People have a tendency to fear what they don’t understand.
That’s a shame, because it’s almost impossible educate a closed mind.
What’s worse, is that such minds usually live in herds.
“Well I don’t care why it’s happening, I’m just glad it is,” argued the old man, his knees barely holding him upright. He leaned heavily upon the railing in front of the bench, where his wife and three daughters sat. “It’s been nearly three seasons since my orchard has provided enough fruit. I was near to cuttin’ the cursed things down if I hadn’t seen it with mine own eyes.”
“Then you better have those eyes checked, Gunthar,” said the portly butcher, “because that’s not a blessing if it’s unnatural!”
Old Gunthar waved away the rebuttal and sat down with a huff.
“Easy for you to say, Darrick,” called someone from the back of the hall, “we have to rely on your meats if our own fields don’t yield enough for the winter!” The angry rebuke set the room aflame. Villagers nodded to one another, sharing their complaints, comparing their concerns and forming unjust opinions.
“I have had every opportunity to make a rich living by selling to surrounding villages!” Darrick rebuked. “Yet I have taken less in an effort to sustain our community.” He ended his statement with a softer tone, placing his hand over his heart.
“Yes, yes,” added the Mayor, waving his gavel, “you’re quite the saint. Sit down. Can we have order, please? Order.” The room quieted down. “That’s it. Thank you.” The Mayor sighed, “Yes, Gelis…you have something to say?”
“Y-yes, M-mayor Shale,” replied the frightfully skinny man at the back, “I-I do.”
“Well,…go on then,” and Shale leaned back in his chair, ready to take a nap.
Gelis gripped his cap closely to his chest as all the attention in the room set upon him. His bulbous eyes looked around like a cornered mouse, ready to be devoured by cats. “I j-j-just w-wondered why the M-macKlam’s ain’t h-h-here?” He stopped talking, which everyone appreciated—but he looked about as if he’d shared the greatest secret in the Universe. He frowned.
“D-don’t you see?” he clarified, “T-those cl-losest to M-macKlam’s have…”
“He’s right!” shouted a rather plump woman sitting near the Mayor. The outburst nearly flipped Shale out of his chair. “Miriam’s trees are the greenest of all…”
“So?” countered the Mayor.
“So, you fat old sac of…” snarled his wife, but she stopped abruptly and composed herself. Unclenching her fist, she turned around and smiled at the rest of the local sheep. “The MacKlam farm hasn’t had a fruitful tree blossom on their land in near twelve years I recon. Back before Dearborn was taken from us.” Her lips quivered at the mention of the deceased Blacksmith. “That no good widow of his is practicing black magic…I just know it!”
“Black magic?” scoffed old Gunthar, “To grow fruit?” he leaned over to his wife and whispered a bit too loudly, “That old cow is as dumb as her lazy husband.”
The villagers laughed.
The doors of the main hall creaked open, the fall wind charging over their heads, carrying stray leaves and the scent of burning wood. The young Blacksmith turned to close the doors behind him, when…
“That’s him!” shouted the Butcher.
“Daddy…please.” A young girl tugged on Darrick’s apron. She turned her slender neck to look back at the Blacksmith. Dark brown eyes watched the young man longingly, her grip tightening on her fathers apron.
Darrick ignored her. “That’s the one we should be blaming for all this,” he accused, “Evan MacKlam.”
Evan froze as the sea of eyes turned to him. For a moment, he wished he’d left the door open. It would have been easier to run.
“Oh piss on you AND your meats,” grumbled old Gunthar. He pulled himself up and smacked the Butcher in the forearm. “Move fat butt—I aim to thank the boy.”
“What’s…going on?” asked Evan, confused.
The old man, followed closely by his wife and daughters, grasped Evan’s thick arm and used the Blacksmith to steady himself. “Come on, son, we’re leaving this sea of stupid.”
“This meeting has not been adjourned!” shouted the Mayors wife.
“You ain’t in charge, cow,” yelled Gunthar over his shoulder and waving a boney hand, “and yer fat husband shouldn’t be.” Two of his daughters opened the doors and Gunthar walked out with his family, laughing as he did so.
Evan looked back several times, nervously. The rumble of confusion and objections echoed from the town hall. He could hear the repeated beat of a gavel.
“What was all that about?” Evan asked, “I know I was late for the meeting but I…”
“You were late for nothing, boy,” Gunthar cut in, “They just want someone to blame.”
Evan nodded, walking slowly beside the old man. He frowned. “Blame…for what?”
Gunthar gripped Evan hard, pulling him to a stop. He looked around the village. The houses were plain, the dirt paths deep and sloped through generations of use. He glanced between two cottages and pointed at the apple orchard.
“Do you see that?”
“It’s a bunch of apple trees,” replied Evan.
“What’s on ‘em?”
“Blossoms, what else would be on…” he stopped.
Gunthar waited for the realization to sink in.
Evan whipped his head about, looking at the trees, the raspberry bushes, mook berry bushes and even the two baby silveen trees planted by the center well. Every single plant was either blooming or starting to bear fruit. The leaves had cast off their fall colors—now vibrant and green.
“How is this even…possible?” Evan said aloud, though to no one in particular. “It’s almost winter…”
“Didn’t you notice, boy?”
