“Charlotte.” She calmly calls to me, but I don’t look up. “Charlotte.” Her voice becomes sterner. “Look at me.” I do as she directs. I can’t deny there is something about her. Something that makes me want to please her and not disrespect her. “I know how unbelievable this all sounds. Trust me, I do know. But I will heal Toby. I’m not strong enough now.”
Oh no. Toby. What have they done to him? I push myself up and run from her room. I don’t stop running until I’m standing at the steps in front of my new home. Slumping to the stairs, I sob, unaware until this exact moment I cried the whole way here. I want to talk to my mom or my dad. Nothing makes sense, and I’m scared to do anything. I’m scared to do nothing. Giana’s claims are ridiculous, but so is everything in the world right now.
The house windows are open, and Toby’s giggles reach my ears. Wiping my face, I take a deep breath and go inside. He and Carmine sit on the floor playing with some toy trucks and blocks. Starting out at a crawl, he rises to his feet and comes to me. His little cheeks are rosy with fever. Pulling him close to my chest, I hold him there, knowing I will do anything to protect or save him.
“Charlotte.” A female’s voice calls from the doorway.
Without loosening my hold on Toby, I shift to face her. She’s in her early twenties and is older than anyone I’ve seen here. Dressed in a pair of cargo pants, she has dark, curly shoulder-length hair and is wearing glasses. “I’m Charlotte.”
“My name is Bettina. I am the historian here at Protetta. Come with me, please. I will teach you what I know.”
Looking from her to Carmine, as if I expect one or the other to tell me what to do, I do not move or release my hold on Toby. Carmine assures me. “I will stay with him. For as long as it takes.”
Toby is all I have left of my previous life. He is all I have left. I struggle with wanting to pick him up, never let him go, and…and… Placing Toby back on the floor with the toys, I get up to follow Bettina. The amount of fever and the duration he’s had it panics me. “Thank you, Carmine. Please give him something for his fever.” Carmine gets up from the floor to get the medicine. Toby smiles and pushes a car around the floor making vroom, vroom noises. If I must listen to what they believe in this village in order to save Toby, then listen I will.
Before I shut the door behind me, Bettina is providing me with the history of the village. “Our history can be dated back to the Etruscans around 750 B.C. The Romans conquered, constructing the basilica I will show you. Beneath the structure are tombs and many treasures buried with the dead. Protetta has been protected and its secrets kept unknown forever, from what we have learned.”
“Why?” I want to know the answer, but I didn’t mean to ask it aloud right now.
Never slowing her pace, and never looking at me, she continues. “When you see it, you should understand. Many long believed Protetta is sacred and prophetic. Man should never have the want or need to interfere with that. Always thinking they need all the answers and to be in control. Look what that got them.”
Walking down a street I haven’t been on, we walk out onto a hillside. Crops of all kinds are abundant, and many young people are digging, planting, and picking. Still without any shoes, my feet don’t bother me as I step on rocks and sticks. It is as if they are immune, shielded from any further harm or pain. “Where are all the adults?” This realization bothers me. I noticed before now that the village population is twenty and under, but as I scan the countryside, I only see children working the crops.
“There are no adults left.” Her response is quick and concluding. This isn’t a topic she sounds willing to discuss.
I’m in awe of the boundless color and life I see around me. Breathing in the fresh, pure air, I struggle to restrain my tears. It’s a dream come true. I can’t believe how fortunate I am to be here and make this life available to Toby. Strolling across a wood bridge, under the shade of hanging trees, we step out in front of a huge, magnificent cathedral—referred to by Bettina as a basilica.
The architecture and detail is amazing. Painted religious scenes adorn sections of the front. Stopping, I raise my head and stare at it, admiring all the unique features. What surprises me most is that as gigantic and extravagant as the structure is, I never saw it until we came across the fields and through the trees.
“It is spectacular, isn’t it?” Bettina’s head is tilted up as she admires the splendor before us too. “Come along. You have many days before you to admire it.”
