More Cherry Harvest Stories

If you enjoyed Memories from Cherry Harvest then you will be pleased to learn that I have published a companion volume entitled More Cherry Harvest Stories. In this book you can dive into the backstories for three of the minor characters. These novellas follow the lives of Sophie, Shayna, and Sarah. The book is available from all the usual sources and you should be able to order it from your local bookstore. Message me if you have trouble getting it.

Penelope's Odyssey

Friends and Readers,

I am delighted to announce the publication of my novel Penelope’s Odyssey. The book is available from all the usual sources in paperback and hardcover editions. You should be able to order it from your local bookstore and if not let me know and I’ll help you get a copy. This is the last of the large, full-length novels I have spent decades writing during my life. While I have some other book projects in the works, I doubt I will ever write another large novel. I hope you have enjoyed Memories from Cherry Harvest and Guardians of Water and that you will find something of value in my latest endeavor. I wish I could give each of you a complimentary copy but I can’t afford to do it.

 

I want to share the amazing story about the extraordinary book cover that my daughter-in-law Anjelica designed. She told me she was sitting in silent meditation at a retreat when the vision for the cover art came to her. As we looked at her first sketch of the cover, I asked her where she had been (geographically) on the retreat. When she replied Kelseyville, I nearly fell off my chair. I explained to her that Kelseyville is named after Andrew Kelsey, the colonizing rapist and murderer responsible for the subsequent Bloody Island Massacre that annihilated hundreds of Eastern Pomo in the very area where Anjelica had been on retreat. A fictional version of this historic event is central to Penelope’s Odyssey. (Anjelica had not known that.) I thank the ancestors for sending these beautiful, evocative images to Anjelica for the cover art.

 

About Penelope’s Odyssey:

This modern day Penelope wastes no time weaving and unweaving tapestries while awaiting news of her disappeared husband. Instead, she struggles to strike a path to her future as a single mother of two small children, living in poverty, and wrestling with undefined demons. Penelope charts her course of self-discovery to learn the hard truth about her family and her Native American roots in a telescopic odyssey of stories-within-stories featuring women in search of identity and meaning. Her journey takes her to the history of the tragedy suffered by her Tribe and the imposed assimilation that robbed her of her culture. The fictional tribal history portrayed in the novel is based on the little-known true history of an Eastern Pomo Tribe that dwelled on the shores of Clear Lake, California for thousands of years until the Tribe was annihilated in 1880. The narrative loosely follows the plot and more closely follows the themes of the Odyssey, remaking Homer’s classic in a modern setting and telling the story from the point of view of the wife Odysseus left behind. Penelope’s Odyssey explores themes of oppression, displacement, survival, forgiveness, loss, hope, love, righting past wrongs, and, ultimately, what it means to come home in the world.

 

Refugees Again and Again

I had occasion to reread a blog post from 2018 about demonstrating to support refugees, immigrants, asylum seekers. It made me want to put it out there again so here it is for anyone who still gets notifications when I post on this blog. (There's now a paywall at the Chronicle so the link at the end doesn't work unless you have a subscription.)

Refugees Again

I wore my vintage bright pink New El Salvador Today (NEST) T-shirt from the 1980s to the Families Belong Together demo at the ICE Detention Center in Richmond on June 30. The shirt still fits me, but T-shirts are made of super-stretchy material so it’s not the same as, say, still fitting into my wedding dress. My NEST shirt would fit an adolescent rhinoceros. However, I did not wear it as a fashion statement (and no species of adolescent creature, rhino or otherwise, would likely deign to wear such outdated attire). I never wear the shirt, and no one knows what it means anymore. NEST folded decades ago. Once, when my fashionista daughter saw me wearing my NEST shirt, she exclaimed in horror, “Mom, you still have that shirt?” Her tone implied that I had broken every rule of wardrobe acceptability in the known universe (or at least in L.A.). Busted by the fashion police.

I wore my NEST shirt to the ICE Detention Center to remind myself of how many years I have been protesting this kind of injustice. I bought the shirt in 1985, when my synagogue collaborated with NEST to aid and harbor Salvadoran refugees fleeing the violence of the Death Squads, a situation to which U.S. interests largely contributed for financial gain. We also helped Guatemalans and other Central Americans whose home communities were destroyed by U.S. imperialistic corporate interests, such as the Dole Food Company. Sidebar. Dole, originally founded as Castle & Cooke in 1851, also took a major role in colonizing Hawaii and enslaving indigenous people on the pineapple plantations. Never underestimate the nefarious hidden agenda of a pineapple, which may sting your mouth depending upon which part of it you eat. No doubt associated with an imperialist plot. Dole and other U.S. ag corporations have destroyed the soil in Central America to such a degree that it no longer supports the cultivation of edible plants, which means the impoverished people trying to live in this region who can’t afford to buy food also can’t grow it. Starvation is a strong incentive for relocation, particularly when combined with being pursued by a gang-member killer. The Central American refugees denied asylum and returned to their home country stand a good chance of being killed, same as those returned in 1985. It’s a no-brainer that people don’t choose to walk away from a beloved community and homeland, leaving their family behind and often enduring separation from their children, unless their lives are in peril and they have no other options. What part of this is so hard to understand? Should I do a Venn Diagram?

At the ICE Detention Center demo, a man stopped in his tracks when he saw my NEST shirt and said, “I have one of those shirts too. I worked for NEST.” I told him that when getting dressed that morning, it had been a toss-up for me between the NEST shirt and my Santa Rita Peace Camp shirt (from when I did nonviolent civil disobedience and got arrested protesting nuclear weapons at Lawrence Livermore National Laboratory in 1983). He burst out laughing. “I have a Santa Rita T-shirt too!” he informed me. “You went to Santa Rita Jail with the Livermore 1,000 in 1983?” I asked. Yes, he had. He and I seem to have frequented all the same places.

Santa Rita Peace Camp is another story from my years resisting the forces of destruction. In 1983, I joined approximately 1,000 demonstrators in blockading the entrance to Livermore National Lab, and we were arrested. Since nearby Santa Rita Jail couldn’t house 1,000 protesters, they separated the men from the women and put us into red-and-white striped event tents on the prison property. We refused to go to arraignment until the judge agreed to sentence us to community service instead of a fine (because a lot of the protesters couldn’t afford a fine). Refusing to go to arraignment meant non-cooperation, such as going limp, which would have required guards to drag people to the transport buses. Some of the women protesters went so far as to strip naked as another resistance tactic, because the predominantly male guards were at a loss about how to politely wrangle a naked woman onto a bus (where do you grab her?) while being filmed for the evening news, because TV crews came out in force to document this spectacle. While our lawyers negotiated the terms of our release with the judge, we held workshops, teach-ins, songfests, talent shows, trainings, meditation retreats, yoga classes, cooking shows, caber tosses, spelling bees, health fairs, car washes, Porta Potty decorating contests, and other entertaining and enlightening what-not in our striped tents at Santa Rita. Thus, an inside joke emerged as we referred to our incarceration as Santa Rita Peace Camp. After the authorities released us (with only community service and no fine), Livermore Action Group (the organizer of the demo) made up T-shirts with an image of the striped tents and the words “Santa Rita Peace Camp.” I still have mine. Apparently so does that man I met at the ICE Detention Center demo. From that time to this I have raised three children and become a grandma. Yet here we are again, still standing in opposition to injustice, inequality, planetary destruction, and general stupidity.

