Echo, p.21
Echo, page 21
When the groom entered, the bride offered a graceful bow. "My name is Rimanis," she said. "Please, take care of me."
The groom’s face beamed at the sight of his bride. The glow in her bronze skin, and the fragility in her eyes—he had never seen such beauty before.
"J-jivaros." He dropped into a deep bow. "My name is Jivaros. I promise I’ll take good care of you."
A coy smile spread across Rimanis’s face.
***
Five years passed, and the love Jivaros had for his wife grew. Rimanis’s external beauty mirrored that within. She was an artist and a Seer. From plants and herbs, she created pigments and painted things no one in the oasis knew.
One day, Jivaros walked into the hut to find Rimanis’s fingers wet with colorful paint. On a wooden canvas, she had painted a medieval castle with round towers and a large moat— something Jivaros had never seen before.
"What is this?" Jivaros asked.
"It’s someone’s home, in a land far away. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen."
"You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen," Jivaros said. From the pouch bag at his waist, he pulled out a hili, and gently, he put it in his wife’s hair.
She blushed.
Another day, Jivaros found his wife weeping. Her fingers were wet with blood-red pigment. On her canvas, she had painted men fighting, blood splattering, and the water of the spring turning red.
"What does this mean?" Jivaros asked.
"It means war is about to start." Rimanis’s hands trembled. "The tribes will fight over the sacred spring."
"We have always shared the water."
"Yes, but this year, there will be no rain," she explained in a fearful voice. "The men will choose to fight. They will ask you to join them."
"Don’t be scared, Rimanis." He wrapped his arms around her. "I never choose violence. We will find a way to solve this without bloodshed."
"We have to run away. Jivaros," she said, weeping. "I beg you. I don’t want to live in a world of hatred."
"I’ll never let anything hurt you." Jivaros tightened his grip and stroked her hair.
As a Seer, Rimanis could glance into the future, but for some reason, she saw neither her husband’s nor hers. She never told him, but the inability to see scared her. It scared her too much not to know, to give up control and let fate unfold. She refused to believe ignorance was bliss.
***
A few months later, Rimanis’s vision came to life. The five tribes declared a civil war, the Brothers War, and the chief of the Gudea ordered Jivaros to join. "What will we do now?" Rimanis asked, heartbroken.
"Tonight, we leave," her husband said.
"Where will we go?" Her eyes shined with a faint ray of hope.
"Does it matter?"
"No." She smiled. "I’ll go anywhere with you."
"But I have to warn you," he said. "It’ll be a long ride until we find a safe village."
"I’ll ride with you for the rest of my life." Rimanis reached for his hand and pulled it close to her heart.
The two lovers headed west, where they settled in a peaceful village by the river. There were no other witches there; therefore, they had to keep their powers hidden. "People resent those who are different," Jivaros said. "We have to be the same as everyone else."
For ten years, Jivaros and Rimanis hid. They made their living making pottery, inlaid by Rimanis’s art. But eventually, they grew tired of the alienation, and their hearts ached, longing for home. Alas, the home they returned to was more bitter than the one they had left. The war changed the people of the oasis. Their bonds melted, and their hearts hardened.
***
Nature punished those who fought in the Brothers War by taking away their magic. The former warriors meandered in the land, searching for a way to make a living. Farming, herding, merchandising—none of that filled the hole magic left in their hearts.
Those who never fought at the Brothers War kept their powers intact, but they came to be loathed, envied, and belittled within their tribes. Magic, which was once an honor, became a shame.
Soon after the two lovers were back, Rimanis found a guest at her door: a young witch with a brown cloak hiding most of her face. "P-please, tell me what the f-future holds," she begged.
Rimanis invited her in, and the two women held hands over a small fire. Rimanis closed her eyes and glanced into the witch’s life. "You’re in pain," Rimanis said. "Someone is hurting you. I see a warrior who carries a staff."
"M-my hus-sband."
"You are having his child," she added. "A little girl. She’ll grow up healthy and beautiful."
"She will?" the witch asked with excitement.
