Looking into his eyes, I see his confidence in this. “How?”
He grins and kisses my forehead. “So many reasons. Toby. Giana. Here you are. I know this is right. I know we will be successful. So, let’s go do what we need to and get back.” Squeezing my shoulders, he says, “You and I know the prophecy. Fritjof does not. The element of surprise is in our favor. He thinks no one besides him and Giana can touch the vase. We are guaranteed success if we trust the prophecy.”
He is exactly right. The reminder comforts and strengthens me. I smile back at him. “Yes. Let’s do this.”
We lie on our stomachs at the top of a hill, and I can’t believe what I see. Hundreds of people stand in front of a barn. It does appear to be a mix of healthy and infected, as the infected stand lopsided and their heads twitch. Ernesto decides we will remain low and crawl into the crowd. We leave our backpacks but not our weapons. He has the M16 on his right shoulder and the other gun on his left. He slides the metal pipe down his pant leg. I move the 9mm to the front of my pants after I check again to make sure I have the safety engaged.
Our adrenaline must be high because it doesn’t take us long to move in position with the others. Standing, I look around me and see tearstained faces of healthy men and women among the sick. One woman opens her mouth to speak, but the upper barn doors fly open revealing three individuals.
“Thank you all for gracing me with your presence,” the male in the middle announces as he lifts his hands in an exaggerated gesture of encompassing everyone.
Glancing at Ernesto, I mouth the word Fritjof, and he nods.
“For today’s enjoyment, I have with me—” He throws his hand in the direction of the woman to his right. Her fear is evident, and it’s heartbreaking. Shoving her, he demands, “Your name?”
The woman rattles off a few sentences in German, and I realize I understand everything she just said. When I glance at Ernesto, his lips purse and one of his eyebrows lifts. It is safe to assume that I can now understand foreign languages? No wonder everyone at Protetta spoke such good English. Another gift of being in the vicinity of the vase?
She pleads for her son’s life, offering her own. Dropping to her knees, she lowers her head and cries for him to release her son.
“No!” Fritjof yells. “Parents making these decisions without consulting their children. Is it easier for us to live without you? Than for you to live without us?” He slaps her upside her head. “You are pathetic.”
Moving to the boy, he cups his hand around the boy’s scalp. He wails in agony. His face distorts and his veins protrude. I can’t watch it. We must do something. Ernesto grips my arm and pulls me toward the barn just as Fritjof tosses the boy down into the crowd. “My gift to you! Enjoy, friends!” he screams as the frenzied react, mobbing the boy.
The horrific scene unfolds before me, paralyzing me, but Ernesto pulls me along, swinging his metal pipe and opening a path for us to enter the barn. Once inside I see stalls holding children. It’s apparent that the horrendous production we witnessed is not a one-time exhibition.
“Look! There is it!” Ernesto yells. I look in the direction he points and see the vase. He readies his shotgun, prepared to cover me, and I race toward it. Nothing enters my mind. I only act. I don’t hesitate. I grab the vase. I hold it, waiting on what, I don’t know, but nothing occurs. I’m okay. I can touch it. Spinning around, I see Ernesto. Fritjof is behind him.
“Put it back,” he calmly states. I don’t do anything, and he repeats it louder. “Put it back!” He lifts his hand above Ernesto’s shoulder. “You’ve witnessed what I’m capable of. So put it back!”
Ernesto shakes his head, and his eyes plead with me to not follow Fritjof’s instructions. Scanning the barn, I see all the children staring at me with hope. I don’t know what to do, what not to do.
Fritjof’s hand slams down on Ernesto’s shoulder, and he collapses to his knees. His mouth disfigures, but he speaks garbled words. Confusion crosses Fritjof’s face, and Ernesto tries again. “D-d-don’t. G-gian-ana.”
A hint of something reflects in his eyes, but he doesn’t release Ernesto. Moving the vase to my left hand, I pull the gun from my pants with my right. I point and fire. My eyes close. I’m afraid to open them.
The sounds of whispers and sighs fill the barn. I can’t look at what I’ve done. I shot someone. Maybe Ernesto.
