Ennah

Sentisse, 66 years after the Rise

Things are not going well. Not at all. I think Aunt Carme kept everyone up all through the night, our short moments of drifting off probably coinciding with hers. Now, she’s awake — without a doubt. The intensity of the coughing has increased and pierces the frail peace that was lingering here. My insides curl up with worry.

Yesterday, Uncle Aniol claimed her life wasn’t at risk, said that the Healer wasn’t worried about her and she was being just a bit dramatic, but listening to those barks now does nothing but contradict those words. She must be exhausted and drained, and every time I think about the blood spatters on her arm, I shiver. What is she coughing up now?

My circadian candle has lit up, casting a delicate light into my room indicating dawn has arrived. Good. Something needs to be done to help her, so I have to convince Uncle Aniol to fetch the Healer again. Surely he must see that she needs help. Maybe there’s another Healer in town? I’ve heard there is a really good one traveling from place to place, maybe he’s available? Granny left some money in the chest, perhaps that will help pay for the Healer since I won’t be needing it to travel… home.

Just as I swing my legs over the side of the bed, stretching my still-tired body and rubbing my eyes to chase away the remnants of too little sleep and the tears of worry that have escaped me, Uncle Aniol barges into my room. I’ve never seen him dressed in his night attire. And he looks downright haunted. If it weren’t for another coughing fit coming from their bedroom, I might have thought she had passed.

“I’m getting the Healer in again,” he says. “Get dressed.”

I immediately reach for my dress.

“Get yourself some breakfast too.”

“And you?”

“Two minutes.” He turns around as if he didn’t even hear my offer to get him something too, and I don’t take any time to think on it. Before a minute has passed, I’m on my feet, in my dress, and my hair is somewhat under control. Was it just yesterday that I had to get myself decent in as little time as this too? Unbelievable. It seems like another life — one with different problems and different needs. A life I wish I could return to, when everything seemed easier and death was looming at a far-off distance instead of far to close for comfort.

I walk out of my room just as Uncle Aniol appears in the doorway of his and Aunt Carme’s room. “Go,” he says.

“Can’t I…” I want to see her. Kiss her. Tell her she’ll be alright.

“No time,” Uncle Aniol grunts. He all but chases me into the kitchen, where I quickly pull out the last pieces of the sorry excuse for bread I baked yesterday. No time to put the dough I prepared in a second attempt last night into the oven, this will have to do for now. Maybe I can still find some nice, soft bits for Aunt Carme to—

“Go.”

“What?”

“I’m getting the Healer. You need to go.”

My fist clenches around the pieces of bread I’m holding. Is he serious?

“Come on!” he roars. “Time is running out as it is.”

“But you can’t lock me up again.”

“Now.” He grabs my wrist and yanks me toward the door.

“You’re hurting me!”

“You’re not walking fast enough.”

Stumbling after him, tempted to fly but knowing that would only aggravate him more, I feel panic rushing over me. I don’t want another episode in the closet. It’s daunting at the best of times, and now, I’m scared for Aunt Carme’s life. It will feed into the fears that reside in that closet for me, it will be hell.

And what if she needs me while I’m locked in there? What if I’m not there to rescue her, what if she… “You cannot lock me up. Please. I have to take care of her. I’ll stay out of sight as soon as you return with the Healer. I’ll lock myself in my bedroom. I’ll make myself invisible. Just please don’t put me in there.”

We’re halfway down the path by now, Uncle Aniol’s grip on my wrist only deepening as he yanks me along. “Please,” I repeat. I’m running out of breath, trying to keep up with him. The panic now twisting through my body makes it even worse. “I won’t… Please… I need to… Take care of… Aunt Carme, she can’t…”

“I can’t risk it!” Uncle Aniol roars. “And I don’t have time for this.”

The thought of being stuck in the darkness when I could be saving Aunt Carme, when I should be doing this, squeezes my already tautly wound heart. “Haven’t I already… Proven myself? Adult enough? What else… Can I say? I promise…”

“Shut up!”

He suddenly stands still and turns around to face me so fast that I can barely stop myself from crashing into him.

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“You don’t get it,” he grunts.

“Aunt Carme needs my help.”

“She needs a Healer. Somebody to perform proper Magic on her.”

“I’m not talking about Magic!” Tears are streaming down my face. “I’m talking about love!”

The smack is hard and unexpected. My head swings to the right, my cheek already burning from the impact his hand made.

“Don’t you dare speak of love,” he snarls. I can see the tears in his eyes as well. He’s scared to death. Just as I am.

“Uncle…”

All the hurt I saw a moment ago is swept away by the pure rage now emanating from his eyes. He grabs my wrist so forcefully I know it’ll leave bruises, and doesn’t stop for anything I say. I try to writhe myself free, but being weightless means that I barely have any leverage to make an impact, and he can shove me around just as he pleases. It has always puzzled me that I can move anything that isn’t alive, while living beings do adhere to gravity around me.

The grapevines around us become a blur of green and a smidge of blue here and there as we’re approaching the shed that has never been this gloomy before, and the darkness of the closet never more pitch black. He trusts me in, locks the door and I can pound on the wooden door all I want, but nothing budges.

“No!” I yell. “Get me out!”

To no avail. I’m stuck.

