Aspen Ch. 1

                                      Chapter One

It was three in the morning on a Sunday. The sky was a dull purple filled with grey-black heavy clouds, carrying the coming weeks worth of rain. From the tall windows of a leery, old mansion on Eldirburry Lane, Yorkshire, England, a girl of sixteen sat in her nightgown, gazing up at the dreadful sky. Her pale forlornly lit face was blank with boredness and purple circles the color of the sky outside, framed her large mismatched eyes. One blue, the other green stared out the front of the massive house at the bare neglected yard. Leafless black oaks stood near the muddy driveway; three of them. The grounds were littered with the fallen leaves of October, still yet to be raked up by the workers.
She couldn't sleep, of course- being ill as she was somehow never allowed it. The doctors hadn't figured out what it was the kept her from a normal life as a teenager. She was always pale, always so weak – sometimes standing alone was enough to cause her to faint or lose her breath. Her body was thin, her shoulders bony as well as her facial features. The small face was framed by hair so dark brown it was nearly black. It was long, down to lying in her lap as she sat in her wheelchair. It curled at its tips and her parents begged to have it cut nice and pretty for her, but she would decline with a 'no thank you' in a very small voice.
Humming to herself quietly, she continued looking out at the nothingness of the world from her window. When a maid came in, to check on her as she was to do every six or so hours, the girl did not move from her place at the window.
"What's that you're looking at, Miss Aspen?" the maid came in quietly and stood behind the girl. The girl didn't say anything; she just turned her head slightly to acknowledge she'd even heard the maid. But she didn't turn enough to look at her.
"Won't you try to sleep, dear?" the maid's eyebrows drew together and her voice edged with weariness as she already knew the answer.
"No," Aspen's quiet reply came in the maids head as well.
"Then perhaps just a nap? You may have more strength-"
"You know I wouldn't. But if it will get you out-" Aspen turned her wheelchair toward the maid who's face had gone to one of pity. "-I'll rest my eyes."
"Yes, of course." It was the maids turn to whisper.
Aspen was never mean if she spoke, but when she did she was sadly bitter with no energy as always.  Her world only consisted of doctors and reading books and drawing. She was always inside this house, alone when no one was checking up on her. She stared out her window and held on to her sketchbook wherever she went – which wasn't far. She could wheel herself around her large room compartments and down the hall to the massive library.
Her maid helped Aspen into the canopy bed cascading with crisp white pillows and green quilts.
She looked down at her hands, sitting in bed. "Thank you Pamela." Her sad voice was barely audible, but Pamela was expecting it.
She patted Aspen's frail bony shoulder, "Sure dear."
She left Aspen then, clicking the door shut as quietly as she could.
Aspen blinked a couple times, sighing, looking out the window from her throne-like perch upon her bed. With nothing out there, why did she long for outside so much? Maybe she'd been reading too many fictional books and should continue reading from the science and history sections of the ancient library. Her head shook slowly, her hair spilling over her shoulders to her sides. She swept in over one shoulder and used up her energy to push herself down to lie down under her covers. With one last glance at the window, where the clouds had grown impossibly darker and rain began to seep from them in a heavy downpour.
A tear slipped down her cheek like the rain outside and Dawn rolled over and shut her eyes, hoping perhaps she'd be able to actually rest easily.

Aspen woke after only four hours of uneasy sleep. The sun tried its best to peek through the deep heavy clouds, but not much light shone than it had earlier.
Mismatched eyes looked up at the roof of the canopy over the bed. Aspen was still in a lying down position as she couldn't bring herself to self if she had the strength enough to get herself into her chair. As luck would have it, Pamela came in then, carrying Aspen's breakfast tray.
"Good morning. Did you sleep at all?" she asked not quite in a sing song voice. Aspen knew it was an attempt to sound encouraging and happy. No one in the entire house seemed able to be happy and sunshiny around her. Her condition was just depressing.
"A bit," Aspen murmured from behind a mound of pillows.
"Awe, well that's good. See, it wasn't so bad now was it?" she set the tray down at the table near the window and walked over to help Aspen into her chair. Once able to move by herself, Aspen rolled over to her wardrobe and drawers. Pamela came up behind her to help pick out the days outfit.
"Why not the blue blouse, black skirt with the blue stripe and black wool stockings?"
Aspen's eyes flicked to the different items about the inside of the wardrobe, and nodded slowly. Pamela nodded in her own approval and reached to get everything and hand them to Aspen, along with a clean set of under garments. Aspen put her clothes in her lap and wheeled to her bathroom. She didn't need shoes, she never wore them. No visitors came to call and she never had to look proper and wear shoes or have her hair up. She was always alone in her chair.