“Don’t let me die. I don’t want to die.” It’s Fritjof speaking. I open my eyes and see him lying on the ground holding his left side. Blood is pooling around him. Ernesto is ripping material, preparing to tie it around the wound.
“Don’t touch him! You can’t touch him!” I scream. Ernesto doesn’t listen. He lifts Fritjof’s shirt. One of the older children joins him and assists in wrapping the cloth around the wound. Whatever power he held, he no longer holds. Now I see just a wounded young man.
Continuing his bandaging of Fritjof, Ernesto states, “We are not evil, Charlotte. It is not our position to judge him. He won’t be left behind.” As much as I want to agree with him, and deep down, I know I do, I can’t stop seeing the image of him hurting and then killing the boy.
The barn door opens and the adults rush in, embracing their children. Through the doors, I see the frenzied ambling away. It’s over. We did it. Ernesto tells someone to fetch the wheelbarrow, and he comes to me. He cups my face with both hands, forcing me to focus on him. “Let’s go home.”
After we get Fritjof in the wheelbarrow and make him as comfortable as we can, we head back to Protetta. Our population has increased greatly. The adults and children join us.
I don’t understand all of it—any of it for that matter. When Protetta comes into view, life has expanded. I assume to accommodate our new numbers. Greenery and color inhabits much more of the surrounding area. The frenzied still roam an invisible barrier unable to enter the village, but there also seems to be a large space leading into town that they can’t enter. It appears as a protected pathway leading us into Protetta. Ernesto grabs my left hand and doesn’t let go as we enter the town square. I never release the vase. I won’t until I deliver it to its rightful owner, Giana.
Carmine greets us, holding Toby. He now has a rash covering his little body, and I try to pull my hand out of Ernesto’s, but he holds it tighter. He holds out his left arm for Carmine to place Toby in it. The square is filled with the inhabitants of Protetta, and they cheer and clap for us. It’s a greeting for heroes, and I don’t see myself that way. This place is magical and extraordinary. It needed to be preserved. The three of us go directly to Giana’s.
It is eerily quiet and dark when we enter her room. A couple of people are in here, including Bettina. She speaks to us. “She had a terrible morning. I hope she is just unconscious.”
I expect Ernesto to release my hand and run to her, but he doesn’t. The three of us go to the left side of her bed. He places Toby up there first and then he lifts me. Once he joins us, he moves to her side, talking in her ear. “We are here. Just like you said.” She is so pale, and I don’t know if she is breathing. She is far too still. “Pick up her hand and put it around the vase, Charlotte.”
I do as he says. Her hand is freezing. What if we are too late? Without her…I can’t think about that. I reach for her other hand and wrap it around the vase as well. There is no change. I place both of my hands over hers on the vase. She has to be okay. She has to. Not just for Toby but for all of us. We have a future. In spite of everything, we survived. We will endure.
I feel warmth. It’s radiating through her hands to mine. It happens that quickly. Her eyes flutter open, her color returns, and she graces us with that beautiful smile of hers.
Ernesto and I both try to persuade her to take a little time before curing Toby, but she won’t hear of it. She cradles him against her chest, and his rash disappears, along with his fever. It’s drained her energy. She drifts off to sleep.
After I play and spend the afternoon with Toby, we eat and I bathe and put him to bed. I’m g
rateful to Giana. To know Toby is cured and immune to all illnesses and diseases is the greatest feeling in the world. As much as I hated her doing that so soon after her recovery and having her power restored, I feel like I can breathe for the first time in a very long time.
Taking a seat on the couch, I realize how tired I am. I know I can rest easy knowing Toby is well. My head jerks when I hear a soft knock on the door. I must have dozed, that quickly. Ernesto greets me when I open the door, but his face is serious.
“Charlotte, I need you to do something…try to do something,” he utters.
His words and his expression worry me. “Okay. Is Giana all right?”
Placing his palm against my cheek, his eyes plead to me. “Yes, it’s not Giana.”
He doesn’t offer any more information, and it terrifies me that it’s something bad. Very bad. “What is it, Ernesto? The new people we brought back? Are they all infected?”
Rubbing his fingers over my face, he brings his hand down to my shoulder. He looks to the ground before he looks me in the eye and responds. “I don’t know if they are. They have all been situated in the meeting hall in town square for now. We will get to them all later. When Giana is stronger.”