She leads me through massive intricately designed doors. I can’t guess at how tall they actually are, I’ve never been good with measurements, but they are so heavy it takes both of us to pull one open enough for us to squeeze through. There is a huge hall, and the artwork depicted here must rival that of the Sistine Chapel. It is so inspiring. I know I could sit in here for hours and attempt to interpret each scene.
Passing through the great hall, past the pulpit, we walk a maze of hallways. Beneath a staircase, she opens a small knee-high door. “Behind you, in that cabinet, grab a lantern.”
I do as she says, and she retrieves a lighter from her pocket and lights the kerosene. Pulling a flashlight from the back waistband of her pants, she hands it to me. “You use this. Stay close behind me and be careful. It is a narrow staircase, and it’s a long way down.”
Nodding, I kneel and enter the passageway behind her. Luckily once we get inside, we can stand but not upright; it’s more of a crouching position. It’s cool and smells funny, but I continue. It feels like we descend a long way, and I try not to feel anxious, but I do. Water trickles down some of the walls the lower we go, and I imagine the walls and stairs crumbling so that I could never escape.
“Not much farther now,” she informs me.
At last we step onto solid ground. It’s a small space with stone floors and walls. Lifting her lantern, she illuminates a small archway. Again, we travel a long hallway, a much narrower one than up above. I concentrate on breathing, slow and steady, as we move deeper and deeper, farther and farther away from the world. Small square entrances to spaces begin to line the walls, but she moves past them. I don’t ask any questions. I wouldn’t know what to ask.
Ahead of us, I see the end of the hallway. She enters an arched opening to our right. It is just another hallway, and we continue on what feels like an endless journey. Not realizing she stopped, I walk into the back of her. “I’m sorry.”
Raising the lantern in front of her, she walks forward and sets it on a stone platform. Within seconds, I see my surroundings. Some form of hieroglyphics cover the walls from floor to ceiling. In every corner, and much of the room, I see what appear to be artifacts. Gold glistens in the dim light. I can make out jewelry, utensils of some kind, and other things I’m not sure of.
“We believe, and it follows history, the first recordings start here,” Bettina states as she points out a corner behind us. These tell of the Etruscans and the Romans. It is a recording of history, all of this. The accuracy is amazing.”
I examine the drawings, and I can understand her interpretation of the scenes. Several portray major historical moments: the atomic bomb, landing on the moon, and the falling of the Twin Towers.
“You will need to be careful as we move around. This here is an Etruscan hut urn; it housed the cremated remains of the deceased. Before we continue, please note this.” She points to a vase in one of the early depictions. Several people are kneeling around it. “Follow me, but watch your steps.”
We wander in between the urns and other artifacts. She stops two walls over from where we started and points at an image of the same vase. “This is the Potente vase. Translation is powerful, strong, or forceful.”
I guess this vase is important, and she will get to that. Meandering through the room, on a third wall, she points again at the vase.
“I hope you understand that the Potente vase has been around since early Protetta and holds immeasurable value for our people.”
My impatience gets the best of
me. “Yes. I can see that, but I haven’t seen any vase, and I don’t know what this has to do with me or Toby.”
“Come.” Grabbing my wrist, she pulls me to the last wall, the final drawings. “What do you see?”
I squat and turn my flashlight on the wall. The world is dead. It is flat, barren, and there are people on the ground. Some appear sick, and some are on their knees with their hands raised to the sky in a form of surrender. I shuffle to my right, moving my light as I continue to examine the images and their meaning. The next scene is of a young woman, the vase is present, and parents are crawling behind their children, pushing them toward the woman. I don’t want to guess at what this represents.
“Explain it to me,” I request.
Bettina looks at the ground, her voice barely audible. “The perishing disease ravaged Protetta as it did everywhere. Every day we lost our people to its destruction. Many left on their own, not wishing to taint this sacred region. Only a few have entered this tomb. Only a few know the true prophecy.”
