Rosemary Bluebell Page 2

  “Precisely,” Aster said with a toothy smile. “I’ve got a list written down of all the towns and villages that we’re going to visit.”

  “Again?” Rosemary said with a bored expression.

  “Commitment, my dear,” Aster roared as he opened the door and slammed out of the room, thumping the floor loudly with each of his weighty steps.

  “Maybe I don’t want to sprawl, slump and sing anymore,” Rosemary vehemently whispered to herself as she turned her back to the door with arms akimbo. “My mum always told me that happiness is a condition—well, it’s time I take some action.”

  And with that, Rosemary decided. She made her way to the stable and led her milk-white horse beyond the castle walls. Her family’s castle had never lost its original splendor, leaving people awed into silence each time they observed the imposing residence. She took a brief look at the castle walls, walls whose stones were engraved with symbols and emblems. Then she hopped on to her horse and charged through the narrow streets of Pandemville.

  The sky and sea merged into a single extraordinary light, but Rosemary did not take notice of it. Oil presses and modest two-story houses flanked the inner roads, but the pathway expanded as soon as she arrived at the port where several water mills audibly pounded the grain into flour. That was the road to freedom and Rosemary sighed with relief as soon as she withdrew from the green seaside town.

  She then went deeper inland, making headway for Dona Hill. She had to do this. There was no point in trying to argue her case with her father. She knew full well the difficulty of getting her father to understand how she felt. No, not the difficulty but rather the impossibility. This hurt her and led her to make this drastic decision.

  Meanwhile in Dona Hill …

  There were no known enemies against Dona Hill, except for those doing less than expected and evolving into lax individuals who stopped growing and eventually becoming those who did not self-improve. Failure was for the brave because they eventually learnt to become resilient and vigilant. An individual who stayed the same, on the other hand, was someone who worked with little effort for barely acceptable results.

  The ruler of Dona Hill wanted all his people to become aware of the powers that lay within them. He wanted them to unravel and utilize these powers at an early age so they would make their dreams come true sooner. As he strode through the back door of his castle, the doorway that led to his backyard, thinking of how he could overcome that dilemma, a small girl came scurrying towards him. He immediately stopped caressing his face as he felt shards of glass rip through his veins. Just then, a scented current of air filled with oriental lily, gardenia and juniper entered his nostrils soothing every cell in his body.

  “Epiph!” Rosemary called out, although she didn’t know if that was his name.

  The ruler of Dona Hill’s profound, syrupbrown eyes looked here and there, then pointed a finger to himself.

  “Yes, you!” Rosemary exclaimed.

  “What is Aster’s little girl doing in my town all by herself?” The young man asked, swaying his head left and right. He noticed that she was wearing the exact same clothes as the last time he saw her: a loose angle-length white dress.

  “I’m eleven years old,” Rosemary replied, puffing herself up. “I can wander outside my home all by myself whenever I feel like it.”

  “You can’t be here,” the young man said. “Your father will be worried sick.”

  “Don’t worry about my father,” Rosemary said with a determination beyond her age. “I need your help in something.”

  “What’s going on, brother?” a tall, lithe woman said, as she walked steadily and slowly towards the ruler of Dona Hill while flicking her sleek, dark hair to the side.

  “Who’s our young guest?” she asked as she adjusted her brother’s turban.

  “My name is Rosemary,” she replied extending her hand. She could not help but stare at the woman’s well-formed olive-skinned body, oval face and large, imploring eyes, eyes that were full of wonder.

  “I’m Wisteria,” the young woman said taking Rosemary’s hand between the palms of her own.

  “Enough with the introductions,” the young man cried in frustration. “Rosemary, you have to go back home.”

  “But I’ve only just met your sister,” Rosemary said cheekily.

  “Would you like some red tea?” Wisteria asked as she bowed down so that they were eye to eye.

  “I would like that very much,” Rosemary said with delight, a smile on her face.

  “Come with me,” Wisteria said, taking Rosemary by the hand, while the ruler of Dona Hill followed with a painful expression on his face. “Where are you from?”

  “I’m from Pandemville,” Rosemary replied. “I love your dress,” she added, inspecting Wisteria’s floor-length, maroon colored dress.

