. They entered, and Ilona looked around in amazement. She saw four stalls separated by leather sheets. She peeked into one of them and saw a wooden seat with a round hole cut out in the middle. On the side was a bag filled with white fluff. Ilona heard water trickling beneath. She shined the lamplight into the hole and saw a running creek.

“What an ingenious idea!” Ilona shouted.

“Oh, we have a shower and everything. I’ll show you later,” Ema beamed. Ilona noticed she said we and was surprised. Ema viewed herself as one of them already.

“You don’t happen to have tampons, do you?” Ilona asked teasingly.

“No, but the white fluff in the bag is wool. You can use it to clean yourself and use it as a pad also. It’s very comfortable.” she smiled.

Ilona chuckled, “And I was anxious about sending you to live with primitive people.”

“We’re far from primitive. You’ll see!”

“I can see it already. I’m quite impressed.”

“I bet you didn’t know that the Hunors were the first people to use underwear,” Ema added proudly. “Cleanliness and personal care are very important to them. It’s a very strict rule to wash and change underwear every day. The people here never eat or touch their faces without washing their hands first, because their belief is that being dirty and unkempt could open the gate for the invisible demons, which make people sick.”

Ilona was indeed amazed. How could they have known about germs? She always thought about the ancient Hunors as being primitive and savage people, sleeping and eating on horseback. Although she recalled the stories and rhymes, she’d heard, but she always thought they were just beautiful stories about long gone people.

By the time they got back to the house, Elana was busy serving dinner. She placed the steaming pot on the table and ladled the thick, aromatic stew into wooden bowls. “It is venison stew. I hope you like it.” She was proud of her creation.

Zoltan looked up at her and complimented, “It smells delicious.”

Ilona tasted the stew and soon forgot everything around her. She enjoyed the soft meat and vegetables cooked into the tasty meal. “Elza would kill for your recipe,” she told Elana after she wiped the bowl clean with a piece of flatbread.

“Kill?” Elana asked, alarmed.

“Oh, no, I meant it as a compliment. She would love to have your recipe.”

“I see, but she probably doesn’t have the herbs and spices I use,” Elana mentioned, and then looked at Ilona and asked, “I wonder why Healers stopped using herbs in your time.”

“We know about the healing properties of herbs, but we rarely use them. See, I recently turned twenty-nine years old and only then did I find out some of what I can do as a Hunor Healer. I see images in my mind, and I know what is wrong in the body. When I touch the sick body part, my fingers warm and light up, and some ways, I can heal the disease. I don’t know how it works yet. For now, I just accept that it does.”

“Didn’t your mother teach you about the herbs and incantations?”

“Unfortunately, she died ten years ago. She promised she would teach me, but she didn’t have a chance,” Ilona sighed.

“I’m sorry,” Elana sympathized. “The healing process must have been evolved; otherwise you couldn’t do it without training. My mother began teaching me when I was just a baby.”

“How do you heal?” I asked.

“When I look at people, I know what’s wrong in their bodies. I boil the appropriate herbs to make into tea and the sick person drinks it while I say the incantations to drive out the bad spirits, and then I ask the help of the spirits of our ancestors. When I feel their presence, I touch the inflicted person and the healing takes place.”

“The way I heal seems simpler. My hand becomes hot and glows while I ask permission from an unknown force to heal, and then I hear voices and see misty faces in my mind…”

“You can hear and see the Ancestors?!” Elana asked, excitedly.

“I don’t know who I’m seeing. It scared me at first, and I thought I was losing my mind. Now I’m getting used to seeing them.”

Elana’s face took on a dreamy expression. “They are the ancestors who passed on and are willing to help the living. I wish I could see them too. I feel their presence, though,” she sighed. So, nobody is using the healing herbs in your time?”

“Elza, the Seer, utilizes a lot of herbs. She uses them to see the future too, and she knows which herbs to use to prevent diseases in cooking and to drink as tea or take as extracts.”

“It’s very fascinating,” Elana added. “In my time the Seers are not allowed to know about the healing power of herbs, only the Healers can use them. Our Seer smokes herbs and mushrooms, which sends her into a trance. Well, 1600 years is a long time… our Seer talks about dark times around the 1000’s. Is it true?”

“I’m afraid so. According to our history, those were dark times and a lot of knowledge was lost because of it.”

Everyone sighed, turned quiet, and got lost in their thoughts.

Ema used the silence to get Ilona’s attention, “Can I talk now?” She asked, impatiently, looking at Elana apologizing with her eyes. Elana nodded, smiling. “I want to tell you everything,” Ema said, snuggling up to Ilona’s side.

“Okay, tell me about your mysterious warrior.” Ilona settled with her on fluffy pillows by the beds. They heard Zoltan explaining to Elana the concept of time travel.

Ema grabbed Ilona’s hand and began talking excitedly. “Well, he’s strong, and he is a fair leader. He has about a hundred men under his command for now and is in charge of the hunt and defense. Everybody likes him. His father is the King of this tribe, and Mundzuk is his heir. He will be a leader someday.”

“Do you like him?”

“Yes, I really do. He’s so easy to talk to. He always makes time to see me. We take long walks, and we talk. Ilona, I want to enjoy this. I don’t want to think about the past or the future. I know I could lose him when I go back home, but I never had a chance to talk to anyone like him. It might be a budding romance; I don’t know yet. Do you think it’s okay?”

“I don’t see why not. We don’t know what the future holds for us, so I think that you should enjoy the present, even though your present is in the past for the time being. There are very few written documents about this time. Some legends survived, according to Rua, and I remember he told me about Prince Mundzuk. His childhood was very vague, but there are a few written and spoken legends about the time when he was a young man and when he became his tribe’s King. Rua used to tell me stories about how brave and just he was.” Ilona encouraged Ema with a smile.

“You might be right. I worry too much,” Ema replied. “Oh, it’s just too serious for me. I only want to be a young girl who enjoys her first love.”

Ilona didn’t want to spoil her excitement with speculations.

Ema continued, “Okay, tell me about you. I always knew that you loved Bela. How does Zoltan fit into the picture?” she asked, switching to a more comfortable position on the pillows.

“I really don’t know yet,” Ilona confessed. “I’ve loved Bela in secret for so long that I don’t know how to deal with this.”

Ema giggled, “What a pair we are. Neither of us has any idea about love and relationships.”

“You can say that—seriously! I think we just have to follow our feelings and instincts. We’ll see what happens,” Ilona said, stifling a yawn.

“Okay… you can tell me about it some other time; I see that your eyes are getting droopy.” Ema stood up, “Let’s clean up and go to sleep.”

