Chapter 20 #2
She’s quiet for a while. It’s an odd stillness, though it’s comforting somehow. I don’t want to leave this place, but it wavers around me, and a shiver crawls up my back as a voice prods at my senses. There’s a warm feeling against my neck—a kiss, a caress. My stomach turns.
“Where are you in Erleya?” the woman asks.
“Barr na Cahar.”
“I’m uncertain how or why we’ve found each other in this dreamscape.
” Even her voice starts to fade. She’s speaking faster now as I become more aware of my body, of Gruffud waking me with immediate demands.
“But there is a reason. Something bigger than both of us. All of us. So, whatever you’re enduring, I’m so very sorry, but try to hang in there.
I can feel your strength. Don’t give anyone the power to deplete your strength. ”
Over a year ago, I awoke with a gemstone clutched in my fist, the sensation of rocky shards in my lungs and scalding liquid in my blood.
My entire existence was pain, but my pleas for release into oblivion fell upon the merciless ears of the gods I’d sworn my life to.
The gods I would’ve given anything to bring back from the in-between where they’d been losing power for centuries.
At least that’s what the Purists told me.
It started with the moment Neris and I walked up the crumbly stone steps of the temple of Rhianu—the place where Nimue had told us to go, should I change my mind about the Cleanse.
At that point, I’d been so tired of hiding, of being afraid to lose control of my magic and be discovered, of never truly earning my mother’s love, that I was desperate to be Ordinary.
As we entered the temple, we were welcomed by several people all clad in white, as well as the overwhelming aroma of food. They all seemed … happy. At the very least, they were immeasurably forthcoming.
We remained with them for a week, learning their ways, listening to their teachings of the prophecies, believing Magekind was tainted but there was hope in the Cleanse.
The elder Purists took us under their wings—Credia in particular, with her steady silvery eyes and leathery skin from years laboring in the sun.
She tutored me on what to expect from the Cleansing ritual.
I looked forward to the ritual. I imagined being able to do whatever the hells I wanted without fearing that my terraforging would lash out and ruin everything.
Meanwhile, Neris enjoyed this newfound freedom and camaraderie.
She liked spending countless hours out in the garden, looking at the stars, teaching the younger members to make her favorite baked goods, and ogling the young men her age.
Meanwhile, I prepared for my Cleansing ritual. Only the ones to be Cleansed were allowed at the final site, but we all traveled together.
For days, we trekked along the woodsy coast, up toward a cave nestled high in a small mountain.
The other Purist members remained at camp while Nimue took me and two others to the purifying cave.
There was nothing extraordinary about the cave, but it felt heavy with something that I couldn’t quite describe.
The three of us stood in line, each of us with our elders—Credia smiling, confident that I was ready.
A lamb was sacrificed, the blood spilled from its neck used to create markings across each of our foreheads.
Then the Cleanse potion was divided into golden goblets inlaid with iridescent stones.
Nimue spoke a strange language over the goblets, and I remember feeling something ominous in the air, but I pinned it on being nervous.
I stood there, my fingers trembling around the goblet. But when Nimue said “drink,” I tipped my head back and poured the liquid into my mouth. Beside me, the other two initiates coughed, then one of them vomited and was promptly pulled from the cave while the other ran screaming.
At first, there was a swell of nausea; I feared that I’d also be sick, but the agony hit with such force, I was brought down not only to my knees but flat onto my face.
The pain was beyond all reckoning. Once I started screaming, I didn’t stop—not even as my voice abandoned me.
Not even as everyone abandoned me. I lay in the empty cave with my cries echoing all around me.
Pain cleaved through me like a chisel carving into my bones, down to my marrow.
My blood seemed to turn to scalding lava.
I pleaded with the gods to take me. Pleaded with any entity to take me.
My only thought was to slam my head into the cave floor.
But even that pain was nothing in comparison. My vision went white and then red from the blood flowing into and from my eyes.
A voice spoke to me in that strange language, hands roaming over my body while I shrieked, warmth and cold warring with the pain—warring with the insanity threatening to tarnish my spirit forever.
“Kill me,” I tried to say, but my voice was gone. I mouthed the words over and over again while the woman spoke to me with uncanny calm.
