Echo, p.30
Echo, page 30
***
As I saw Joe off at the door, Vanna and Doyle passed right by me. "Where are you two going?"
"Grocery store," Vanna said. "Do you need anything?"
"Thanks, but I wanted to talk to Doyle."
"Maybe later," he said without looking at me.
"Wait." I reached my hand to grab his, but he cringed at my touch.
"We’ll talk later, Echo," he said before scurrying away, giving me no chance to explain.
Frustrated, I went to see Kirby, who stood by the stove, melting the butter for his famous omelet. I stormed in, grabbed the last cinnamon cookie in the jar, and shoved it down my throat.
"What happened?" he asked. It wasn’t like me to swallow my food in whole.
"Doyle heard Joe asking me to get back together, and now he’s not talking to me."
Kirby said nothing. The eggs sizzled in the pan as he cracked them open. "Ebba, can you get me the cheese?"
"Y-yeah." She hurried to the fridge.
"What do you two know?" I asked, narrowing my eyes. "Did Doyle say anything?"
Kirby stirred.
"Why isn’t anyone answering me?"
"I-I..." Ebba uttered as she closed the fridge. "I told Doyle to stay away from you, or he’ll hurt you like he hurt Viessa."
"You said what?" I cried out. "Ebba, who gave you the right?"
"I w-was worried about you."
"You overstepped. I am an adult. Only I decide what’s good for me."
"I d-didn’t want you to go through what I w-went through." Ebba wrapped her hands together.
I crossed my arms. "Maybe you’re confusing Doyle with someone else."
"Please." She bit her lip. "Listen to me. I’m older than you."
"You’re twenty-five," I yelled. "Time-traveling and skipping a millennium doesn’t give you the wisdom of aging."
We paused as I thought about my own words, and a realization hit me. "How didn’t I think of this before?" I smacked my forehead. In front of me was a witch who mastered the Magic of Time. If she agreed to travel twenty-six years back, she could get the Mitu Parim before it went extinct.
I explained my idea, saying the amulet was more than enough to accomplish this mission. While Kirby was thrilled, Ebba responded bitterly, "I can’t do it."
"You’re the only one who can."
"You promised not to ask me to use magic again."
"The entire world is in danger, Ebba," I said desperately. "Isn’t this what you want? To end Jivar and save the world?"
"All I want is a normal life."
"None of us have a normal life." I lost my temper.
"I did." Ebba teared up. "I was happy living on the boat with Pa, until Doyle brought the Katarus—"
"Good grief." I rolled my eyes. "You enjoy playing victim, don’t you?"
"Echo." Kirby tried to stop me.
"Admit it, Ebba. You like that everything was taken from you, so now you can sit here and feel sorry for yourself instead of fighting. It’s just like..."
"Just like what?" she cried out.
"Just like what you’ve always done," I replied. "You were the most powerful witch in the oasis, yet you allowed your husband to abuse you."
"Echo," Kirby shouted.
"You allowed him to take your daughter away and to throw you in the desert," I went on. "It wasn’t that you were helpless or naïve. You were just too afraid to claim your power. To finally rebel, you had to be pushed to rock bottom."
"That’s enough, Echo." Kirby pulled me by the shoulder.
"Y-you have no idea what you’re talking about," Ebba’s words rasped in her throat. Despite the sharp, unforgiving look in her eyes, she couldn’t stop the tears coursing down her cheeks.
Chapter 29: Second Chances
I fell asleep in my lair, brooding over the mess I had made. Am I the worst person ever? Why did I say those things to Ebba? Instead of helping my friend heal her wounds, I cut them open and watched her bleed.
When I went back to my room, Ebba had just woken up and was folding her sleeping bag.
"I feel terrible," I said. "I had no right to say those things to you."
"No need." She held her palm out. "I’ll go back in time and get the Mitu Parim."
"You will?" I wasn’t expecting that.
"Yeah." Crying all night had left her eyes weary. "Y-you were right about me, Echo. I have to be p-pushed to act, but it’s selfish to do this now w-when everyone is in danger. I’m sorry about Doyle too. You’re my friend, and I wanted to protect you."