They walked to the alcove where the fireplace was, and Ema started washing the dishes in a basin by letting water trickle down from a large leather bag hanging from a beam. “See, we have a sink with running water. That’s how the shower works too.” Ilona offered to help, but Ema just laughed and pushed her away. “No, thanks, I enjoy this. Elza never let me do any domestic chores back home.”

Ilona, watched Ema, and thought of Bela and her love for him flared up with such force that it made her dizzy and confused. She looked at Zoltan, and she felt like he was a stranger to her. The strong feeling disappeared before she could grasp it. Sensing her stare, Zoltan turned to her with a distant and emotionless expression, but a moment later a warm smile spread on his face. They both looked away deeply in thoughts.

“It’s time to retire,” Elana reported, getting their attention. She stood up and turned to Ema asking her help to make the beds.

“I’ll take the floor; I’ll be fine.” Zoltan offered.

Elana nodded, “Then Ilona can sleep with Ema in her bed.”

Ema and Elana were getting the beds ready, and Ilona sat down close to Zoltan. She wanted to find out if that moment of cold feeling was for real or just caused by being in a different time. Zoltan leaned close to her and reached for her hand. His face glowed in the soft light. He kissed Ilona lightly but pulled back the second she pulled away. Ilona felt the connection between them as if the feeling of indifference never happened. She lifted her face and their lips met in a soft, warm kiss.

Elana pulled thick, heavy curtains between the beds for privacy and laid bedclothes out for them. They were thin, soft shirts. “Peaceful sleep, everyone,” she said, blowing out the lamps one by one. She left one burning, which gave a soft and comfortable light to the room.

Ilona changed and climbed under the butter soft animal skin cover. She felt cozy and warm. Ema snuggled up to her and soon began taking slower breaths.

Erika M Szabo

https://authorerikamszabo.com

Erika loves to dance to her own tunes and follow her dreams, introducing her story-writing skills and her books that are based on creative imagination with themes such as magical realism, alternate history, urban fantasy, cozy mystery, sweet romance, and supernatural stories. Her children’s stories are informative, and educational, and deliver moral values in a non-preachy way.

Hope for a Better Christmas

 When nothing else is left but hope

The gentle glow of the morning sun filtered through the moth-eaten curtains, dancing across Anna’s face and causing her to sneeze. She reached out lazily, pulling the covers up to her chin savoring the warmth that enveloped her. For a blissful moment, she allowed herself to let go of all worries and simply bask in the comfort of her bed. But as the outside world began to creep in, reality nudged at her perfect moment, threatening to shatter it with its demands.

***

Before the war, they lived in a comfortable two-story house in bustling Budapest. Michael, with his strong build, worked as a railroad engineer while Anna, petite yet fierce, was employed as a skilled seamstress. Together they raised two bright and lively children - Sammy, a curious six-year-old with sandy blonde hair, and Barbara, a sweet four-year-old with big blue eyes. But then, their idyllic life shattered. Michael was called to serve, and Anna spent her days hiding in the musty basement with their children, never knowing if each passing moment could be their last. The once vibrant city was now a shadow of its former self, fear and uncertainty filling every corner.

The grueling months of trying to stay alive took a toll on everyone. Looters quickly emptied the stores, offering food for jewelry and other valuables. The once friendly and helpful neighbors didn’t care for others anymore; they fought for every bite.

As the sun slowly rose on the desolate streets, Anna ventured out in search of anything edible to feed her starving children. The air was thick with the stench of decay and despair, and she felt a constant pang of fear gnawing at her insides.

Suddenly, she noticed her old neighbor across the street, sitting on the steps of his house, shoulders shaking as he sobbed uncontrollably. "They threw me out," he whimpered between gasping breaths. "My son said there's not enough food for us all, and I should just be on the street waiting to be hit by a bomb or jump under one of the tanks patrolling the streets. I have nowhere to go, maybe I should just…"

Hearing his words, Anna's heart ached with empathy. This man had always been kind to them, often surprising her children with small toys that brought joy to their difficult lives.

"There, there..." she consoled him gently, offering a comforting hug. "We don't have much ourselves, but you can stay with us."

While Anna went out in search of sustenance, John kept the children entertained with his animated storytelling. But when she returned with only a small sack of potatoes - exchanged for her last remaining possession, a simple ring - their future became even more uncertain.

"I don't have anything left," Anna cried tearfully. "What are we going to do now?"

John's voice was heavy with concern as he asked, "Have you heard anything from Michael?"

The woman shook her head, her eyes downcast. "Not since he left," she replied, her voice trembling. "I'm not even sure he's still alive."

Determination flickered across John's face as he made a decision. "I'll go over to my house tonight," he announced with conviction. "I was weak when I let him throw me out because I thought he was right. I lived a long life, and it was time for me to step out of the way. But you took me in and showed more kindness than my own flesh and blood. I'm going to beg him. If there is some of the gold I gave him, still left, he can't be so stone hearted to refuse to help your children."

But John's son had a heart of stone. His words reverberated in John’s mind like a sharp slap in the face. “Why are you still alive?” he shouted from behind the closed door, his voice laced with bitterness and resentment.

John could feel his heart clenched at the sound, knowing that their once close family had been torn apart.

“How could you be so cruel to your own father?” John's voice broke as he cried out in disbelief. His eyes were red and swollen from tears, his chest heaving with emotion. “I raised you and did everything I could for you. All I’m asking now is some of the gold I saved for hard times like this,” he begged, his voice cracking with desperation.

“That gold is mine! You’re old, you lived long enough. I have to feed my wife and kids.” His son’s voice was cold, unfeeling. “Why can’t you just do the right thing?”

John's heart ached as he shuffled across the deserted street, his sobs echoing through the empty buildings. He had never imagined that his own son would turn him away in his time of need. “My own son! My flesh and blood,” he whispered, tears streaming down his wrinkled cheeks.

Anna let the old man in through the back door and tried to console him. “We’ll get by, somehow,” she whispered, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.

That night, they huddled close to each other in the dark basement, the air thick with fear and tension. They could hear explosions and gunfire outside, the sounds getting closer with each passing minute.

“That was very close,” Anna cried out in terror, hugging her children tightly to her chest.

“Momma, I’m scared!” Little Barbara screamed in fright as the building above them shook violently.

But despite their fear, they held onto each other tightly amidst the chaos of war raging outside.

“Shh…don’t be scared, munchkin, I’m here. We’ll be alright,” Anna cooed choking back her tears.

