Ennah

Sentisse, 66 years after the Rise

This is the life. I barely manage to repress a very content sigh as I roll over onto my side, aiming to kiss Amador out of his satisfied slumber. I almost giggle as I imagine myself a princess rescuing a prince for once.

But before I even reach Amador, who’s right by my side, the piercing sound of Uncle Aniol’s voice shatters the cool, lazy atmosphere that usually lingers after Amador and I have made love.

“Ennah!”

Of course it’s my name he’s shouting. You’d think that he’d be tired of it by now, but the opposite is true. He’s probably fussing about some chore I didn’t do well enough — it seems like I’m unable to do any chores right as of late — and I contemplate ignoring him altogether.

But that would be one of the worst things I could do. He’ll keep looking until he finds me, and if he does, and I’m here with Amador, I’m done for.

So instead of kissing Amador like I want to, I roll the other way, hissing his name as I reach for my dress that’s a sad little heap on the floor. I come up short, even when I stretch myself to the limit, and with a barely audible grunt I drop off the makeshift bed to grab it. The familiar jangle of my ankle bracelets is drowned out by another shout penetrating into the wine cellar and I stop to listen. It came from outside, right? Not from upstairs?

Yes, probably outside. But that’s just a temporary relief; the barn door is unlocked, of course. He could barge in any time.

Dress firmly in hand, I turn to Amador, who is stretching his muscular naked body, still sluggish from spending midday slumbers by my side — most of that time on top of me, to be fair. He doesn’t seem to quite grasp the gravity of the situation. “Hmmm?”

“Uncle Aniol is here. Make sure he doesn’t see you.” I pull the dress over my head and thrust my arms through the sleeve holes, scolding myself for not doing this standing up.

“Can’t you just ignore him?” Amador asks. He rolls over to stroke my hair, smoothing a loose lock behind my ear. Normally, I would have melted for him, but not now. And oh feathers, I must look like a mess! My hands already fly up to do something about what is probably one big tangle of black curls.

“I need to…” I start, but Amador kisses me before I can even finish the words. He tastes of the sips of wine we’ve taken from one of the unsellable bottles — the liquid usually tastes like tart lemonade, but with Amador present, everything somehow becomes wonderful.

As long as we aren’t found out, of course. That would be the worst. I’m not even supposed to know Amador — I met him accidentally when he brought over a box of brand new bottles a few months ago, bottles that his father had forgotten upon delivery earlier that day. The thought of me having a lover would freak out both Uncle Aniol and Aunt Carme alike, and Granny would have exploded for sure.

But how can I resist a guy that tastes and feels so good? I need him, need something to keep myself from going mad. I’m grateful for Aunt Carme and Uncle Aniol taking Granny and me in, I truly am, but…

There comes a point when even the most welcome of refuges melts into a prison. Who can blame me for trying to find just a smidge of freedom by choosing to love Amador? He is the only breath of fresh air I have.

With considerable reluctance and a moan that hopefully conveys that I want more of this at a later time, I break off our kiss and sit down to hastily tie my buttons.

Amador lies on his stomach, his arms hanging over the edges of the bed. He takes one of the black crystals on my ankle bracelet between his fingers, and I pull back my foot as if he's burned me. “Don't,” I say sharply.

He looks at me. “Why are you so touchy about those?”

“They're an heirloom,” I snap. “You know that.” The only thing I have left from a mother I don’t remember, and now that my grandmother is gone too… I avert my eyes, because I’m not sure if I can refrain from tearing up if I meet Amador’s gaze now.

He makes an indignant sound as I scramble to my feet. “Please make sure he doesn't see you.”

“I'll be careful,” Amador mutters. Maybe I'm a bit pushy about our relationship remaining a secret — only now that Uncle Aniol is so blatantly bossing me around does it dawn on me how trying that could be. But it's vital Uncle Aniol never finds out.

“Love you,” I say, feeling the apologies behind the words as I quickly kiss him on the head. I close my eyes for a second as his fingers caress my calves and neatly stop before they reach my bracelets, and then I turn around reluctantly to escape his pull.

The squeak of a door, upstairs. “Ennah!” Something in Uncle Aniol’s voice makes me shudder.

“I have to go.”

With Amador present, I can't do anything but take the annoying route: the stairs. I shoot a last apologetic look at him and put my foot on the first step, reminding myself to touch each and every one of them. It's not just that I need to keep Amador a secret — there are secrets to keep from Amador as well.

“Ennah!”