I opened up to that man, my kindred spirit, and said, “It’s hard to keep doing this, year after year, generation after generation, as I grow old. In the 1980s, when I was young, my synagogue harbored Central American refugees in our homes. A Salvadoran refugee and a Holocaust survivor gave testimony together in my living room while a group of refugee women made the most delicious eggnog from scratch in my kitchen. Honestly, in the 1960s, my Jewish parents harbored a Palestinian refugee from the Six-Day War in our home in the suburbs in upstate New York. And in the 1920s, my grandfather arrived in this country as a refugee, fleeing the persecution of the Jews in his native Poland. Much of his large family (my family) perished in the Holocaust. We Jews have wandered as refugees for thousands of years, dispersed across the earth in Diaspora going back to the days before the birth of Christ, who, when you get down to it, was also a refugee. This business of migration and fleeing an untenable living situation has been going on for thousands of years. Apparently humans have learned nothing from it. I am outraged and exasperated anew that I must live among such continuously unevolved people. The ranks of our government swell with toxic demon dinosaurs. Our species may as well crawl back into the slime because we still have the intelligence of a one-celled organism.

When will people get it? The planet is one. Boundaries, borders, fences, and walls are artificial dividers. Countries are fabricated geographical subdivisions. When a land becomes uninhabitable because of degradation of nature, resources, culture, and/or humanity, then the inhabitants must move to another location, whether part of their home country or not. That’s how it flows. Well-intentioned folks like to say “do unto others” and “treat others as your own” and “be compassionate and kind to the other, the stranger, for you were once a stranger, and you could be one again at any time.” This is “other” nonsense. I have to ask -- what other? There is no other. We are all us. We are the human family. So I struggle to contain my rage. I struggle to disperse my frustration and focus instead on sources of joy, wonder, and delight. When I feel like I might run screaming into the forest, I tell myself to remain calm. I tell myself (oh thank you dear J.K. Rowling), “The Death Eaters may have control of the Ministry, but we will continue to practice our magic, and one day we will wave our wands, wrest the Ministry from them, and set things to rights.”

 *** 

Coda:  Last week Contra Costa County announced that they are severing ties with ICE and will not allow ICE to use the detention center in Richmond to house detainees. All detainees must be released on bail or moved within 120 days. Contra Costa County Sheriff Livingston cited the disruption and stress caused by recent demonstrations at the facility as a significant reason for this action (in particular the demo on June 30 attended by myself and approximately 1,000 other people). Egad, unbelievable, my voice was heard. Once the facility in Richmond is cleared of detainees, there will be no facility housing detainees in the SF Bay Area. Way to go NorCal. Imagine if all counties and all facilities in the country refused to participate in the ICE detention of refugees. Follow this link for an article in the SF Chronicle about Contra Costa County cancelling its contract with ICE.

Dear World

 

To my family and friends who live around the world in other countries: 

I’m sending you these words from inside the belly of the beast. Please know that millions of us continue to resist. You must wonder about us; how our country could have crashed this fast. But think for a moment about our history. This country is built on white supremacy, slavery, genocide of indigenous people, greed, lies, and exploitation for profit. This country was formed by landowning white men, who were at that time the only ones who could vote. Some of them had good intentions, but certainly not all of them did. I am not surprised by this turn of events. As a Jew, I have lived my life with the whispered warning “it can happen here.” So I have steeled myself to be prepared.

I hope you realize that criminal president has no mandate. He won by the slimmest of margins. Many foolish people voted for his lies and misinformation because these were efficiently sold to them using money from his henchman, Adolf Musk (what I call him). The Republicans implemented a massive voter suppression initiative resulting in millions of people (most of them African American) being removed from the voter rolls ostensibly because of “irregularities” so their votes did not count. Stop the steal? Who stole from whom? (This is the suppressed truth. You can look it up.) Many fools who drank the Kool-Aid and supported him have changed their tune. If the election were held again today, he would lose.

People are suffering. Children are starving. People are dying. It is heartbreaking and infuriating and horrifying. So much damage has been done. So much has been broken. So much more damage is yet to come. Some of it can be fixed and some cannot. I am saddened that my country’s reach is so vast that people in so many other countries are suffering and will suffer because of America’s mess. Yet there are things people here can do to resist and please know that we are doing those things. People are turning up in droves at demonstrations, town hall meetings, and lobby days. I attended a town hall meeting here (with our Democratic senator) where so many people turned up that hundreds could not even get in. Demonstrations at Tesla dealerships are mounting, people are trading in their Teslas and not buying Teslas to stop the flow of money to Adolf Musk. People are writing postcards (I write) and making phone calls (I phone) and sending emails (I send) and signing petitions (I sign). I subscribe to a number of newsletters to stay informed and to guide my actions. These include, but are not limited to, Indivisible, Earthjustice, Heather Cox Richardson, Gabe Fleisher, Jewish Voices for Peace, Amnesty International, Jewish Earth Alliance, Word in Black.

Republican senators have largely canceled town hall meetings because they fear facing their constituents. Cowards all. But constituents are organizing in-absentia town halls – putting a sign with the senator’s name on it on an empty chair and meeting anyway. These meetings are not just attended by Democrats and Progressives. Many disgruntled MAGA supporters (former supporters?) also turn up and they are also angry. Often when I call congressional offices the mailboxes are full and no longer accepting messages. The lines are jamming with so many calls. Some of our leaders are standing up to the MAGA King and Adolf Musk, that toxic duo. I send thank-you notes and encouraging emails to some of those brave enough to dissent.

I have close family members who worked in USAID and the Consumer Financial Protection Bureau who have lost their jobs. The one employed by the CFPB is a single mom with two small children, and one of the children is neurodivergent and has special needs. She is a brilliant career economist. So unfair. Ron and I need a little more income than what we make with his pension and our combined social security so I continue to work part-time to make up the difference, but my work is grant writing and grants are drying up because of the toxic duo’s actions. My point is that the toxic duo is directly negatively impacting my life and the lives of my loved ones.

That criminal president’s behavior toward the hero Zelensky was disgraceful and disgusting. He is not fit to lick Zelensky’s shoe. Vance is not fit to lick the ground Zelensky walks on. It hurts my soul to see my country break longstanding ties with other countries and to have our country shunned by the countries of the free world, shunned by longstanding allies. Now your countries must protect the light of freedom in the world because America is no longer the beacon. I grieve for all that we have lost and that we stand to lose. My strongest emotion in this time is grief. But I do not let grief paralyze me. I take action and so do many others.

Please know that I refuse to fear. Whatever befalls me will befall millions of other people. If they cut my social security, I will lose my house. So will millions of other people. We are in this together. We will face whatever comes together. I am grateful for the blessings of my life that have brought me such joy for so long, including my relationships with you who are receiving this message. The toxic duo has the power to take a lot away from me, but I am wealthy beyond measure and they are impoverished. They cannot touch the love I bear for my family and community. And they do not have such love or community. They do not even know what that is. They are pitiable.