The bombing stopped around midnight, and the children fell into a restless sleep. Sammy trashed and whimpered in his sleep and Barbara clung to her mother.

John crept to the small, cloudy basement window at the first sign of dawn and looked out. “Anna!” he cried out. “My house…”

“What is it, John?” Anna asked, frightened.

“It’s gone! My house…the bomb that hit close last night,” the old man wept.

The streets were quiet when John went looking for his son and his family. He couldn’t find any sign of life, only rubble strewn around and a deep crater where the bomb hit the house. He searched for a long time, falling over broken bricks, and calling their names to no avail.

“They’re all dead,” he sobbed when giving up returned to Anna and her children. “The house he wanted so badly killed him.”

Just when all hope seemed lost, Anna's heart skipped a beat at the sound of a weak voice coming from the street and saw a crouched figure desperately trying to look inside. “Anna!” They heard a man’s voice. “Dear God, let them be alive.”

“Michael?” Anna jumped up and ran to the window. “Michael, is that you?”

“Yes, thank you, Lord! The children?”

“We’re all fine,” Anna sobbed, her heart bursting with joy. “I’ll open the back door,” she shouted and ran up the stairs.

As she hugged her husband tightly, Anna's breath caught in her throat when she noticed Michael's missing left arm. His uniform's sleeve hung empty, a painful reminder of the horrors of war. But in that moment of reunion and gratitude for their survival, it didn't matter - they were alive and together, and that was all that truly mattered.

“We were under attack and the medic couldn’t get there on time. He couldn’t save my arm…he had to cut it off and they discharged me,” he whispered.

“It doesn’t matter!” Anna cried out, smiling at him through tears. “You’re alive and you’re here. Come, the children will be so happy to see you.”

After they filled their stomachs with the food Michael had in his bag, they discussed the possibilities.

“The war is not going to end soon,” Michael said. “We have to leave the city.”

At those words, John's shoulders slumped, and sobs wracked his body. But deep down, he knew Michael was right - his family needed a place where they could truly be safe. A place where they wouldn't have to constantly fear for their lives.

John bowed his head and broke out in tears. “You’re right, Michael. Your family needs a safe place.”

“You’re coming with us,” Anna's voice wavered, but her determination was clear. “We’re now your family.”

With their meager belongings carefully packed into a hand-pulled wagon, they set out on their journey away from the city. The nights offered a brief respite, as they traveled quietly on foot with their children nestled atop the wagon, exhausted and believing this was all just a bad dream. But as dawn broke each day, reality set in once again.

The path ahead was treacherous - rocky terrain and winding roads leading them through thick forests and abandoned towns. They sought shelter wherever they could find it - under fallen tree branches or in dilapidated buildings, always on guard for any danger that may lurk nearby.

As they journeyed, they faced desperation at every turn - food was scarce and stores were closed, leaving them to scavenge what little sustenance they could find in the countryside. Each day brought new challenges and dangers, but they persevered with hopeful hearts set on finding a safe place for their family. The weight of uncertainty hung heavily in the air, but they held onto each other tightly, knowing that as long as they had each other, they could face whatever came their way.

Tucked away in the remote northeast corner of the country, they finally arrived at the small, mountainous village where Michael had spent his childhood. As they made their way through the quaint streets, curious faces peered out from behind curtains and doorways, watching their arrival with suspicion. When they came to a stop at the weathered gates of Michael's family home, six burly men charged towards them wielding pitchforks and axes.

"What business do you have here?" The man who appeared to be their leader barked, his stance defensive. "We don't need no strangers here. Move on!"

But Michael recognized his old classmate from school. "We're not strangers, Paul!" He called out. "It's me, Michael Varga. We were buddies back in elementary school. This is my parent's house."

There was a brief exchange of hushed whispers among the group of men before their leader spoke again. "We don't want you here, city boy! Especially now that you’re a cripple," He spat out the words with contempt. "You abandoned your hometown so stay out! We have enough mouths to feed as it is."

“What are we going to do?” Anna whispered, holding onto Michael’s arm. “We can’t fight them. They’re going to hurt us.”

“They’re hostile,” he whispered back. “My parents had a haunting lodge up in the mountain. We’ll find it.”

The small family was watched closely as they started moving, their steps heavy and hesitant. Michael took the lead, pulling the wagon with determination, while Anna and John pushed from behind with all their strength. Sammy and Barbara huddled together, whimpering softly as they clung to each other in fear, refusing to look at the group of men tracking their every move.

As the sun began to sink toward the horizon, casting an orange glow over the rugged landscape, they finally reached their destination - a decaying building with peeling paint and broken windows. The once vibrant garden that had been Michael's mother's pride and joy was now a tangle of overgrown weeds, a stark reminder of the passing of his beloved parents fifteen years ago. The air was thick with a sense of sadness and loss as they gazed upon the empty shell of what was once a thriving homestead.

They entered the small house in gratitude for the roof over their heads. The walls were weathered and cracked, with patches of peeling paint revealing the faded wood underneath. Outside, wild plants twisted and tangled around each other, a stark contrast to the once neatly cultivated garden.

Despite the wild overgrowth of vegetation surrounding the house, they still managed to find fruits, corn, and some vegetables that reseed themselves year after year.

“People in the village have probably forgotten about this place,” Anna pondered, her voice laced with unease. “Otherwise, they would’ve taken everything.”

Michael’s face grew serious as he replied, “Yes, more than likely...” He gently stroked his wife’s back. “And let’s keep it that way. This house is far enough from the village. They don’t need to know we’re here until we can learn more about the people who still live there. There are bad people everywhere, and I can’t protect you all with only one arm.” Tears welled up in his eyes as he thought of the danger they were in, but he quickly wiped them away and put on a brave face.

Anna wrapped her arms tightly around her husband, children, and the old man she learned to respect and love, tears streaming down her face. “We’ll get by,” she sobbed, holding onto her family.

Despite the harsh winter ahead, they persevered and were able to carefully pack away enough food to sustain them through the long months. Michael found the root cellar stocked with jars of pickled vegetables, bags of dried beans and lentils, and even some canned meats that Michael’s mother had wisely stowed away for emergencies. They also found hidden treasures in the basement. Bags of salt, sugar, and various spices would add flavor to their otherwise plain meals.

The children took part in the hard work and gathered wild berries in the woods with John. One day, they stumbled upon two scrawny hens and excitedly carried them home as if they were prized possessions.

“Mommy, mommy!” Sammy burst into the kitchen, his face beaming with pride. “Look what we found!”

“Oh, perhaps they ran away from the village,” Anna wondered.

