DARJA
“How could one person have so many teacups?”
I shook my head and smiled, and though it felt genuine, it took some effort. Sofi and Stephen were going through the wagon, gathering up Mirtel’s things and packing them carefully away in the few cardboard boxes we’d brought from Stephen’s parents’ house.
“She loves a good cup of tea,” I said, and felt a sting when I realized I was still using the present tense when speaking about her.
Sofi either didn’t notice, or wisely chose to ignore the slip. “I’d like to keep a few,” she said, gently tracing a delicate rose-patterned china cup with one fingertip. “And maybe one of the teapots.”
“She’d like that,” Stephen said, putting a hand on Sofi’s shoulder. She looked up at him and they shared a soft smile. I was happy for them, seeing whatever was blossoming between them, but it hurt, too. I wished I could let my consciousness evaporate, so I wouldn’t have to feel this ache anymore.
I looked away from Sofi and Stephen, letting them have their moment without my prying eyes playing third wheel, and flicked my fingers toward a stack of papers and notebooks piled on the small table. The papers rustled and the top one floated into the air. I waved it toward me and glanced at the small print. It was an electric bill. I hadn’t imagined Mirtel doing anything so mundane as paying bills, but I supposed she would have had to.
I curled my hand into a fist, and the paper crumpled, and then I waved it into the trash bag we’d put in the middle of the wagon. We were going to leave the items we didn’t want, but we also didn’t want to leave personal information just lying about for some Vaikesti Council member to find.
I sorted through the stack almost lazily, my mind wandering to places and times I wasn’t sure I was ready to revisit. Places like the river’s edge, where I’d traced my fingers along Aggie’s cheek under a moody sky. Places like the house she’d grown up in, where I’d seen her in memories, vibrant and alive and so, so beautiful. And the time we’d spent at Stephen’s house, poring over spells, practicing our magic.
Was that where it’d happened? Had Mirtel stumbled across the spell of sacrifice there? Had she snuck it into the pocket of one of her oversized cardigans? Had she known then how this would all play out, or had she hoped she’d never have to use it?
The surge of magic rushed through me before I even knew what was happening, and the stack of bills and letters rose from the table and spun in a whirlwind of paper. Startled, I quickly closed my hand in a tight fist, and the papers all dropped, scattering across the floor.
“Uh, Darja?” Sofi said, looking at the mess with a concerned furrow in her brow. “You okay?”
I nodded, not trusting my voice enough to speak. I stared down at the pile and made a gathering motion with my hands, sweeping the debris together. It was then that I noticed the small book that had fallen out from amongst the sheets. I waved it toward me and looked closely at the cover. It was deep emerald green, maybe leather or some other soft material, and had the word Journal embossed in gold at the top.
“Sofi,” I said, nodding my head toward the notebook, which was hovering in the air between us.
“What’s—” she began, but then she stopped short as she came around and saw the cover.
We looked at each other, an unspoken question between us.
“Should we?” she said finally, and I shrugged. “I mean,” she went on, “I don’t think Mirtel would mind, but doesn’t it feel like an invasion of privacy?’
“What if...“ I swallowed back a rush of emotion. “What if she wrote about all this? About everything that’s happened? We can’t let something like that get into the wrong hands. I think we should…I think we should check.”
Sofi nodded, but her gaze was worried. “Are you sure you can—?”
“I’m sure.”
She didn’t question me. Slowly, almost reverently, I flipped my hand toward the journal and opened the cover, skimming through the pages until we reached the end. Sofi was still and silent behind me; I wasn’t even sure she was breathing.
Mirtel’s cramped, messy scrawl filled every page. Most of it seemed mundane: a chicken refusing to lay, the kids she saw playing at the koolis—ordinary events from what turned out to be an extraordinary life.
On the last page, the writing was different. Still messy, but broader strokes, as if she’d been writing in a hurry and couldn’t be bothered to keep the words within the lines.
My heart keeps going back to the island, it read. The old country. The home of our ancestors.
A place I have never been, but seems so clear in my mind. I can see the forests. Smell the sea air.
I think that’s where I will go, if it is up to me to choose. To the place where the magic is alive, where it is pure and unfettered. To the place where I know I can rest.
Home.
They will not understand, not now, but I hope one day they will.
I hope, one day, a very long time from now, they will join me. Where the magic lives, like a beating heart, inside us all. Where it is eternal and infinite and free.
I will wait. I will wait for them to come home.
Sofi sucked in a shuddering breath behind me, and I knew she had reached the end. She moved her hand over my shoulder, and I leaned into the touch-that-wasn’t-a-touch.
“What does it mean?” she whispered.
I shook my head. “I don’t know. But I think she wanted us to find this.”
I turned around and Sofi nodded. “I think you’re right.” She looked at Stephen, who was watching us with unabashed curiosity, but saying nothing.
She took a breath, then plucked the journal from the air and offered it to him.
He took it, and she smiled up at him. “I think I know where we have to go.”