Chapter 20
Bernard nodded, dismissing himself from Alice after escorting her to the library, which stood behind intricate double doors between the curving marble staircases.
The smell of wood burning inside coaxed her into the dim orange light of the room.
She stepped into the darkness, allowing her eyes to adjust.
Around the fireplace, tall dark bookshelves with ornate gold embellishments came into view.
Before the fire sat two large high back leather chairs.
Books with emerald and ruby-studded spines lured her deeper into the study.
And in the deepest corner, beyond the fireplace, where a wall curved into an alcove, a silver glittering light shone.
Alice walked in a trance toward it, as it seemed to call to her.
As Alice drew closer to the light, it began to change to a greenish hue that undulated over the shelves, as if the light were cast from water.
At the corner where the shelves curved, a glass cabinet displayed antique books and jewels.
Resting on a gold easel was a book made of brilliant scarlet fabric with delicately painted gold angular designs that overlapped floral motifs.
At its center was a glass dome from which the silver-green light poured, swirling.
“There you are!” Rosemarie’s voice startled Alice from her hypnosis. “I came to see how you were faring in making your selection. Tell me, is there a subject that interests you?”
Alice tried to think of a subject, but when one’s mind is shocked, cataloging interests can be a challenge. “Dreams, or dream analysis?” she managed. It was the best she could come up with given that, aside from Bronte, psychoanalysts had caused the topic to be the whole of her literature intake.
“Dream analysis? That would be most aptly covered in witchcraft and doctrine, a topic I, too, am keenly interested in.” The queen walked toward Alice in the alcove emitting the light.
There it was again, the suggestion of witchcraft.
Alice had thought to rebut interest in something so controversial, but the queen’s nonchalance and clear direction toward the silver and green beacon made it clear that the views on such things were far different in this land.
Alice quickly followed, watching to see if Rosemarie glanced in the direction of the ethereal light the book cast. The queen ran her finger over a shelf of ancient books beside it, and Alice pretended to discover the scarlet book with the glowing glass dome.
“Oh, how splendid!” Alice said, almost pressing her nose to the glass case. She sounded, to her own mind, too forced and jovial.
“Indeed. That is a witch’s libre. It’s a recount of the events of a witch’s life.
Every day is written by magic on the pages, by the oculus.
And only those gifted with the spark can see it and its light.
” Alice’s breath escaped her. Rosemarie looked into Alice’s eyes, scanning hers with her own.
Could she see the light reflected in them?
“A record is important. Even in the mundane, it preserves a legacy. And informs the craft’s evolution, or so I would think.” Alice nodded, glancing away from Rosemarie’s locked gaze.
“We learn from history. Yes, even a silly book or shard of pottery. It says, ‘we existed,’ or they existed, I suppose.” Rosemarie had a softness to her voice, as if lost in a moment of nostalgia.
“Your interest is piqued. Allow me to indulge in my hobby for a moment.” She drew a key from her bodice on a long delicate gold chain and opened the cabinet.
She scrolled past the shelf where the libre was displayed and began running her fingers over the spines of small books on the glass shelf above.
Hoping to bring attention back to the book she wished to explore, Alice pointed to the symbol below the oculus of the libre.
“This here, is it the same emblem from the gate?”
“It is similar. Both represent Oz, the lands created by the Goddess Lurline. Here.” From the top of the glass cabinet, Rosemarie removed a book with gold embroidery on its spine, finished in emerald silk cover.
“The lore of the land’s origin.” She turned to a page and handed it to Alice.
On the page was an illustration of a woman who looked like a saint with dark skin and emerald eyes.
She wore a robe much like the one the queen wore, with silver leaf accents in a hood that wrapped around her head, and atop it was a gold jeweled crown.
She held an orb, inside which was a swirling universe painted in metallic leaf and deeply saturated colors.
Painted over the orb was the symbol of Oz.
“This was once a poisoned place,” Rosemarie said as Alice stared at the image, listening.