I promise you that I will continue to resist this horror in my own small ways. While I believe that we have lost our window of effective action to reverse climate chaos and protect the environment, I also believe that life on Earth has the capacity to adapt and evolve and there is some kind of future for humans that we cannot imagine. I must believe this for the sake of my grandchildren and yours if you have them. I believe that things will turn back around for the better eventually. I hope one day my country will swing back to becoming an ally and friend to your countries. I may not live to see it, but I hold that hope. Please know that I and many, many others within these borders are in solidarity with you. May our dear world survive this catastrophe.

 

Image of Earth from space.

Contemplating Paying Taxes to a Corrupt Regime

I sent our tax information to our accountant this week so I have taxes on my mind. The thought of paying taxes to our criminal government is more than I can stand at the moment. I remembered a blog post of mine from 2019 and went back to reread it. I talked about being a war tax resister back in the day. Here is the last paragraph from it. The more things change, the more they stay the same.

Not long after the 2016 election, I reread Thoreau’s essay “Civil Disobedience,” which is his reflection on spending one night in jail in 1846 for refusing to pay his poll tax in protest against the American invasion and occupation of Mexico in the Mexican-American War and the institution of slavery (in particular the expansion of slavery into the Southwest). In truth, the poll tax was a more localized tax that was not used to pay for any federal shenanigans, but Thoreau was apparently a bit fuzzy on how all that worked. He stood on principle. Much to his chagrin, his aunt paid his poll tax and he was released in less than 24 hours. How ironic that I dearly wish I could withhold my income tax 173 years later for similar reasons – to protest the military, the nonsense at the Mexican border, and the institutionalized racism in this country. I never went to jail for refusing to pay my taxes. (The government eventually absconded with my back taxes by forcibly seizing the money from my bank accounts.) I did go to jail once in protest against nuclear weapons, and I spent three days in Santa Rita Jail, and I have written about that experience. I want to point out that I spent more time in jail than Thoreau. Plus I was handcuffed (he was not, the bum). He managed to turn one night in jail into a 173-year bestseller and all I got was a T-shirt. (Seriously, I have a Livermore Action Group T-shirt that says “Santa Rita Peace Camp.”) If Thoreau could get published writing about one night in jail, you would think I could get published writing about three days there. But I can’t seem to catch a break. What’s more, the food at Santa Rita was dreadful, and Thoreau got oatmeal for breakfast. Is there no justice? 

Thoreau's cabin in the woods on Walden Pond.

Guardians of Water

I am pleased to announce the publication of my new novel Guardians of Water. The book is available from all the usual sources. The paperback is $18 and the hardcover is $35. I suggest ordering it through your local bookstore. Tell them it’s available through Ingram. Please help me get the word out about this book. If you like it, tell some friends about it. Thanks for supporting me as a creative writer 

Here's a little bit about Guardians of Water:

Six diverse women friends meet for the weekend at a beach house to celebrate the year in which they all turn forty. Two weeks later, a petroleum-eating bacteria unleashed in the Gulf of Mexico to contain a spill goes rogue and devours all the raw petroleum products in the world. After the Systems Collapse, each of these women follows her own path to try to survive in a previously unimaginable altered life. From a Washington, D.C. suburb to a survivalist community in Kentucky, from Manhattan to a working class neighborhood in a town in upstate New York, from Oakland to a Native Rancheria in rural northern California, these women, their families, and their communities summon extraordinary ingenuity, resilience, and vision in the hopes of forging a viable future. A genre-bending work of speculative fiction, Guardians of Water is combination eco-fiction, humanistic sci-fi, and disaster fiction told from women’s perspectives.

This narrative explores relationships between people and communities, with each other and the environment, when the established infrastructure and systems fail. As new ways of being emerge and people rethink their values and cultural norms, which communities will survive in the new ecology and which will crumble? The characters must engage with their communities in new and challenging ways if humans hope to survive as a species. Priorities, relationships, cultures, ethics, and assets shift. Guardians of Water reveals the things that truly matter for human survival while honoring the resilience, resourcefulness, and brilliance of the human spirit.

The Conclusion of Changing the Prophecy -- Chapter 27 What Happened at Angel's Gate

For those following along, this is the last chapter of Changing the Prophecy, serialized here on the blog. Changing the Prophecy can be purchased online or at your local bookstore. If you want to read it for free, start at the beginning by searching back to the first chapter, first episode. You can do this by typing “Chapter 1 Episode 1” in the search box in the upper left corner of the landing page for The View from Amy’s World. For those of you who followed along here on the blog, here is how the story ends (below). Thanks for reading.

Chapter 27 What Happened at Angel's Gate

Doshmisi wanted to rejoice because Faracadar had escaped the prophesied destruction, but she couldn’t summon the necessary level of joy to feel celebratory with Crumpet and Buttercup dead and the moment of the return looming. On the morning of the return, she and her siblings joined their closest friends for a quiet breakfast in the dining room at Big House City. Elena had warmed up the muffins (blueberry, not mouse) that she had baked with Comice the night before and they tasted delicious with melted butter.

Nearly everyone at the breakfast table was tense and subdued, with farewells and separations on their mind. Only Sonjay did not seem fazed by the fact that the day of the return had arrived. He wolfed down his pond snake and goose-chicken eyeballs as well as a chocolate-chip pancake and several of the blueberry muffins. Doshmisi ate one muffin. She had no appetite, especially after watching her brother devour the pond snake.

Jasper slipped into the chair next to Doshmisi and took her hand, holding it in his lap. She felt guilty because she had not told him her secret, which she had harbored since the first night in the stable after she discovered Dagobaz. She had decided to stay in Faracadar. But how could she tell him when she had not said anything yet to her sister, brothers, and father about her decision? She didn’t know how to do it. Her family would probably understand, but that would not make it any easier for them to say goodbye to one another at Angel’s Gate. When Momma had died, Doshmisi had made a vow to look after her siblings because she was the oldest; and even though Momma’s spirit had come to her at Akinowe Lake the previous year on the night of the lesser sun to release her from her vow, she had continued to feel responsible for Denzel, Maia, and Sonjay. But now they had their father to look after them. Nothing prevented Doshmisi from staying behind in Faracadar, except that she would not see the others for a year until they returned.

She briefly forgot her worries when Mole and Iris appeared, bashfully holding hands. Denzel laughed out loud as he hurried over to them and clapped Mole on the back. “Good thing you hooked up with him, Iris, before he managed to blow up a building or start a fire because of his crush on you.”

Iris laughed. “He did start a fire,” she replied.

“He did?” Denzel asked with concern.

“In my heart,” she told him, with a shy smile aimed at Mole, who was probably blushing, but who could tell for sure since he had such reddish-brown skin to begin with?

“We came to see you off at Angel’s Gate, mon,” Mole said.

“And we want to tell you our news,” Iris added.

“Yeah, mon,” Mole continued. “We be gettin’ married, but we be waitin’ until next year when you return because I want you to be the best mon at the wedding.”

“I’m honored,” Denzel said, with a little bow.

“It’s time,” Cardamom announced.

The Four gathered their belongings. Bayard perched on Sonjay’s head. Maia picked up her travel drum. Doshmisi slung her bag of herbs over her shoulder. She still could not get used to the absence of the herbal. Denzel shrugged into his backpack.

