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Ezra stood at the kitchen table. She hooked her cane over the back of the dining chair and slipped the strap of her satchel over her head. She turned it upside down. A handful of mushrooms and two rocks fell onto the weathered oak table. Her fingers glided overtop, her lips thinning.
“Ah, there you are,” she exclaimed happily as she plucked the rocks and cradled them in her palm. She bumbled towards the shelves, her arthritic knuckles unscrewing the top of an empty glass jar. She plopped them inside and placed it back on the shelf.
Inside the cottage, she had no need for her cane—what her eyes could not show her, muscle memory recalled. She dusted her hands against her worn tunic and walked over to the settee, her hands hovering an inch above the woman’s face. Slowly, she moved them in rhythmic motions, covering the woman’s body from head to toe, a low hum falling from the back of her throat.
I peeled potatoes while Kaleb tended the fire. He fed the glowing embers another two logs before the flame caught, gnawing away on the dry timber. A renewed warmth blossomed from the hearth, scenting the cottage in a wintergreen aroma with a slightly sweet twist.Heavenly.
Kaleb returned outside. Shortly after, the muffled sound of metal splitting wood could be heard.
As I worked, my stomach protested, vocalizing its hunger for the entire continent of Edenvale to hear. I dropped the cubed potatoes into a pot of water and hung it over the fire. I squatted by the hearth, wrapped my arms around my knees, and waited for the water to steam. This small distraction did very little to still my thoughts, which were still full of fire and screams. A lump bulged in my throat.
How many more would have to die?
Without a whisper of sound, Ezra squatted beside me. “It was not always like this.”
I watched the water bubble, a sigh escaping my lips. “So you’ve said before.”
“And so, I must say again.” She gave me a gentle, playful nudge. She raised her hands, palm sides exposed to the crackling fire. Her bony, crooked fingers waggled back and forth, the fire emphasizing her thick, arthritic knuckles. “Many years ago, there was a time when the Cursed were looked upon with very different eyes.” She waved her hand as if painting a picture. “Those born with the Curse of Air, they could bend the wind and bring the lost fishermen home, and when winter would stake her frozen claim, those who carried the Fire Curse would bring heat to every villager’s hearth, keeping all families toasty and warm. Those who were given the Curse of Earth, they worked hand in hand with hunters—ensuring the forests were always full of game. Then there are those who bear the Water Curse.” She tapped my nose. “They would aid the farmers—bringing rain to the soils that were dried out with thirst. And as for the fifth and final Curse, the Curse of the Mind, they would heal those with illnesses up here.” She winked, two crooked fingers tapping the side of her head.
“I wish I could have seen it,” I offered honestly, the heat from the fire brushing over my face.
“Maybe someday, you will,” Ezra said as she wrapped a comforting arm around my lower back and gave a gentle squeeze. When I glanced at her, I could not describe the look on her face as anything but hopeful.
Warmth spread throughout my chest. Ezra was the closest thing I had to a mother, although she had never accepted the title, insisting we call her by her first name. She used to work in the village, operating her own apothecary. Through it, she met Kaleb’s mom, a woman who did not want a child born out of wedlock. Ezra agreed to take Kaleb, to raise him as her own. Two years later, she found me in a bassinet by the lake not far from here—the where and how were details she had never divulged, so that was all I knew. Not that I cared to know more—a baby abandoned by a lake doesn’t exactly scream wanted. And if I wasn’t wanted then, my biological family probably did not want me now. After finding me, Ezra had closed her apothecary, gathered her things, and moved our potluck family to the cottage here in the woods.
Kaleb booted the door open, the loudthunkcoaxing me from my thoughts. He carried the fresh-cut logs inside, the pile towering over his blond head. Making his way over to us, he dropped the seasoned wood onto the ground, the split logs smacking against one another as they tumbled to the floor. But with one sour look from Ezra, Kaleb quickly began to stack them neatly in place.
With a satisfied nod, Ezra scuttled off to the kitchen. I watched her carefully, wearily. She reached for a jar containing cabbage, or rather, whatever was left of it. This particular specimen had been festering on the shelf for nearly two months now, marinating in some sort of undisclosed yellow liquid. I stifled a groan—she was preparing one of her infamous recipes. The kind that was powerful enough to purge one’s guts for a week.
And then some.
Kaleb made a worried face. I mirrored the expression.
When the potatoes were done, and the death dish was finished, the three of us sat around the table and ate. I stuffed a piece of bread into my mouth, eyeing the suspicious mix of greens on my plate, wondering what the fuzzy, blue-green stuff was. Mold, perhaps?
Probably not. Not even mold would try to eat this.
I glanced at Kaleb, who was also staring at the odd-colored greens, if they could be classified as green at all. We tried our best to refuse, but Ezra was persistent and would not take no for an answer as she dished a mighty helping onto our plates.
And so, there we were—one bite away from colon annihilation.
“The lady will make a full recovery,” Ezra started.
I looked at my plate.But will we?
Ezra sucked in a breath before she continued, “I cannot speak on the state of her mind—it’s fractured.”
She’s not the only one with a fractured mind . . .
Ezra whacked my hand with the back of her wooden spoon. My mouth popped open—her uncanny ability to see everything despite her lack of ability to see could be a real pain in the ass at times. Or in this case, I thought as I rubbed my hand, other places.
When our late supper was done and the house was quiet, I settled in on my twin mattress—no bed frame underneath as the slope of the loft roof wouldn’t allow it. I turned on my side and watched Kaleb as he slept, his bed a few feet from mine, where it had always been since we were kids.
Many years ago, the individual mattresses we slept on seemed big, but now, looking at him, the reverse was true. Kaleb’s bare feet hung well over the end, the mattress squished down, suffocated under his healthy, adult weight. Light muscle decorated his otherwise thin frame, and although he wasn’t super broad-shouldered, his shoulders could bear a good amount of weight. He was handsome in his own way, with his sunshine hair and straight, slightly upturned nose. He had grown into himself these past few years—something the girls from the village had started to take notice of.
I rolled my eyes, recalling a particularly gods-awful title I overheard some girls at the market whispering amongst themselves the other day—Meristone’s heartthrob.
Little did they know that Meristone’s heartthrob drooled in his sleep. I stifled my chuckle, not wanting to wake him up from his peaceful sleep.