“Let me understand this. You believe all these illustrations are prophecies, and this one represents Giana?” I try to keep the disbelief out of my voice, but I don’t think I’m successful. Doesn’t matter anyway, as I’m sure it registers all over my face.
“I don’t just believe it, Charlotte, I know it.” Bettina stiffens, and her face hardens. “When the perishing seized Protetta, it didn’t waste its time. Giana’s father instructed her to come here and retrieve the Potente vase. She did. He didn’t know how or what the vase was capable of, but once she had it in her hands, the gifts it possessed seized her mind and body.”
“What gifts? The gift of healing?” I ask. This all reminds me of an Indiana Jones movie.
“Upon holding the vase, Giana felt its power, and she too had the early stages of the perishing disease. It healed her. She felt healthy and strong again. Touching Ernesto, he experienced the same thing, through her touch.” Pacing, she turns away from me. Her shoulders sag. “After sharing her revelations with her father, he denied her use of the healing on him. He knew that there would be restrictions and limitations on her gift. Not knowing the side effects or the strength of her exceptional ability, the adults followed his lead. Children first.” Sniffling, she continues. “It was devastating. For all of us. Mostly for Giana. She didn’t want to deny anyone, but the side effects were immediate. It became evident that some must wait. The more she used her gift, the weaker she became. It wasn’t her decision to further limit her ability. It was Ernesto’s. One afternoon after healing many children, she passed out. It was three days before she came back to us.”
Her head drops, her chin falls against her chest, and she wipes her face with her hands. “As I said earlier, many adults left the village. They removed themselves from consideration, from serving as a reminder that she wasn’t to aid them. Sometime after the adults either left or once they had the disease and wandered away from here, the village became protected. No newcomers could enter, ill or not. All the inhabitants were healthy, and Protetta received a resurrected earth. Trees bloomed, crops flourished.”
Turning, she faced me again. “We lived the illusion that we were safe. Maybe we beat this thing and could survive, rebuild.” Pointing at the wall, she moves closer. “Finish reviewing the wall.”
This all sounds like mythology to me. Do I believe her? I do know Giana is sick and that she did something to me that healed my feet and protects them. Kneeling back where I left off at the images on the wall, I study the next scene. One individual doesn’t resemble the more recent representations. Drawn in black, it has no facial features, just a dark entity. It is human, and in its hands, it holds the vase. “Someone took the vase?”
“Fritjof.”
“He is one of you?” Shifting most of my weight from my left to my right leg, I look back at her. “Why did he take it? Where is he?”
Striding over, she kneels beside me. “Besides Giana, no other could touch the vase without excruciating pain traveling through them. Fritjof was angry and full of hate. Giana didn’t heal his parents, and rage consumed him. Again, we were naïve, believing in only goodness and hope. I suppose for every blessing, there is an evil. He was ours.”
“Where is he? Why doesn’t anyone go get it?” Seems like a no-brainer to me.
“No one can touch it without painful consequences except Giana and him. Giana is the good, Fritjof is the evil. Both are able to touch it.”
Good and evil, magical vases, and healing powers. All of it seems so incredulous. Seeing a contaminant of some form infect and wipe out most of the human population, animal species, and the environment was incredulous to me eighteen months ago. “Is he or can he use it for evil?”
Shrugging her shoulders, she replies. “We don’t know. We can’t know if it’s because the vase is out of Giana’s possession, away from Protetta, if that is what continues to weaken her. Weaken her to the point that she is unable to heal any more of those suffering from any serious illnesses. Like Toby. Nor do we know if he can wreak havoc.”
“I appreciate you sharing all this with me, and as much as I want Toby well again, I don’t know how I can help.”
She points at the wall and the next scene, the last scene. I concentrate on what I’m looking at, hesitant to say it aloud.
Bettina has other plans and doesn’t let me avoid it. “Tell me what you see.”
This is crazy. How many others have they tried to sell this tale to, to manipulate them into going after the vase, doing their dirty work for them? “I’m just an American teenager…nothing special. This picture isn’t me.”
