by Mandi Lynn
“But—”
“No,” I say. When I look at Garren I see an upset young man. His eyes are crinkled, his forehead creased, and I can tell he wishes he could fix the mistake Anton has made, but Garren can’t. “It was good he left.”
“How can you say that?”
Memories of Anton flash behind my lids: the first time he tried to kill me in public, everyone making sense of my execution because I was a witch. And more recently when he placed his hand around my throat, leaving dark blotches that outlined his long fingers. My breath falters, and Garren notices. He steps closer and when I flinch he steps away again.
“What happened?” he asks.
“Nothing,” I say, but my voice isn’t convincing. My words are lies, and he knows it.
“Luna.” He steps closer to me in one fluid movement.
I forgot to fight back, and the next thing I know he’s too close.
His fingers wrap around my chin to make me face him, but, when he sees my fear he releases me. Garren no longer touches my body, but he doesn’t move away. The man comes closer, close enough that I can feel his breath on my cheek. My eyes are memorizing the ground, but his voice warms my skin.
“He hurt you.”
It isn’t a question, so I don’t bother agreeing with him. I stare at my bare feet, and I wonder why I never put on my shoes again after saying goodbye to Nouvel along the stream. Garren has leather shoes that are worn and beaten and old.
“What did he do?” he asks.
“It doesn’t matter,” I say too quickly.
“Then why did he do it?”
His voice is soft and begs me to look up at him again, but I can’t. This stranger makes me feel safe, and that can’t be. I can’t let him near me, not now. “Please.”
His hand brushes against my arm and I jump back. My feet slip and under my heels, I can feel the edge of the cliff. Garren’s hand comes out to catch me and before I can protest he pulls me to safety. A small yelp escapes from my throat, but then a second later I find myself far from the edge with Garren holding on tight to my hand.
“Stop!” I yell out. I pull myself from him and am careful when I leave his side, watching the edge of the cliff grow farther away as I distance myself from Garren. Shock is etched across his face, but I don’t register his emotions because they shouldn’t matter to me. “Look at me and tell me why Anton would never want to hurt me!” I didn’t mean to yell.
He doesn’t respond. Garren just continues to look at me, stare at me, never speaking as to what he sees.
I pause to breathe and regain myself. Emotions stir that have yet to be released, but I refuse to unhinge myself in front of this stranger.
“You see it, but you haven’t asked why,” I say in an almost whisper, but he hears me just the same. I stare at him, begging him with my eyes to accuse me, to want to execute me, like all the rest.
“What is there to ask?”
When I look at him I want to cry, and push him away.
“Ask me if I’m a witch.”
He’s baffled by my words, that much is obvious, so I step closer. He doesn’t move away. I keep my arms at my sides and stare into his eyes, waiting for him to register my words and see me as everyone else does. My silver eyes leer into his, but he never looks away.
“You’re not a witch,” he says almost too quietly.
“How do you know that? I’ve lived my entire life hidden, so people didn’t accuse me on false charges, but here I stand, waiting to be accused, and you won’t say the words. I could have caused this pestilence. I could have killed your family, and it doesn’t matter. You still stand close and trust me. I could kill you.” I challenge him, threaten him, and push him away—I don’t know why.
Garren doesn’t move, back away, or cower in fear. He looks at me, his gaze steady.
“You’re not a witch,” he says.
I nod my head when I hear the words. I’ve wanted them to be true all my life, but I’m not even sure what I am myself. I grew up being called this evil thing, and I began to believe it. But now, here stands a man, and he neither fears nor harms me.
“I’m not a witch,” I say, choking on my own words.
“No,” Garren whispers.
A tear drifts across my cheek and I wonder if this is what happiness feels like. When the world grips me and never lets go, is this what it feels like to finally be released?
“Why are you out here?” His words are soft and it makes me realize that he must see my tears. In an instant I stand taller and appear stronger than I feel, but then I remember why it is I’m out here alone.
