Magical and Medicinal, the seasonal plants of the Crovedia

     “Oh, you really don’t want that one.” I looked around but could not see who had said this. I put the book back, finding it of little interest and selected another one.

           “Um, no, you wont like that one either.” I sighed and put that book back as well. I felt like I was in the wrong section, but this is where I had been directed so I tried again.

“Nope, that’s three for three.”

Exasperated I shoved the book back unceremoniously.

 I “Well, what do you suggest then, since you seem to be such as expert” I hissed acidly to the disembodied voice.

“Section 3, row 5. Look for the oldest looking book. Sign it out and prepare for adventure” The voice seemed immensely proud of this advise and I softened a little. It was only trying to help I supposed and so I indulged it. I walked around a bit trying to figure out who was talking to me, but the library seemed empty of other patrons. A lone librarian haunted the returns desk but otherwise I could see no one. I shook my head, thinking ‘how ridiculous it was to indulge a voice in my head’ but suddenly I stood in section 3, looking at row 5, at the end of the row to the left there was an old looking book with a black sticker on it. I pulled it out.

“Magical and Medicinal, the seasonal plants of the Crovedia.” Lay across the cover in gold embossed glory. A strange looking vine twisted its way from end to end holding what looked like small round berries. I looked closer, tracing my fingers across the design enthralled by its beauty. The book smelled musty and a little sweet and when I opened the cover faint opalescent dust wafted from between its pages. I sneezed, trying to shut the book before I could damage it in any way.

“Good,” said the voice, sounding closer now “You found it. Now study up, you’re going to need it.” It laughed dubiously and I could hear it moving away. Soon it was gone, and I was left truly alone. It took a moment to realize the voice had also been a smell. Spicy and a little sweet like a tropical flower pressed into a book, old perfume that had been sealed away for hundreds of years, faded yet still present. Now the air was dry and smelled of paper and the faint undertone of people, ghosts of olfactory past.

           I took the book to the librarian and she fiddled with the computer, while trying to make idle chatter.

           “Oh yes, this one does make the rounds. Planning to do a little hiking?” She asked as if indulging me. I looked at her confused. She pointed at the book and suddenly I could see that it was a map book of hikes in Victoria British Columbia. Old and worn as if a hundred people had taken the volume on many hikes.

           “Uh,” I said stupidly “I guess so” I was baffled. Not one moment ago it was a completely different book. My head began to hurt a little and I slipped the book into my backpack.

           “Thanks. “I said to the librarian before remembering the disembodied voice. “It was suggested to me by the other librarian, who seemed to know exactly what I would like.” I watched her, gage-ing her reaction.

She looked at me dubiously and then looked behind me for a moment. A very slight shake of the head and she focused back on me.

           “That’s nice dear.” she said dismissively, and I left the library forgetting all about the reason I had come in the first place.

           It was a beautiful day and I decided to walk home through the park. Inside my pocket lay a bag of peanuts that I had saved specifically for my crows. I sat on a bench near the reflecting pool and tossed nut after nut to my feathered friends. Soon a peacock and several squirrels joined the menagerie and I felt calm and peaceful for a while. Something was tugging at the back of my mind though and when the nuts were gone, I reached into my backpack. The book now read ‘The Secret Paths of Beacon Hill Park.’

I frowned, what a weird book I had come across. I opened it and found an unfolding map on the inside cover. After opening it carefully, I laid it out on the bench beside me and found the spot on which I sat.

           “It looks like there is a path that begins just behind this bench.” I said the one crow who had not abandoned me upon discovering that the feast was over. It cocked its head at me and cawed, eyeing the book.

           “Want to come?” I asked it and it cawed at me again. In a flurry of feathers, it took off into the sky and disappeared over the large bush behind me. “smart bird” I said out loud. I packed up and stepped behind the bench. I could see a small path leading into the thick foliage just like the map had indicated.

           “What the hell” I said to no one and took the first step onto the path.

           It was rough going at first, the bushes had sharp brambles and the cut into my skin as I tried to pass. Several times I thought about going back, thoughts of traps and homeless camps playing in my mind like some macabre movie on repeat. My feet just kept on moving forward. The light around me began to dim and I understood that the day was nearly over. I had walked for what felt like hours and could still not see an end to this ‘path’. I stopped and checked the book. The image of the map had shifted, and the bench was now at the edge of the page, a long path twisted from its back that split into a fork at some point down the line. I checked my phone. No service but the time still worked. Tt told me we were at 5 pm. Too dark now for this early in the evening but I wanted to see the fork. I told myself that I would just look at the fork and then head back. I moved forward and soon the path widened, the light brightened, and birds began to sing around me. It occurred to me what a creeping silence I had just emerged from. The path was beautiful, the tree canopy and the leafy bushed forming a kind of green tunnel that beckoned. Behind me the path looked creepy and uninviting. A tunnel yes, but dark and foreboding. I shivered slightly, thinking I had just come from there.

           My feet turned themselves back onto the pretty path and I followed it as if in a daze. Soon I came to the fork in the path, and I checked the book. The map showed a small hut if you take the left path, or a small village if you take the right. My feet chose for me and I found myself walking to the left.

           An old woman, friendly looking and plump, stood on the porch of the little round hut in the clearing. She waved to me as I approached, and I waved back.

           “I see you took my advice” she said approvingly. “You picked the right book and you made it home.” She hugged me tightly and I recognized the smell of her. She was the voice in the library.

           “I don’t understand” I said once she had released me and settled me down at a table heavily laden with tea things.

           “Of course not, child.” she said kindly. “Not yet any way. “She patted my hand and took a sip of tea. She took the book from me and opened it to a page somewhere near the middle. Inside a painting showed a family. A mother, father, two children and an old woman in the center. I peered at the picture recognizing the old woman before me.

           “I am your grandmother, Kalina. You do not remember because you have spent too much time in the human world. It's alright though, now that you are home your real memories will return. This book was once your journal, all of this is written and painted in your own hand. I looked down at my hands feeling dizzy and confused. I was never an artist, paint and clay had always intimidated me and though my writing took up a great deal of time, I had never written anything quite so complicated. I wondered briefly if this was all a dream, but the lady pinched my arm suddenly and startled, I stared at her.

           “Ow!” I said in protest, and the old lady smiled kindly at me.

           “I could see the ‘I might be dreaming ‘ look in your eye and decided to prove you wrong now before the idea took root. You are not dreaming Kalina. You are home.” I rubbed my arm and looked around the clearing trying to wait out the pain. A crow flew down and landed on the table. I took a peanut from the bowl and tossed it to him.

           “Thanks bud.” He said and I nearly fell from my chair. Grandma, for I had already begun thinking of her as Grandma, began laughing and the crow winked at me.

           “Oh my god, “he said mockingly “He can talk!” he laughed, though it took a moment for me to register that it was laughter. Once the shock abated, I could see the humor in it, and I smiled.

           “Well, its nice to meet you,” I said, “who ever you are.” The crow looked offended.

           “What did I say?” I asked and Grandma shook her head. “Don’t you recognize your own brother?” she was not smiling now. She sighed and clucked. She went into the small hut and returned with yet another pot of tea.

           “Drink this all up now” she said to me “When it's all gone, I will put you to bed. Your dreams will remind you of the rest. When you wake up you will remember and even be able to take back your true form. “

           “You mean, I was once a crow?” I asked sipping the bitter brew.

           “My darling girl, you still are.”