The Awakening Read Free

and greeted the dawn as you do. The only thing he left behind when he left was that, over there.’ With a dismissive gesture Hwenfayre’s mother waved at the box that had stood in the corner of the room for as long as Hwenfayre could remember. It was of a dark wood, plain and unadorned except for a single spiral carved into the wood near the lock. A lock that, as far as she knew, had never been opened.
    ‘It belonged to your father, child. It may as well be yours. I haven’t opened it, never wanted to. Take it to your room. I never want to see it again.’
    ‘Why not?’ Hwenfayre asked.
    Her mother looked at her, looking as close to tears as Hwenfayre had ever seen her. ‘One day, child, you will understand about betrayal and desertion. I hope it will never happen, but it will. Then, Hwenfayre, you will understand why I have never opened this box.’
    She stood abruptly and walked over to the box. With a grunt, she pulled it away from the wall and gestured curtly for Hwenfayre to help. Together they pushed it into Hwenfayre’s room, then her mother left, closing the door behind her. From beyond thedoor Hwenfayre heard her mother cough. It was a harsh, racking cough that had only developed recently. Her mother had dismissed Hwenfayre’s questions about it, so she had stopped asking.
    From that day, until the day she died two years later, Hwenfayre’s mother mentioned neither the box, nor the man who had left it behind. There were times when Hwenfayre’s curiosity got the better of her and she ventured a question about her father. Her mother’s hard glares and occasional rages prevented further enquiries. Hwenfayre sometimes wondered why she was so uninterested in her father; for some reason he rarely seemed important.
    Once it was in her room, Hwenfayre was able for the first time to examine the mysterious box. Despite its having been in the room where she cooked, ate and spent most of her time, Hwenfayre had never felt free to look closely at it before. It was almost as though there had been a curse or a spell of some kind on it, keeping her away from its secrets. Now, though, it felt welcoming. She felt that the time had come for her to explore the mysteries and plumb the depths of her past.
    Fingers trembling, she traced the outline of the lock and the the carving; everything, even the hinges, gave her a feeling of something forbidden, something arcane. The box was smaller than it had appeared. It stood just lower than her knee and was as deep as it was high. In length, she could stretch her arms out and touch each end.
    After feeling the outside, running her fingers over the smooth, hard wood, she turned her attention to the lock. At first it was puzzling as it had no apparentkeyhole, but she quickly discovered that it was a clasp, not a lock, and it was a puzzle-clasp. She tinkered with it for a few minutes and it fell apart in her hands. The pieces tumbled to the floor where they lay in intricate disarray. For a moment she looked at the pieces, distracted by the strange pattern they made. A peculiar dreaminess stole into her mind as she stared. She felt herself becoming light-headed, almost weightless; the room seemed to fade, drift away, swirling around the scattered, glinting pieces of metal on the floor. They shifted, moved, forming into a new pattern, a striking, strong pattern, an image of power and magic. A deep shudder shook the girl’s slight frame as she watched, entranced by the shifting of the glinting fragments. Her eyes became unfocused and she grew giddy with the power of ancient mysteries that swept through her.
    Hwenfayre shook her head. The room was real again, and the mystical pattern became the scattered pieces of a child’s toy once more. Shaking her head a second time, she cleared away the last remnants of the disturbing feelings and lifted the lid. It moved easily, hinged at the back, to reveal the contents that had lain undisturbed for twelve years. Despite herself, Hwenfayre was