My breath hitches, my stomach clenches, and I’m back. Back in the nightmare of all those years ago, the nightmare I was able to block yesterday which now comes back to life with double the force, as if to make up for the loss and then some. Twice as big, twice as dark.

I’m laying on a table. It’s light out, but it feels like darkness, and I feel as if I’ve just woken up from sleeping. Except that I wasn’t in my bed, and I wasn’t asleep. A man I don’t know has done something to me and I cannot move. I can’t scream for mommy, I can’t even cry. Everything hurts and I can’t get away. The man keeps hitting me with new waves of pain and still, mommy isn’t here. Or daddy. Or Nora, or Jack whose fur I love to crawl away in. Nobody. I’m all alone and I can’t move and everything hurts. It hurts so bad.

The older version of me makes sense of what that little girl felt. The Mage did something to me. Granny told me I was in sleep paralysis. I could see and feel everything he did, but I couldn’t move or make even a peep. I was barely a year old when the Mage caught me, and I still remember this vividly — it’s the only thing I remember from before I got here. Granny told me all kinds of things about my life before the vineyard, but only the Mage’s attack on me still dwells inside my memories. Correction: it haunts my memories.

I crumble into a ball on the floor, panting, crying, feeling like that little helpless child again, unable to escape the terror that was put on her. On me.

Shivering, I unclasp my ankle bracelets. I need to counter the notion of being stuck, and flying is the only thing that will do that in this confined space. The irony of it doesn’t elude me — I feel most free when enjoying the result of what that Mage did to me when I was tied down, unable to move or break free. He was caught in the act by Granny before he could finish the job — presumably leading to my death — and with his dark Magic half-finished, I became who I am now: an abomination that needs to be kept away from everybody else. For my sake, for their sake, I don’t care.

I’m just… wrong.

My trembling fingers have finally dealt with the clasps and I’m floating up, my lungs at last some finding room to breathe again. My eyes fall on the stained glass manor that’s mocking me, but I see something different from what I saw yesterday. It’s a way out.

It's a split-second decision. With a quick flick of my hand, I smash the fragile window and carefully knock and blow away all the shards that still cling to the rebate, bending and twisting the lead so it breaks off. Everything will have to go if I want to force my body through the hole without cutting myself. I float back to make sure the last tiny bits of glass will fall prey to gravity. I hear them tingle as they hit the ground. Had I been less pissed off, I’d have loved the sound. Now I’m only focused on breaking free.

There is a sting of guilt though, as I work my way through the opening I’ve made. Granny loved this window so, so much. But Granny isn’t here anymore.

I squirm through the hole, not heeding the one shard I have apparently missed that rips my dress and skin alike. No time to linger, the pain serves as a punishment for breaking the glass, and I fly right to the chest that's waiting for me in the recess many measures up the wall — I'm not sure if the sigh of relief is only my own or if the chest reverberates it as well.

When I open the chest, I'm engulfed with light coming from a little, radiant heart, an illusion of light. It’s trapped in an old wine bottle. The last piece of love, a heart Granny left for me right before she died. I hold the bottle to my chest, trying to feel Granny’s love through the cold glass against my skin. The little heart immediately travels towards me, tinkling ever so softly against the glass, and I burst into tears. For Granny, for Aunt Carme, for the fate thrust upon me when I was only a baby. I cry for everything I’ve lost, and knowing that I’m about to lose even more, I find myself sinking away into a deep pit of despair.

I shouldn’t allow myself to go this deep. I should stay strong. Granny taught me better than this. As the tears dry and some hints of sanity reach me again, I curse out loud. I’ve been drowning in my sorrow when I could have been helping Aunt Carme. I can’t believe my own selfishness, I can’t believe I let myself go like this.

Without so much as glancing at the mess I created, I put back the bottle and quickly return the chest to its recess before I hover to the door that… That’s locked.

I am the epitome of stupid today. I close my eyes, feeling how puffy and swollen they must be. Stupid, stupid child. No wonder Uncle Aniol wouldn’t listen. No wonder I was chosen to be the Mage’s victim. I am worthless.

The dark pit from before threatens to take hold of me again, giving me insights into how worthless I really am. I know I can’t do anything properly — everything always has to be fitted to my needs, and even after that I screw things up and make everything harder on everyone.

But I have to be there for Aunt Carme. And I will be. I just have to be resourceful.

Grateful for the ability to fly instead of wading through razor-sharp shards of glass, I fly to the cabinets on the other side of the room, where we keep the utensils needed for making the brew. I need something small to stick into the keyhole. If I can get the key to fall down, if I can grab it and unlock the door from the inside…

I will need something for it to fall down on, too. Something big and flat, so I can keep my distance and the key won’t fly off as soon as I try to pull it inside.

Feathers, do we even have things like that?

I dig up an old tablecloth but toss it aside again. I won’t be able to spread it out. And unfortunately, even the smallest spoon is far too large to fit inside the keyhole. What else is there?

A shelf. There’s a big shelf inside the cabinets. Quickly, I empty it and yank it out. It’s not that wide, but it is long. And it will fit through the crack under the door.

Now, what to use on the key… I look around.

Lead! Lead ought to do the trick. I search for the perfect piece — long, thin and isolated enough for me not to get pelted by shards when I come near enough to grab it. There’s a wide variety to choose from, so I pick the piece that looks both strong and thin enough to fit the keyhole. Aunt Carme, I’m on my way.