“Or maybe they’re the grand chickens of my mom’s hen that escaped from the butcher knife when I was a kid.” Michael laughed.

Barbara eagerly chimed in, “Can we cook chicken soup?”

But Anna’s frown quickly put a halt to the little girl’s plans. “I think we better keep those hens,” she said thoughtfully. “They will lay eggs, and maybe I can use some corn flour to bake a cake for Christmas.” The mere thought of having something special to celebrate lifted everyone’s spirits and made all their hard work worth it.

***

Anna gazed at her husband lovingly. His chest was rising and falling in a steady rhythm as he lightly snored beside her. She smiled softly, thinking of all the struggles they had faced together - the rundown house with its leaking roof, the constant struggle to put enough food on the table for their growing children. But none of it could overpower the love she felt for her family. She knew they would get through this, as they always had before. With a sigh, she pushed aside the warm blanket, rose from the bed, and shivered when her bare feet touched the cold floor.

Reaching for her clothes, she quickly dressed, preparing herself for whatever challenges lay ahead. In the quiet of the kitchen, she took a moment to savor the peacefulness that surrounded her before beginning another day of hard work with unwavering determination.

As tears welled up in her eyes, she couldn’t help but think of her young children and husband, out in the forest every day collecting fallen branches in the snow to keep their home warm.

The fire was soon crackling in the wood stove, and Anna wasted no time in getting started on their usual breakfast: creamy grits. The smell of cooking corn filled the air as she stirred the pot with practiced hands. Despite the hardships they faced, she found solace in these small moments and felt grateful for the simple joys in life.

Suddenly, her heart started beating faster when she heard footsteps and stumping feet by the door. “It’s me.” She sighed in relief when she heard John’s voice.

“I didn’t hear you going out,” Anna said watching the old man as he dragged a small pine tree through the door.

“If my calculation is correct, today is Christmas Eve,” John smiled, his eyes misting over.

“Oh, John,” Anna hugged the old man.

John cleared his throat and wiped his eyes. “The war destroyed my family, but I still don’t know why, fate let me survive. Let’s make the best of the time I have left. The children need a Christmas tree to restore some normalcy in their lives.”

As the sun rose over the frosty forest, Sammy and Barbara eagerly put on their hats and gloves to venture out into the winter wonderland surrounding their home. They strode through the fresh snow, their breaths creating puffs of white in the crisp air, collecting pinecones along the way.

The children's excitement was contagious as they returned home, bringing their treasures with them to decorate the tree. With each pinecone, small apples, and cutout snowflakes from old paper placed carefully on the branches, they sang Christmas Carols with joy and enthusiasm. Meanwhile, Anna busied herself in the kitchen, the scent of warm spices and freshly baked rabbit, pumpkin, and potatoes filling the cozy house.

Finally, after dinner, the family gathered around to enjoy the long-awaited cake together. Each bite was savored, the sweetness of the treat matched only by the love shared between them.

When Christmas morning arrived, the children's eyes widened with delight at the sight of presents waiting for them under the tree. John had spent hours carving intricate animal figurines from softwood, while Michael had crafted snowshoes for them. And Anna, always resourceful, had discovered a bundle of wool yarn hidden away by her mother-in-law long ago, using it to knit cozy scarves and hats for her beloved children.

Although fate had thrown many life-altering challenges at them, they never lost hope for peace and a better future. 

Erika M Szabo

https://authorerikamszabo.com

Erika loves to dance to her own tunes and follow her dreams, introducing her story-writing skills and her books that are based on creative imagination with themes such as magical realism, alternate history, urban fantasy, cozy mystery, sweet romance, and supernatural stories. Her children’s stories are informative, and educational, and deliver moral values in a non-preachy way.

Let Them Be Children

 Reading digital versus printed books

During a visit with my friend and her eight-year-old daughter, I had an idea. Her mother mentioned that she had a Kindle app, so I decided to gift one of my bilingual children's books to her. The little girl glanced up from playing a game on her iPad when I told her about the book but then went back to scrolling through the screen. She politely said thank you as she opened her Kindle app and skimmed through the digital pages. However, when I handed her the same book in paperback form, her face lit up with excitement. She quickly flipped through the pages, admiring the colorful illustrations, and then put her iPad aside to fully focus on reading the paperback book.

The number of children reading physical books has decreased in recent years. What impact does this trend have?

Many students think they are better readers when using screens. Their belief is rooted in the fact that they can read faster on a screen. However, this speed is achieved through scrolling, word spotting, skimming, and scanning, rather than deep reading. This means it is essential to develop strong print reading skills and then adapt them for digital screens.

The journey toward reading begins long before formal instruction. Physical books are the most beneficial for young children, followed by audio resources, with digital reading coming in last. This is because of a complex balance at play here. On one hand, tablets and other devices may be more enticing to young readers, but on the other hand, they promote passive engagement. It's like a double-edged sword: while technology taps into our innate novelty reflex as humans, this can be detrimental to a child's development as it hinders their ability to focus. Instead of fostering concentration and learning, they become accustomed to distractions and fleeting novelty.

After the child closes the screen, the most frequently uttered words are "I'm bored." Why is that? Because they have been overly stimulated. Up until age five, excessive screen time can actually hinder a child's ability to focus their attention on tasks. It has become evident that technology use during these formative years can lead to the opposite outcome of what we desire for children in terms of attention and concentration.

Let children use their imagination

Allow children to be children, to play, read, and use their creativity, while teaching them important morals. Do not expect them to act like mini-adults who can make life-changing choices at such a young age. Let them have fun pretending to be superheroes, mermaids, or animals, but remind them that it is all make-believe. They will outgrow this phase soon enough. Until then, let them believe in Santa and enjoy their childhood innocence.

My children's stories are about acceptance, friendship, family, and moral values such as accepting people with disabilities, dealing with bullies, and not judging others before getting to know them.

Erika M Szabo

https://authorerikamszabo.com

Erika loves to dance to her own tunes and follow her dreams, introducing her story-writing skills and her books that are based on creative imagination with themes such as magical realism, alternate history, urban fantasy, cozy mystery, sweet romance, and supernatural stories. Her children’s stories are informative and educational and deliver moral values in a non-preachy way.

A Baker House Christmas

A short story by Robert Allen Lupton 

Story cover by Erika M Szabo

Christmas didn’t come early to the Baker Orphanage on 12th Street during the Great Depression. It hadn’t come at all during the three years I’d lived there. Freddie was the oldest, he'd had been there the longest, and he said that he didn’t remember a Christmas Tree or even a special meal.

