Ennah

Sentisse, 66 years after the Rise

I bend forward to undo the clasps of my ankle bracelets — Uncle Aniol thinks I can’t do that, but I’ve been able to ever since I was old enough to understand that flying is not something normal people do. The bracelets are steeped in some kind of magic that prevents me from soaring too high, and I see how wearing them is smart. But in here there’s no need to be smart, or careful. No one will see me anyway. I’m stuck…

I swallow the fear down. I’m fine. It’s just the closet. I can move. I can breathe.

Just breathe, En.

The black crystals fall to the floor, flimsy victims of gravity while my whole body is being released from the clutches of that pull. I don’t even have to push myself off the ground. The relief of finally being allowed to go upwards again washes over me; it feels so freeing to finally be rid of what kept me grounded. My feet relax as they no longer have to press against the floor beneath me, and tears — I’m not even sure if they’re from relief or sadness — well up in my eyes. The ones that I flick off hover in front of my face like pearl beads, lighting up in yellow and blue in front of the stained glass panels.

I touch the cold, smooth surface, tracing one of the dark strands of lead outlining what I can only describe as a manor with high, pointed arches. Granny loved it; I remember her excitement when it came in, and how painstakingly careful she was about placing the delicate, thin glass panes above the door — she did it all by herself without any use of Magic.

Then, she pulled me to her lap and told me that this magical place, which seemed like something straight from a fairy tale book, was my future. My home. She told me my parents lived there, in that big, yellow building.

The manor helped to keep me sane. It was something to long for, a dream I could see with my eyes open, and put all my hopes on. It made being in this closet a bit more bearable.

Back then, Granny had also made sure there were things to do, like puzzles and books. Several lanterns were stored here, to keep my gruesome memories at bay. We even kept craft supplies, and a jar of cookies, on the lowest shelf to the right, was always filled to the brim. On the floor, in the corner, the dreaded lidded bucket was there for when I needed to go.

Everything is gone now. Only this window remains to distract me from the fact that I’m trapped. I move closer to the panes. Behind and beside me, the tears that have floated beyond my reach now fall like a particularly well-contained rainspill, while other droplets hit my face like a soft, somewhat salty shower. Some trickle onto the glass and I follow their lead, resting my head against the cool panels. The lead ridges between them almost feel like writing against my skin, or a map. I close my eyes and use my connection to the smooth surface to keep myself in the here and now, to not get lost in old memories that are already gnawing at my sanity.

No. I won’t allow them in. Breathe. Just breathe.

I don’t know how long I’m in this position, forehead to glass, but when I finally open my eyes, I do feel better. Stating that I’m calm would be taking it too far, but I’ve overcome the panic that threatened to take me over. When I was little, the panic would win. Conquering it now is a small victory, but I’ll take it with both hands.

When I float back a little, I take in the image of the manor. Behind it, I can see the niche high up in the shack’s wall, where Granny’s chest is hidden. It’s a small box, nothing fancy, but it was her tiny treasure trove. I keep everything of importance in there. A few pictures, a small pouch of money, her most valued possession: the spellbook, and my most valued one: the bottle containing the last heart of light she left me.

I almost start crying again as I realize how badly I want to open that chest and pull out the bottle, just to see the proof of her love. To hold something of hers in my hands again. I miss her so much. Everything here radiates Granny, her essence, her energy. Radiates our life together.

I blink as the thought hits me.

This is my home. From inside this closet, I’m looking into my life on the outside. My world.

My home.

My skin feels heated and taut, and the headache that always lingers after crying is settling in my brain, but my mind has cleared.

The yellow manor is nothing but a fairytale. See-through and fragile like the glass it’s made of. My real home… is here. It’s this scrappy vineyard, that’s only kept afloat because of the Magic I can wield. I can’t leave. Where would Uncle Aniol and Aunt Carme be without me? I can’t let all their efforts go to waste, can I?

I look at the manor again, and now it’s so obvious that a laugh escapes me, reverberating through this small space like it doesn’t belong. The manor is nothing to me. This is where I’m supposed to be. With Aunt Carme. Even with Uncle Aniol.

And Amador.

Feathers, how could I forget about Amador? How can I even contemplate leaving him behind? My breath hitches. I could never do that.