The polished wood of Angel’s Gate glittered in the sunlight cast by the ancient greenish sun shining cheerfully in the brilliant blue sky. The Four, Elena, and Reggie walked up the hill to Angel’s Gate for their departure. Cardamom, Jasper, Honeydew, Mole, and Iris accompanied them. Elena carried Guhblorin, who clung to her forlornly, whimpering. On the path to Angel’s Gate, Comice, Hyacinth, and Saffron joined them, as well as Jack, who floated along above the ground. The group gathered solemnly in front of the doorway that led back to Manzanita Ranch and their Aunt Alice.

Cardamom handed Doshmisi a ring. “For her,” he said. Everyone knew he meant for Doshmisi to give the ring to Aunt Alice, the love of Cardamom’s life.

Doshmisi took the ring and looked around at Sonjay, Maia, and Denzel. She would miss them so much. And she would miss her father, with whom she had barely spent any time in her life so far. She had finally gotten him back only to be separated from him once again. But she had made up her mind and stood firm in her resolve. She brushed tears from her cheeks as she handed the ring to Maia. “You have to take it to her Maia, because I’m staying. I’ve made up my mind and nothing will convince me to change it so don’t try.”

Jasper threw his arms around Doshmisi and kissed her right on the lips in front of everyone. Doshmisi laughed and cried at the same time.

Maia stared down at the ring in her hand and then she passed the ring to Denzel and said, “I made up my mind while I was drumming to call the algae home. I’m staying as well. You take the ring to Aunt Alice.” Maia went to Doshmisi’s side and took her hand.

Denzel held the ring gingerly between his thumb and his index finger. “Well, this would be goodbye then,” Denzel told his sisters solemnly. Then his face broke into a smile as he continued, “if not for the fact that I vowed when Sissrath and Shrub imprisoned us on the North Coast that if we survived I would never leave Faracadar.” He passed the ring to his brother. “It’s up to you,” he said to Sonjay. Denzel was determined not to cry, even though he could hardly imagine going a whole year without seeing his brother.

Sonjay clutched the ring in his hand and began to laugh. He laughed so hard that he couldn’t even talk. Bayard squawked, “Promise, promise, promise.”

“What’s so funny?” Denzel demanded in exasperation, forgetting that just a moment before he had struggled to hold back tears.

When Sonjay finally caught his breath, he explained, “I promised Bayard last winter that we would stay in Faracadar this year. But only if he kept his beak shut about it until I was ready to tell.”

“You mean, you knew before we even came this year that you didn’t plan to go back and you didn’t say anything?” Denzel accused.

“I didn’t know how to tell you,” Sonjay defended himself, and the others understood exactly what he meant. “I’m glad I waited because now all of us have decided to stay.”

“I have no reason to return if my children plan to remain here,” Reggie announced.

The group erupted in excited exclamations, with much laughing and crying and hugging. Denzel teased Mole and Iris that they might be getting married sooner than they had thought. Hyacinth mangled quite a few words while expounding on the situation and no one bothered to correct him. Cardamom beamed. Honeydew threw her arms around Maia. In the general commotion, the sadness of one girl, one geebaching, and one man formerly known as Compost went momentarily unnoticed until slowly each of the Goodacres turned to Elena and fell silent.

Elena attempted to speak, but nothing more than a sorrowful squeak emerged from her mouth as she tried unsuccessfully to stifle a sob. Guhblorin had wrapped his arms around her neck and his legs around her waist and buried his face in her hair. The two of them clung to each other. Comice stood next to them, staring wretchedly at his feet. Staying was not an option for Elena. She had a large and loving family at home and she could not disappear one day from their midst without causing a great deal of pain, not to mention a lot of questions about her whereabouts that could potentially land Aunt Alice, Uncle Bobby, and many others in a heap of trouble. Also, much as it saddened her to leave her friends, she did not wish to be separated from her family.

Then a most unusual thing happened. First, Guhblorin began to cry. His shoulders shook and his face contorted with grief while tears oozed from his eyes. Comice rubbed the geebaching’s back to comfort him. Guhblorin’s tears became bigger and bigger and they dropped on the ground like rain, like hailstones. They dropped on the ground where they became hard diamonds the moment they touched the soil.

“Geebachings don’t cry,” Iris informed the others matter-of-factly. “It has never happened. I have read it in the history books. Geebachings never, ever cry.”

“Well it’s happening now,” Comice said.

Cardamom squatted down and picked up one of the diamonds to examine it. “A deep enchantment from the long-ago resides in this teardrop,” he noted quietly.

“I recall something I read once,” Reggie said distractedly, as he rummaged in his bag, withdrew a frayed maroon book, and thumbed through it.

More and more diamonds formed and Guhblorin’s whole body shook with sobs until Elena could no longer hold him and she placed the miserable creature on the ground. Comice gently wiped Elena’s tears from her cheeks with his thumb, but she barely noticed. She, and soon the others, became mesmerized by the transformation of the geebaching occurring before them.

As Guhblorin cried and his tears bounced around him, becoming larger and larger diamonds, his feet morphed into human feet. The transformation spread up his legs to his torso. Then from his fingertips, up his arms, to his neck, and finally to his head as he turned into a human, with the human face and the human body of a fifteen-year-old boy. The new Guhblorin had clear honey-brown skin with a hint of orange to it, and piercing dark eyes. His straight black hair fell in a thick cascade down his back almost to his waist.

Doshmisi thought he resembled some of her Native friends from her life at Manzanita Ranch. Nothing about him resembled a geebaching anymore. He held his human hands up before his face and turned them this way and that in amazement. He grabbed a fistful of his human hair and rubbed it between his fingers. He lifted his feet one at a time to examine them and hopped a little jig. He laughed in delighted astonishment at his miraculous metamorphosis.

“I’m a real boy,” Guhblorin exclaimed with exaggerated glee. “I can wear shoes!”

“Still a bit of a geebaching in him,” Sonjay said.

“Here it is,” Reggie announced. “I found it in the Book of the Khoum. The geebachings fell under a curse in ancient times.”

“And to break the curse,” Cardamom continued where Reggie left off, “a geebaching must feel sorrow.”

“Exactly,” Reggie confirmed.

“Makes sense,” Cardamom said.

“That’s what this is? Ewww. I don’t like sorrow,” Guhblorin stated, with a shudder. He stretched himself up to his new full height, which wasn’t particularly tall, but it was a lot taller than he had been. “Wow. I can see all the way to the Wolf Circle from here,” he claimed.

“More than a bit,” Denzel said to Sonjay and Jasper. “He still has a lot of geebaching in him.”

Guhblorin took Elena’s hand gallantly. “This changes everything. I’m going with Elena,” he announced.

“Not a good idea,” Honeydew asserted with a groan.

“What if you change back?” Maia asked worriedly.

“Not likely to happen,” Reggie asserted. “According to the book, the restoration to his human form is complete and permanent.”

Cardamom crawled around on the ground, hastily collecting Guhblorin’s diamond teardrops in a little leather pouch. Saffron kneeled down next to him to help.

“Diamonds are forever,” Guhblorin commented with a chuckle. He had a rich baritone voice and Maia wondered if he was still tone deaf or if he could sing.

“I can’t call you Guhblorin on the other side,” Elena insisted. “You need a more normal name. How about Gabe?”