“My family doesn’t think the same way you do,” I tell him.
He seems to understand this and nods his head.
I look onward toward the ocean and imagine myself there.
“But why here? At the ledge?” he asks.
I fight myself to find an answer, because I’m not sure why I brought myself here either. I came to say goodbye to Nouvel, but I never left. “I suppose I had nowhere else to go.”
“Would you like to go to the islands?”
I turn to Garren. His face is emotionless, as if what he’s said holds no significance. “Have you talked to Mystral?” I ask.
The name confuses him, and I know right away Mystral is a stranger he’s never met. “Who?” he asks.
“Never mind.” I brush off the subject as quickly as possible so he can’t ask any more questions.
“You keep looking to them—Frioul Archipelago. Is there something there you need? I can take you on my boat.” Garren points far down below us to the beach where merchant ships are docked, but between them rests a small wooden rowboat. I look off to Frioul Archipelago. In front of me are the two largest of the islands—Pomègues and Ratonneau—but behind them are two smaller pieces of land that I can’t see.
“Someone I knew told me about the islands,” I tell Garren.
He smiles and follows my gaze to the two large landmasses. Both are abandoned, without human contact—I suppose that’s what makes them so beautiful. They rest so close, yet so gloriously undisturbed. So serene that maybe, by a miracle, it is a safe land without the pestilence.
“They are a sight, aren’t they?”
“Yes,” I say, a smile rippling through my core. It’s possible. Maybe that’s what Mystral was telling me. She wanted me to go to Tiboulain as a safe harbor. “Can you take me there?” I ask, suddenly hopeful.
“When would you like to go?”
“Sundown,” I say. “I have to tell my little brother.” All I have to do is convince him of Tiboulain’s safety. I’ll take everyone—Papa, Mama, even Joelle—as long as it means we will all be safe from the pestilence.
“Then I will meet you at the docks when the light leaves the sky,” Garren says, a smile pulling at the corners of his lips.
I look back where my village resides. Pillars of smoke rise into the air, leaving me to wonder if Mama is still alive, if she’ll live long enough to find safety.
“Thank you,” I say, quickly grasping Garren’s hands in my own and giving them a small squeeze. I look into his eyes and he doesn’t look away and neither do I. I smile before releasing him from my grasp.
My gaze has always been avoided—people don’t want to look at me—but Garren is different. I don’t understand it, but he accepts me, witch or not.
I leave him and the ledge, fully aware that he is watching my steps as I leave. The ground is light beneath my feet, and if someone were to tell me that I was a witch, I would believe them, because the ground is no longer part of my world. Everything I see is a prop, and I’m simply an essence running through the universe.
XX.
Dondre isn’t at the cruck house when I arrive. The world feels frozen, my breath making its shaky journey through my lungs. Death is high in the air, and we are under its power.
Papa’s voice can still be heard. He’s talking to someone, but I’m not quite sure who. He sounds angry and I’m not sure why, but fear tickl
es at his feet.
“What are you here for, if you can’t treat her?” Papa screams out across the valley that separates me from him. In the distance I see our small cruck house and the pillar of smoke that emanates from the roof. A fire burns from within, so distinct it is ruled out by the smell of rotting flesh. I can’t escape it. The only time I forget the world that now exists is when I’m at the ledge, where the wind of the ocean takes me away.
“No one knows what the cause of the pestilence is. If that is the case, how do you expect me to find a cure?” another says. A dark figure emerges from the cruck and walks away in a fast pace.
After my eyes focus on the image I see it is the Bird. His dark beak and clothing sway around him and make him a figure to fear, but people perk up at the sight of him. They think the Bird can cure the pestilence. Everyone heard rumors that there’s a cure—but they don’t realize that’s not possible.
“All you did was come here to antagonize my wife! You experimented on her!” my father shouts as the Bird continues to leave my family behind.
“Well, what did you expect of me, sir? I do not know the cure. Experimenting is the only way.” And with his final words the Bird never looks back. He continues on through our village, stopping at other homes to see the dying—to see what he can’t do for them.