  “Thank you, dear,” Wisteria said.

  “She’s Aster’s daughter, for crying out loud,” the young man yelled.

  “Interesting,” Wisteria said in a low tone of voice, while wondering in silent disbelief. They entered a pergola that contained a table and several straw-bottomed chairs.

  “The jasmines are pretty,” Rosemary said, admiring the climbing plants that covered the pergola.

  Wisteria laughed softly and poured a cup of red tea for her before her brother took her by the arm and pulled her forcefully away from the pergola.

  “What is going on?” Wisteria asked, somewhat bewildered by her brother’s brusqueness.

  “Her father might be searching for her,” the young man whispered. “We don’t exactly exchange words these days. I think he’s starting to hate me.”

  “But my mother didn’t hate you!” Rosemary cried from behind his back with a tiny flutter in her stomach.

  “I don’t care!” he yelled.

  “I do!” Wisteria exclaimed and glared. “Look at you being inconsiderate—she’ll have her cup of tea and I will personally see that she gets back home safely.”.

  “Make it quick,” the young man commanded as if his spirit was about to be broken and it was only a matter of time before it did.

  “Epiph!” Rosemary yelled, stopping the ruler of Dona Hill in his tracks. He was just about to leave the two alone. “My father’s feeling towards you isn’t important to me.”

  The young man turned to face Rosemary, but she was already standing close to his waistline. “How did you get here so fast …?” he asked as amazement silently overcame his panic.

  “On the other hand, my mother liked you in many ways you can’t even imagine, and neither can I,” Rosemary said. “She always told me how great of a ruler you are—and that people look up to you.”

  “That’s very sweet of her,” Wisteria said smiling, while her head began to throb with pain.

  “She passed away when I was five,” Rosemary said, before turning and going back to her place under the pergola. All the while, the young man she called Epiph followed her with lamenting eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “No worries—the universe planted a gift in me ever since that fateful day,” Rosemary said.

  “The power to grow flowers,” the young man said and his lips curved into a sincere grin. “That’s fascinating, so very intriguing if you ask me.” And then the ruler of Dona Hill formally introduced himself: “My name is Sorrel, by the way, Sorrel Lupine.”

  “So that’s what you call yourself,” Rosemary cried out snapping her fingers together. “But you still look like an Epiph to me!”

  “Oh, my!” Wisteria said, for some reason in pain.

  “You didn’t grow flowers on your way here, did you?” Sorrel asked, while Rosemary examined both Wisteria, who was trying to numb her pain with her hands, and Sorrel’s half shut eyes.

  “Yes I did,” Rosemary said, eyes darting left and right. “Where do you think the scent you smelt when I first entered came from? Certainly, not from your garden!” Sorrel’s backyard held only flame trees and a couple of wide shrubs that were trimmed t
o perfection. All odorless.

  “Alright, that’s enough,” Sorrel snapped. “Someone else could have suspected your presence. You must get going.”

  As he spoke he shoved Rosemary off the chair in an effort to get her moving.

  “Oh no!” Wisteria yelled. “Stop!” She jumped to her feet, panting for breath. Her chair flew backwards as she staggered and lurched around like an unsettled unicorn.

  “Another vision, sister?” Sorrel asked, eyebrows raised high.

  Wisteria hugged her brother’s arm and pulled him away from Rosemary. This time she made sure that the little girl could not hear them by standing further from her.

  “I saw death,” Wisteria whispered.

  “It could be after me,” Sorrel said, becoming fearful.

  “No—it’s Rosemary—or something to do with Rosemary,” Wisteria said. “I didn’t see us but I did see your best friend too.”

  “Clove,” Sorrel whispered as his face took on a ghostly pallor.

  “We have to help them,” Wisteria demanded.

  “You mean buy them some time?”

  “Do whatever is necessary to keep them away from her father,” Wisteria said as bile backed up in her throat. “We have to keep them safe.”

  “From her father?” Sorrel said caressing his chin.

  “Yes … maybe … no … I don’t know. I’ll find out as soon as I can.”

  “Well, first things first—the girl is not staying here.”