Guhblorin winced. “Gabe? What does Gabe mean?”

“It’s short for the name Gabriel. It’s a regular name people use,” Doshmisi reassured him.

“Gabriel was a messenger of God in our most holy book in the Farland,” Reggie informed Guhblorin.

“Who’s God?” Guhblorin asked.

“I’ll explain some other time,” Elena answered hastily.

“Man, you’re going to get into so much trouble at school,” Sonjay warned Guhblorin.

“Why?” Guhblorin asked, worriedly.

“For joking around. The teachers don’t like it when you disrupt the class by making people laugh,” Sonjay explained.

“Then I’ll remain entirely serious,” Guhblorin said with resolve. “Always. From now on. Forever. Until my teeth fall out.”

“Good luck with that,” Denzel replied.

“I won’t go to school,” Guhblorin muttered.

Just then the freestanding wooden doorway that formed Angel’s Gate quivered, flashed with bright light, and filled with green smoke. As the smoke dissipated, Aunt Alice, Crystal, and Ruby appeared framed in the doorway. Aunt Alice clung to one end of a leash and on the other end of the leash stood her favorite goat, Fannie Lou. Her beloved dog Zora nestled in the crook of her arm.

Cardamom looked thunderstruck and then he stepped forward and held his arms out to Aunt Alice, who stepped easily into his embrace. Cardamom held Aunt Alice and Zora close, while Zora yipped excitedly. Aunt Alice bent over to put Zora on the ground and when she stood up, Cardamom tipped her back and kissed her on the lips for a long time, as if they were movie stars.

“Ewww,” Sonjay said as he covered his eyes.

“Shut up,” Maia told him. “It’s romantic.”

“But she’s Aunt Alice,” Sonjay complained as he peeked out from between his fingers to see if the two had stopped kissing yet.

They hadn’t.

Bayard flew to Aunt Alice’s shoulder and pecked her on the head. She stopped kissing Cardamom and laughed. “Are you jealous?” she asked Bayard.

“Get a room,” Bayard said several times in his monotonous voice.

“We will, in good time,” Cardamom told the bird.

“Ewww,” Sonjay repeated even louder.

“What are you doing here?” Cardamom asked faintly.

“I’m staying on this side,” Aunt Alice replied. Doshmisi noticed that Crystal had set Aunt Alice’s battered old suitcase down next to Fannie Lou.

“Well it’s about time,” Iris stated.

“Yes indeed,” Hyacinth echoed Iris’s sentiment.

“Uncle Bobby and Uncle Martin are at Manzanita Ranch waiting for you children,” Aunt Alice told the Goodacres. “So don’t you worry. They will take care of you from now on. Uncle Bobby is going to…”

Doshmisi interrupted her. “We’re not going back,” she informed her aunt. “We’re staying too.”

“All of you?” Aunt Alice asked.

“All of us and Daddy too,” Denzel replied, pointing to Reggie.

When Aunt Alice cast her gaze on Reggie, she gasped and brought her hand to her mouth. “You found him! You really found him. Oh my goodness gracious.”

“Did you ever doubt that Sonjay would find him?” Denzel asked.

“Sonjay found you?” Aunt Alice asked Reggie as she gathered him in a hug, patting his back and then his face in delight with her work-worn hands.

“Sure enough,” Reggie replied. “He’s somethin’ else, that boy.”

“Sure is,” Aunt Alice agreed. “Debbie all over again.”

“Wait what? Don’t you see some of me in him?” Reggie asked.

“Yes, of course,” Aunt Alice quickly affirmed.

“I hope you and Cardamom will settle here at Big House City,” Saffron said.

“Yes, yes,” Hyacinth added.

“Actually, I would like to go to Whale Island to help my mother with the library.” Aunt Alice’s words met with an awkward silence.

Iris placed a gentle hand on Aunt Alice’s arm. “Clover passed on last week. She went peacefully, surrounded by her grandchildren. But I could use some help with the library now that she has gone. I would welcome your assistance.”

“This is too much, just too much,” Aunt Alice said, her eyes welling with tears. “Reggie alive and my mother gone. The children planning to stay. Seeing Cardamom again. It’s just too much.”

“Take your time,” Saffron said gently.

“Yes, indeed,” Cardamom agreed. He put his arm around Aunt Alice’s waist. “Saffron is exactly right. Take your time.”

Aunt Alice took a deep breath and let it out. “I will take my time,” she said. “However, there is one young lady who is definitely going back to Manzanita Ranch right this minute.”

“I know,” Elena said wistfully. “I will miss all of you so terribly much, but Mami and Papi expect me home today.”

“They certainly do,” Aunt Alice confirmed. “Bobby and Martin will see that you get home safely. Bobby and his wife plan to move to Manzanita Ranch, and they have two lovely daughters just about your age, who will need a good friend like you to make them feel welcome in their new home. His daughters know about Faracadar, even though they have never been here, and they will be eager to hear your stories about your adventures here; as will Bobby and Martin. I promise you that every year on Midsummer’s Eve, we’ll come back to visit and to tell you what is happening over on this side. So you be sure to go to the cabin in the woods next year when the time comes.”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Elena said.

“I’m going with her,” Guhblorin informed Aunt Alice.

“Who are you?” Aunt Alice asked.

“That, my dear, is a long and ancient story that I will tell you later at our leisure,” Cardamom answered.

“You are not from my world,” Elena warned Guhblorin. “You might be unhappy there. Are you sure you want to come with me?”

“I’m adaptable,” Guhblorin reassured her. “I’ll be happy wherever you are.”

“You can’t live with me,” Elena said. “I wouldn’t be able to explain you to my parents.”

“He could live with Bobby at Manzanita Ranch, right?” Comice suggested.

“Why yes, he certainly could,” Aunt Alice agreed. “Elena, when you get back, discuss this with Bobby. He’ll know what to do.”

“Gracias, gracias all of you,” Elena replied.

Denzel felt a pang of jealousy. Guhblorin had transformed into a handsome boy. He would get to see Elena practically every day. Once upon a time Denzel couldn’t wait to be rid of Elena. He had come to feel quite differently about her. He almost wished he was going back to Manzanita Ranch so that he could spend more time with her. But in his heart he knew he couldn’t give up his family and his life in Faracadar and she couldn’t give up her family and her life in the Farland. It was strange the way a person could change their opinion of someone when they really got to know them. Denzel put his hand on Guhblorin’s arm and instructed him, “Take good care of her. Keep her laughing.”

“You can count on me for that,” Guhblorin promised.

Denzel unzipped his backpack and took a laptop computer out of it. He handed it to Elena, who asked, “What’s this?”

“It’s my laptop. I thought I might show it to Mole and see if we could make a computer here together. But I’ve changed my mind. I don’t see how computers would improve the quality of life here. Take it back with you and use it. I don’t need it anymore,” Denzel explained.

“I already have a computer,” Elena said.

“Then give it to Uncle Bobby. If I kept it here, I’d just throw it into the Whispering Pond.”

“No, mon, wait a minute,” Mole begged. “Please let me look at that thing.”

“Sorry,” Denzel told him. “We’re not going down that path. But I have a better project for us. I want to go back to the North Coast to have a look at some abandoned vehicles left behind by those Corportons. I noticed them parked in the compound; you know, those things shaped like a giant golf ball. It’s time for me to learn how to drive.”