But… Will I betray Granny and everything she fought for if I don’t go home? If I ever get the message that it is safe for me to leave, can I ignore it and continue my life here, without ever seeking the yellow manor?

Will I even be able to find it, now that Granny is gone? Did she leave instructions in the chest?

Oh, what am I even thinking!

I lower myself to almost floor level, hovering just a few inches above the compacted earth, and for once I don’t mind the lack of light, as if these forbidden thoughts need darkness. I have to start at the beginning.

All my life, I’ve been told this was a temporary home. That one day soon a letter would arrive saying everything was safe. That the Mage was no longer searching for me. Every time I open the mailbox, there is this faint glimmer of hope that today will be the day, and every single day that hope gets eroded by another bill, another order, some weird fish company I’ve never heard of requesting a collaboration, or one of the many letters Aunt Carme receives.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

Is it time to let go of the last scraps of hope and really start building a life here?

The thought of having to go to some strangers’ home, without Granny by my side, makes my heart contract. Home should be where the heart is, right? My heart is not with parents I don’t remember, siblings I’m not even sure exist, yellow walls I’ve never seen before and arches that may be pretty but aren’t mine.

I love this crooked shack. I love the vines and the mountains and the scent of sweet meibol flowers in the morning. Here, I am safe from that Mage.

Drawing in a deep breath, I feel the change sinking into the deeper layers of who I am, and it feels good. Suddenly, even sweeping the floor has meaning. All my chores are less dull not that I don’t think of them as things I need to do to ensure my place here, but see them as means to make this vineyard flourish. With Amador by my side…

Tingles awaken all over my body. I can hardly believe how exciting this feels.

Of course, I’ll have to talk to them. Aunt Carme will love it if I stay here. Uncle Aniol… Well, he’ll like the idea of having me around for the things I already do. But if I can prove to him what an asset I can be, and if I can make him see how different everything will be as soon as I really step up my game, he’ll be happy to have me. He’ll treat me like an equal, like he treats Aunt Carme and, to a certain extent, Granny.

I softly land on the floor, my heart still light in my chest. I’ll talk to him. Tonight, over dinner. And just to accommodate him, I decide to fasten the ankle bracelets in advance. I want to be standing tall and grounded when he opens the door, a picture of responsibility and, well, maturity. I’m done goofing around.

The sound of a key being turned comes much sooner than I thought. Uncle Aniol must have taken Nilda to get to town, and ridden her fast. And if he’s here, the Healer must have already departed. Is that good or bad? My heart is pounding as I hear Uncle Aniol’s footsteps coming my way. I stand up tall, my spine straightened, my face a mask of calm. Time to show him who I can be, no matter how fast my heart beats now. Thoughts fight for attention in my brain. How is Aunt Carme doing? Will she be alright? How should I approach the subject of my staying here, and when can I tell them about Amador? Oh feathers, I need to tell them about Amador — both of them!

The light is bright when the door opens, Uncle Aniol is nothing but a deep, dark shadow against it.

“Come,” he says.

“How is Aunt Carme doing?” I blurt out.

Uncle Aniol just huffs.

“What did the Healer say? Will she recover?”

He’s already halfway out the door and I hastily run after him, making sure my feet hit the floor with every step. Or well, at least my toes do.

My uncle doesn’t even look at me when he says, “There are several orders that need to go out tomorrow. I need you to load the barrels onto the platform. The list is on the desk.”

I blink and take another sprint after him. The sun is already quite low in the sky, it’ll disappear behind the mountain ridge soon. The heat lingers, though. I can feel my cheeks glowing again. “But Aunt Carme,” I insist. “What can I do to help her?”

“Nothing.”

What? He called for a Healer, for crying out loud. What won’t he tell me? “Surely there’s something I can—”

Now he turns around and the darkness in his eyes surprises me. “You are to do nothing.”

“What? Why am I—”

“Ennah!” He all but roars my name. “I don’t want to see you, I don’t want to hear you. Get those barrels ready and start making dinner. Something with onions. A lot of onions. And fluids. No milk.”

“Alright, but—”

“No buts! Just do it.”

He leaves me standing and all I can do is stare at the back of his head. I’m not sure what just happened. Or well, he took out his foul mood on me. Something to address now that I’m staying here. But why won’t he even tell me how Aunt Carme is doing? I’m not sure if I’ll ever understand this man.

