Ennah

Sentisse, 66 years after the Rise

Uncle Aniol is serious about his request for more brew. Come the next morning, as I'm still eating breakfast, he's already up and running, gathering the ingredients needed for the brew and he calls me to come with him even before I'm completely done eating. I take the last piece of bread with me and follow him to the shack, trying to keep up with his long strides by breaking into a run every so often while also trying to eat my last few bites. Uncle Aniol likes things to be done quickly, but this is oddly hasty, even for his lack of patience.

“I gathered everything you need,” he says upon opening the door to the shack. He's already sweating, and mid-day slumbers are nowhere near yet. “I’m not sure how much you can make, fill me in on what you need more of so I can supply you with it.”

Inside, all kinds of flasks, pots, bags, and even a barrel are set on and beside the table. I blink. “Oh. You really did gather everything.” I even see things that I normally get myself, like Granny instructed me to do. Granny had been quite strict when it came to how much Uncle Aniol was to know about the brew, but it seems like her plans haven’t been secretive enough. Is this a good thing, now that I’m staying?

Uncle Aniol wipes his brow. “The grapes are growing quite well in this heat. I’m hoping for a big harvest, so…”

“I see.” My smile is feeble at best, but if we’re to work together and make the vineyard a success, I’ll make sure to give it my all.

Right. I’d better get going, then. The shack has partly been built to cater to every need when brewing. The first thing I need to do is build a fire so the first ingredient can be boiled and processed. As soon as the flames are up, I’ll check and see how much brew I can make.

I'm already walking over to the fireplace when I realize that Uncle Aniol is still there. I turn around so fast that both my feet come off the floor before landing on it again, without as much as a thud.

“Why are you still here?” I ask, trying not to let any mistrust trickle into my tone. Cooperation is one thing, but I can’t let him see me making the brew. He hasn’t even said anything about me staying here yet, and the thought of showing him the ropes makes me feel ill at ease.

Uncle Aniol must be feeling something similar. He swallows again, a bead of sweat trickling down his cheek. “You’re the only one who knows how to make the brew,” he says, as if the words are very hard to string together. “I meant what I said yesterday over dinner. What if you are taken ill, or something else happens to you?”

“As I said, I cannot imagine myself not being able to make more in time, even if I were to get sick. We always make more than we need.”

Uncle Aniol’s face turns slightly darker. “I’m just nervous,” he says, again with an unease that gives me the chills. “I don’t know how I’d manage without you.”

That must be the sweetest thing he’s ever said to me.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I assure him. Who’d have thought that Uncle Aniol would be capable of nerves like this?

“With the Damagic so close…” he starts.

“Damagic is highly unpredictable,” I say, as if I know more about Damagic than him. I feel as if I need to calm him down, though. What would become of me if he fell ill, or maybe had a heart attack? If he keeps this up, he just might — he’s sweating like a pig. “Chances are it will have dissipated before it even leaves the North.”

Uncle Aniol blinks. “It might. Or it might not. It’s Damagic, we never know…”

I suppose that's true. “I’ll make the brew. As much of it as I can, with the supplies we have. And I can always make more in the future.”

“Yes. Yes, that’s good.”

Uncle Aniol is shifting his weight from left to right, as if he’s indecisive about leaving or not. I hope for the sake of the delicate balance between us that he’ll decide to leave on his own.

Granny warned me to keep as much of the potion a secret — even if I’m no longer a burden but a valid member of the team, it’s still smart to hold on to my advantage. With that leverage gone… A shiver runs down my spine.

“I’ll do my very best,” I say in a light, friendly tone, hoping it will ease Uncle Aniol’s nerves enough for him to just leave and let me work my magic. It's bad enough that he knows the ingredients. “Just trust me.”

Uncle Aniol squeezes his eyelids together, his lips pursed into a sour pout. “Can I?” His words slide over my back with liquid, ice-cold suspicion. My stomach drops. What does he mean by that? What if he doesn’t want me to stay?

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

Panic surges through my belly and I try to read his face, looking for clues that he’ll kick me out or if it’s just the fear of Damagic and the fragility of life talking.

Uncle Aniol turns several shades darker, his nostrils flaring. From the look of it, he's getting ready to shout. Loudly. The only question is whether I'll just let it wash over me and bow my head, give him some slack because of how much pressure he's under, or if I want to counter his accusations and undoubtedly the long list of my shortcomings that he’ll unleash upon me, and drag this whole thing into a conflict that could possibly go on for days.

Can I say or do anything to let his rage fizzle out before it's no longer containable?

And what would support me in staying here? I can’t let him push me around, but if I anger him too much, all could be lost. I swallow. This is exactly why I can’t show him any of the processes involved in making the brew. And I’ll have to show him I’m an adult, capable of being handled as such. So, no taking his bait. No getting angry. No showing weakness. Remain calm and focused.

The simplest answer here is the truth. “Yes, you can trust me.”