I have to meet Uncle Aniol as if I've simply retreated into the cool basement for midday slumbers. Maybe I can use Aunt Carme as an excuse, she wasn’t feeling well earlier today and Uncle Aniol will believe me instantly if I say I didn’t want to disturb her. “I'm here!" I shout, hopefully stopping him from looking for me any further.

Deliberately yawning, I reach the top of the stairs just as Uncle Aniol emerges from behind a stack of barrels. I knew it was smart to move them there, blocking the direct view to the stairs.

His expression has me worried. This is not Uncle Aniol being mad over shoddily swept floors. Something’s wrong. Only now I realize that it’s still extremely hot — Uncle Aniol braved the midday heat to fetch me. Feathers! “What’s wrong?”

“Come.” It's a command. He doesn't even wait for an answer; he simply turns on his heel and sets off into the blistering sun.

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I follow suit. Leaving the barn is good. Leaving means Amador can slip out of here and get off the premises without being noticed. Yet something feels off, and a nervous fluttering takes over more and more of my stomach. Why won’t Uncle Aniol just tell me what’s going on?

His strides are long and swift; I occasionally have to break into a run to keep up as we move along rows and rows of grapevines. When we pass the house instead of going inside to the cool rooms carved into the rockface, the unease in my belly ramps up even more. So that’s where we’re headed: the shack at the back of the fields. It looks like it could topple over any minute; Granny has made sure it comes across that way. In reality, it's probably the sturdiest building on the whole compound. The cracks in the roof only let sunshine in and the temperature inside is always nice and even. I suspect Granny has even put some kind of charm on the place to keep the dust out. A lot of warm memories cling to the shack as if the walls are permeated with them, but I’ve been shunning the place for a few months now. Warm, loving memories hurt tremendously when you miss the person you made them with so much.

Admittedly, making the brew in the shack just a few weeks ago has lessened the hurt a bit. Oh dear, the brew! Have I made a mistake?

“Uncle,” I manage, “Did something go wrong…” I hate how much I’m panting. “…With the brew?”

“Shhh!" he snaps at me. “Never speak of it outside!”

“Sorry,” I breathe, but he doesn't seem to hear me as we stalk past yet another row of vines, packed with sour, scrawny grapes — Uncle Aniol's best-kept secret. He never allows anyone to see the grounds up close and even keeps the first rows of vines meticulously clear of bunches so he can always claim he's just harvested them — them meaning those big, shiny, round grapes he grows in his imagination, of course.

In reality, the brew is the only reason there is any wine leaving the premises at all. Without Granny's magic, the vineyard would have been dead and dusted over years ago, for nobody with even poorly functioning tastebuds would drink the stuff extracted from the sorry excuses for grapes that grow here, let alone pay for it. Not that I'm stupid enough to say that to Uncle Aniol's face. He'd lock me up and...

Oh no. Is that what he's going to do? But… Why? Unless…

As if he knows what I’m thinking, he grunts out, “I've called for a Healer.”

Oh no. Aunt Carme must be sicker than I thought, and it makes my breath falter. Running through the midday heat must have turned my cheeks a bright red, but now all blood must be drained from them as ice grips my heart. I fly forward, gaining on Uncle Aniol fast now that I’m not dependent on the path. “Why, what’s wrong with her?”

He stops walking straight away, his eyes blazing with fury. “Get down! Are you insane?”

“Will she be alright?”

“You do realize a Healer is a Mage, right?” Uncle Aniol snaps, as if I’m some stupid child instead of a twenty-one-year-old woman. I place both my feet firmly on the ground, heat creeping to my cheeks. Feathers, I should have walked. “Of course I do. But—”

Who cares? Aunt Carme needs a Healer, she might die! I can’t leave her side, I have to—

“Just think for a second what would happen if he saw you.”

I don’t think anything will happen — there are more Mages in the world than the one that’s after me, and if I keep my feet firmly on the ground, he won’t know I can do anything weird, will he? And even if he notices, the chances of our Healer knowing that Mage are ridiculously small, and the chance of him being that Mage is infinitely smaller still. “I promise I’ll—”

“This is not open to discussion, Ennah.”

I can only stare at him. “I’m a grown woman. I want to be there for Aunt Carme. I’ll make sure I’ll stay on the ground and—”

“Like you did a minute ago?”

Feathers. I messed up big time. My few feet of flying has only shown him how careless I am, that he’s right to lock me away while the Healer is here.

