By Meaghan Kelly Cade was trying to escape his thoughts, so he disappeared into his study, in the southwest corner of his parents’ manor in rural Fahlar. It was crowded with leaning stacks of books, cluttered with ancient weapons and formidable instruments, and poorly lit by the perpetual flames in the fireplace stationed behind his antique writing desk. His messy onyx hair fell into his eyes as he wrote spells in diverse languages in the leather notebook he got last year. His rings were in a pile of silver in a shallow bowl at the corner of the sleek, mahogany desk desk, his obsidian greatcoat tossed on the coat-hanger by the door, his steel-toed combat boots careened at the feet of it , and his wire-rimmed glasses perched neatly by his quill’s inkwell. Cade was trying to escape a boy’s winding, vine-like scar, snaking up his left arm, covered by his multicolored sweaters that brought out the caramel of his skin. As he was trying to not think about the boy’s dark blonde hair and the expert ways it could catch the sun and spin gold, Cade started to notice that small pops of spells were going off around his head. He looked up from his journal and saw a colony of sparks swarm around him. He started seeing the coming and going of his ash-made cat, produced from a very specific spell, and the Nefac rune tattoos marching along his forearm. He stood up from his desk chair, almost tripping over a several pound dictionary by his feet as he hurried out of the gloom. He walked down the gilded halls, with its gold-veined marble and walls of floor length windows, looking out over the many acres of woods turning honey-colored in the changing season. At the curve of one hall, somewhat near the main entry, was a portrait of his immediate family: father, mother, and sister. Wallace, Magnolia, and Sara Dumont. Cade walked to the end of the hall and before he could make it to the thick double doors that led to the main foyer, they burst open and Sara rushed in. “Cade!” she exclaimed as she charged him. He feigned surprise, used to her bursts of chaotic energy and always willing to humor her. Her tan skin glowed in the light of the dying sun and her ink-black hair reflected the golden outside in gleaming highlights. When she tackled Cade in a hug she quieted, her energy shifting. “What pesters you, brother?” she asked in a much more formal tone. Cade hugged her back, gently. “The tragedy of death.” He discreetly directed them into metaphor, a common tongue for the Dumonts. “What has death stolen from you?” “Love.” “What caged bird sings?” “The golden finch.” Sara sighed. “Not still, brother.” “I’m afraid so.” Sara pulled out of the hug and looked up at him, a sorrowful emotion swimming in the depths of her dark eyes. She then took a few steps back and Cade could see the mischievous glimmer in her eyes and the beginnings of a smirk on the corner of her lips. It was the perpetual dare they had for each other: Do the wildest thing right now. Cade was preparing a curse of some kind when she burst into energy, yipping and jigging, waving her arms about like a ritual dance before running through the doors from which she came. Cade followed with a small smile while the spells quieted and slowed. For dinner, they were served a pasta meal, a favorite of one of their main cooks. “How was your journey, dear?” Magnolia asked as she began to sip her wine. Mrs. Magnolia Dumont was well known for her wide-ranging, loquacious novels and her looks, with her tall, skinny frame; clear, pale skin; and dark, glossy hair. Her medium of story-telling, especially in printed works, was where Cade got his medium of magic, ink. “It was a pleasing ride- I could see the countryside this time- and the rolling fields, with the occasional stone house or village, were beautiful,” Cade said with a soft smile. “I told you in my letters but in case you forgot, everybody’s turning over a new leaf, Dolores is starting to tutor, Finn is challenging himself with the responsibility of being class president and school prankster and the teachers are getting ever more stern.” Wallace Dumont nodded along, remembering his last few years in the Academy. He would’ve told a story and sprinkled in dozens of jokes and tidbits of information not necessary to the story. However, he had learned over the years that in states of great emotions he shouldn’t talk, for his strong emotions could cause unintended things to occur. Sara peered at him, knowing something had