I’m irritated now. He’s dancing around what he wants to say. My aggravation comes out with my words. “Then what is it? You’re scaring me!”
“It’s Fritjof. He’s lost a lot of blood, and I don’t think we can wait for Giana to improve. He needs help now,” he informs me.
I don’t wish for him to die, but I don’t have any history with him. If I based my impression only on what I knew of him and what I saw of him earlier, I don’t feel it would be some great loss. His actions harmed Giana, jeopardized the positive effects and use of the Potente vase, and killed innocent children. I know Ernesto remembers Fritjof as his boyhood friend, and I understand that. I just don’t have any desire to associate with him. I turn away from him and go back and sit on the couch. “I’m sorry,” I somehow manage to say.
Shutting the door, he steps closer to me. “I want you to try to help him.”
“What? Me? No. How?” I shake my head. He’s sounding crazy. “I think we both need to get some rest, Ernesto. I’m exhausted and I’m sure you are.”
“How can I rest knowing that he will most likely die in the middle of the night?” His tone is harsh. “You can at least try.”
“Try what? I don’t know what you suddenly believe I can do.” Did I ever give him some reason to think I had medical experience of some sort?
Kneeling in front of me, he places his hands on my knees and peers into my eyes. “You can touch the vase. Maybe you can do more.”
Swatting his hands off me, I stand and walk around him. “I’ve touched Toby, you, Giana. I don’t have any special powers. Even the illustrations in the basilica don’t depict that.”
“The illustrations don’t continue once the vase is returned,” he protests.
As ridiculous as his request is, I must try. I care about him, and it means a lot to him. Plus, I shot Fritjof. Of course, he was hurting Ernesto. “All right. If it will make you happy. Let me go get Carmine to come sit with Toby.”
Five minutes later, we walk toward the same street as Giana’s home. Ernesto stops at a home that sits on the corner of that street and the main square. I follow him inside. I’m surprised to find Fritjof is all alone in a bedroom on the right as soon as we enter. Candles and a couple of lanterns provide light, and he is pale, blending in with his white sheets. Blood has saturated his bandage, seeping down his side and onto the pristine sheet. Again, he appears so harmless. His sweaty light-colored hair sticks to his forehead, and his mouth falls agape with each labored breath he takes.
I look from him to Ernesto. I’m at a total loss. What does he expect? I shrug my shoulders. “What do you want me to do? I told you that nothing special happened when I touched the vase.”
“Giana told me that she has to clear her mind of any other thoughts when she uses her gift. She focuses only on the task at hand. She wills it to happen,” he tells me. Taking my hand, he leads me to the side of the bed. All I can think of when I see Fritjof is him standing in the upper barn loft. Tossing that boy to the frenzied.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, I reach out with my left hand and place it on his bare shoulder. His skin is clammy and cold. I think of making him better, but my mind just replays the same horrid image I have of him.
“Close your eyes. Think of nothing else but of healing him,” Ernesto instructs.
Doing as he suggests, I close my eyes, no longer envisioning the dying young man beneath my hand. I try, but I only see him how I’ve known him. Evil. My hand heats up, and vibrations start in my fingertips, traveling up my arm. Screams of agony fill the room. Not until the contact is broken and I find myself lying on the floor do I realize the screams came from Fritjof.
His mouth is still open wide, but only gurgles escape now. Ernesto is between me and Fritjof. His hands are over Fritjof’s wounds, applying pressure. “What have you done!” he screams. Blood flows between and around his fingers, pooling on the bed and dripping to the floor.
Did I do this? I felt something. I cry, “I don’t know! Did I do this? I hurt him?” That couldn’t be. I don’t want to inflict pain. Lifting myself from the floor, I try to squeeze between the wall and Ernesto. I want to leave. It horrifies me that I caused more harm to Fritjof. Was that what I wanted? No. I’m not evil. I can’t be.
Ernesto’s leg swings out blocking me from any additional retreat. “Get over here! Fix what you’ve done!” he yells.