“Come.” The demand in Uncle Aniol’s voice is crystal clear, almost aggressive. Again, he doesn't wait for an answer before stomping off, forcing me to run to keep up, my ankle bracelets chiming with every hasty step.

“But Aunt Carme… Will she be alright?”

“I’ve called for a Healer, not an undertaker,” he grunts.

The thought alone makes me shiver. The undertaker was our last guest, if you want to call it that, and I needed to keep to my room when he came. I always do. Well, not that we have many visitors. Aside from Amador and his father, the local glass blower, we rarely see anyone — not even family members. On the rare occasion customers need to come here to do business, Uncle Aniol handles the call himself. I only do correspondence. And heavy lifting. And an endless amount of chores.

What I’d give to have to sweep the floor right now.

We pass Granny’s grave just outside the shack, and he marches right by it toward the door, yanking it open while roaring at me to hurry up. No time to even send her my love. The scowl I shoot his way should have him catch fire or something like that, but of course, nothing of the sort happens. Uncle Aniol is unaware of the tears in my eyes, or he simply chooses to ignore them as he closes the door and turns toward me. The sunlight coming in from the cracks in the roof does little to brighten the dark; the transition from unrestricted sunshine to deep shadows is profound. At the back of the shack, the contours of the built-in walk-in closet are no less visible than if the shack had bathed in bright sunlight, though.

I can all but sense it being there, the ugly box that’s almost a room in itself. The only nice thing about it is the stained glass panel above the door.

“Please, Uncle. Not the closet.” He’s locked me in that tight space so many times when I was young that I get a visceral reaction at the thought alone. “I’ll stay in here. This door locks too. I promise I won’t fly, I assure you nobody will know I’m even here.” I’m all but begging him, I know, but it seems like the only thing to do. He must know how awful that closet is to me. “Don’t lock me up in there. I’ll be quiet as a mouse.”

He looks at me, his eyes dark and weary.

“Uncle, please…”

He shakes his head. “I have to lock you away, Ennah. You need to be safe.”

I swallow away the chills that come up when hearing him say these words. He wants me to be safe. I get it. I should be grateful for his diligence — he’s been protecting me for almost twenty years now, and I truly am safe here. But I’d be just as safe in this shack as I’d be in the closet — safer even, for the dark, small space will have me freaking out in no time, eating at my sanity. Feathers, I haven’t even been inside this closet for years — Granny and Aunt Carme convinced Uncle Aniol that I was smart enough to stay out of sight when we had visitors when I was about thirteen. How is it possible that I find myself back here again?

“Please, Uncle Aniol. I know I have to stay hidden. I know you want to keep me safe, and I thank you for that. But I’ll be safe enough when I’m in here. I…”

He shakes his head. “They cannot find you.”

I walk over to him, pleading, begging. “I’ll stay inside, I’ll even stay inside the closet if you want me to. Just please don’t lock it.” The thought of being trapped in there makes my insides churn. Sweat starts trickling on my brow and takes to the air.

“Ennah!” His shout makes me stumble backward. “I’m not asking. And it doesn’t bring me any pleasure to do this. But I have to. For all of our sakes.”

My breath hitches. “Please! I won’t—”

“Go!” He’s serious. He really means it. I'm twenty-two, and he wants to shove me into a closet as if I'm an irresponsible little kid who has no control over her powers. And after flying after him like I did… Can I blame him for thinking I still am that child? Feathers, I brought this on myself. Stupid me.

“Now.”

I know I’m slumping as the jangling of my ankle bracelets complements the ringing of the keys he takes out of his pocket. I walk by him without granting him as much as a look, making for the even deeper darkness of the closet. The only light to fall into the tight space comes through the window above the door, its colors far too cheerful for such a gloomy destination.

“I hate you…” I whisper as he reaches for the door to shut it.

“I know,” he says. “I’ll come and get you when it’s safe again.” The sound of the key being turned in the lock, scraping away six years' worth of rust, makes my hair stand on end. To chase away the nightmare images that are so deeply connected to being locked up in here, I cling to my anger as if nothing else matters, letting it consume me.

Unbelievable. Unbelievable! I’m so mad don’t know whether to cry or break something. I bang my fist against the door, but accomplish nothing but hurting my wrist, and that does very little to soothe the rage that’s roiling through me.

Uncle Aniol’s footsteps don’t falter in the slightest, though. I hear him close the other door. A key is screeching as it’s being turned, and then… silence. Deep, dark silence, only broken by the sob that wells up in my throat.