For the first time in a very long time, I slept the simple, restful sleep I knew in the days when my mother home-schooled me. I would come home all tuckered out from youth league basketball and settle my weary bones into a little twin bed defended by a valiant stuffed Triceratops named Benny.
And there I would dream. Nice dreams. Not the angst-ridden psychodramas that would haunt my adolescence. But fanciful forays in the company of a legion of imaginary companions through landscapes that looked remarkably like my old neighborhood in the Cleveland suburbs.
And so here again in Vermont, with the spring peepers screeching, I slept the drowsy sleep of my childhood, falling into a deep stupor entirely free of roots and Reapers and lands of frigid dust. Instead, I dreamed of walking an endless beach, nothing but breakers and dunes to either side. Skittering crabs, tiny and pale, appeared and vanished like ghosts.
I followed a distant figure, dress billowing, hair flowing in the wind. Her footprints had been mostly washed away by the surf, but here and there, the traces were sharp and clear.
When I awoke, the frogs had gone silent, their duties taken over by the less frantic chirping of birds. Bright shards of reflected sunlight danced on the far wall. I was completely refreshed—bright-eyed, mind buzzing as if I had already guzzled a double espresso.
An ululating scream disrupted my reverie. I heard a thump and the sound of wood splintering. I nearly fell out of bed trying to scramble out of the room. I rushed out of the bedroom to find Urszula sobbing in the sitting room, a piece of scepter in either hand. She tossed both pieces into the fireplace and collapsed face down on the sofa.
“What happened?”
“What does it look like? I destroyed my carving.”
“But why? I thought that was your scepter.”
“No. It is just a chunk of wood. I tried all night, but I could find no resonance in it, whatsoever. And it seemed so promising. But no. It is useless, just like me. I am nothing. I have nothing here. No craft. Nothing.”
“But I thought you said you were starting to bond.”
“Wishful thinking. I thought it was the case … but I was wrong. I tried … very hard to find the flow. To have it channel. But there was nothing. No response. It is only wood. And I am only flesh. Nothing more. I am hopeless.”
“Well, you didn’t need to break it. I mean … that was some nice carving.”
She sneered it me. “Fool! I didn’t carve it to be pretty for you to admire. The carving releases the essence, if there is any essence to be released. But there was none. It is just a hunk of wood. And me? I am worthless here. I am … nothing.”
Ellen appeared in the hallway looking all sleepy-eyed. “Is everything okay out here?”
“Oh, uh … Urszula kinda had a tough night. Her spell craft isn’t working.”
“Oh. That’s too bad. I’m sorry to hear that. Let me make us some breakfast. Maybe that’ll cheer everybody up. How do you guys like your eggs?”
“Me? Over easy, I guess.”
“Urszula?”
“I am not eating.”
“But you have to eat something.”
“What for? I am worthless. Let me waste away.”
“Oh stop. You are not worthless. Look at me. I have never been able to do magic. Does that make me worthless? Now go and wash up. I’ll have breakfast ready in a jiff.”
