I’ve never thought much about where Impressional magic came from before today. To me, it was always something like cooking or sewing, a skill passed down through the generations. As old as time itself… This may be true, but today, I feel as though that history reached out across the ages and touched my very soul.
This week I’ve mostly been busy in the Baron’s library. For you see, while Lorenz is away, Alexander has become my teacher. He’s been showing me worn tomes written in Old Olkarian and instructing me in how to recognize the curling letters of the language spread across the page. He’s quite an enthusiastic instructor. And goodness, though sometimes he’s distracted by reading the texts for their own sake, he has managed to teach me quite a bit. I can now tell each letter apart from the others —this was not too difficult, as Old Olkarian is the root of the language we read and write throughout the kingdom today. And with some time and effort, I can copy out the swirling cursive, “with great accuracy,” Alexander says. But the language has changed so much over the centuries; I know not what most of the words mean when put together.
This is where Alexander’s skill lies. He has recounted the various histories that are written in each book, chronicles of forgotten clans and great feats accomplished. There was even the story of how the first king of Olkaria united the tribes. “It’s amazing to read about the past recorded in the scribe’s own hand,” he said as he passed me one of the books. I moved my fingers across the dry, yellow pages, noticed the subtle changes in the ink, the places where the lines were thicker or thinner, a little droplet in the corner spilled long, long ago...
And all this study, dear reader, is to help us decipher the messages left behind at the Well of the Green Sister. We’ve made some progress which we can share with Lorenz when he returns. From the scrolls we found in the fall, the ones depicting Healing magic, Alexander and I have begun the process of translation, finding the similarities between Old Olkarian cursive and the even more ancient text from the forest.
But today Alexander and I took a rest from our studies for a different task. We bundled up, puffy as big wooly sheep, and spent an hour in the chamber with the large magic mirror. The many ceramic jars had been piquing our curiosity for some time and we decided to open a few. My first suspicion was that they would be empty, like the old honeypots we’d found upstairs in the springtime, but then Alexander exclaimed, “I think there’s liquid inside!” taking a small, green jar from the shelf. He passed it to me, and indeed, I could feel something swilling about. We carefully lifted the lid and were met with a charming fragrance, but dear reader, each of us smelled something different! To Alexander it was chocolate and vanilla and to me it was cinnamon and nutmeg. I carefully poured a bit of the liquid into a spare vial and examined it. Could it be? There was a lively shimmer to the golden fluid that I knew oh so well. I spoke slowly. “I… I think it’s a remedy. Impressional magic.” After a moment of hesitation, I dipped my finger in and took a taste. Oh goodness, a wave of emotion rolled over me: joy and laughter, anticipation, cheering. I laughed out loud. “It feels like a celebration!” I let Alexander take a drop. “It tastes like Wysolice!” After that we were eager to try more. A tapestry of flavors and aromas, feelings of joy and serenity, of learning and inspiration, all we experienced with the delight of a child opening a gift.
But then a moment found me where a quiet ache began to fill my chest. We had just closed up all the jars and Alexander was sitting down to write some notes on our findings. Every Impression had been a treasure to discover, an ancient taste of the past, so why now was I suddenly down? “I miss him too,” came Alexander’s voice, and suddenly the emptiness took shape: Lorenz. I was so used to him being with us... I looked at Alexander, who added, “But I know it’s different for you. You like him.” The way he said the word, with no reservation or hesitation, implied so much more than a general esteem or admiration. Oh goodness, my cheeks flushed, and I covered my face. Even Alexander knew how I felt! “Is it so obvious to everyone?” I mumbled.
He chuckled a bit as he stood up to offer me a bright green jar. Goodness, and I realized how much he’d grown! Alexander would surely be as tall as me soon, and I saw how kindly he looked at me. He was no longer the small, nervous boy I’d met in the library. “Try this last one,” he encouraged, “It will make you feel better.” I took a nip even as I was just catching the scent: wild herbs and baking bread. It was warm and welcoming. It felt like the forest, like tea shared with friends, like sunny days that would never end, and fond embraces. It felt like home, like belonging. “Mr. Lorenz will be back soon,” Alexander said closing the jar, “and then we can show him everything we’ve found.” “Thank you,” I said to the young gentleman. Alexander smiled at me.
Dear reader, with everything I’ve been experiencing this winter, looking over the old books and trying the ancient remedies with Alexander today, it feels like looking into faces from the past. Then and now, we are the same. We still share our stories, our feelings, and our hearts. I’ve learned more about the people of long ago, about those friends close at hand, and maybe a bit more about myself as well.