But at least I’m no longer locked up. And I’m standing right beside Granny’s grave. I’m a bit nauseous when I turn toward it. Maybe telling her about my plans is a good way to start, but it feels heavy. I’m shattering everything she fought for, after all.

“Gran?” I softly say, tears stinging my eyes again. “How are you?”

Stupid question. I don’t think there are various states of being gone. But I don’t know where to find the words I need to say. My hand lifts as if it’s got a mind of its own, my lips parting, ready to cast the spell that will produce a heart of pure light. My version of the one that’s in the bottle in Granny’s chest — we always used to send each other love that way. I need her to know that I love her, that I’m not purposely—

“What are you doing!”

I didn’t even see Uncle Aniol coming. He slaps my hand down so hard that I’m thrown off balance and have to catch myself from falling. “What—”

“What are you thinking?”

I can’t even form words in my mind, let alone out loud.

“No Magic! Are you mad?”

“But—”

His face is a mask of fury and fear. “There’s Damagic, Ennah.”

“Oh!” That’s bad. That’s really bad. My mouth goes dry and my stomach drops.

“I learned of it when I was in town. Just north of the Arcendros Peaks.”

“But that’s half a country—”

“It’s Damagic!” He bellows so loudly there’s spit flying everywhere, even my gravitational anomalies do little to prevent some droplets from hitting me.

“I’m sorry, I—”

“And you were going use Magic!”

I gasp for air. He cannot take all of this out on me. “If you would have told me…”

“Outside!”

“Bu—”

“You know how dangerous that is!”

“We’re at the very back of the premises. It’s just a heart. A bending of the light…”

“It’s Magic!” He’s roaring into my ears now. “You shouldn’t be able to use Magic in the first place. Don’t you dare attract Damagic with your unnatural ways.”

“Unnatural…” I should be baffled that Uncle Aniol is able to evoke so much anger in me that all the fear about the Damagic is smothered instantly. “I’m the one saving this sorry excuse for a vineyard from bankruptcy.”

He doesn’t even seem to hear me. “A woman performing Magic. It’s an abomination. You women are the reason Damagic even exists!”

“Granny said—”

“I don’t give a flying goose about what Nora said!”

I can’t believe my own ears. “She saved your ass when—”

“You will not perform any Magic unless it’s absolutely necessary! It’s bad enough that you are Magic.”

The disgust in his voice knocks the air out of me.

I am Magic. Which means I’m hideous. Tainted, beyond redemption.

What if Amador thinks I’m touched by Damagic? What if he thinks I’m dangerous and irreversibly flawed?

Feathers. My thoughts are racing now. I’ve always made sure he doesn’t know anything about my weightlessness to keep him from betraying me — even though I’d trust him with my life, I know a slip of the tongue is easily made. Now that I’ve decided to stay, and that he needs to know about my abilities, there’s another factor to maintaining the secrecy that I never even considered. He might reject me once he learns of my Magic. It won’t matter that a Mage put a spell on me and almost killed me in doing so, Magic is Magic. And I cannot prove it was a Mage instead of Damagic. All I have are Granny’s stories and my memories.

I feel so nauseous now that I need to take slow, deep breaths to keep from throwing up.

Somehow, Uncle Aniol’s anger seems to have fled him too. He doesn’t shout anymore, though his voice is still laced with venom when he says, “Make sure you stay on the ground. With Damagic closing in, Càgila will surely be around shortly.”

Another blow to the shreds of self-control I’m desperately clinging to. Càgila. An organization that promises to keep businesses and families alike safe against Damagic — at a generous fee, of course. They’re supposed to be brutal.

Granny called them a bunch of thugs, charlatans if she was on the beat, but even I know they’re trouble. Even inclined to believe Granny’s accusations, fear always trickles in whenever I hear the name. Now, it’s like an entire flood of anxiety washing over me.

“No Magic, Ennah,” Uncle Aniol says. “You don’t want to attract Damagic, and you don’t want to attract the attention of a Càgilan.”

“No,” I whisper.

“Good. Now get your ass over to the storage barns and get those orders ready.”

I nod, but he doesn’t even watch me long enough to see it. Doesn’t see how hard his words have hit home. He doesn’t wait for my reply to his demands, either. He just assumes that I will do as I’m told. Because I always do. I never have any say in matters. I never have the last word.

I always lose.