“I know that this story has the same ending as fleece; I know that I can’t help myself from always writing about the dark and the white and polarities, but I just hope that the middle of the story is different, I always hope that the plot is different.”
Yielders
The woods, being mystical and obscure places, bathed in both gentle light and sombre dark, and whose soil firmly holds the different roots of both poisonous and panacean plants, attracted peculiar and wild creatures — good and bad, mischievous and noble hearted; dark, white, and gray magick yielders. The vicinity of woods was also inhabited by many outsiders and people of strange backgrounds, those excluded by society, or people that had no other place to live. Then, there was the wood of Abracadabra, a region that was well known for its wide shiny river which streamed between two pieces of abundant woodland, whose two parts had distinct features — the left part of the wood was covered with fearsome withered trees and a dense vegetation that was always morphing with the changing shade, while hauntening creatures of the night, frightening wild and angry animals, accentuated the eeriness of this part of the wood; as for the right area of the wood of Abracadabra, it was covered with flowering trees and wonderful plants, and mostly inhabited by beautiful bioluminescent night creatures, as well as majestic and mystical animals.
But also dwelt within this wood the magick yielders — those who knew how to use magick, those that ruled the world from behind the scene. The magick yielders were always thirsty for great knowledge that brought to them greater power; and that’s why exactly they settled in the wood of Abracadabra, so as to find the legendary grimoire of the most powerful magick yielder who had ever lived — a magick yielder, they said, who was most powerful than the great Merlin himself. His name was Lepsl, and he had lived for uncountable years in the wood of Abracadabra. Legend even said that he had built a cabana that magically glided over the river, and that on those nights where Abracadabra was too dark and scary, he would have summoned countless fireflies to keep the wood dim. However, before he disappeared, he claimed that he had hidden his grimoire somewhere in the woodland of Abracadabra, and this, without even having left any map or clues, or any written testimony that certified the existence of such a grimoire. Yet, the magick yielders were certain of its existence, certain that Lepsl, the most powerful magick yielder that had ever lived, had buried his book of spells somewhere in the gut of Abracadabra. Thus everyday they searched for the famous grimoire amidst the foliage of trees, within their trunk, and beneath their roots; mined the dense vegetation, the wide river, and turned over each rock and pebble they found on their way.
But also everyday there were conflicts between the gray, white, and dark magick yielders, and where magical battles often took place in areas that everyone wanted to dig or search to find the grimoire. Sometimes these inter-battles between the magick yielders were so brutal, that terrifying thunder and lightning struck the sky, devastating gargantuan whirlwinds whirled frenetically, and even sometimes the sun was eclipsed by thick and dark clouds; rigor-mortis corpses were often dug up and buried again, while the trees were shaken bare, and where the next day, these same trees would splendidly and magically renew with all their leaves. The wood of Abracadabra was the constant witness of a magical battle for the search of Lepsl’s grimoire — a book of spells that nobody seemed to have discovered till then.
I remember that everytime I accompanied my mother to the river so as to wash our clothes, or even to fetch water for bathing and drinking, she would always tell me to stay close to her, and to never adventure far away from her eyesight. Of course, I knew about all these frightening stories about people disappearing after they wandered off too far in the wood at night, or of those that became completely insane after they had crossed the limit imposed by the magick yielders; and where even sometimes, in broad daylight, we could sense something strange eyeing at us from behind the trees. And even though at that time I was still a child who lived amidst all of this strangeness and scary encounters, as odd as it may seem, this peculiar environment satisfied my curiosity, all the while feeding my vivid imagination. I guess that’s why I became an author of fantastical fiction.
“Wait a second Miss Wild, don’t you think that you are going too far with that story? It seems that your own personal story comes out from one of these famous books you write! Excuse me… but this is not a memoir, this is something else, Miss Wild… that’s not real.”
“If you say so, dear… let’s continue recording… will you?”
Then one day while I was with my mother at the river, I suddenly noticed flashes of lights that blinked from the depth of the wood. My mother had been busy talking to the neighbours… so I tiptoed cautiously towards what was attracting me. And there, suddenly, the woods shut itself on me… and there, from the fog, a large and wide golden book appeared in front of me. Strangely, I didn’t feel an ounce of fear, for I felt the bliss of being in the presence of a good-will auric field; thus I serenely opened that book.