I guessed that most folks were too busy being hungry themselves to worry about a couple dozen kids, but I didn’t figure that Santa Claus was one of them. It seemed to me that he was too fat and too jolly to be hungry. Mabel had a book about Santa Claus that she’d brought with her after smallpox took her parents. Santa had plenty of food and mountains of candy.

I asked to read it the December when I was ten. She carefully removed the old newspapers she kept the book wrapped in. “You can, Max, but wash your hands. Don’t take it outside. Don’t believe everything you read. The book says that Santa brings presents to every child in the world on Christmas Eve. He doesn’t, at least not to kids like us.”

I read it twice. It wasn’t right that Santa didn’t bring us stuff. We needed Christmas worse than anyone I knew. The rest of the kids at Baum Elementary wore new clothes every January. New bicycles were on the bike racks and new gloves and bats were on the playgrounds. I decided that enough was enough.

It was the week after Thanksgiving, not that I had anything to be thankful for and I recruited two other orphans who were members of our secret club, the Baker House Irregulars. Mabel had told us about Sherlock Holmes and the kids who helped him, the Baker Street Irregulars. Eight of us who were nine and ten years old adopted the name and swore great oaths to protect each other. Besides Mabel and me, there were three other boys and three girls, Danny, Ray, Dolores, Janey, Bobby, and Audrey. So far, the only thing we’d done was to convince the older kids that if they picked on one of us, they had to deal with all of us.

Anyway, Danny, Bobby, and I confronted Carl Richardson after school by the bike rack. “Carl, that’s a nice Schwinn bicycle. Where’d you get it?”

“None of your beeswax, Max, but I got it for Christmas last year. Got a catcher’s mitt, too. Just what I wanted.”

“So, how did Santa Clause know what you wanted?”

“Easy, Stupido. You go down to Bamberger’s Department Store. Santa works there on weekends. You sit on his lap, tell him what you want, and if you’ve been good, he leaves it under your Christmas tree. Easy peasy!”

Danny’s eyes lit up for a moment, but then he asked, “Carl, what if we don’t have a Christmas tree?”

“Everyone has a Christmas tree. Now leave me alone. I'm late for piano practice.’

I called a meeting that night after lights-out at the orphanage. The eight of us gathered in the workroom. No one would ever think that kids would hide in a workroom. I told the Irregulars what we’d learned from Carl.

Bobby said, “This isn’t going to be that hard. We'll sneak out on Saturday and go to Bamberger’s. We’ll tell Santa what we want for Christmas. I figure the reason we don’t get no presents is because we haven’t been asking for them.”

Dolores shook her head. “You said he leaves presents under a Christmas tree. We don’t have a tree.”

“We can ask Santa for a tree or we can make our own. The boys can cut down a little tree and we can make ornaments out of paper and tin cans.” Mabel replied.

“Good plan,” I said. “Saturday morning we’ll get up early and finish our chores. We’ll tell the staff, especially that nosey Miss Blaine, that we’re going to the park. It’s only a half mile from Bamberger’s. If we hurry, we can tell Santa what we want and be back in time for lunch.”

Saturday morning came and the Baker House Irregulars were up at dawn, sweeping, washing, dusting, and picking up trash. Miss Blaine was suspicious of our newly found commitment to cleanliness, but she decided not to question a good thing. Right at ten o’clock, Audrey, the youngest Irregular, said, “Miss Blaine, we’ve finished the chores. May we go to the playground at Redbud Park. We’ll be back for lunch.

Miss Blaine, harried by her responsibilities, wasn’t averse to having a group of children out from underfoot for a couple of hours. She shifted the crying infant she held from one arm to the other and wrinkled her nose at the smell.

“Certainly. Don’t fight with the other children and don’t be late for lunch. Mable, change this diaper and put her in her crib. Max, you’re the oldest and you’re in charge. I don’t want to hear about any problems. You don’t want me to get the paddle.”

I said, “Yes, Miss Blain. I mean no, Miss Blain. No problems. We’ll be good.”

Mabel took the baby from Miss Blain. “Max, wait for me by the sidewalk. I’ll hurry.” She hurried upstairs to the infants’ room and the rest of us trooped out the door and waited on the sidewalk.

The morning was off to a good start, but things went downhill after that. It was one of the worst days of my life, and growing up in a small-town orphanage was a life filled with bad days. My first memory of that morning was how cold I was. The north wind carried the first bluster of winter. None of us wore good coats and there weren’t two mittens to share amongst us. I stamped my feet to keep warm. I hoped it didn’t rain because the soles of my oversized shoes were mostly newspaper I’d stuffed inside. Hand-me-down clothes are often threadbare and mine were no exception. We all faced away from the wind like cattle and huddled like sheep to keep warm.

Mable came soon enough. Janey asked, “What’s the baby’s name?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t ask. There’s no point. You know that, unlike us, infants get adopted right away. The baby could be in a home with a Christmas tree before we have lunch.”

“That’s not fair,” complained Bobby,

I just shook my head. “Bobby, you know things don’t have to be fair.”

“Yeah, but I don’t have to like it.”

“No, you don’t, but you do have to live with it.”

I’d swear that it was uphill and into the wind all the way to Bamberger’s and back. I know that isn’t possible, but my ears burned, and my nose ran. I kept my hands in my armpits to keep them warm.

We walked in the front door of the department store and luxuriated in the heat. My fingers and toes still tingle remembering how good it felt. Mabel pointed to a sign with an arrow. It said Santa. She didn’t have to say a word. We followed her down aisles festooned with more clothing, toys, appliances, and tools that I thought existed in the whole world.

Santa was seated on a throne and behind him were a million bicycles. A red rope looped between candy canes and four people dressed like elves directed traffic. We joined the line behind the other children.

When it came Mabel’s turn, an elf said, “I don’t see your parents. Where are they?”

“They’re not here. I came with my friends.”

“I’m sorry, young lady, but no one may see Santa Claus unless they’re accompanied by a parent.”

Tears welled up in her eyes. “I’m an orphan. Please, I just want to see Santa.”

“Again, I’m sorry. Store policy, you understand. I’ll be fired if I let you through. Have an adult from the orphanage come with you.”

Mabel crossed her arms. “I’m not moving until I talk to Santa.”

The rest of us crossed our arms defiantly. The elf yelled for security. I knew it wouldn’t end well and it didn’t. Worst day ever.

Four men arrived quickly. The elf explained the problem. A man said, “You kids can walk to the door, or we can carry you, but either way you’re leaving. Children your age aren’t even allowed in the store without adult supervision.”

