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“I guess I’m not completely surprised to hear that,” I replied, shoving my hand through my hair. It explained why a woman who hustled rocks and grew mold was so knowledgeable about fighting. It also explained why she never married Joe, never laid down any permanent roots. “All of these years . . .” I shook my head. “Why hide it from us?”
She paused, searching for an answer, before she said, “I wanted to give you a normal childhood. I planned to tell you when the time was right. That’s why I trained you so much.”
“What about Kaleb? You never trained him.” Kaleb. A lump bulged in my throat. I wondered if she knew.
“Bah.” She batted her hand at me as if that were a silly thing to ask. “That boy was not born to fight. That, my dear, has always beenyourpath.”
“Okay, but why are you choosing to tell me now?”
She grinned. “Because, child, the time is finally right.”
I felt my frustration mounting.
Her smile faltered. “I sense your anger towards me, your confusion. But know this, I have poured the very essence of my soul into the Cursed rebels—it is why I cannot see so well anymore. But I would do it again without a second thought. And all of it, child, I did for you. So that you could have a future.”
I thought about her words. I could almost see how much it had taken out of her throughout the years. Each time she returned, she always looked somehow older, her hair a bit grayer. Her gait less strong—less warrior-like.
I felt ashamed of my actions from a moment ago and questioned how I could grab my pitchfork so quickly and take aim at the only parental figure I had ever known. She had sacrificed so much, including her vision—all so I could have a future.
Her vision loss. The toll it had taken on her entire body . . .
It was my fault. I felt sick.
“No, you must never think that,” she said, knowing my silence all too well.
Frustrated with myself, I opened my mouth, but she continued, “You are blameless in this. The Creator chose for you to be born now, during a time where those who are different are hunted. But being different is not a curse. It is a gift.Youare a gift. A gift that deserves to be shared with the world, not hidden behind closed doors . . . hidden in a cottage in the woods.” Slowly, she took a deep breath.
I focused on her aged hands. They had always been like a lifeline thrown out at sea—a sea preoccupied with pushing me down. But here she was, pulling me out.
Just as she always had.
We talked late into the night.
As the rain droplets gave way to a heavy downpour, we moved to the living room, a knitted quilt draped over us both, just as we had done hundreds of times before. The living room was cozy, to say the least. Two large oval rugs, their colors faded yet still warm, were draped over the wooden-slat floor. A settee and a loveseat sat adjacent to each other, a low, rectangular table centered in front of them. A small fire crackled, the hearth producing a comfortable amount of heat, reminding me of home.
She told me everything—everything the Cursed rebels had done over the years. The good times—the victories, the friendships. And the bad—the blood, the tears, and the goodbyes that never got to be said. During those stories, my heart ached. Ezra could have very easily been one of the rebels who died on the battlefield. Just as she was my someone, those people were also somebody’s someone. Fathers, mothers, sisters, and brothers—good people fighting for the same goal—afuturefor the Cursed.
We spoke about Kaleb, and of course, Ezra already knew. She assured me, in her uncanny way, that we would get him back. Something we would do with the aid of the rebels. Four of those rebels I would meet tomorrow, here, in this house. I learned that Von was a rebel as well, and that Ezra had known him for many years—since he was a young boy, I imagined. She said he was their best fighter, by far, and played a huge role in making sure the Cursed Lands stayed a step ahead of the Crown. She spoke rather highly of him. Hearing her do so softened my feelings towards him. Slightly.
As night began to yawn into the young hours of the morning, she patted my lap and suggested we go to bed. I didn’t move as I felt one more question burning within me.
I cleared my throat and asked, “Do I have the Dream Curse?”
She looked at me, and even though her eyes were a blank canvas, an emotion flickered in them—one I had no label for. “Yes,” she finally said, her head tilting down as if her blind eyes were studying her hands.
“How is that possible? I thought we could only carry one Curse?” I asked. My brow furrowed, tackled by confusion.
“Having more than one Curse is rare, but it happens,” she offered with a nonchalant shrug.
I scanned her face. Why did it feel like she wasn’t telling me something? I pressed on. “Whatisthe Dream Curse?”
She cleared her throat. “The Dream Curse enables one to see the past, present, and future through their dreams, as well as the ability to see and talk to the ghosts of the dead.” She bobbed her head. “The Dream Curse has made a lot of people go mad . . . It’s not natural for the living to talk to the dead.”
I pursed my lips. “So essentially, I have not one, but two Curses—one of which makes you see dead people and eventually you go insane.”
Ezra nodded, her nonchalant response almost comical.
All of this was a bit comical. My head spun. My brain groaned. I gathered everything I had just been told about the damn Dream Curse, chucked it in the ol’ fuck-it-bucket, and mentally wiped my hands of it.