“Thus… you found the grimoire? It was the grimoire, isn’t it Miss Wild?”
“Oh! Now we are curious for more… didn’t you just say that it was too fantastical to be a memoir?… Of course the grimoire found me.”
“Writers, artists, and all the other creative people are so strange… you have no limit when it comes to what might trigger your inspiration… So, I guess that I will have to stay here and continue to record your ‘memoir’ Miss Wild… and perhaps afterwards you’ll surely tell me the true story of your life.”
I read: To the one that this book has chosen, here’s four rules for you:- [If ever you spell the spell of all spells, you’ll be mighty, your will will reign over everyone’s will, you will be immortal] [If ever you close the book of spell right now without saying the spell, you shall forget everything about this grimoire, about what just happened to you, it will disappear until it finds the one worthy of the power it has to offer] [You should never talk about the book of spell, about the source of your power, or else you shall forget about everything, you shall wake up with amnesia, and everything you’ve acquired with time shall disappear too] [The moment you unjustly use your power, you shall forget about everything, wake up with amnesia, and everything you’ve acquired with time shall disappear too]
Too enthusiastic, I thrillingly formulated the words loudly: “I, which the book has chosen so as to bestow the power contained through this spell, accept heartedly the power of being powerful.”
Then an old bearded man appeared — and as you might have guessed, he told me that his name was Lepsl, who was none other than the famous magick yielder to whom the legendary grimoire belonged. I was thrilled and out of pace, though I didn’t feel that anything had changed in my life after that I formulated the spell. And you know what? Lepsl already knew what questions were simmering in my head.
“You mean that Lepsl was still alive?”
“Oh dear Encey, the spirit of great magick yielders never disappears, even though their physical mortal body does. They only go to sleep or rest, and wake up only when brutally disturbed, or if ever they’ve set up a magical alarm… let’s continue the record, will you? I feel that I don’t have much time left.”
Lepsl said that it didn’t matter the type, the kind, or the category, for the only criterion was that of the heart, precisely, the depth of heart, there where only magick could pierce through to see. Concerning my fear over the fact that the other magick yielders would come after me, he told me not worry, for they will continue to think that the grimoire has not been found; and as for what I needed to do, Lepsl said that instructions and information would appear in form of night-dreams and day-visions.
“Wow! Miss Wild, I guess that you already have your book, now all you have to do is get to your desk and write… and as I’ve been a very inspiring muse, I think that you’ll need to give me a percentage of the sales you make on that book, Miss Wild.”
“So, you don’t think that this is all true? You don’t think that what i’ve been telling you till now didn’t really happen to me?”
“Honestly!… Not at all Miss Wild, as I said, I know how writers or any other artists have odd ways of summoning the muse that might inspire their creativity… Also, wouldn’t have you forgotten everything by now? Knowingly that you’ve openly talked about the source of your power.”
“I, too, can’t understand why I am still here! You know, I’ve lived for so many years, I’ve seen all the corners of the world, I’ve seen it all… I would have been more than happy to continue… but recently something strange happened… I feel that a powerful magick yielder has come into power. I can feel the intensity of their energy that’s starting to wrap up the world, and I can feel the weight of their power annihilating mine. They’ve even found me, for their eyes loom inside my night-dreams and day-visions, just like the eye of Sauron… I feel that their darkness is starting to consume me, and I fear that I won’t be able to resist their force of gravity that’s pulling me towards them. Thus, before my heart gets corrupted, before they engulf my all so as to become massively powerful, I want to quietly recede like the waves… for the grimoire must never fall in their hand. I’ve even written a new formula in the grimoire for the next one that it would come to choose… with hope that this spell might help.”
“You mean that he is pulling you towards him like that?” Encey’s arms were suddenly around her.
Shocked, she yelled. “So, it was you… back off you dark magick yielder… you’ll never have me, nor the book. It ends here…”
He laughed cynically, then talked seriously. “Do you think that I need such an outdated book to impose my power… things evolve, and magick changes… but you, my very dear Miss Wild… but you…”
“Enough…” she then yelled.
“Encey, you know what, passers-by have discovered on 96th street corner an amnesic woman who was naked and completely lost.”
“Oh! Really. I should go on site, perhaps it might be one of these eccentric artists that I interview… who knows what type of danger they’ve put themselves in again,” Encey said, with a ravishing smile on his face.