Papa watches as his only hope leaves. I suppose somewhere inside is Mama, just waiting for the pestilence to consume her and take her from this forsaken place. Eventually Papa leaves also, but only after the Bird is long out of sight. I make my way to the only place I’ve known as home and wait for someone to acknowledge my presence from within.
The cruck house is cold, even with a fire going. The smoke billows out the hole in the roof, but no one gathers around it for warmth. Instead I see Mama asleep on the other side in the same clothing she was in the last time I had seen her. Dark splotches streak across her face and neck, the skin bulging out like tumors.
“Mama?” My voice is tentative in the dark light. She doesn’t look familiar. With the buboes she’s just on hold until death touches her. Dark circles encompass her eyes; bruises are all over her skin. And like so many who have been taken by the pestilence, the tips of her fingers appear dark and decaying.
A hand slaps me from behind and I’m being pulled from Mama and back outside to where the morning has just barely begun.
“What are you doing here?”
The harshness of his voice catches me off guard, but I still welcome it. When I spin around to look at my attacker I see Dondre. He’s no different than when I last saw him; in a dying world, he’s found health.
“Dondre!” I put my arms out to embrace him, but he shuffles away. The rejection is quick and emotionless for him, but for me it is so much more. For as long as I can remember, I was always able to count on my brother to help me and to accept me for what I am. Why is it now he chooses to no longer do this?
“Don’t touch me,” he says in a small, yet strong voice—a voice I’ve heard Papa use when we’ve misbehaved. He pushes me away and never fully looks me in the eyes.
“Why?”
“Because you did this! You did this to Margo, Mama, and who knows what else you have planned. Am I next? Are you going to kill me too?”
Dondre spits the words at me even though I’ve already heard him say similar words once before. But regardless, they infect my skin and leave me feeling punched and helpless.
“Why do you think this?” My breath catches and I wait for Dondre to take back what he’s said or at least show that he regrets his words, but I’m greeted with nothing but a hard face. My baby brother gazes at me with malice. His fist is clutched at his sides, eyebrows bent, face drawn, pulling him from any memories we might have shared as children. All he sees now is a witch who is killing those he loves.
“Because it’s true.”
Time freezes between us. Particles of debris float in the atmosphere and the air reeks of death, but neither of us dares to move. Hope dies within me in a slow and heavy flux. I thought I could save him—I thought I could save all of them.
“I love you, Dondre. I would never do this.” I say the words, but I know they are useless now. I don’t recognize my brother anymore. He has always seemed so young to me, but now, over the past few days, he has aged beyond compare. Ten years has been added to his brow, and I beg myself to resist the urge to embrace him and tell him everything is okay.
“But I don’t believe you!” His voice drags across the words. A small cry comes at the end of his sentence, but he refuses to recognize it. Instead he chooses to stand tall and keep his chin held high as he waits for me to buckle down at his words.
“Dondre, please, listen to me.”
“No!” My brother comes to me and pushes my shoulders.
Although he is younger than me, all the years spent growing up working in the fields have made him much stronger. I find myself struggling not to fall over into the dirt.
“Leave!”
He pushes me again, and this time I lose my footing and stumble into the dust. My limbs ache, but what I fear most is the young boy who hovers over me. Dondre doesn’t speak to me again. Instead he glares at my helpless figure at his feet. I’m afraid to see the hate in his eyes so I pretend he’s no longer standing above me.
“Leave!” he shouts again. His foot comes out and kicks me in the side. In an instant I put my hands out to protect myself, but I’m not fast enough before his foot connects with my ribs.
I see Dondre gain secure footing to kick me again, so I struggle away. I don’t wait for the second blow. I just run from my horrors and my dreams. I wait for the will to live to leave me, but it never falters and I think that’s an amazing thing—to survive, even when you no longer want to.
The instinct to live is stronger than I thought.