Mole chuckled and bobbed his head happily so that his dreads popped around gaily. “Absolutely. Golf ball vehicles. Bring it on! What’s a golf ball?”

Elena handed the laptop to Guhblorin and proceeded to hug each of her friends in turn in farewell. She hugged Comice last. “I will miss you especially much,” she said.

“As I will miss you compadre,” Comice replied. “You have made an incalculable difference not just for me but for all the People of the Mountain Downs. They will speak of you with respect and gratitude for generations.” Comice raised his hand to affectionately brush Elena’s hair back from her face. “Never change your heart,” he said.

Elena and Guhblorin stepped reluctantly into the doorway of Angel’s Gate.

“Ready?” Crystal asked.

“Just a minute,” Elena cried out. She ran lightly to Denzel, kissed him on the cheek, and whispered in his ear, “Abrazo amigo. Siempre te recordaré.” Then she ran back, took Guhblorin’s hand, and nodded to Crystal, who threw a handful of colorful powder over the two figures in the doorway. Billows of smoke surrounded them, obscuring them from sight. When the smoke drifted away, Elena and Guhblorin had vanished.

“What does siempre te recordaré mean?” Denzel asked Maia.

“I will always remember you,” Maia translated.

Denzel could not reply because of the lump in his throat.

The group turned away from Angel’s Gate and directed their steps back toward Big House City, chattering excitedly to one another. Jasper leaned close to Doshmisi and said something that made her laugh. She poked him playfully with her elbow. Cardamom’s arm firmly encircled Aunt Alice’s waist. Iris and Mole walked hand-in-hand. Bayard flew overhead squawking, “Berries, berries, berries.” Hyacinth and Comice fell comfortably into an amiable conversation. Maia gently tapped her travel drum and hummed softly. Honeydew spoke with Saffron about her plans to return to the Wolf Circle to continue her studies.

Denzel hung back at Angel’s Gate for a moment because something had caught his eye. He walked over to the doorframe and inspected it closely. His inspection confirmed that he had seen a raw spot on the wood, a gash that ran about a foot long and a couple of inches wide. A piece of wood had been torn away from Angel’s Gate. Elena, he thought; she had taken a shard of the magical wood from the doorframe, just in case she needed to come back one day and couldn’t wait for Midsummer’s Eve. That hot-chili-pepper girl was pretty clever. He glanced at his father and brother, who lingered near Angel’s Gate, and he nodded in their direction. Then he hurried to catch up with the others.

Reggie put a hand on Sonjay’s shoulder. “Walk with me,” he said.

“You don’t seem surprised that we decided to stay,” Sonjay commented.

“I am a Prophet of the Khoum, Sonjay. I had already seen that you would stay,” Reggie replied.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“It was not my place. Besides, the future comes in its own time whether I predict it or not,” Reggie replied.

“So what else have you seen in the future that you have chosen not to predict?” Sonjay demanded. “Tell me something about me.”

Bayard had stopped calling for berries and had circled back to Sonjay, where he perched on the boy’s shoulder.

Reggie smiled mysteriously.

“What?” Sonjay did not like the look of that mysterious smile. He stopped walking and waited for an answer. He stroked Bayard’s head. “Tell me.”

“Well, I suppose it would interest you to know that I have seen it prophesied in the Book of the Khoum that you will be the High Chief one day.”

Although Sonjay had often sensed that he was destined to become a leader in Faracadar, he had never spoken about it out loud. “What about Honeydew?” he asked his father with concern. “Isn’t she supposed to inherit the throne?”

“According to the prophecy, she will be your wife,” Reggie informed him.

 “But we’re cousins,” Sonjay protested uncomfortably.

“Not that close. Your great uncle Charles had no children, so when he died the throne passed to a different branch of the royal family entirely. I know your sisters and Honeydew like to call each other cousins, but in truth they are barely related. You two could get married.”

“But she’s older than I am,” Sonjay pointed out, still attempting to refute the prophecy.

“Only by a couple of years. That won’t make much of a difference when you have grown up. Trust me on that,” Reggie reassured him.

Marriage seemed far off and uninteresting to Sonjay. He didn’t even want a girlfriend. He looked forward to spending the next few years at the Wolf Circle learning about enchantment, eating deep-fried goose-chicken eyeballs, and skateboarding with Jack. “Well, not all prophecies come to pass as expected,” he reminded his father.

“True that,” Reggie agreed. “But I have a feeling about High Chief Sonjay.”

“High Chief Sonjay,” Bayard called loudly on the crisp morning air, so that the others, who had gone on ahead, turned, startled, to glance back at Sonjay and his father. Hyacinth asked Comice if the bird had called him. “I thought I heard him say ‘high chief’,” Hyacinth said.

“He could have meant me,” Comice noted with a pleased little smile.

“Yes, yes, I suppose so,” Hyacinth conceded, since, for the time being, and depending on the deliciousness of a daily batch of muffins, both of them held the title.

“I think it will come to pass as prophesied,” Reggie told Sonjay. “I have seen greatness in you since the day you were born.”

“Chief Parrot Bayard,” the bird called out.

“That too, I suppose,” Reggie said with a laugh.

“If you behave,” Sonjay cautioned Bayard.

Bayard happily gave the future high chief a love-peck on the head.

“Ouch,” Sonjay complained. “Cut that out you heap of feathers.”

“Blueberries,” Bayard replied.

Changing the Prophecy Chapter 26

 

Chapter 26 Muffins for Hyacinth

The Four and their traveling companions would have returned to Big House City in unbounded celebration and triumph had Crumpet and Buttercup not lost their lives to the struggle. The death of the two enchanters weighed heavily on everyone’s heart. Doshmisi felt bone-weary as she rode Dagobaz, who insisted on taking the lead, always out in front of the tigers. She could not hold him back nor did she have the desire to do so. The air had continued to clear steadily and it felt good to breathe easily again.

In the evening, when they reached Big House City, they discovered the residents of the city lining the road leading to the main entrance. Doshmisi pulled herself together so she could wave and smile to the people, who cheered, clapped, and danced alongside the returning royals and their entourage. No one had yet reported the fate of Crumpet and Buttercup. Their daughter Daisy would need to hear the news first and the dreadful task of informing her would fall to her Uncle Cardamom.

The High Chief’s cooks had prepared a feast to celebrate the return of the heroes from the coast. But before participating in any celebrations, the Four felt they needed to decide what to do with Compost, who remained a prisoner. Elena had ensured that the high chief’s guards had removed Compost from the dungeon and installed him in a comfortable room (securely guarded) before she and the others departed for the North Coast. Behind closed doors, in the royal council chambers, the Four, Hyacinth, and Cardamom met to consider their options for dealing with Sissrath’s former right-hand man. Cardamom suggested that Hyacinth assemble a decision-making committee to come up with a plan and Hyacinth readily agreed since he didn’t like making important decisions on his own. A discussion ensued regarding who belonged on the committee. In the end, they settled on Hyacinth, Cardamom, Reggie, Honeydew, and the Four.