There’s defiant and there’s stupid. I didn’t see any reason to get thrown out and then get paddled at the orphanage. “Mabel, let’s go. We’ll ask Miss Blain to come back with us.”

“She won’t. You know that, Max.”

“She probably won’t, but we aren’t going to win this. Let’s just go.”

She nodded, held her head up, and led the rest of us toward the door. I looked back. Santa was busy talking to a little girl. I don’t think he ever knew we were there. Audry and Bobby cried on the way to the orphanage. The store had called Miss Blain, and she was standing on the front porch with her paddle in hand. Like I said, worst day ever.

A couple of weeks later, Ray sat down at breakfast. “I’m mad. I’ve thought about it and I’m mad. We may be second-class citizens, but that doesn’t mean people should treat us that way. Just because we wear old worn-out clothes doesn’t make us bad people. We need Santa more than any other kids in town. If we don’t do something about it, it means that they’re right to treat us that way.”

Bobby swallowed a bite of overcooked powdered eggs. “Yeah, so what are we gonna do?”

“If we can’t have Santa, no one can. We’re gonna kidnap him. If we don’t get Christmas, nobody gets Christmas.”

“How are we gonna do that?” said Audrey. He’s an adult and we’re kids. We’ll just get in trouble again.”

“I’ve got a plan. The city parks the rubbish carts just down the street from Bamberger’s. We’ll steal a cart. We’ll wait outside the department store until it closes. When Santa comes out, we distract him, push him in the cart, and wheel him off. Eight of us can hold him down and tie him up. We’ll hide him in the barn, tell him what we want for Christmas, and won’t let him loose until he promises.”

I chugged the pretend orange juice. “Ray, that has to be the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard. I’m in. Let’s do it.”

***

December 24th and the Baker House Irregulars had a mission. We snuck out right after dark and braved the cold. Bobby and Janey went to get an empty rubbish cart. Dolores and Bobby fetched ropes from the barn and the rest of us went straight to Bamberger’s to wait for Santa.

The eight of us were hiding together when the security guard unlocked the door and Santa walked out. Santa said, “Have a good night, Jimmy. I need to be on my way. I’ve got reindeer to feed and a sleigh to load. I need to start delivering presents.”

Jimmy laughed, “Sure thing. Don’t forget me. I need a new percolator and a couple of pounds of coffee.”

Santa nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.”

We put our plan into action. Delores sat on the sidewalk with a broken doll in her hands. She cried. Santa stopped and said, “What’s the matter, honey?”

She held up the doll, the body in one hand and the one-eyed head in the other. “She hurts.”

“Where are your parents?”

Delores cried louder, stood, and shoved the pieces at Santa. He did what most people would have done, he took them.

Delores wrapped her arms around his knees, I jumped on his back and pulled his stocking hat down over his face. Ray wheeled the garbage cart in front of him. Delores moved away and I dropped off his back. It took six of us to lift and dump him head-first into the cart. All eight of us wheeled the cart down the street.

Santa’s feet kicked in the air for the first few minutes, but then they stopped. Janey whispered, “He’s stopped fighting. Did we kill him?”

Mabel snorted. “You can’t kill Santa Clause. He’s magic.”

The lights were out at the orphanage when we wheeled Santa into the barn. We lit three candles and tied Santa’s feet so that he couldn’t run. We tipped the cart onto its side and dragged him out. The girls sat on him while Bobby and Ray tied his hands. We propped him up. Ray said, “Don’t yell. If you yell, we’ll stuff a rag in your mouth.”

Santa smirked. “To what do I owe the honor.”

“This is a kidnapping,” said Mabel. “We’re holding Christmas hostage. You have to pay a ransom.”

Santa didn’t even try to free himself. “What ransom?”

“We’re orphans. They wouldn’t let us talk to you at the store because we don’t have parents. We know that if we don’t tell you what we want for Christmas, then we don’t get a Christmas. The ransom is that we’re gonna tell you what we want and you’re gonna promise to bring it to us. Deal.”

“I could lie and say deal, but I’m just a department store Santa.”

“You saying that you’re not really Santa Claus.”

“Not exactly. Every man who dresses as Santa Claus and keeps Christmas in his heart is a real Santa.”

Ray held a candle near Santa’s face. ‘You’re the only Santa we’ve got. Listen, the first thing we want is a Christmas tree. I want a bicycle, a good one, a Schwinn.”

Audry went next. Santa patiently listened to each of us. His appearance changed as he listened. His eyes were brighter. His beard sparkled like it was covered with glitter and his cheeks grew redder.

I went last and wished for new shoes and a bicycle. Then I said, “There are another dozen kids at the Baker House. They deserve Christmas too. I don’t know what they want, but the real Santa will know. Bring them presents and bring something for Miss Blain. She’d be nicer if she was happier.”

“And what if I can’t bring presents to everyone?”

I was afraid he’d say something like that. “Well, in that case, don’t bring me anything. Bring presents for the other kids.”

“My goodness, an unselfish wish for Christmas. That changes things. It’s time for you to let me go. Christmas is waiting and whether I’m the real Santa Claus or only his helper, I can’t give anyone presents if I’m tied up inside a barn.”

Mabel crossed her arms. “We’ve done everything we can. They’ll probably lock us up tomorrow but let him go.”

Santa quivered and the ropes fell away. He looked different. His eyes twinkled like stars, and his beard became neater, better combed, and it glittered in the light. He stood up straight. His red felt suit became velvet and the cotton cuffs and accents changed to ermine fur. His buttons and belt buckle were no longer badly painted celluloid, they were polished brass. His worn boots were polished so brightly that I could see the candlelight dancing in them.

He laughed. “I’m starting late. You’ve delayed me. I assume that the eight you are willing to help me make up for the lost time.”

Mabel spoke in a whisper. “You’re different. Are you the real Santa Claus? What happened to the Santa from Bamberger’s?”

“Like he said, young lady. Every man who dresses as Santa can be the real Santa if his heart is in the right place. Max’s wish was the crowning touch, and here I am. Are you going to help me or not?”

We not only agreed to help, we begged to do so. Audry whined, “There’s no sleigh.”

Santa waved at the garbage cart and the air filled with sparkling dust. A beautiful sleigh stood where the garbage cart had been. “I’ve got a sleigh. What I don’t have is reindeer. I need eight reindeer and there are eight of you. Are you willing to be my reindeer for one Christmas Eve?”

Janey asked, “Will I remember being a reindeer? Will it hurt"”

“Yes. Dear, for the rest of your life, and no, no it won't hurt.”