Evan shook his head, “Well, no, I…work with the forge, in the barn, so…” He spun around. “Why was everyone looking at me?”
Gunthar grinned his wide, toothless grin, “Have ye taken a look at yer own place, boy?”
****
The door flung open so hard, the chipped stoneware rattled on the uneven shelves. Evan stopped, hands still shaking. He took a breath to calm himself.
Shutting the door slowly, he frantically tried to think of the right thing to say. Something soothing, that didn’t sound like an excuse. He drew a blank.
Kneeling down in front of his startled little sister, “I’m sorry Livi.” It was frustrating—that she always seemed to be in earshot whenever he lost his temper. Then again, she was always shadowing their father, reaching out and holding his hand. She hadn’t spoken a word since their father had died. Evan reached out and gently drew Livi to him and wrapped his muscular arms around her. She didn’t resist. “Truly. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
The child said nothing. She didn’t even hug Evan back. Her arms hung limply at her sides, her stare distant. Evan brushed the stray hair from her face, tucking it neatly behind one of her ears. With a light kiss on her forehead, he rose and entered the bedroom nook.
His mother sat by the bed. Wendell lay still, pale and feverish.
“Did you know?” Evan asked bluntly.
“Know what, dear?” His mother took the cloth from Wendell’s forehead and doused it in the cool water. She paused to look up at her son.
“That he’s cursed.” He stared at the wounds, which, only two days previous, were gaping holes, gouges and even a broken collar bone. The wounds his mother had sewn shut were little more than tender scars. The hole in his side, which had been filled with fresh wood ash from the fire, was now a bright pink blemish. “Not only has he cost us the last of our money for food and herbs, he’s turned the town against us!”
Miriam shook her head, “That’s absurd. How could he possibly do that? He’s been lying here, unconscious for days, Evan.” She wrung the cloth out and placed it tenderly across Wendell’s brow once more, then reached out for her son’s hand. She squeezed his thick fingers and smiled. “As for helping him, Hiram has gathered enough of the primary herbs for my potions—so little was used from the purse. It is what your father would have done, Evan. You know that.” She pulled his dirty hand to her lips and kissed his calloused, cracked knuckles. “You, of all people, would know that. You have always honored your father’s beliefs…as have I. Seeing someone hurt and alone? I do only what my Dearbron would have called upon me to do.”
“Not if it had to do with magic, mother,” he said, almost choking. The dark rings under her eyes constantly reminded Evan of his failure to provide his family with enough sustenance. To see his mother so tired, so sad, so…alone, clawed at his heart. “Have you seen the trees?”
“Trees?” she repeated.
“The plants, the orchards, our land.” He pulled his hand away in frustration. “Ever since I brought him here,…” he spat the words at Wendell’s prone body, “things have been happening. There are several trees in our orchard, mother, that are bearing fruit—right now!”
The words settled over her tired face, and for a brief moment, Evan thought his mother hadn’t heard him. But the distant look was followed by a smile. A spark of hope. Rising quickly from her chair, Miriam strode to the shutters and pulled at the loops of rope to open them. Cold wind nipped at her face. She inhaled deeply and closed her eyes.
“Change,” she whispered.
Leaning out, she stared at their orchard. Only days ago, the trees had been dead. Trees she thought would soon be used for firewood. Now they were full and bright with leaves, weighed heavy with bright, red apples.
Tears welled up in her eyes.
“It’s a miracle,” she whispered to herself.
“It’s a curse!” Evan snapped. “The town thinks you’re working magic again, mother…”
Miriam gripped the windowsill and clenched her eyes tight.
“Again…?”
The word was bitter. It was difficult to swallow and she tried several times to clear her throat.
“Mother, I…” Evan corrected himself, but he knew it was too late.
Miriam slowly closed the shutter, plunging the room into shadow once more. “I cannot help the ignorance of others who shun the ways of the healing arts.”
“Alchemy is not healing, mother.”
“Nor is it magic.”
Evan reached for Wendell’s arm. “This is his fault!”
“Do not touch him!” she yelled.
Evan froze in mid step. He couldn’t recall his mother ever raising her voice. He immediately shrunk back from the wounded youth on the bed.
Miriam took her place by Wendell’s side. “I will not allow harm to come to anyone under my care…and it is expressly forbidden in my husbands house.”
Evan’s head sunk forward, chin against chest. He knew that tone. The Matriarch had spoken. “Yes, Mother,” he whispered.
No one had noticed the silent shadow slip into the room. Livi stood by the bedside, staring up at Wendell.
“He’s cursed and magic is around him, mother.” Evan lingered in the doorway, his expression sorrowful. “There’s no other way to explain the healing wounds. You’re good…but not that good.”
“I appreciate your vote of confidence.”
“That’s not what I…” Evan grit his teeth, “Oh, never mind.” With an exasperated sigh, he marched out of the hut and slammed the door behind him.
Miriam shook her head in disappointment.
Livi slowly reached out to touch Wendell’s hand, the paused.
“It’s alright right, my love,” Miriam smiled down at her daughter, “We must care for this one. Other may fear him—but we mustn’t.” She leaned over Wendell, pulling the blanket up under his arms. “There nothing evil about this boy, Livi.”
She tapped the tip of her fingernail against the center of Wendell’s chest. It made a distinct crystal ting sound.
“Magic or no magic, I can feel it.”