When they emerged from the council chambers, and Elena learned that they intended to exclude her from the committee, she unleashed her Latin temper. “Exactly what kind of justicia will you accomplish with no one to represent Compost?” she demanded. “False justicia! You are pretending at making a fair decision. I am the only one here who does not hold a grudge against him. I don’t see how you can give him a fair hearing without representation. He should have a lawyer, but since there is none, then give me a place at the committee to speak on his behalf.”

The others weighed her words, hesitant to respond, until Denzel spoke up. “She’s right,” he said. He had seen the devastation of the burning of the Passage Circle the year before and he knew that Compost had a hand in its execution. The images of the gutted buildings, burned flesh, and grieving faces would never leave him and he realized the truth in Elena’s words. Those images would always color his perception of Compost. “I hold it against him that he led Sissrath’s troops when they burned the Passage Circle. I’m not an objective judge.”

“He must take responsibility for his role in burning the Passage Circle,” Reggie pointed out.

“Don’t you think that anything you say about Compost should be said to his face, not behind his back?” Elena suggested. “He knows what he did. I expect he has some thoughts of his own on punishment for his crimes.”

The others reluctantly agreed. They disliked the idea of having Compost present as they discussed his fate.

Doshmisi wished they could make their decision in the morning, after she had eaten dinner and had a good night’s sleep. On the other hand, she wondered if she would rest easy until Compost’s fate had been decided. Reggie went to fetch Compost as the rest of them took their seats around the High Chief’s large oval council table.

Before long Reggie returned with Compost following behind him flanked by guards. The High Chief dismissed the guards at the doorway. This discussion would remain private. Elena motioned to an empty chair next to her at the council table. Compost would sit as an equal member with the others.

Doshmisi noticed the dramatic change that Compost had undergone since his capture. He had vastly improved his personal grooming and he looked like a normal person. He wore his hair extremely short and it was clean. His face seemed clear and he had noticeably lost some weight so his stomach no longer jiggled so much. He smelled pleasantly of musk and vanilla. The old repugnant Compost had virtually vanished. Doshmisi would not have recognized him if she had not known who he was.

Compost sat beside Elena, who smiled at him encouragingly and patted his arm.

“I assume you have heard what transpired at the North Coast,” Cardamom began.

Compost nodded his head to indicate that he knew. Still he did not speak.

“And now that Sissrath is gone and the alien creatures gone with him, we must decide what to do about you,” Cardamom continued.

“I have told him that Elena convinced us that he should participate in this discussion,” Reggie informed the others.

“And I am grateful to you for it,” Compost said quietly.

“You have committed crimes against the people of Faracadar,” Cardamom reminded Compost. “What have you to say for yourself?”

Compost looked around thoughtfully at everyone who sat at the council table. “My actions were not unprovoked, but I do not wish to hide behind that as an excuse,” Compost said.

“Expand yourself,” Hyacinth demanded.

“He means to explain yourself,” Honeydew quickly clarified.

“My people, the People of the Mountain Downs, have long been treated as second class citizens. We are unwelcome wherever we go, despite the fact that we have produced some of the most skilled enchanters and our clever people have contributed a great deal to the advancement of Faracadar. We realize that we sometimes fall short when it comes to social graces; but that does not qualify as a justifiable reason to deny us a place at the table. Do you not think it a natural consequence that my people would resent such shabby treatment, would chafe at the lack of representation of the People of the Mountain Downs among the leadership of the land?”

“We have never laid siege to any of your circles as you did to Big House City,” Cardamom reminded him sternly.

“Have you not? What of the fact that you deny us access to participation in your market, your colleges, your festivities, because of your suspicions about us, your preconceived notions?” Compost asked.

“He’s talking about prejudice,” Elena said firmly. “You have made assumptions about him and his people. That’s called prejudice where I come from.”

“We have based our opinions of the People of the Mountain Downs on our past experience of dealing with you,” Honeydew said.

“Dealing with us?” Compost echoed. “Communication between people and dealing with people are two very different beasts.”

“Bad habits. Destructive patterns,” Elena said softly.

“How do we break that pattern of mistrust?” Maia asked. “It doesn’t serve any of us well.”

“We need to get to know one another better,” Compost said.

“You need to share your stories with each other,” Reggie suggested.

Despite her exhaustion, and the aching sadness she felt at the loss of Crumpet and Buttercup, Doshmisi saw in a flash with perfect clarity that the only way to heal Faracadar was to forgive Compost and his people. She didn’t need her grandmother or the whales or the trees or the herbal to help her figure this out. She knew what all of them would say and the right course to chart. She could hear them speaking in her head, internalized, a part of her forever. She said, “Remember last year when the whales told us that violence would only lead to more violence and that we had to find a nonviolent way to defeat Sissrath? To break the cycle of violence?”

“Of course,” Maia murmured, while Denzel and Sonjay nodded their heads in agreement.

“Well it continues. It didn’t stop there. The only way to build trust and make the land a peaceful place for everyone is to forgive one another and make a new start,” Doshmisi explained. “We have to let go of grudges and we have to give people the benefit of the doubt. We have to release our anger about past crimes for the sake of the future.”

Compost cleared his throat. “Forgiveness usually follows an apology,” he said in a husky voice. “So I wish to tell you that I am sincerely sorry for my wrongdoing.”

Doshmisi set an example by accepting his apology. “I forgive you for burning the Passage Circle, for harming our friends there and destroying their homes and their fields. I believe in my heart that you have changed and I wish to give you a chance to be a better person.”

Compost bowed his head for a moment and stared at his hands folded in his lap and then he lifted his head and held a hand out to Doshmisi, who was shocked to see tears sparkling in Compost’s eyes. “And I forgive your uncles for exiling my father from Big House City in the old time, for refusing my people a seat at the high council, for treating me like a fool instead of the intelligent person I am, and I forgive you for making fun of me and thinking you are better than I am.” Doshmisi, Denzel, and Maia had never known that their uncles had done such a thing to Compost’s father so Compost’s words came as a shock to them. Sonjay knew of it because he had read about the history of Faracadar. Even so, he had not given that part of the history much thought and he had never considered the impact of such a deed on Compost. He had viewed all of it as ancient history, but it obviously remained very much alive for some people.

As Doshmisi solemnly took Compost’s hand and shook it, she said, “I apologize on behalf of those who have wronged you and your people and denied you a seat at the table. I did make fun of you and I am sorry for it.”

“If I may, I want to suggest a way to begin to fix this,” Reggie offered. “You won’t like it Hyacinth, but I think that you and Compost should rule together for a time, as a team.”

Compost cleared his throat and appeared almost shy as he said, “I no longer use the name Compost. I have returned to using my given name, Comice. Please make the adjustment.” A wave of astonishment crossed the faces of those present, and Sonjay’s jaw actually dropped open. Elena chatted brightly, “I know how to make an exceptional dessert with Comice pears. Sweet and light. I will make it for you one time if I can find the ingredients.”

“I will enjoy eating it,” Comice, who was once Compost, said politely. “Every bite.”

Sonjay closed his mouth with a snap as he tried to accept everything he had witnessed in the council chambers so far.

“How will we rule together?” Hyacinth demanded. “How is that possible?”

“Well, to begin with, you will have to include some of Compost’s, sorry, I mean Comice’s, people on the high council. And then you must establish a system for discussing things and coming to a decision that you and Comice can both agree on. Perhaps you will need a mediator,” Cardamom said.