"Come on, Ebba," I cried. "We’re more than friends. We’re family...I really didn’t mean to hurt you."
"I have s-something for you, Echo." Reaching under the bed, Ebba grabbed an old book with brownish papers. "A late birthday gift."
"The Book of Recreation?" I read the title.
"It’s a t-translation of the original book written by a descendant of the first witch. Vanna helped me find it on the Magic Web."
"This must be rare." I moved my fingers along the vintage, embossed cover. "So precious."
"We thought it’ll help you u-understand your magic and fight Jivaros."
"Oh, I hope so." I crossed my fingers, and Ebba copied me with a grin. She sat at my desk and grabbed a brush that she glided on the surface of a stone, drawing a pentacle in red pigment. Her eyes showed the wonderment of a child coloring Easter eggs.
"What do you have here?" I asked.
"I’m preparing for the spell," she said. "This is my altar."
"A portable altar?" My eyebrows shot up. "This is so cool! How didn’t I think of it before?"
"My mother taught me how to do it, in secret. I always wanted to teach it to my daughter."
"Well..." I sat on the edge of the bed. "Technically, I’m your great-great-great-great-granddaughter. I think. Can you teach me?"
"Sure." Her face lit up.
***
In the living room, we gathered to make a big decision. If Ebba were to go back to the past, who would accompany her?
"Since I have my full powers now, I’m the most suited to protect her," Vanna said.
"Wouldn’t it be better if I go?" I asked. "If something goes wrong, I can use magic."
"No," Vanna replied. "You need to stay here and fight Jivar. We can’t risk you getting stuck in the past."
Kirby raised a hand. "I’m with Vanna on this."
"Then I should be the one to go," Doyle broke in. He had been keeping his distance from me since Joe showed up. "If something happens to me, Jivar loses his vessel. Crisis averted."
"What the hell are you saying?" The thought of Doyle getting trapped in the past infuriated me. His willingness to disappear added fuel to the fire, so I might have acted childishly.
"He’s making a good point, Echo," Vanna said.
"Let’s take votes." Kirby cut the argument short. "Those in favor of Doyle traveling, say ‘aye.’"
"Aye," Vanna and Doyle uttered.
"A-aye," Ebba reluctantly agreed.
"It’s settled then," Kirby said. "Doyle and Ebba will travel to the past while we prepare for the rising day."
I held my breath. Although Doyle was the logical choice, I didn’t want him to go. I was worried he would choose not to come back.
***
"Can I come in?" I stood at the door of Mother’s old room. Kirby gestured for me to enter. The cats meowed when he reached for the bag of dry food to refill their bowls.
"Where’s Doyle?" I asked.
“Balcony.” He pointed at the entrance behind him.
On the wall hung an antique clock that Mother had bought in an auction. I lowered it to show a hidden safe with two locking bolts.
"What’s this?" Kirby asked.
The buttons beeped as I dialed the combination lock, and when the safe opened, I pulled out a hefty gold bar and handed it to him.
"Gold and a secret safe? When did you join the mafia?"
"You know my family is rich." I gave a thoughtless shrug. "This is for Ebba and Doyle to use if they need money. God knows what currency people used three decades ago in Udruonia."
I closed the safe and walked into the balcony to see Doyle, who put his right foot forward then pivoted, whipping his sword. Sweat beaded on his bare chest, and the remains of an old battle scar ran down his left arm.
"Echo." He recoiled when he saw me.
"I should’ve knocked." I dropped my gaze. My cheeks flushed.
"It’s all right." He grabbed his shirt off the railing to cover himself up.
"Doyle." I hesitated before I looked at him. "Why are you avoiding me?"
"I’m not." He looked away.
"Aren’t you? Last night, I wanted to talk, and you completely ditched me."
"I needed space."
"Why? What happened between us?" I inched closer, but he moved away, keeping a distance between us.
Insulted, I turned my back to him. "If you don’t want to talk, then maybe we shouldn’t." My voice hardened. "Get ready. Ebba is waiting for us in the garage."