"So will her daughter and her daughter’s daughter," Rimanis added. "I see a long line of women in your family. One of them will be more powerful than the others."
Rimanis pulled her hands away when she saw something that scared her, something she didn’t understand.
"I-is s-something wrong?" the witch asked.
Rimanis opened her eyes and gaped in silence.
"D-did you see m-my future?"
Rimanis nodded.
"C-can you t-tell me about it?" The young witch looked gullible. How could this fragile girl be not just a murderer but the server of doom?
Rimanis arranged her thoughts before she answered, "I can see that your future will be an echo of your choices," she said. "Always choose kindness, Lú."
***
The chief of the Gudea tribe showed up at Jivaros’s home uninvited. He was an old, bitter man who never learned how to smile. "There’s a ritual I want you and your wife to do for me," he said. "A purification ritual to bring my powers back."
"Pardon me, Chief," Jivaros replied. "Your powers were taken away as a punishment. We can’t fight the laws of nature."
"I haven’t forgotten what you did, Jivaros," the chief said. "Ten years ago, you fled the Oasis and abandoned your tribe at the time of war... Unless you do the ritual, I shall banish you. Neither you nor your wife will step foot in the oasis."
The two lovers were left with a choice. Although their hearts were pure, they failed to learn from the lessons of the past. They agreed to do the spell, interfering with the natural course of things. Thereupon, they were punished by a fatal illness that slowly ate their bodies away.
The disease manifested in Rimanis first. She lay in bed with a fever. Her face was pale and her voice faint. Jivaros sat next to her and cried, "Be strong, Rimanis. You promised to ride with me for the rest of your life."
"And I kept my promise," Rimanis said while caressing his face with her scrawny hand. "Don’t be scared, my love. We have paid our debt to this world."
A rattling cough fit seized Rimanis, and blood dripped out of her mouth. Jivaros hurried to the fire, on which a healing potion boiled. Its thyme-scented steam weaved into the air. "Why is this taking so long?" Jivaros shouted. He grabbed a wooden bucket and threw it at the door, breaking it into halves. "It is all my fault. We should have never come back to the oasis."
"Don’t blame yourself, Jivaros... Jivaros," Rimanis tried to call out, but her voice couldn’t reach him.
Jivaros sought the help of every healer in the oasis, but no one wanted to get involved. One witch, however, was kind enough to give him advice. He told him to let Rimanis go, to sacrifice her life for his. "You’ll find another wife." His grin showed his oversized, brownish teeth.
Hatred deluged Jivaros’s heart. He despised the oasis and its people. Why do they get to live while Rimanis has to die? he asked himself over and over again, succumbing to the despair.
***
Things changed when Rimanis’s friend, Lú, showed up one night with her child in her arms. The moment Jivaros met her, he knew she’d be able to help, but he had to wait for the right time to persuade her.
"Tell me, Jivaros, what spell do you need?" Lú asked, intrigued by his offer to help her escape the oasis.
Jivaros tucked his arms behind his back and said, "A dark spell."
"W-what?" Lú recoiled in shock.
"Listen to me," he said. "My wife is dying. I tried everything to save her, but I failed. This is my last chance. All I want is a spell. A spell that stretches our lifelines and overcomes death."
"This g-goes against the l-laws of nature," Lú said.
"So be it," he stressed. "Why does Rimanis have to die?"
"People die, Jivaros, and Rimanis has had a long life."
"Not long enough." He was adamant.
Lú glanced at her bed-bound friend, who took a loud and gurgling inhalation. Every breath she took was hard work, it seemed.
Lú turned to Jivaros asking, "Do you love her?"
"I’d give my life for her," he said, and the witch dropped her gaze, pondering.
***
It was a wicked night. It was a sinful night. Not a whisper could be heard in the oasis. From the darkness, Lú emerged along with Jivaros, who carried his dying wife in his arms. The blue moon witnessed their vile intentions.
Far from home, they came to a stop. While Lú set the altar for their spell, Jivaros laid his wife on the sand. Although she smelled like death, he was determined to keep her alive. He untied a water canteen and brought it to her lips. "Drink."