“I’m supposed to share being the high chief with him after everything he’s done?” Hyacinth asked incredulously.

“Try to forgive him, Daddy,” Honeydew said.

“That’s the only way. You can see he has changed,” Doshmisi elaborated.

“How do I know he really changed?” Hyacinth asked suspiciously.

“Well, he did tell us about Sissrath’s fear of cockroaches and it did come in handy at the North Coast,” Denzel reminded Hyacinth.

“It certainly did,” Sonjay agreed. “Crumpet used cockroaches to throw Sissrath off balance and it made all the difference when I tried to restrain him with the Staff of Shakabaz.” Cardamom winced at the mention of his dead brother.

“That’s true,” Hyacinth conceded, though cautiously. “But I’m not totalitarianly contrived. I mean convinced. I’m not totalitarianly convinced.”

“I don’t blame you Hyacinth,” Doshmisi replied.

“Comice needs to make restitution for his past actions,” Reggie said. “So what should he do to show you that he has changed and that you can trust him?”

“Restitution. Absolutely,” Comice agreed gravely.

Hyacinth leaned his head to one side and thought about that. “OK, well, yes. I want resuscitation. I like the way that sounds.”

“Restitution,” Elena corrected.

“Resuscitation is when you are revived from being unconscious, Daddy,” Honeydew explained, as patiently as ever. “Like if you stopped breathing and someone gives you mouth-to-mouth.”

“Ewww. No, that’s not what I want from Comp, er, Comice,” Hyacinth said, wiping his lips.

“We know, Daddy,” Honeydew replied and then she continued to explain patiently to her linguistically impaired father. “Restitution is when someone does something appropriate to make up for past injuries or wrongful actions.”

“Exactly,” Reggie confirmed. “Restitution is a key component of restorative justice, which means restoring justice through apology and forgiveness demonstrated by actions. The person who committed the crime demonstrates his remorse to the victim of the crime by doing something to make amends, to make it up to the victim.”

“I understand,” Hyacinth said. “I like this very much.”

Maia addressed the question to Comice. “So, what do you think you should do to make restitution to the people of the Passage Circle?”

Comice thought about the pain he caused in the years during which he served Sissrath. Despite the wrongs perpetrated on his own people, he wished that his people had risen above all of it and shown themselves to be better. He wished that his people had not succumbed to anger and had not sunk to the level of those who persecuted them. It dawned on Comice that he wanted to become the real leader that the People of the Mountain Downs needed and deserved, the leader that his people had hoped for these many long years. He wanted to succeed where Sissrath had failed. Sissrath had been selfish, destructive, and hurtful. Sissrath had never actually cared about the People of the Mountain Downs. Comice resolved not to fail his people, he would seize this chance to serve them well. To get to that opportunity, he first had to walk through this trial. “I will go to the Passage Circle and meet with each family who lost a loved one in the attack. I will apologize to them in person. And I will dedicate two days every month to working in the Passage Circle to build, repair, or make something needed in the community.”

“That sounds good,” Reggie approved. “What does everyone else think?” The others agreed to Comice’s proposal, although Hyacinth still appeared doubtful.

Elena noted Hyacinth’s hesitation so she asked Comice, “Don’t you think you should also do something for the High Chief, to make restitution for all the trouble you have caused him?”

“That seems fair,” Comice replied. “What should I do for you Hyacinth to demonstrate that I am prepared to collaborate with you?”

Hyacinth’s brow crinkled in thought. Sonjay worried for a minute that the high chief might hurt himself by thinking so hard and wondered if Hyacinth was up to this task. Hyacinth pondered and then he announced, “I have come to a derision.”

“Oh Daddy,” Honeydew burst out. “Derision means you are ridiculous and have become a laughingstock. You mean a decision. You have come to a decision.”

“Yes, a decision,” Hyacinth said. “About the restitution.”

“Restitution, good,” Cardamom echoed, encouraging Hyacinth to continue.

“I want Comice to bake me muffins,” Hyacinth informed them.

“You want him to bake you muffins?” Doshmisi asked in amazement, wondering if she had heard Hyacinth correctly.

“As an act of goodwill,” Hyacinth stated with satisfaction.

“That’s all?” Denzel questioned him. “Just to bake you muffins?”

“They must be deliberate muffins!” Hyacinth continued.

“Deliberate?” Honeydew questioned. “You mean he must make them on purpose?”

Hyacinth threw her a puzzled look. “No,” he said. “Well, yes, that too. But they must be, I know the right word; they must be delectable. That’s what they must be. Delectable. That’s what I mean. Delicious. They must melt in my mouth. He must bake magnificent muffins.”

“I’ll try,” Comice said sincerely although somewhat uncertainly. “But I don’t know how to cook.”

“I can help you with that,” Elena offered enthusiastically.

“Not really,” Maia said gently, as she laid a comforting hand on Elena’s arm, “because you will be leaving tomorrow to go back home.”

“Tomorrow?” Elena responded, taken aback. “Already?” She put her arms around Comice and hugged him as tears welled up in her eyes. Comice patted her back with such affection that the others had no remaining question in their minds that he had truly changed.

“I can show you how to make at least one batch of muffins tonight, before I have to go,” Elena suggested with a sniffle.

“That would be lovely,” Comice replied.

Cardamom cleared his throat. “I have a proposition then,” he said. “We will release Comice from his imprisonment and allow him to begin to work with Hyacinth to rule Faracadar. He will make his visit to the Passage Circle to apologize and upon his return, each and every week, he will bake a batch of muffins for Hyacinth. He will bake muffins every week until Hyacinth says he can stop. At first, they might not be the most delectable muffins, but practice makes perfect. We will form a taste council. I will serve on it. Hyacinth and everyone on the taste council will taste the muffins each week, until Hyacinth releases Comice from this task. What do you think?”

“I love it!” Hyacinth shouted. “What an extrapolaneously magripescent idea.”

“See what I’m saying,” Comice muttered under his breath to Elena, but he smiled indulgently at his language-mangling co-ruler. “I’m going to need an interpreter to discuss important decisions with this man.”

“Not a problem,” Honeydew assured Comice. “I can do that.”

“I release Comice from imprisonment and he will go directly to the kitchen with Elena to work on his first batch of muffins,” Hyacinth announced with his boyish enthusiasm. “Blueberry would be good,” he added as he rubbed his hands together.

“Blueberry, blueberry,” Bayard repeated enthusiastically from his perch on Sonjay’s shoulder. He had remained quiet throughout the proceedings, but when presented with the thought of berries he could not keep his beak shut.

“You may no longer command him,” Doshmisi informed Hyacinth firmly. “He is your partner and co-ruler. You do not command one another.”

“I volunteer to go to the kitchen to bake blueberry muffins with my friend Elena,” Comice offered. “It would give me the greatest pleasure.” A smile spread across Comice’s face and Doshmisi noticed for the first time that he had an adorable little dimple on his left cheek.

When Elena and Comice appeared in the kitchen soon after the council dissolved and informed Guhblorin that Comice was required to make restitution to Hyacinth by baking muffins, Guhblorin fell over laughing. He could not help himself, and in true geebaching fashion he suggested that they bake “mouse muffins” for Hyacinth as the first batch. Elena had to pull on his ears to make him behave.