  Wisteria looked at Rosemary, who was drinking her last sips of red tea. She instantly stopped swallowing and smiled at the two of them. At the same time, a butterfly fluttered across the pergola.

  “Your fear has driven you nuts,” Wisteria said.

  “Just like hope drives you nuts sometimes,” Sorrel replied.

  “Hope is my silence,” Wisteria said with passion, trying to use catharsis to control the pain in her head.

  “Wait—I think I have an idea,” Sorrel whispered, pacing his way back to the pergola. He grabbed his quill off the table and took a parchment that lay on top of other parchments and books next to the tea wares.

  “Go and get me Clove,” he said to Wisteria. He placed the tip of his quill in the ink bottle and then began jotting down words onto the parchment, which he held in his other hand. Wisteria obeyed; she stumbled at first but managed to gain back her graceful motion.

  “What are you doing?” Rosemary asked.

  “I’m helping you,” Sorrel replied. “Just like you requested.”

  “But you haven’t heard my request yet.”

  “Wisteria read your mind,” Sorrel said, his face grave. “She’s a clairvoyant and she insisted that I help you.”

  “Fine.” Rosemary folded her arms while suddenly feeling a ray of hope. “What did she tell you?”

  “That …” Sorrel began to say. “That you needed a new friend and a good time to get to know each other—so Wisteria and I decided to plan a trip for the both of you.” His voice hummed with a heartfelt pitch.

  Hmm, Rosemary thought to herself, as her eyes went slightly out of focus. “Fair enough,” she said. Then Sorrel nodded and continued writing.

  Travels were usually set up to mollify venturers, but the journey that Sorrel had in mind was to keep death at bay. Sorrel’s soul was in one place, whereas his mind was somewhere else. The more aware he became of that fact, the less he was prepared to face his best friend, Clove. At the very least, Sorrel felt like a solo dancer in the midst of a music whose chords were plucked by fate. He selfjustified that he needed to remain strong because nothing good ever stemmed from weakness.

  Justice spoke many words, and it once whispered in Sorrel’s ear saying that men were not born equal, but they died all the same. Is Clove’s end near? Sorrel thought to himself. He was not sure, but the parchment in his hands specified the whereabouts of his best friend and Rosemary in the next several months.

  “Rosemary, we all hold within ourselves the darkest of thoughts, but our duty is not to release them onto others,” Sorrel said. “We have to develop a battle plan from within in order to heal ourselves.”

  “And others as well,” Rosemary said, breaking into a grin. “My mother used to tell me these exact same words.”

  She finally understood what Sorrel meant to her at that precise point. He was the intended recipient who managed to find a drifting bottle on the sea shore, and perhaps it was a sentient type of bottle, which contained a note that mentioned assistance and favor. She was that bottle.

  “Promise me you won’t use your magic during your travels,” Sorrel said as he knelt before Rosemary.

  “I promise,” Rosemary said without reservation. “What’s in that parchment?” She asked innocently, making an attempt to hide her profound curiosity.

  “It’s Clove’s business, not yours,” Sorrel replied. “You’ll be travelling the world with him, that’s what matters to you. There he is!” Sorrel exclaimed beaming as he got to his feet, and his friend appeared alongside his sister Wisteria. He was a bear of a man with a cleft chin, wearing a brilliant scarlet-colored robe. Clove had frizzy, vibrant rust-colored hair and pale skin, and his beady eyes studied Rosemary first before they flicked to meet Sorrel’s.

  “Remember what I told you was the knight’s ultimate utopia?” Sorrel asked Clove embracing him with an eye-popping hug.

  “It was peace,” Clove replied with a plummy voice. “But why are you bringing that up, old friend?”

  “I want you and her to find peace amongst yourselves,” Sorrel answered, pointing his index finger towards Rosemary. “Both of you are travelling to meet the five tribes,” he added, handing the parchment to his best friend.

  “What?!” Clove said in an offhanded manner, seizing the parchment from Sorrel’s hand.