"Would you like me to draw a bath?" Pamela questioned, walking after her.
Aspen stopped, "Yes that would be fine. I'll go eat then, while you're doing that." Her voice was, as always, only above a whisper. Poor dear, if she spoke any louder she'd be out of breath. The elderly woman nodded and waltzed to go get Aspen's bath ready.
Aspen sat at the table, staring at the porridge and fruit and such – not eating. She didn't feel like it, her appetite never got her in the morning. She sat thinking, staring off at nothing for a long while until Pamela's voice made her blink and look up.
"Oh, Miss Aspen, you need to eat. I know you don't feel like it, but you'll be even thinner if you don't eat breakfast." But she saw Aspen's face fell and tears were on the verge of spilling from her mismatched eyes. "I-I didn't mean - I'm sorry dearest."
Aspen's head shook slowly, her eyes closing to stop her tears. Her chest rose and fell in a sigh. Her hand stretched out to grasp the spoon and dip it in the porridge. With a glance and Pamela, she raised the spoon and began eating unwillingly.
Pamela bit her lip and backed away saying, "You'll get better, I promise." and left the room.
Aspen sat there, her stomach not liking that she was feeding it so early. She finished eating, and wheeled past the window on her way to the bathroom. Something caught her eye then, out the window. A man was walking up the mud filled road, carrying a heavy looking satchel. His head was hooded, but Aspen could see blonde bangs lying over half his face. His clothes looked a bit tattered and he had fingerless violet gloves on his hand or rather, one glove on his right hand and none on his left.
Curious, Aspen thought. Her head tilted as she watched him. No other houses were on Eldirburry Lane, not for a few miles anyway. He must need shelter from the rain. She sat straight in her chair watching the strange man; her eyes slightly squinted in wonder. Though she was never one to take particular interest in anyone else, there had never been a visitor to take interest in.
She blinked quickly and wheeled to the bathroom to bathe. If there was to be a visitor she wanted to be presentable. Then she stopped. What if he was simply another doctor? A foreigner that had come to help? Yes, he was most likely a physician of some sort or a guest of her parents. No one ever came to just visit her.
The water was warm, perfect to her always cold skin. She had enough strength to remove her clothing and stand long enough to get into the bath. Water was wonderful to her. She was weightless in it. She didn't need and strength to move around in it. When she was little, Aspen's mother would swim with her in the pond in the gardens out back. That was many years ago, before her parents lost their spirit in front of her. Aspen had been ill since her birth. Sixteen years of this hell had withered her parents' happiness away. They were still kind of course, but they were almost as weary as their daughter.
Twenty minutes in the bath and Aspen decided it was time to get out. Her hair was freshly washed and smelled of lilacs and the scent comforted her. She stepped out and toweled herself off enough to sit in her wheelchair and get dressed. The mirror showed her large eyes blinking at her with long dark eyelashes. She was plain, but the plainness was really beauty that she didn't seem to see. A hairbrush glided through her arduous strands of hair and was braided over her left shoulder wet so it would dry wavy later. Content with her appearance, Aspen left the bathroom. Passing by the window again she was not surprised to not see the traveler outside. He either turned away or was inside the house already. Well, it wasn't any of her business anyway unless he was a doctor.
She reached for one of her many sketchbooks to write as she always did when a knock rapped against her door.
"Enter," Aspen called as loud as she could, which was about as loud as someone normally speaking.
It was Pamela.
"Miss Aspen, there is a visitor downstairs; your mother asked I help you down."
Aspen turned her head slowly toward Pamela, her eyebrows slightly drawn down her eyes puzzled.
"If it's a doctor, why can't he come up here? I-I hardly ever go downstairs." Aspen gaped slowly, confused.
"I'm not quite sure myself, but your parents want you to meet him. Come." Pamela pulled Aspen's wheelchair around to she could wheel her out of her room, down the hall and to the edge of the stairs.
Bernie, one of the butlers that was like an uncle to her, picked Aspen up from her chair with an "Allow me," and Pamela carried the wheelchair downstairs, which wasn't quite as heavy as Aspen herself.
Aspen held onto Bernie's neck, looking down the mahogany stairs anxiously as they went. She hadn't been downstairs since her fifteenth birthday. She wondered if it would look different, or if she'd remember it at all. Her world consisted of the upper levels of the house that she could get to.