Rimanis forced herself to swallow.
When the altar was ready, Jivaros and his wife sat in the center, surrounded by blood. "I don’t want to do this, Jivaros," Rimanis whispered.
"Trust me." He kissed her on the forehead. "The best of our lives is yet to come."
Standing at the edge of the altar, Lú summoned her grimoire. Jivaros could see her hesitation in her trembling lips.
"You’re doing the right thing," he affirmed.
Lú glanced at her daughter, who lay at her feet. She gave Jivaros a hesitant nod before she began to chant, "O-obsecro te noc-ctis et tenebr-rarum-m, et factus est mihi."
A thousand years passed, but Jivaros never forgot that night—the spell going wrong, Rimanis dying in his arms, the child wailing, and her mother falling to her knees. He remembered the anger, the sorrow, the guilt, and the fact these feelings lasted for only a moment. Jivaros never had time to grieve because, in a moment, all his feelings faded. Even the love he had for his wife vanished along with his soul.
Chapter 20: High-Spirited
"Where are you taking me?" Doyle asked as we entered through an iron gate and into a field of green, fresh-smelling grass.
"Just trust me." I dragged him by the hand and strode along the gravel path. Gravestones lined up on our sides.
We stopped at the sign saying, ‘The Knight Family Graveyard.’ Inside the fence, there were three stones—for all the people I loved but lost.
Kneeling, I put my hand on the ground. The soil particles ascended like sand, moving up in an hourglass, forming the shape of another graveyard stone. Witches didn't create. We penetrated the structure of the matter, decomposing it and reconstructing it in another form. From soil, we could construct a plant, a stone, or a living, breathing animal. That was the foundation of Earth Magic.
"I-is this?" Doyle uttered once he realized what I was doing.
"I know Viessa isn’t buried here," I said. "But consider this her memorial. What would you like to write on her grave?"
Doyle closed his eyes and tipped his head back for a moment. "Viessa Vettias. She saw life as a dream."
Extending one finger, I moved my hand, spelling out the words in the air, and as I did, they appeared on the stone. From my backpack, I pulled out a small bag of seeds that I gave Doyle. He crouched before the gravestone and dug his hand in the dirt, planting flowers that would soon bloom red, Viessa’s favorite.
Ever since Doyle told me what happened, I had been thinking of a way to help. I thought this would be a chance for him to say goodbye, to let go of Viessa and his persistent guilt towards her. I couldn’t stand to watch him suffer in silence.
I’m just being sympathetic, right? I wondered, fearing that if I didn’t set my boundaries, I’d be setting myself up for heartbreak.
***
"So, you and Jivar were not lovers?" I asked.
"No," Ebba replied with a giggle.
I put my hands together in front of my heart. "Thank you, God. Thank you for this."
Everyone laughed. Kirby, Doyle, Vanna, and I were in the hospital room, listening to Ebba’s story.
"I’m just relieved my great-grandmother is a good person," I said. "Love you, Grandma." I jumped at her with a hug, and we both fell on the couch.
"Don’t c-call me that." She squirmed underneath me. "Let me go."
"But a grandmother’s hug is made of love," I said in a child-like tone.
"Somebody h-help," she cried out.
"Echo, you’re crushing her." Doyle extended his hand. He was a little too strong when he pulled me up, so we bumped into each other—my forehead smacked against his firm chest. Suddenly, my whole body tingled. I turned around, avoiding eye contact. I didn’t want him to see me blush.
"I can’t deny I feel hopeful about this," Vanna broke in, sitting up in bed. "With Ebba’s help and the amulet, we have a chance of winning."
Ebba’s cheerful smile changed into an anxious expression.
"About that," I said. "Ebba and I talked. She’ll help us create a reverse for Jivar’s immortality, but this is the only magic she’s willing to do."
All Ebba ever wanted was a normal life. No matter how desperate I was for her help, I had to respect her wishes. To be honest, I felt remorseful. For so long, I had been judging Lú’s choices, but what did I know? Who was I to speak about her trauma or pass judgment without hearing her side of the story? I wanted to apologize to Ebba. No, I wanted to apologize to every person who, like her, was mutilated, abused, forced into marriage, or robbed of their powers.