***
In every time-travel movie, there was one rule: Don’t change the past. But is it possible to go back in time and not change anything? Not a single detail? Ebba’s spell carried a justified risk.
"If we observe the spell, any changes in the past won’t affect our memories," Vanna said, so we gathered in the garage to watch.
Ebba put the amulet on and called out to her grimoire. Holding her portable altar, she chanted a spell in Sumerian. Although I didn’t get most of the words, I could tell something divine was happening before my eyes.
Beneath Ebba’s feet, a rainbow-colored light emerged, swirling and whooshing. It seemed to sink into the ground like a holographic hole or a visual illusion. Ebba claimed a confident posture and waved her hands as though to shape something. To her, time was as stretchy as rubber, as moldable as dough.
It was hard not to lose one’s nerves at the sight of such power. Now that I had witnessed it, I understood Ebba’s fears. To control time was to rule everything. There was nothing more hair-raising than that.
When the time portal opened, Ebba gestured for Doyle to go in first. She turned to us with a peaceful smile before she followed him into the past.
***
Ebba and Doyle were heaved out of the portal and onto the broken asphalt of a dead-end alley. Lying on the ground, they winced at the garbage stench. Trash bounced in the air like leaves blown by the wind.
Doyle helped Ebba stand up. He noticed something stuck in her hair, but when he reached out to remove it, Ebba balked. "W-what are you doing?"
"You have something," he said as he removed a dirty tissue from her braid.
"Oh." She leaned forward and rested her hands on her knees. Blood dripped out of her nose.
"You all right?"
"It’s the spell," she said. "I’ll be fine." She pointed at the building behind them. "The store we want is in there. Let’s go."
"We will, but first, breathe." Doyle stretched his palm outward in a calming gesture.
***
Jars of cloves, cardamom, and fragrant spices sat on the counter, with the lids open for the customers to scoop. Nothing seemed odd about the old herb store except for the unwelcoming owner. "Whada you want?" he asked with no greetings. His tall nose caught some of the milk he drank.
"We are looking for a plant," Doyle said. "The Mitu Parim, it is called."
"You with the police?" The man cocked his head.
"No."
"Then get outta here." He swatted his hands. "This plant is banned. I’m not selling it."
"But we heard this is the place to find it," Doyle argued.
"I said get outta here," he bleated the words, but Doyle saw through his feigned confidence; he either had the plant or knew where to get it.
At Doyle’s signal, Ebba closed the door.
"Whadda you—" Before the man spoke, Doyle had pinned him to the wall.
"Tell me where the plant is," he ordered.
"I don’t have it." The man wriggled and gasped. "I swear."
"Do you know where to find it?"
"I c-can’t." He coughed. "I can’t tell you."
"I see." Doyle tightened his grip, letting the man shriek in pain.
"The farm," he uttered with a yelp. "It’s at the farm."
"What farm?" Doyle put him down and gave him a moment to catch his breath.
The man shook. Sweat dripped off the tip of his nose. "Go to the station and take the Garbage Train. Get off at stop nine. When you see the sign for ‘Aplea twenty-five,’ walk in the forest till you find a farm. Ask for Brigham. He’ll give you what you want."
"Garbage Train, stop-nine, forest, farm," Ebba repeated, seemingly memorizing the instructions.
"Alpea twenty-five," the man said as he wiped his face in his sleeve.
The Garbage Train? Doyle froze. The route described sounded oddly familiar. His mind drifted to the story he had heard a hundred times before. Could it be? No, no. Impossible.
"Doyle," Ebba’s voice caught his attention. She stood there, waving at him.
"What?"
"We need to go," she said. "The Garbage Train."
"All right." He exhaled. "All right."
***
Riding on the Garbage Train, everything Ebba saw was unpleasant. Two hundred people squeezed in a ninety-passenger vehicle, children snorting heroin, two drunks fighting with knives, and a sicko groping every passing woman. Hadn’t it been for Doyle hurling his body in front of hers, Ebba might’ve been hounded.
The rusty metal gave off an outrageous odor that forced her to cover her nose. By the time they arrived at stop nine, she had become faint. "W-what are you doing?" she shouted when Doyle hoisted her onto his shoulders. "Put me down."
