CHAPTER 16: The Heart of Magic

“What should I call you?” the mage paraphrased the question and asked again.

The girl pondered deeply.  Stubborn in the face of reality, she was unconsciously determined to hold on to what she used to believe.  Her attitude softened after a brief, awkward pause.

“I have no objection for you to pursue a heart of magic as long as your actions will not contravene my house rules.”

Georgia Yilton the Mage

“It is true that I am not Georgia Yilton…” confessed the girl, “The little beasts never called me Georgia but nicknamed me Young Gia.  How could I miss the sign?”

“Perhaps you have looked far enough,” encouraged the mage, “It’s time to search deep within.”

The mage tried to elicit a direct answer from the girl, “In Nürnberg, you were so kind to give the droid a name.  What’s in a name?”

Then they all flashbacked to a pivotal moment of the girl’s first offering kindness to a stranger who was considered the villain among her peers.  Kindness was spontaneous and abundant when there was an endless supply by the magic journal.  A serial number might have served the purpose of being unique and identifiable, but a real name, being a small part of one’s own identity, was indeed the magical bridge to bonding and meaningful connection between individuals.

In Bamberg, the girl learnt to appreciate the beauty in the changing seasons as the earth travelled away from the sun and meant to return on schedule.  She learnt to appreciate life’s surprises, to love, and to inspire others to love.

Beneath the shimmering coat of alluring fantasy lay not only rejoices, laughs, and dreams, but disappointments, grieves, and fears.  She empathised with Prince’s weaknesses and hurts in a perpetual cry of anguish and sufferings from delusions.  As daydreams darkened into nightmares, his hang-ups about his own facial features were apparent at the expense of his soul.  His past disappointments, his present troubles, and his future aspirations all formed the strongest temptation one could not resist.

In Würzburg, the girl witnessed Prince bravely accepting his ultimate test.  Hundreds of flawless self-images offered by the magic mirror seemed to have abruptly woken him from a surreal daydream.   He finally allowed his cravings to subside and when he opened his asymmetrical triangle eyes again after his collapse, he also brought reality back into sharp focus.

“And Prince, when we first met, came up with… a weird note,” recalled the girl.  “He once called me… a German word that I thought it meant ‘no’…” murmured she, as her eyebrows raised, “um, Nicht?”

“I’m Nicht,” repeated the girl with confidence.

The mage leaned over to embrace the girl.

That was probably the stereotypical fairy-tale moment when the girl’s human shape ought to shine into bright sparks of light and melted.  But it did not happen that way.

The girl gently pushed the mage away and asked, “Are you still mad at me?”

“Of course not,” said the mage softly.

The girl’s face seemed dripping with disbelief.

“I have no objection for you to pursue a heart of magic as long as your actions will not contravene my house rules.  I have a blueprint for you, but that isn’t a destined path as mere superstition.  You are free to explore this seemingly no-magic land and its opportunities for magic.”

From early on, it was apparent that it was meant to be a heartfelt friendship, not servanthood, between the mage and her creation.  The girl’s erroneous perception fooled her soul into slavery and subjugation.

At a last-minute reconciliation, the girl’s genuine shape tussled violently with her imaginary human form in the air.  Shining into bright sparks of light, it turned into an oddly muted fight with occasional fireworks of localised blasts.

As the sparks died down, a butterfly emerged from the central source of light and alighted gently on the mage’s cape in front of her chest.  The shadow of the bigger human crept over the tiny butterfly.

In Rothenburg ob der Tauber, the night had fallen into the medieval town when Prince and Bass finally locked in the calming familiarities of the nutcracker king standing guard in the niche tucked into the corner building.  The snow-white furry brim and pompoms flashed as the fur swayed in the chilly breeze.  The suspicious nutcracker king was the threshold between the magic realm and the no-magic land.

They tried all kinds of spells they knew, from Cinderella’s Fairy Godmother’s bibbidi-bobbidi-boo to Potter’s Alohomora.

“Open Sesame!” roared Bass at the nutcracker king for the one-thousand-and-first attempt.

“Silly Bass, that one is an Arabian charm,” said Prince.

“Really?”

Nonetheless, at Bass’s command or coincidentally, the nutcracker king stepped to the side and opened the door behind him.  Prince’s jaw dropped as Nicht flew out, rejoicing in her wonderful new relationship with the magical journey squad.

Every major thoroughfare led to the hub of urban life where the Marktplatz was placed off-centre and closer to the cobblestone streets.  The Marktplatz, framed by the renaissance Rathaus with a rear Gothic part on the west and the Councillors’ Tavern Ratstrinkstube on the north, had a distinctively medieval theme and charm.  The building blocks were arranged organically in line following the direction of their adjacent throughfares.  The buildings never conflicted visually with the more massive St. Jakobskirche with its twin spires at the background.

As humans and magical creatures moved around the square and between cafes and shops on the east and south sides, the compositions were animated to put contrasting elements and isolated objects into motion.  The recurring theme of arches and columns, of towers and spires, of geometry and materiality, all unified the architectural treatment of the spatial organisation.  Anyone could pause any time to examine one part of the facade and to explore the elevation in detail.

When the little beasts were approaching the square from all different directions, the building assemble grew taller in view and was silhouetted against the sky.  The Christmas tree in the foreground was twinkling fairy lights and draped around with sparkly ornaments, in a chaotic and orderly manner at the same time.  The coded intimate, geometric, enclosed public space was revealed.

Meanwhile, their mage was sipping the freshly brewed Glühwein as she waited the little beasts to gather.  Nicht was already by her side, hovering like a fairy and experimenting with drawing abstract pictures in the air with her pixie dust.  Prince and Bass got into line to order their non-alcoholic Kinderglühwein.

Allured by the aroma of the Christmas drinks and special treats coming from the stalls amidst the bustling rows of Rothenburg ob der Tauber’s Weihnachtsmarkt, the other little beasts sure knew where they were going.  The Christmas Market was a magical venue as if all the chaos and troubles were left behind the gates at the inner ring of the fortification.

“Frohe Weihnachten!” greeted Prince.

“Merry Christmas, my dear Prince!” said Georgia.

They exchanged beaming grins followed by loud and spirited laughter.

It was not a romantic myth.  It was not a conventional motivational story either.  But if it happened to provide an opportunity, it heightened the conversation the readers had with themselves.  Inner conversation gave humans and magical creatures a character.

Oh, there was no guarantee that the magical journey squad all lived happily ever after.  If there would be another chance, their magical story would be told again, and such happily-ever-after myth could be long lived, unless revoked.

— THE END —