  “Hi, my name is Rosemary,” the little girl said, holding her hand across her chest. Clove gave a polite tip of the head with a faint smile, then began to study what was written on the parchment. It read:

  Travel southwards to the Peyote Desert where the Tribe of Sand of Mirrors is situated. Over there, meet the benign Calendula and seek refuge in his house. After that, journey West across the Viola Ocean until you arrive at Butterwort. The Free Tribe of The West shall welcome you. Ask for the cordial Gaillardia Marigold; she will allow you to lodge in her place for some time. Sea Holly will be your third destination; it is a heavenly island that The Tribe of Winged Men populates. The shaman of that island, Clematis Amaranth, will greet you with welcoming arms. When your stay becomes weighty, travel North to Dahlia, and you will introduce yourselves to The Folks. Jonquil Calla, a future business tycoon, will take you in. Finally, set your pace eastwards and get to Kunal. The White Colony will be waiting for your final stopping place. The brazen warrior, Valerian Begonia, is renowned for his hospitality.

  “I don’t understand,” Clove said turning to face Sorrel with confusion and disbelief written all over his face. “All these people decided to leave Dona Hill—and you’re sending me to them?”

  “Precisely,” Sorrel said, flashing a broad grin. “Aster will not even think of sending a search team to any of these locations.”

  “The ruler of Pandemville? Why would he be needing a search team?” Clove asked. Sorrel responded with silence. “I’m sorry—I am supervising the construction of Dona Hill’s Apothecary center,” Clove said. “I cannot leave.” He was adamant.

  “I’ll assign someone else to do that job,” Sorrel said decisively. “You’ll get the chance to introduce the little girl to our morals and principles. Every one I mentioned on that paper you’re holding has something to bring forward.”

  “Why do you want me to do that?” Clove asked.

  “To save the both of you,” Wisteria replied with a brusque voice, but her eyes were pleading for Clove to agree.

  “It’s not the morals and principles that save the man,” Clove said, getting worked up. “It’s the man that gives reasons for morals and principles, I suspect that Wisteria has seen somethin
g.”

  “She revealed that you and I should get to know each other and travel the world,” Rosemary stated with ebullience. Both Wisteria and Sorrel gaped at Rosemary. “What? I had to tell him,” she added as she slumped back into her chair. Clove quickly frowned, then smiled tenderly. Sorrel noticed how courteous Clove was in the way of a mature man stuck with an adolescent.

  “I also suspect that my dire destiny is interrelated with this little one,” Clove whispered as he stepped closer to his two friends, sensing their sincerity. He was so faithful to Wisteria’s visions that he embarrassed her at times.

  “We don’t know what it is exactly but you and Rosemary must be far far away,” Sorrel whispered, as his brow furrowed with concern.

  Clove let off a sigh of despair fathoming that the matter was not only related to him. “Very well,” he whispered, gently nodding his head. “Did she pack up her things?”

  “I’ll send one of the castle’s maidservants to buy her new clothes,” Wisteria whispered.

  “I don’t need new clothes,” Rosemary yelled. “I don’t get dirty.”

  “Of course not!” Sorrel burst out. “You grow flowers.”

  “Was she hearing us this entire time?” Clove asked the siblings.

  “I suppose,” Sorrel replied absently, while Wisteria covered her smile with her hand.

  ***

  Little did Rosemary realize (nor would she have been concerned) that her unanticipated absence would be tragic for Aster’s soul. The calamitous event was about to morph her father’s highlytuned sensibility to irrationality and even lunacy. Little was Rosemary aware of the unsettled world they all lived in, even if it was a world where compassion and care were often shared.

  One could be presumed to be a genius when one established oneself and crafted friendly ties, and Rosemary was on her way to becoming known as a genius. She was extremely zealous in obtaining life through activity. Death was closing in, and there were neither hope nor expectation, but that was every genius’s circumstance. There was no match for Rosemary’s will to have a great zest for life.

  “Do you take great pleasure in the uncertain, Rosemary?” Clove asked from underneath his rubyred and ivory colored umbrella as both of them rode on separate pearl grey horses. They had been travelling for hours and long since entered the vast wasteland that was known to embrace The Tribe of Sand and Mirrors. Clove could tell the time from the sun’s angle, and though it was late in the afternoon, the Peyote Desert’s heat and the sun’s luminosity still managed to gnaw on the skin that was exposed to the red light that washed over everything.