“Yes, please. What do I have to do?”

“Once you’ve become reindeer, you’ll pull my sleigh. I’ll magically attach the harnesses and reins. I’ll use the reins to tell you what to do.”

Bobby stood in front of the sleigh. “I’ve never been a reindeer. I don’t know how to obey commands from reins.”

Santa laughed again and this time it was a full belly laugh. “Donkeys and oxen can learn how to pull a cart. You look smarter than a donkey. You’ll be fine. Okay, now, everyone join Bobby in front of the sleigh.”

Quicker than it takes to say it, we were reindeer. The world was different. The smell of an owl’s nest with two owlets exploded in my nose. The other reindeer each had its distinct scent. Mabel smelled in charge and Audry smelled afraid. Santa smelled like cinnamon, cloves, and vanilla, with a hint of Prince Edward pipe tobacco.

It was quiet and noisy at the same time. The impatient shuffling steps from my fellow reindeer rang on the floor as clear as a church bell. Santa’s velvet suit slithered when he raised or lowered his arms. Mice scampered inside the walls. I sniffed the sleigh, and it didn’t smell like the garbage cart, it smelled like cookies fresh from the oven. I liked being a reindeer.

I turned my head to talk to Mabel, but I couldn't speak. The best I could muster was a neigh, a whinny, and then a snort. Mabel snorted back.

Santa hopped in the sleigh, snapped his fingers, and the interconnected harnesses comfortably attached us to each other and the sleigh. The harness was black leather and trimmed with hundreds of small gold jingle bells. We were harnessed two by two. Santa wiggled the reins gently and said, “Showtime! Out the door and into the sky. We’ve got places to go.”

A quick gust of wind swirled through the barn, the candles went out and the door popped open. My feet were in the air before I was outside. I never touched the ground again until morning.

I never got over that night. I loved to fly. It’s the reason that I joined the Army Air Corps right at the end of World War Two. So did Mabel. I flew fighters and Mabel became a WASP. She delivered aircraft all over Europe, but women weren’t allowed to fly missions. One Christmas Eve, I was shot down near Antwerp. She stole a Grumman Hellcat, flew it across the English Channel, and landed it on a dirt road. I have no idea how she found me, but she did. That’s a story for another time. She likes to tell it to our three kids on Christmas mornings.

It was only one night, but it seemed to last forever. We made an amazingly quick tour of the United States. Niagara Falls was beautiful, and Washington DC was brighter than a sack of new pennies. Santa brought us in low enough over New Orleans that we could hear the music from the French Quarter. Those people never sleep.

We circled Big Ben and the Eiffel Tower. Paris gleamed in the moonlight. Germany was busy, smoke billowed from the factories, and the trains rushed from town to town. Santa did a splash and dash on the Danube. We flew so low that the sled’s runners and our feet just touched the top of the river. Beautiful.

We didn’t land anywhere, and Santa didn’t go from door to door, well I should say that he didn’t go from chimney to chimney. Every few minutes, another sleigh and another Santa flew up from the ground. Our Santa and the new Santa greeted each other and then our Santa tossed a sack to the new Santa. The sack grew bigger before it landed in the other sled. No matter how fast we flew, Santa never missed a toss.

He lit his pipe, puffed a couple of times, and said, “Maxie, I know what you’re thinking. You’re wondering if I’m the real Santa Claus, then who are all these other men dressed like me riding in other reindeer-driven sleighs? Well, Maxie, the world is a big place, and it gets bigger every year. Three hundred years ago, I could do this by myself. Remember when the Bamberger Santa, he’s actually Mr. Campbell from the hardware department, said, ‘Everyman who wears the suit and has Christmas in his heart can be the real Santa.’ That’s mostly true, but not every one of them every year. I choose the ones I need and deputize them, you might say. Like the eight of you, they’re my helpers for the night. Only some of them will remember being Santa Claus, but even those who don’t will remember it as the best Christmas they’ve ever had. I think of them as subordinate Clauses.”

I snorted twice and chuffed once. “Take it easy,” Santa chuckled. “I promised you that you’d remember tonight, and you will. Now, full speed, please. Russia is waiting.”

The night was an endless stream of glistening minarets, sparkling mosques, castles, hovels, stair-stepped pagodas, temples, city streets, and country roads. A fleet of outrigger canoes raced us in Polynesia for a few brief seconds as we island-hopped across the Pacific.  Santa sped under the almost completed Golden Gate Bridge in San Franciso, met three more subordinate Clauses over Chicago, and then said, “That’s the last stop. Only a few minutes to dawn and you need to be in bed before Miss Blain wakes up.”

I shook my head and said neigh. Santa laughed. “Maxie, Christmas comes when it comes, ready or not, and it ends when it ends. The night is over. Thank you for your help and Merry Christmas.”

Suddenly I wasn’t a reindeer anymore. I was Max, the orphan, and I was falling. I’d had falling dreams before and always woke up just before I hit the ground. This one ended the same way and I jerked myself upright with my fists clenched. I was in my bed in the boy’s dormitory at the orphanage. It was cold and the soft pinkish–gray light of dawn dimly lit the room through the frost-covered windows.

I was upset, thinking my Christmas Eve adventure had only been a dream. I glanced around and everyone was still asleep except Bobby, Ray, and Danny. Danny had tears in his eyes. He mumbled, “Did I just dream about being a reindeer and helping Santa Claus?”

Mabel answered from the open doorway. “No, it was real. Look!” She opened her hand, and she held a small gold jingle bell.

I unclenched my fists. I had a jingle bell in one hand. All of us did. The bells were heavy.

“Tree,” said Bobby. “There has to be a tree.”

The eight of us tiptoed downstairs. No reason to wake up Miss Blain until we had to.

The big front room was the same as it always was. No tree and no presents, but Miss Blain was already up. She held the front door open. Mr. Campbell and two other men carried the Christmas tree from Bamberger’s into the orphanage. “Merry Christmas, kids. We didn’t need the tree after Christmas Eve, and I asked Mr. Bamberger if I could bring it here. Where should we put it?”

Mabel ran to the picture window and shouted, “Here, please put it here. When people go by, they’ll see that we have a Christmas tree.”

Mr. Campbell smiled and said, “That’s not all. It was a slow Christmas season. The truck is filled with bicycles, gloves, dolls, toys, sweaters, shoes, and maybe a ton of Christmas candy. You’d be doing me a favor if I could leave it all here. If that’s okay, you can help unload the truck while I get the tree set up.”

