Raemark has produced books by Hazel Spire, L.R. Longhurst, and Craig Longhurst, manuscript to print.
22/12/2024
EDVIN'S ADVENT ADVENTURE
One by one, Edvin’s mother lit four candles at the base of the brass centerpiece. Then she blew out the match.
“Stay there, Edvin. Don’t touch the candles,” she said. “I’m going to the kitchen, to start my Christmas baking.”
“Okay, Mor.” Edvin waited for the magic to begin.
The flames warmed the air above them. Rising, the air awoke four fan blades at the top of a tall, thin pyramid. They rotated clockwise. Edvin held his breath.
When the fan turned, three brass cherubs joined in its movement. Edvin imagined their trumpets playing “Joy to the World” as they flew. Suddenly, tiny metal rods that dangled from the cherubs tapped a soft rhythm on the two bells below.
Ting…Ting…
The chimes grew louder and faster. Ting-ting-ting-ting.
Edvin liked the other decorations on the table, too. Carol singers in a European village scene. Figures of Mary Joseph, baby Jesus, and shepherds at a stable. Every year he looked forward to lighting the brass carousel. Uncle Olle had sent it from Sweden. It helped the family count the days of Advent, leading up to Christmas.
A tantalizing smell of cardamom cookies reached Edvin’s nostrils.
“What are you doing, Edvin?” his mother called from the kitchen.
“Just watching the Änglaspel, Mor,” said Edvin, proud that he knew the Swedish word.
“Not playing with matches, are you?”
“No, Mor,” he replied.
Ting! Ting! Ting! Ting! The candles flickered, drawing Edvin’s attention back to the tabletop. He touched the folk-art pattern of the cloth.
He rubbed the paint on the small wooden horse. It was a gift from Farfar, his grandfather in Sweden.
Magnus, do you miss the mountains?” he whispered, not expecting a reply.
The horse whickered, yes.
Its shoulder muscles rippled. Edvin grabbed the white, braided mane. Magnus whinnied, as if to say, “Hop on, Edvin.” So he did.
The double patio doors swung open.
Before Edvin could tell whether he had shrunk or Magnus had grown, they were galloping into the moonlit night.
While the candles burned shorter, horse and boy skirted a sparkling waterway called a fjord. Miraculously, they slipped through a door hidden in a rock. All his life, Edvin had heard magical stories and music from a region called Scandinavia. Now he was there—inside a mountain range between Sweden and Norway.
Magnus was clip-clopping right up to Leon’s throne, in the Hall of the Mountain King!
“Welcome,” said King Leon, looking down from a tall throne of ice.
Although the king had a kind face, Edvin shivered with fear—plus cold and excitement, all at the same time.
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” he replied. Magnus snorted in agreement.
“Whence hailest thou?” King Leon asked.
Edvin frowned.
“Where are you from?”
“America, Sir—um—Your Highness. But my uncle is Swedish. So are my grandparents.”
The king smiled. “I know them well.”
Magnus trotted off with the stable boy. A servant led Edvin to a massive fireplace, where logs popped and crackled. One end of the throne room was filled with shelves of books. They had titles of gold, in a foreign language. Edvin guessed the books held stories from long ago. A group of villagers sat talking about matters of trade and defense. Two of the men were Edvin’s uncle and grandfather!
Farfar’s beard was almost as long and as white as King Leon’s. Uncle Olle’s hair was even blonder than Edvin’s.
They hugged him and poured him a goblet of warm blackcurrant cordial. After exchanging family news, Farfar said, “We can’t come to America this Christmas, but we’ll try for next year…”
All too soon, the stable boy reappeared with Magnus. Edvin re-mounted for their return journey. On the way out through the secret door, he snapped off an icicle that hung from a stone ledge.
By the time the carousel candles had burned down to wisps of smoke, Edvin was back at home. The patio doors swung shut behind him. Magnus stood on the table, as still as the wood he was carved from.
“Edvin, the cardamom cookies are ready for you to taste!” his mother called from the kitchen.
“Coming, Mor...”
In a daze, Edvin rubbed his eyes. How could he even begin to tell her what just happened? Who would believe it? He put a hand in his pocket to pull out the icicle. But already, it had melted into a soggy wet spot.
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