"Ebba deserves a normal life." Vanna’s words surprised me. I was prepared for her to object.
"In this case..." I pulled the amulet out of my pocket and showed it to them. "I’ll be using this."
"Hell no," Kirby interrupted and took the amulet from me. "As long as you use Dark Magic, this will be locked up in Vanna’s drawer."
"I agree with Kirby," said Vanna, once again, surprising me. "You shouldn’t be using the amulet with Dark Magic."
Since when does she worry about Dark Magic?
There was something odd about Vanna that day, and it wasn’t the injury. Something happened to her back in the cave. What did the dark spirits tell her?
***
It was a long time ago, a time that felt like a faded memory or a scratched-up photo in which Vanna couldn’t make up the faces. She was infuriated when Lillian summoned her to Earth. She couldn’t care less about Jivar or what would happen to Earth if he was free, and she wanted to go home and save her only friend.
"What do you think of your new place, Vanna?" Lillian asked as the two took a seat on the yellow couch still swathed in plastic. It was Lillian who bought Kirby and Vanna their apartment. She wanted to make them feel welcomed.
"It’s colorful," Vanna said, dipping her chin to her chest. The odor of the fresh paint twisted her stomach.
Lillian let out a sigh. She pulled out her phone to show Vanna a picture. "These are my daughters, Tara and Echo. I told you about them before."
"Yes."
"Echo is three now. She just learned to count numbers." Lillian chortled then looked at Vanna with a serious expression. "These girls are my everything. I’d do anything for them. That’s why I’m going after Jivar, why I need your help."
"I understand."
Lillian frowned. Despite her best efforts to connect with Vanna, all she got were icy stares and short answers. Vanna was well-aware of that, but she wasn’t interested in making friends.
"Kirby told me about your friend," Lilian said. "Faith, right? I can’t imagine how hard it is to be forced to leave her behind." Lillian unbuttoned her jacket to show Vanna the amulet around her neck. "This is the Amulet of Divinity. It’s the most precious item I own."
"I’ve heard," Vanna said.
"Would you like to take it?" Lillian’s offer came as a surprise. "I’m willing to give it to you so you can save your friend, but first, help me defeat Jivar."
Vanna lowered her brows and lifted her chin with curiosity. "Since you summoned me, I’m bound to obey your orders. You don’t have to offer me anything."
"I don’t have to, but I want to." Lillian smiled. "I understand the need to protect the ones you care about, Vanna. So if you help me save my daughter, I’ll help you save your friend."
When Vanna came to the human world, she didn’t plan on staying long. To her, it was just a quest she had to finish. That was until Lillian earned her loyalty, not by her power, but through her devotion and graciousness.
The fight against Jivar became a cause Vanna undertook, and it lasted longer than expected. Vanna lost track of time, and time had never been her friend. Each passing day drew her closer to the dark side.
***
"Welcome home," we cheered. After spending two days in the hospital, Vanna was finally discharged.
"This is for you," Tara said as she gave her flowers.
"Thank you." Vanna took a seat on the living room couch. The doctor told me she might feel a bit dizzy after the blood transfusion. Although her wounds were stitched, they hadn’t fully healed. I prepared a potion for that.
We celebrated Vanna’s recovery by having a meal together. We played charades, joked around, and bonded. Grandpa taught Doyle how to play chess, and we took a group picture together—the first and only one.
At night, we sat in the living room, sipping on tea and munching on Tara’s cinnamon cookies. I don’t remember what led to that conversation, but it was my sister who asked, "What will you do after the war is over? When Jivar is dead and you’re all free."
We gaped at her.
"What?" she tittered. "None of you ever thought about the future? Don’t you have any plans?"
"I don’t even have a ‘pla.’" I quoted a joke from Friends. Tara rolled her eyes, so I gave her my silly grin.
"Stop it with the stupid smile." She covered my face with her hand. "You look like the Joker."