“Nearly all of it was covered over by sands that could turn anything living to stone. This is our Goddess Lurline. She dreamed of what this world could be and enchanted the planet. From her soul, a universe of life and magic poured, shaping the lands and blessing the waters to not only create but maintain life long-lasting.”
Rosemarie traced the emblem with her fingers.
“Oz is not a name, but a symbol. The circle represents the circle of magic, and Zed is the symbol for the sword: the protector of magic. This symbol, however, was adapted to mean something far more cynical by a radical sect that followed Roquat.” Rosemarie turned the book’s pages as if she knew where to go by heart.
“Roquat of the Rocks,” she said, “or to his followers, Lord Roquat, the Gnome King.” The illustration of him had silver eyes, and he looked much like a marble sculpture both in complexion and form.
“He was one of the enchanted immortals who joined Lurline to build and protect Oz. But then he turned against her—consuming the powers of the other protectors. Lurline punished him with a curse that turned sunlight into poison. He was forced below the ground to live with the gnomes, unable to walk amongst the land that he had helped shape.”
Alice looked up to the queen. It was all too much to be believed, and so she wholeheartedly believed it. “You speak as though he were living?”
“Yes, he likely still is.” Rosemarie shook her head, then pointed to his adaptation of the land’s emblem, in which the Z was formed by a snake.
“You’ll see the serpent version here and there.
It represents the serpent of chaos. It became the mark of the occult group that felt Oz belonged only to the sparked creatures, those with powers.
They believe in radical ideas, such as that those with magic should be free to do as they please, and that sparked creatures should have life immortal.
Laws and mortals were obstructions, and this group, led by Roquat, felt that good and chaos belonged in battle, and may the strongest survive. ”
“How foreboding,” Alice remarked, though the feeling of shrinking began to fill her. Her mind flickered. How could this all be real? “What became of the occult group?”
“When Roquat was banished below the ground, it was as if the head was severed from the snake, and the group of witches and wizards who followed him disbanded, though factions remain in pockets here and there. They keep their activities quiet, for now. But you never can tell who may favor his ideals. I fear the threat is still quite present—perhaps more and more so, though I’m not sure why. ”
The queen shook her head and placed the book upon the shelf, then plucked a large book from the open shelf behind her. Holding it in both hands, she presented it to Alice. “To feed your fascination of dreams.”
“Oh my, I don’t suppose the carriage ride will last a week,” Alice said, disheartened by the size of the text.
“I know the text well. Perhaps I can point you to the chapter covering what you are looking for.”
Alice looked up into the queen’s eyes and decided, just as she had decided to believe what she said, that she would also trust her.
“Dreams that return with characters you do not know in a world unlike your own,” she said, almost methodically.
Alice’s dreams were always classified in such a way in her medical charts.
Rosemarie raised one eyebrow. “It sounds as though you are talking about predictive dreaming. Dreams given to witches when they are young that, with a skilled dream reader, can indicate your future or your purpose.”
“Do all witches experience this?” Alice asked, wondering if all witches had dreamed of Wonderland, though she still was not convinced she was a witch, for she had always believed that that was the worst thing a woman could be.
“Those that are very powerful. Those that usually serve a much greater purpose in Oz. Though some experience the dreams of others. I’ll mark the page for the trip.
” Rosemarie flipped to a page within the book, and from the shelf took a ruby-tipped metal pin and slid it into the spine. “Alice,” she said, closing the book.
“Yes, Your Majesty?”
“Have you ever experienced such a phenomenon?”
“No,” Alice was quick in her response, much too quick. It was the speed of the accused running from the accusation. Rosemarie studied her for a moment, then softly smiled.
“I see. I’ll let you prepare for our adventure,” she said, handing her the heavy text.
“Thank you so very much,” Alice said, hoping that, in some small way, magic was in fact in this place far from London, and that it could help reunite her with Wendy—or at least give her a theory that more aptly explained her dreams. Logic appeared to be the most improbable strategy to unravel the mysteries that surrounded her.
In the absence of logic, magic seemed to be a possible solution, one she would not have ever considered before.