“You will be well again. You have a greater destiny than this. Even with a fractured soul, you have a purpose.”
Then she was gone. I lay there, my body continuing to heal amid flares of pain that ripped more silent screams from my raw throat. Blood congealed around me, and I couldn’t stop shivering as death’s icy fingers taunted me but refused to take me.
I denounced the gods right there.
To hells with Lugda, who refused to pluck me from this bloody mortal body.
To hells with the Protector and the Mother, who didn’t give a damn about my pain.
To hells with them all.
I screamed all my rage in silence until my heart stopped threatening to burst and my skull stopped splitting. Until I heard Neris’s sobbing voice whispering in my ear.
“Oh, Winnie. What have they done to you? We have to get you out of here. Come on.” She started to pull me upright, but I screamed hoarsely.
Neris swore through her tears. She lay beside me on her stomach, her cheek pressed against the bloodied cave floor, her emerald gaze staring into my bleary eyes.
“I cannot even fathom how much you hurt right now, but don’t let these fucking fanatics win.
Let’s get the hells out of here and get you back home.
You can do this, my friend. I believe in you. ”
And so, we began the excruciating trek back home.
To a place that never quite felt like home again.
To a soul that never healed.
It had been a week since my disappearance, but thankfully I didn’t need to come up with an excuse—one had already been forged for me.
An excuse that had to be backed by my parents, eventually forcing me to study history with a mentor.
A cover-up that became a truth. I hoped that the new life I’d been allotted would be uneventful.
Back at home, I tried countless times to get rid of the milky green and white stone that I’d found clutched in my fist when I first awoke in the cave.
Yet each time I attempted to throw away the odd gem, I couldn’t bring myself to do it.
It felt like losing a part of myself. Another thing left unexplained, much like the images that had begun plaguing my mind. Black skies and endless winters.
That damn tree.
I would often find myself walking along the streets of the city one moment, and in the fields of someplace otherworldly the next.
Meadows of flowers more vibrant than any I’d seen before would stretch out before me.
Then, as though siphoned by dark magic, the flowers would begin to wither, a trail of black traveling across the expanse of the field, the sun darkening and swallowing up all visibility.
When the visions first began, I was certain that the Cleanse had taken my wits. That I was rapidly descending into madness. But the intensity of the visions gradually began to wane, and their frequency as well. Now they mostly appear to me when I’m painting or asleep.
I have yet to understand them, but I’m not sure I really want to.
In all the time I’ve been afflicted with this inconvenience, never has one of the figures in my dreams spoken to me. Not like the curly-haired woman who’d asked for my name. And I’ve certainly never experienced anyone appearing to me while I was wide awake—like the cloaked figures.
With the queen and her heir dead, I sense that something terrible is coming, and though I feel like I’m supposed to do something about it, I fear I don’t have the means.
All I know is that there’s a constant tug within me, calling me away from Barr na Cahar, away from Mainland. Calling me to a life unknown.
Sometimes I feel like I’m walking a tightrope between life and death.
Perhaps it’s my subconscious desperate to get away from my suffocating circumstances, but unfortunately for me, I’m too afraid of the abyss to take a step into the unknown. Neris is completely on board with running away to something better—to freedom.
But I’m trapped here by my own cowardice.
Taking a deep breath, I steady myself. Don’t give anyone the power to deplete your strength, the Dreamwalker said. I slip out of bed, leaving Gruffud spent and fast asleep, and hurry to the connected bath chamber to wash up.
I’ve let others diminish my strength before—in the most embarrassingly literal way. I’ve allowed my soul to be shattered. That’s something I will never stop paying for.
But I’ll be damned if I let Gruffud annihilate what’s left of me. I just need time to earn his trust.
I light the mounted oil lamp sconce and snatch a washcloth from a hook on the wall.
Cool water sloshes out over the sides and dribbles down the bathroom vanity as I plunge my hand into the wash basin.
I stare at my shaded reflection in the looking glass.
Even my eyes have lost their luster. My chest aches and I hold back tears as I start to clean any evidence of my husband from my body.
When I’m scrubbed until my skin feels raw, I gawk at my reflection again, tucking a large ash brown ringlet away from my face. I press my palms against the vanity and inhale deeply, steeling myself.
It’s time to plan an escape.