        Her braid fell off her shoulder and hung over Bernie's arm. When they were at the bottom of the vast staircase, Bernie set Aspen back in her chair and Pamela wheeled it across the foyer to the parlor, next to where her mother and father sat in one of the two red couches. Across from them, over the small table, on the other couch was the man, sipping tea from one of the china teacups of her mother's less fancy set.
        Aspen's gaze drew over the man, from his bare socked feet; - she supposed he'd had to take off his muddy boots – to his dirty blonde hair, cropped to his neck with the bangs over his eye. (Not the usual style for gentlemen around his age, but who was she to judge?) Though the eye she could see was an icy colored blue, an azure blue.
       "And this is our daughter Aspen, Mr. Coratolli." Her father addressed the stranger. "Aspen," said her father, turning to her. "This is Mr. Heath Coratolli."
Her father was a slightly burly man, a businessman. He worked mostly for a bank in the city and was home quite infrequently. To see him at all surprised Aspen.
        But she didn't see how her parents could jump into something like this without even saying hello. They only ever came to see her on Saturdays or sometimes her mother would miss her and come read a book with her. But that wasn't often. The only frequent people she saw were Pamela and Bernie.
        Aspen looked at her father and mother, trying to let her hurt reach them. She didn't want to meet this person. She wanted to be able to stand up and run away to her room. She wanted her parents to see she missed them and no one else has to be in her world.
But she turned her head and nodded to the man.
        What he did next surprised her; her eyes went wide from it. Mr. Heath Coratolli stood, nearly skipping over to stand in front of her. He swept her an elaborate bow and grasped her small hand to kiss its top.
        "A pleasure, Miss Aspen Weymire." He grinned and her breath caught. She blinked in disbelief. A blush put a slight bit of color across her cheeks.
        He bowed once again and returned to his seat. Mr. and Mrs. Weymire looked at each other, their eyebrows raised to their foreheads.
        "Ah, Pamela," Aspen's mother inquired. "Do get Aspen some tea."
        "Yes Madame Charlotte." Pamela poured Aspen her tea and handed it to her.
        "Aspen, sweetheart, Mr. Coratolli, um, he said he's a traveler - a philosopher of some sort. " Charlotte Weymire turned to Heath, "Well, why don't you explain, I'm not sure I quite understand it myself. We haven't been speaking long."
        "I'd be glad to." He stood up then and cleared his throat as if to start the beginning of some long tale. "I am Heath Coratolli, a philosopher, a student and teacher. I travel everywhere and today had really no particular place to go or be." He put his hands behind his back and began to pace. "You see, I travel and go wherever I feel it is I'm needed. I was wandering around when that heavy rain began to hit and that's when I came across your mansion here. I thought I'd ask to come in and dry myself off and wait for the rain to let up."
        "Excuse me," Aspen interrupted quietly. Her parents looked at her. "How old did you say you were?"
        Mrs. Weymire's mouth opened. "Aspen," a warning drew from her lips.
        "I just celebrated my twentieth birthday two months ago." Heath said proudly, turning to Aspen.
        "Well that's not very old to be a philosopher now, is it?" Aspen argued softly.
        "Ah, no," Heath agreed with a blink and a tip of his head. "But you could say I've been studying life my entire life." He flashed a dazzling smile at everyone. "May I continue?"
        "Oh yes please, do forgive her." Mr. Weymire interjected.
        "Well, where was I? Yes, I knocked and was greeted by the lovely Pamela and invited in for a cup or two of tea by the generous Mr. Weymire and his gracious wife Charlotte. We were just conversing on random topics when my teaching came up; as did you, Miss Aspen. I was informed of your illness and how much you love to read and learn." He smiled again and sat back down.
        "Mr. Coratolli asked to meet you." Mrs. Weymire told Aspen.
        "So you had to talk about me being sick behind my back?" Aspen snapped. Her voice cracked and she began panting slightly.
        Aspen's mother looked uncomfortable, looking anywhere but her daughters face.
        "Dearest," Aspen's father said, addressing her. "Mr. Coratolli feels the, um, wind called him here – to teach you. He knows many things. And really, you don't have a tutor. You should be learning. And not just by yourself, you need someone's company."
        Aspen was about to open her mouth when Heath spoke.
        "Do you believe in magic?" Heath Coratoli asked her, completely changing the subject to one he'd hope would cheer her up.
        "W-what?" Aspen shook her head, looking at Mr. Coratolli in disbelief.
        "Magic." He repeated, his eye bright, wide, almost crazy.
        "Well," her whisper came. "I'd like to imagine it exists." A little smile threatened her mouth, tugging at the right corner of her pale pink lips. She was confused. What a silly question to ask.