“Tell me what you see,” she urges in a firmer tone. I don’t respond, and she screams, “Tell me what you see, Charlotte!”
I don’t want to. It can’t be. It’s not me. She yells again. “Tell me!”
Closing my eyes, I shake my head from right to left several times. I respond in a raised voice. “A person shrouded in light entering the village.” I stop there.
Bettina is relentless and hollers, “And…what else, Charlotte?”
My words stick in my throat. As I speak them, they feel like truth. “They meet with an ailing Giana in the town square. She requires assistance from a male to stand and walk.”
Her voice is lower now, coaxing. “This happened. Did it not?”
I nod in agreement. “Why me?”
“No one can answer that. You are pure of heart. You survived out there when nothing else did. You kept Toby alive. You entered our village when no other soul has.” Laying her hand on my back, she urges me to continue. “Tell me about the very last scene.”
“I leave the village with someone, and I return with the vase.” I can touch the vase?
Patting my back several times, she moves her hand under my arm, directing me to stand. “Come on. I will take you to Toby now.”
3
It is late afternoon when I return home. Toby is happy to see me, and I him. I thank Carmine and join Toby on the floor. My mind is abuzz with everything I’ve seen and heard today. If I understand the prophecy correctly, I am to set out and retrieve the vase from an evil individual who no one knows what he is capable of. And, if I do this, it may restore Giana’s powers so she can cure Toby.
I hate I’m preoccupied with my thoughts, as Toby keeps pulling on me to interact with him. I can’t help but think about if I don’t make it back. What will happen to Toby? Will he die? How many others will die? Giana?
I hear it. I know what it is. It’s been over eighteen months since I’ve heard it, and I’m not sure I can trust my ears. Lifting Toby in my arms, I walk to the window. My ears haven’t betrayed me. It’s raining. Once the frenzy started, there was no more rain and no more snow. The temperatures still followed their seasonal patterns, but the atmosphere stopped producing.
I carry Toby outside. Standing in the street, I lift my free hand and my face to the sky. I laugh. “It’s rain, Toby. Feel it.” I hold his little hand, turning it palm up for him to feel
. He giggles. Kicking his legs and indicating he wants down, I set him on the ground. He walks in circles as the rain hits him and drenches him.
There is no decision to make. Toby is my everything. My every smile. My every hope. My every fear. Without him, there is no me.
I take him to a field at the end of our street. He tries to run when I put him down and falls in the water. He smiles. Lifting his hands, he slaps them on the ground, now covered in rain. It splashes up and in his face, along with some mud. He slaps it again, and again, giggling. I run in circles around him, stomping my bare feet in the puddles. Mud flies up onto my legs. Toby thinks this is hysterical. He pushes himself up and follows me. He stumbles more than he runs, but his laughter is continuous.
We play in the field until the sun disappears. We’re both soaked, tired, and laughing. I’ve laughed so hard and long that my belly muscles ache. I don’t stop in the house first, but I probably should. Giana will think I have no pride in my appearance.
Many others shared my idea. The streets are full of children riding their bikes through puddles, skateboarding through puddles, and jumping in puddles. I have a sense of peace. I never thought to feel this again. Taking the steps up to Giana’s, I hear Ernesto speaking in Italian. His voice is sweet and calming. He must really love her.
I hate to interrupt them, but Toby’s eyes are drooping. I know he’s tired, and I feel his fever through his shirt. “Hello. It’s Charlotte.” I announce.
Giana answers. “Come in. Come in, please.”
I push past the silky drapes and go in. Her face lights up when she sees me, even more so when she spots Toby. “How is he, Charlotte. No change, I hope.”
There’s no denying she has certain capabilities. “No, no change.” She knows that he has time, but I wonder if she knows what he has. “Do you know what is wrong with him?”
Ernesto lies on the bed beside her, his arms beneath his head on a pillow. He makes no eye contact with me and doesn’t even acknowledge me.
Magic and Shadows: A Collection of YA Fantasy and Paranormal Romances Page 91