He didn’t have to tell us twice. We were out the door like a herd of hungry reindeer.

Christmas was wonderful. Miss Blain was cheerful, and she let Mabel take charge of passing out the presents. It turned out that there was exactly the right amount of everything for every child at the orphanage to get exactly what they wanted.

Mr. Campbell stayed almost all day with us. He assembled bicycles, played catch, and taught the young boys how to spin a top and shoot marbles. He and Miss Blain kept sneaking little glances at each other. Maybe Miss Blain would get what she wanted for Christmas too.

Before noon, Mabel handed out the last doll and gave Freddie, the oldest orphan, the last pair of shoes, which were exactly the right size.

Mr. Campbell took a final sip of coffee and stood up. “I’m completely tuckered out. I need to get the truck back to the store and there’s a garbage cart in the yard. Any idea how that got there?”

I answered for all of us. “No sir, but we’ll push it back to where it belongs.”

“Thank you. There’s nothing like doing good deeds, especially on Christmas.”

“We should thank you. We didn’t think we’d be getting any Christmas. Santa Claus gets really busy.”

Mabel started to speak, but all that came out was a neigh and a chuff. Audry whinnied and so did Ray.

Mr. Campbell smiled and winked at me. He reached into one pocket, took out a single gold jingle bell, and held it out. “I think this fell off the Christmas tree. You’re right about one thing. Santa’s a busy man. It’s good when folks can pitch in and help him out. Good help can be hard to find.”

I reached into my pocket, took out my gold jingle bell, and showed it to Mr. Campbell. I winked back at him. “Yes, sir. Sometimes it’s hard to find good help. Merry Christmas.”

Robert Allen Lupton

https://robertallenlupton.blogspot.com

Robert Allen Lupton is retired and lives in New Mexico. He has three novels, seven short story collections, and three edited anthologies available in print and audio versions. Over 2000 of his Edgar Rice Burroughs themed drabbles and articles are located on erbzine.com

The Ominous Sound of Stiletto Heels

When she walked by, an icy chill filled the air

Sara, a sixteen-year-old brunette with an athletic physique, was a new student at Hillcrest Boarding School. She was unhappy to leave her friends behind, but her father insisted on moving her to a more prestigious school. “The last two years are most critical before continuing your education,” he said. “And Hillcrest is the finest. Nearly all of their students get into reputable universities.”

Her parents were impressed by Madame Chloe, the school principal, especially her mother who embraced her role as a socialite in high society circles. At their meeting, Madame Chloe dressed impeccably in expensive and fashionable name-brand outfits, and the way she presented herself and the school's achievements instantly won them over.

At first, Sara found the principal charming as well. However, as the conversation progressed, the way Madame Chloe’s eyes darted to her and scanned her entire body, made her uncomfortable. Despite the flashing of those dark brown eyes only lasting for a split second, Sara sensed something sinister behind the pleasant exterior of the woman’s lovely smile, pristine clothes, manicured nails, and flawless hairstyle.

Sara always listened to her gut feelings and begged her parents not to make her change schools, but her parents, visibly mesmerized by the principal’s performance, made their final decision despite Sara's weak objections. “You know nothing about life! Gut feelings are not reliable,” her mother shouted. “The school’s reputation is impeccable. You’re going to be a student there, and that's final.”

Sara gave in and hesitantly accepted her parents' decision and moved into her new school's dorm at Hillcrest. Knowing that every school has its social hierarchy, she thought she would need some time to fit in and catch up. However, it soon became apparent that this school was different from others.

There was no hierarchy among teachers or students. There were subordinates and only one top dog: the principal and history professor, Madame Chloe. Her authority and dominance were obvious as she walked in her signature bright red stiletto-heel shoes, her cold eyes darting from student to student. The sound of those heels in the hallways would quiet the students and even the fellow teachers. When she walked past, a chill filled the air. Her presence commanded fear and obedience from everyone around her. Sara couldn't help but wonder what it must be like to have that kind of authority and influence over so many people.

Madame Chloe ruled with an iron fist and Sara soon heard rumors that her physical fist brutally broke several bones over the years. Students had no one to report the physical abuse to, and unfortunately, by the time they were allowed to see their parents, their injuries had healed. Because of the school's reputation and the highly respected principal's words against the students, people dismissed the complaints as childish rumors. The injured students had no proof.

Although Sara had a hard time keeping her rebellious nature under control, she kept quiet while keeping her eyes and ears open. Until… about two weeks into the school year, she stood by her locker across from Madame Chloe's office when she saw her classmate, a petite blonde girl staggering out of the room. Vera sobbed pressing her hand to her side, visibly in pain.

Sara followed her into the bathroom, where two girls stood by the sink and hugged the crying girl.

“You’ll be alright,” Kate, a dark-skinned statuesque girl whispered, wiping Vera’s tears.

“I can’t take it anymore!” Vera cried. “This was the third time this week and she didn’t even tell me why I deserved such a harsh punishment. My leg is still bruised where she kicked me two days ago.” She rolled down her knee-high socks. She gasped and stood up, her face contorting in pain. She held her side. “I think she broke my ribs this time,” she sobbed.

Mary, a plump redhead, huffed. “She’s a cruel sadist! She yanked my hair so hard yesterday that she pulled out a strand and my scalp bled all afternoon. All because when the monster said, ‘eyes on your books’ I looked at Vera.”

“Why doesn't anyone do something about this?” Sara asked, closely watching the group's reaction.

“What can we do? We can’t prove anything,” Kate shrugged despairingly, tears flowing down her cheeks. “Nobody believes us, not even our parents.”

“What about the teachers?” Sara questioned.

Mary shook her curly hair. “They know what’s happening but are too scared to say anything. The only teacher who was brave enough to gather evidence against this monster disappeared before you got here.”

“What do you mean by disappeared? Did she leave school?” Sara asked. The three girls seemed to sense Sarah’s authoritative yet compassionate nature and opened up.

“Oh, no,” Kate shivered and said, “Miss Clara was in my room that night, taking pictures of my bruised ribs and listened to the tape I recorded on the small device she gave me. I hid the recorder in my underwear and turned it on when I was ordered to Madame Chloe’s room. She beat me so badly that day... the more I screamed and begged her to stop, the more she hit me. Just remembering her face, how much she enjoyed watching me wiggle in pain, and the obscenities coming out of her painted mouth, makes me nauseous.”

Read the full story in the book: 

https://books2read.com/u/m27NQd

What if you think the known world isn’t strange enough? Embark on a journey that pushes the boundaries, challenges your perception, and questions reason, logic, and established beliefs.