I've never done anything to deliberately cross him, I have abided by his every single rule.

Save for Amador, of course. There’s a hint of guilt pinching my heart at that thought, but I remain defiant.

The glare in Uncle Aniol’s eyes grows into something unpleasant, an emotion so heavy I feel it tugging on my body, pulling me down to the floor.

This is not going to end well. Aggravating Uncle Aniol has always been a talent of mine at the best of times — a questionable talent, I know — but it seems I’ve mastered it even when I don’t mean to. I swallow as a vein on Uncle Aniol’s forehead starts to pulse and his cheeks grow darker still.

“Do you take me for a fool?” he bursts out. “Are you so ignorant, so arrogant, that you think you can play me? A woman with magic. It’s unnatural. It’s wrong. And you are wrong most of all. You, Ennah,” he points his index finger towards my nose, and I swallow again, “you are an abomination. You are a fault, a festering flaw in a world. You should have been eradicated a long time ago. I cannot fathom why your grandmother has gone to all those lengths trying to save you. I cannot believe I was stupid enough to let both of you in to taint my vineyard. Don’t even think for a minute that I didn’t see through that scheme of yours. Your brew is keeping me hostage, and I hate it. You hear me? I hate it, and it’s time for that to change. I cannot bear to have the Magic of a woman rule my life any longer.”

My breath comes in little puffs as I try to grasp what Uncle Aniol has just spat my way. The way he uttered the word woman, the way he looks at me as if I really am a flaw in the universe, some despicable thing that is nothing but a waste of space. And how he has crushed all my intentions of staying here as his equal in one, loud burst.

Of course, I knew he felt this way — or at least to a certain degree, but hearing it out loud, aimed directly at me, pierces me deeper than I expected.

I do not want to give him the satisfaction of seeing my tears, but I am close to crying them. At the same time, I feel a surge of anger coming up, one that has been lingering in the deepest corners of my mind for quite some time now, and him spewing out his frustrations so blatantly seems to open a gateway for the rage I’ve so carefully tucked away.

“A woman ruling your life?” I shout. “A woman saving your life is what it is!‘

My words reverberate in the air between us, our gazes locked.

Suddenly Uncle Aniol looks old. And most of all, sad.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m so sorry. I…” He sighs. “I… With Carme gone and… It’s just that the Damagic is so close now, it’s never been this real. And I just…” He rubs his forehead.

I'm unsure whether to storm out of there or hear what he has to say. I have never heard him use the word sorry — not in the sense of an apology, that is. I feel he is oblivious to everything I go through, but now that he’s almost breaking… What am I not seeing with him?

All the anger drains from his eyes, leaving only pain and confusion behind. “I just don’t know what to do,” he says. “I have lost so much, I cannot lose…” He looks at me. “You…”

A single tear slides down his cheek, so similar to the beads of sweat still trickling on his face and at the same time the most singular thing I’ve ever seen. I have to squeeze my lips between my teeth so as not to start crying too. “I cannot…” I mumble, not sure what to say next. Teach him to make the brew, bring back Aunt Carme, keep the Damagic away…?

“I know,” he mutters. “I’m sorry, Ennah. Please…”

Another word I hadn’t expected to dwell in his vocabulary. I shut my eyes as a soft sob escapes his throat, and I feel my own throat clench with emotion. It’s true. I’ve never even thought about how it must feel for Uncle Aniol — how he busied himself with the vineyard and poured all his concern into the business, just so he wouldn’t feel… Just so he wouldn’t feel what I feel. He’s lost his wife, the wife who has been by his side for at least twenty years. Even the thought of losing Amador stings like a knife in my heart; I can only imagine what it must feel like for Uncle Aniol. The fact that I haven’t seen him cry does not mean that he isn’t heartbroken. Grief can make you act strange. In my head, I hear Aunt Carme’s soft, hoarse voice. “Things aren’t always what they seem.” Was she talking about Uncle Aniol? He seems to hate me, but…

He hastily rubs his eyes.

“I cannot teach you how to make the brew,” I softly say. “I’m sorry, I can’t.”

Uncle Aniol just looks at me, the single tear still clinging to his skin.

“I will make as much of it as I can, just like I promised. That’s all I can do right now.”

“That…” He clears his throat. “That ought to do for now.”

Uncle Aniol looks away, bows his head, and suddenly stalks out of the shack, leaving an oppressive silence in his wake.

I stare at the door for several heartbeats, my mind still boggled by what has just happened. Then, I quickly walk towards the door and peer outside. Uncle Aniol is making his way up to the house.

I shut the door and lean against it for another few heartbeats. After that, I bend forward and undo the clasps of my ankle bracelets. I know the recipe by heart, but now that I’ll have to make more than usual, I want to make absolutely sure I get everything right. A bitter sigh escapes me as I rise toward Granny’s chest, my body weightless but my insides all the more weighed down by loneliness.