"I promised Echo to protect you," he said.
"Protect me from what? Walking?" She squirmed on his back.
"If your energy is depleted, you can’t use your magic, and we’ll be trapped here. Save your power. Allow me to help."
Ebba moaned. She had no energy to argue. "Just for a few minutes," she said, letting Doyle carry her along the trampled path. "I’ll rest for a few minutes." Time passed as she surrendered to the heaviness in her eyes, and when she finally woke up, they were in the middle of a dim-lit forest.
"Did I fall asleep?" she whispered. A flush of embarrassment spread across her cheeks when she noticed that Doyle had draped her around his back, wrapping his right arm around her right knee and holding her right hand in his left.
"For about an hour." He plodded along the forest, snapping twigs under his feet.
"Oh." Ebba’s mouth had gone dry, and the moisture of the forest hung in her nostrils. With her free hand, she removed tree leaves from her hair. She thought about Doyle and how kind he was. In her life, she had seen little kindness from men. The only man she ever trusted was her pretend father, Rufus, who made her feel safe and cared for—feelings that Doyle stole when he captured her from the boat.
"I’m sorry for what I said yesterday," she said.
"There is no need for apologies."
"No, I need to. I had no right to judge you, Doyle. You and I are alike. We both made mistakes. We both have regrets."
"You were a child, Ebba," Doyle argued. "A child born to an unforgiving world."
Ebba let out a laugh, half amused and half pain-filled. "Do you pray, Doyle?"
"I’ve never tried."
"Witches pray all the time," she said. "When I got married, I prayed for happiness. When I had a child, I prayed for safety. You know what I pray for now?"
"What?"
"A second chance."
"A second chance," Doyle repeated. He sounded like he understood.
***
As Doyle forced his way through the rustling branches, his mind drifted to the past. His missteps and fears, his claimed righteousness, and his biggest regrets all came to him. If he chose to pray for one thing, what would it be?
He found the answer at the edge of the forest, at a hidden farm where a young boy pushed a wagon of crops. He stopped to wipe his sweat with his torn undershirt, and his face darkened with fury.
"Out of all places and times." Doyle came to a halt and put Ebba on the ground.
"Did you say something?" she asked.
"The boy over there," he said. "This is Zaros."
"What?" She jumped up in shock.
"This is where Viessa and Zaros grew up."
"N-no, Doyle. Y-you can’t." Ebba seemed to know what he was thinking. "You can’t change the past."
"I know..." The corners of his mouth tightened.
Doyle and Ebba prowled around the farm. When they asked for Brigham, they were directed to a large tent from which a stench of liquor emerged. A bearded man came out. His purple topcoat enveloped his large silhouette.
"Are you Brigham?" Doyle asked.
The man downed some of his drink, then offered the flask to Doyle.
"There is no need for this." He pushed Brigham’s hand away. "We are looking for a plant called Mitu Parim."
"Got money?" Brigham slurred his words out with a hiccup.
"Better." Ebba showed him the gold bar.
"Gold?" The drunk man guffawed and rocked to the sides. "Where do you people come from?"
"You don’t want it?" Ebba asked.
"No, no. I take it." He tried to yank it from her, but Doyle caught his hand. The two men locked eyes before Brigham withdrew.
"I get the plant." He waddled into his tent and returned a moment later with a bag of seeds. "Mitu Parim seeds. This is all I can give you."
Ebba took the seed and checked them before giving Brigham his gold.
"Sir Brigham. Help," a female voice called. Dashing towards them was a woman with a dirty dress and a scarf wrapped around her head. In her arms, she carried a little girl who had lost all signs of vitality. "The girl fell again. Second time today."
"Take her to her brother." Brigham gave a dismissive wave and covered his mouth to stop a hiccup.
"But you have her drug," the woman said.
"No money for drug," he yelled.
"But the girl—"
"I ain’t got money for this useless brat, Dorothea. Take her to her brother."
"Sir, please," Dorothea begged, but Brigham turned his back on her.