XXI.
Midnight is forgiving. It holds my secrets close and whispers words of reassurance. I only wish the daylight were so kind.
“Good morning,” Garren says, waiting for me at the docks.
My kirtle hangs in a dry mess. Dirt and mud are plastered to the fabric, but I don’t let myself worry about appearances. All I want is to be rid of the memories that taint this land.
“Morning?” I ask, pulling the cloak around my figure. I had found it in the streets. It was thrown across the shoulders of an older woman, long since dead. Part of me didn’t want to take her possession, but everything is about survival now. I’m not a grave robber if she’s not buried.
“Yes,” Garren says. “Morning. Past midnight, it is morning.”
“The sun has yet to even seek the horizon.”
He smiles in a way that makes my thoughts seem foolish. “The sun does not need to be present for it to be morning.”
I nod my head to agree with his words. My hooded cloak clouds the vision of the world around me. All I can see is what is before me and, at present, that is Garren. He doesn’t look tired as my being seems to feel. The young man seems awake and alive, eager almost, for whatever it is we will uncover at the islands.
“Where is your brother?” he asks.
I avert my eyes and let the cloak’s hood hide my face as I lie. “I couldn’t find him,” I say.
“We can wait. He’ll turn up. Then we can go to the islands.”
“No,” I say quickly, before Garren has a chance to continue. He seems shocked by my sudden words, and I pray he doesn’t hear my deceit. “My brother—Dondre—doesn’t like the sea.”
“Doesn’t like the sea? Why?”
“Just—the water,” I say, detailing false information. I don’t want Garren to see my lie and then deny me passage on his boat. If I can’t leave Marseille, I’m no longer sure what I’m to do. At least on the islands I can have my false hope that Mystral told the truth, when she spoke of a cure.
“We aren’t waiting for anyone else?” His voice is soft in the dark air.
The pale moon in the sky lights up the morning just enough for me to decipher Garren’s face. He�
�s so sure of himself, so sure of whatever it is we are about to encounter on the islands.
Some reason compels me to look back. And for the last time, I see my old life. Over the hills and past Marseille at the foothold, the village I grew up in rots away. Life sways and washes away as God decides we don’t deserve to live. It’s a life I’m leaving. I’ll never return to this place I used to call home. So as I look back I remember Margo, Mama, and Papa and wish them well. I hold Dondre in my heart and tell myself it is the pestilence that makes him speak such harsh words. I pray Cyrielle and Jermaine remain healthy and produce many healthy children. Finally I thank Mystral. Even if all that she’s said is a lie, at least I’ll be free of this land.
“When do we leave?” I ask, my back still turned.
I hear Garren approach me from behind. He doesn’t speak at first and I picture him following my gaze, trying to see what it is that holds me here.
“Now, before the sun rises.”
I nod my head and say my last silent goodbye. I pray for all the dead I’ve seen and hope that they’ve found their way home, wherever that may be.
“Okay.”
Garren moves away and toward the docks. The ocean waves crash in a quiet hush, a constant rhythm against the ships. Sea foam gathers at the edge where water meets land and fish swim like the world isn’t fading into a hushed memory.
When I turn to Garren, he is busy untying his rowboat from the dock. The boat is small, just big enough to safely fit about six people. Only two oars will steer us across the sea. The wood is old and worn, but even so, it appears stronger than anything I’ve seen before. After Garren tucks the rope in the boat, he turns to me.
“Madam.” He stands at the edge of the dock, half his body poised over the boat, ready to help me step in. The man I barely know offers me a hand and I take it willingly. I cross the threshold and step away from Marseille. I leave behind all the hurt and memories.
“Merci,” I say.
~~~
The sky opens for us. In the dead of night the two of us drift away to the islands. Tiboulain sits hidden and out of our sight for the moment, but we know it is there. The sea sways and makes us drift. Garren arms the oars and doesn’t allow me to help. Instead he tells me to keep watch and to notify him if we come too close to land.