        "You mean you don't?" he asked incredulously. "Surely you've got to see some magic in the world?"
        Her head started shaking before he finished speaking. "If there were magic, it would have helped me. Don't I deserve a miracle from magic? No, all I can do is read and write about it."
        Heath stared at her, his face one of disbelief. "Well, not all magic works that way. You can't just hope for it. It's not like a heavenly miracle." She was about to open her mouth but he stopped her. "Don't tell me you don't believe in a god of some sort? Never mind I don't want to get into that subject, I am not a faith teaching man. Well not really." He smiled to himself and Mr. and Mrs. Weymire exchanged a puzzled look. But heath continued, "I understand, why believe in a god who let you get the way you are, right?" he sighed and sipped his tea.
"So . . ." after a long silence Aspen broke in. "you believe in magic?"
Heath looked up from his teacup and back at it. "Yes," he said simply. "Of course I do. I practice it." He shrugged.
Aspen sucked in a sharp breath of astonishment, her small mouth open enough to fit two pennies.
Heath glanced up again, his blonde bangs swaying over his right eye. "Magic has been in my family for decades," he explained coolly. "I've practiced it all my life. And I'm quite good if I say so myself." He smiled to himself as if at some unheard joke only he knew.
"I-it's real?" she gasped just above a whisper.
"Of course it real," Heath laughed, "How do you think the world has gotten where it is today? Science? Load of rubbish that is."
"You mean to say, the scientists of the world are really magicians?"
"Well, maybe not all of it is rubbish," Heath thought a moment. "Some scientists may have been magician apprentices and left that profession looking for a different way to explain the world. Magicians taught scientists about what they know; them brainiac folk went off from there I suppose."
"I see," said Aspen, though she clearly didn't.
Her parents exchanged glances; Aspen was alert and talking, nearly happy.  She'd never spoken so much. Mr. and Mrs. Weymire beamed with pleasure.
"But," Aspen continued. "Magicians are just fools."
"Aspen!" her mother cried.
"No no, it's alright" Heath assured her he was not offended. "Would you mind explaining your opinion?"
"It is not an opinion, aren't magicians' just street tricksters?" Aspen asked, "That's all magic is really, cheap tricks? I've heard of someone pretending to take a coin out of one's ear."
Heath was thoughtful, "Awe but you're wrong there. Of course there are people who wish they had magic in them, and are so called magicians. But," he continued with a sparkle in his azure eyes. "Real magicians, one's who don't resort to cheap tricks are called mages. Some think women who know magic are witches. In truth, all with people with magic are mages, regardless of gender or age."
"Then, if you were to tutor me," Aspen asked. "Could you teach me magic?"
"Well," Heath sat, looking into her eyes, though unfortunately not sure which to look in; the blue or the green. "That depends. You must have an affinity for magic. It's no use teaching you if you can't do it at all."
"I understand." mumbled Aspen.
"Besides," Heath spoke to get her spirits up again. "I will be teaching you many other things of the real world. That is, if you want me to stay . . ." He looked away, head turned and glanced at her and her parents.
"I think it would be brilliant if you would teach our daughter, Mr. Coratolli." Mr. Weymire announced. "But on the subject of payment-"
"Please," Heath held up his hand. "As long as I may stay here, I need take no salary from you."
"Well," Mr. Coratolli looked at his wife, the two seeming to sharing a telepathic conversation. "It is settled then."
        Father agreed even without my consent on the matter. I know almost nothing about this man. Aspen pressed her lips together and turned her wheel chair and tried to bolt from the room. So what if he was a magician, wizard, whatever? She thought they might be able to get along, but if he couldn't really help her, she didn't want Heath around. She got to the edge of the stairs, her parents calling after her, saying how rude her action was.
        "Take me upstairs." Aspen ordered Pamela.
        Pamela just gaped at her, composed herself, and shook her head. Aspen looked at Bernie who crossed his arms. She huffed and looked back at the stairs, and stood shakily.         
        She could run, sure. But she'd pass out as soon as she reached the top, maybe before. No matter, as long s she was back in her room away from people.
        She took her first step, her parents apologizing to Heath as they all came in. Aspen made her mad dash up the stairs.
        "Aspen!" her mother cried. "No, stop!"
        But she was racing up the stairs, her vision blurring, her breathing scraping up her throat. Her head pounded and when she reached the top everyone saw her fall.
        Aspen's head felt fuzzy, and everything went black before she couldn't hear anything but felt her feel crumble beneath her and her head hit the carpet. She hated her body.