happened that he wouldn’t talk about. I’ll get it out of you, her eyes comminated. They continued on, talking about the last few months and the progression of business, school, and friends but throughout, Cade had to stop himself from raving about what happened when he boarded the carriage home. ⚣ Liam stepped out of the carriage and walked into the night. The dark hid the creatures he knew lurked between the thick trunks of the swamp trees. It had taken him a few days to arrive home from the rural location of the Hoatzin Academy and the constant jostling of the carriage didn’t let him sleep. He stepped onto the path of smooth stones, put together by his grandfather, that snaked all the way to the large house in the depths of the wood and water. He always loved the view he had from the porch, where he could spy on the long-legged birds and the slow reptiles that moseyed along the shallow banks. It comforted him to know that the crocodiles would always meander and the herons would always be regal. He loved the consistency of it, how the future would always seem the same, even if it was different. During the journey, he had thought about the most recent school year. How everyone slowed down, cleaned up their act. How the school prankster had become class president, how there was less gossip of that one girl cheating off of everybody. Then he realized that he had slowed down, too. His nightmares were less frequent, he had less outbursts, less troubling predictions. Down he went on the stone path. This is my gift for you. “Liam! Oh my Spirits, hi!” Alex came rushing down the path, nir gold-streaked hair glowing in the moonlight. Liam smiled warmly as he saw nem rushing towards him in the dead of night after not seeing him for almost a whole year. “Hey, munchkin,” he said quietly, in a way enjoying the quietness of the swamp. “What are you doing up so late?” “I was waiting for you! I know you usually get back home late so I got the cook to make me some coffee and Mrs. Bellagamba and I read books while waiting for you and just now she said one of her birds saw the Academy carriage drop you off so I rushed out to meet you.” “Okay, kiddo, thanks for waiting for me but it must be past midnight, you should’ve been sleeping.” Liam patted him on the head and they continued down the path. Just as he suspected, Mrs. Bellagamba was sitting at the dining room table, hunched over her coffee in exhaustion. There was a bowl of soup across from her and a plate of small carrots next to her. “Good evening, young master, I assume your journey was pleasant,” Mrs. Bellagamba said softly, in the lull of the late night. She was Alex’s governess before he attended the Academy and for the past few years she had become part of the family, alongside the perpetually exhausted cook. Liam nodded, “It was pleasant enough.” He plopped down in the seat with the soup, a chicken broth with rice noodles, and Alex resumed munching on his carrots. In the dim light and absolute darkness flooding in from the wall of windows, the house seemed smaller to Liam, the paneled walls crowding him, the long, thin hallways closing in as the portraits of his ancestors swarmed him. He tried thinking of the swamp, of all the interchangeable visions he had seen, the consistency of life, but all he could think of was the walls closing in and the raven-haired boy going on about his little sister; her piercing dark eyes and her mother’s hair, and her father’s skin tone as they walked in the open-air walkways, and the marble statues basking in the sun of the atriums. My home is like a palace of spirits, a collection of rivaling energies in each wing. So big it could hold an entire village, but only about seven people stay. I think that’s why I love the Academy so much, it’s just like home, only with different people. And you. “Liam?” He awoke in his house, the oak walls paler as the rising sun’s hazy light came in through some window, his father standing before him. “Hey,” Liam spoke with a hush, “how are you doing?” “I didn’t know you were back. I didn’t think you were coming back,” he added with a mumble. Liam wanted to ask if he was okay, but it was quite clear that no, Juan Guerra was not okay. ⚣ Cade sat on the patio with a mug of coffee that kept him warm from the constant winds that whipped at the oak trees and stole their auburn leaves. He was thinking of the boy again, how he walked in his corduroy trousers, with power and purpose and direction.