Tears flow from my eyes. I don’t know if I can ever touch anyone again. Removing his right hand from the wound, Ernesto reaches behind him and grips my wrist. It hurts. I try to jerk free, but I can’t. He yanks me beside him against the bed, and I fall into Fritjof. My chest lands across his. I jump off, worried that any contact may do further damage. My left wrist still in Ernesto’s clutch, he places my hand on Fritjof and holds it there. My sobs turn to shrieks as I feel my hand heat once again. Glancing down, I realize Ernesto’s fingers remain clamped around my wrist. “No! Let go! Stop!” I beg. His fingers grip tighter and I yelp.
Throbbing starts in my hands. I don’t want to hurt Ernesto. I don’t want to hurt anyone. Tremors start in my legs. I can’t. I can’t.
5
I hear Toby laughing. Jolting upright, I realize I am in my bed. In my home. Toby is in the playpen at the foot of my bed that Carmine brought over while I was gone to retrieve the vase. Ernesto lies beside me. He opens his eyes and asks, “You okay? What’s wrong?”
I don’t know. Is anything wrong? I can’t remember. “You’re safe? Did I hurt you? Fritjof?” It begins to come back to me. I’m afraid to hear his answer.
Stretching his arm toward me, I scoot away from him. He narrows his eyes, and a crease forms across his forehead. “Everything is perfect, Charlotte. Fritjof was up and walking before I carried you back here. Couldn’t be better.” He pats the mattress indicating he wants me to lie back down.
Memories of what transpired last night flash through my mind. I recall Fritjof’s shrieks of anguish, caused by my hand. My chest tightens imagining how badly things could have turned out. Ernesto didn’t know if I could right the wrong I administered. He had no clue. “You were wrong to do that. You forced me to do it again…after I produced pain.”
Rolling to his side, he plants his elbow in the mattress and props his head in his hand. He smiles at me, a smile that yesterday would have had me crushing all over him. Now I’m angry. I’m disappointed. He wasn’t concerned for my well-being or my feelings. Just Fritjof. He sighs. “Charlotte. I was right. Everything worked out.”
My temper flares. “You weren’t certain! I was terrified! You forced me, not knowing if I could do more than harm.” Toby cries hearing my outburst. I go to him, picking him up in my arms. I pull him close. My arms tremble as fear consumes me. The knowledge that my touch can wound another mortifies me. I don’t w
ant it. I don’t want to hurt others. And never Toby. What if I can’t control it?
“We had to try. He was going to die, regardless,” defends Ernesto. “Giana and I had both wondered and talked about if you having the gift was a possibility.”
Pinning him with my eyes, his admission disgusts me. “You both should have discussed it with me. That would have been the right thing. After everything, Ernesto…I feel betrayed.”
Snickering, he looks away from me and crawls off the bed. “You are being overdramatic.”
“Get out. I want you to leave.” It hurts me to say this to him, but I don’t want him here. I don’t want to see him. I don’t want to hear anything he has to say.
Picking his shirt and shoes up from the floor, he walks past me and out of the room. I hear the front door slam a few seconds later.
The urge to cry is overwhelming, but Toby lifts his head and giggles at me. Carrying him to the kitchen, I focus on getting him some breakfast. I am blessed, and I need to concentrate on that. We are healthy and safe. As far as I know. What if the others learn what I’m capable of? Will they label me a monster? An evil soul? Though they allowed Fritjof to return, he lost his power. He is no longer a threat. What if they think I am? Will they force me out? I can’t take Toby back out there. I can’t.
I spend a couple hours playing with Toby before I muster the courage to go speak with Giana. I leave him at Carmine’s, and Carmine doesn’t act differently toward me. All I know for certain is that Giana and I have much to talk about.
The door to her home is wide-open today letting in plenty of natural light. It looks back to normal again. “Giana, it’s Charlotte, can I come in?” I call to her.
Greeting me at the door, she looks vibrant in a pink, flowing dress. She reaches her hand out, taking mine in hers. “Of course. You are always welcome. Always.” She pulls me inside, and I see Fritjof stretched out in the center of her bed. He sits upright and grins. It makes me uneasy.
Magic and Shadows: A Collection of YA Fantasy and Paranormal Romances Page 93