“Brother, if you are still here when I play the violin, I’ll curse you to the point of chronic hypnotization.” “Hm?” he half-heartedly asked, then, “Oh! Oh, I’ll be off now.” Cade stumbled off of the outdoor couch as he hurried back inside to give his sister space. His socked feet slipped slightly on the tile on the other side of the glass door, catching the attention of Magnolia, who was preparing a piece of toast for the late morning. “Are you alright?” “Yeah, of course, Sara was starting to practice her violin.” Cade gave a sheepish smile and made sure no coffee spilled. Magnolia’s eyes narrowed, “You usually stay anyway.” “Well, I guess my mind is a bit too frazzled to focus on muting the magic and maybe I have more faith that it will truly affect me this time.” “Or maybe you’re distracted and can’t focus on protecting yourself,” she suggested. Cade paused. “Maybe.” He sat in the Blue Room, staring at his newest tattoo. Hablar. “Scribe.” The ink morphed into a blob waiting to be commanded into a message, “Good morning.” The ink formed the words then disappeared into the Inbetween, away from the surface of his skin. Cade wanted a response on the small sheet of paper he had linked to the communicative tattoo, but the boy may not have seen it yet or his sheet was out of reach or he didn’t want to respond, or a multitude of other things. “You need a distraction,” he spoke, looking up at the arched and artificially frosted windows that looked out onto the blue section of the gardens. He snapped his fingers and his notebook and his fountain pen appeared. He opened up the book to a page, cluttered in paragraphs and symbols and basic sketches, and wrote jasanová kočka, plovoucí. From the ashes in the fireplace on the west wall, adorned in intricate carvings of lilies and berries, formed a sleek cat that rose as if from a slumber. It took a precise step outside the heavy iron grate, a few inches off of the pristine blue velvet rug that decorated the room. It pranced from the remains of the old logs and merrily approached the bay window, the plush chaise lounge and loveseat, and finally Cade. It sat in the air and curled its tail around itself, peering at him patiently. Cade peered back, nothing residing in his mind as he stared at the smudging ash and listened to the birds in the cobalt wisteria trees. He went back to his notebook and wrote lumière de papillon. From the light streaming in through the windows, dust floating peacefully in the lazy morning, the wings of a butterfly came together and flitted around the small room, coming around to tempt the ash-made cat. The cat noticed it and attempted to bat at it, but the butterfly adjusted ever-so-slightly to avoid it. Hence, a playful hunt began between light and ash. The false creatures danced around the room and Cade fell into a sort of trance watching them traipse around the room, leaving hardly a trace. The spells wore out and they faded away: the butterfly merely fading into the shadows and the cat flaking away into indiscernible flakes of old ash. Sara came in as the last of the flakes flew back to the fireplace. “What’s bothering you so much?” she asked as she sat alongside him on the sky blue chaise. He heaved a long sigh and reclined as thought about what precisely was wrong. It could’ve been that there was only one year left of school for him and he didn’t know what to do. It could’ve been that he might not see the golden boy that haunted every waking moment, anytime soon. It could’ve been a random blight of sadness that struck him that morning. It could’ve been anything really. “You know that theory you have?” he asked instead. “Where, when someone dies, and there are none to mourn them, the grief passes on to someone in the world?” Sara gave a subtle nod, an acknowledgement of unplaceable sadness. She jumped up then- with energy that was hidden a moment before- and gave a quick glance to the outside. “We’ll have to do something fun, then. We could help Mother garden, or climb some trees in the Purple Garden, or go bee hunting in the Yellow Garden. Surely you wouldn’t pass your grief to me by keeping me all locked up.” With the last statement she cocked her head and held down her silky black dress. Her eyes didn’t reflect this childish behavior, though, as they hunted Cade’s expression and in their own way begged him to be joyous with her. “Okay,” he said, sitting up with a small smile. “Let’s go hunt some bees.” Comments are closed.
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LRHS Literary Magazine StaffEditor-in-Chief:
Alejandra Jones Senior Editors: Sariah Meeker Lee McCormack (fall) Artistic Editor: Bryson I. White (senior) Instagram Editor: Rania Brown (senior) Editors & Staff: Sophia George Blase Harriss Meaghan Kelly Chloe Meeker Adrian McCall Liliana Palermo Estefania Quintino(spring) Katelyn Ranheim Maria Rodriguez (spring) Mario Rodriguez (spring) Livia Weekley Spring 2024 Table of ContentsArtworkPoetryFictionFall 2023 Table of ContentsArtwork~"Jellies" by William Lemaster
~"Mini Landscape" by Richard Bui ~"Leesville Lion" by Bryson White ~"Zuzus bday 4 skool" by Rose Van den Troost ~"A Study in Winter" by Chloe Meeker ~"Les Plaines Liminales et Étranges" by Bryson White ~"Night Sky" by Richard Bui ~"Sunrise" by Elizabeth Cawley Fiction~"Retribution Through Strife" by Nikholas Svajlenka
~"To a New Frontier" by Nikholas Svajlenka ~The Storm's Echo" by Meaghan Kelly ~"Lines" by Meaghan Kelly Poetry~"Sailor" by Caitlyn Kiefer
~"Walk-on" by Caitlyn Kiefer ~"Connection" by Riley Butler ~"The Sun Rises in the West for it Falls in The East on Many" by Nikholas Svajlenka ~"What if" by Sariah Meeker ~"Dark Cold Alone" by Jeanne Baker ~"Deceiving Heart" by Jayana Russell ~"The Life of a Wave" by Sophia George ~"The Melting Snow" by Sophia George |