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It was a shady day on a land that never missed the sun, long before this story had ever begun. People lived in round huts of wattles and straw, and every morning, a bird in the color of blood would caw. One day, everyone woke up to a woman screaming. Her husband was murdered.
People wrapped in linen garments gathered on the shore of the oasis spring. The tension rose with every traded glance. Who murdered the chief of the Gudea tribe? Until they found the truth, everyone was suspect.
The widow’s tears snuck in with her sweat. On the sand, her husband’s body lay, gray as ash and foul as garbage in the sun.
A young girl came running with an infant in her arms. She was more afraid to stop than to stumble. She wore linen and a brown cloak, and her braided hair reached the middle of her back.
"Lú," a tall man uttered her name. He raised his staff, preparing to revenge for his pride, but an older man stopped him, saying, "First we question her, then you punish her."
***
Lú’s story began thirteen years earlier. When she was an infant herself, her mother took her to a nearby hut, where old Umu lived.
Umu was an ugly, toothless woman with a grin full of disdain and a home that reeked of her nauseating sweat. On a small fire, she heated a blade sharp enough to cut through the skin. "Take off her clothes and put her on the ground," she instructed.
The mother held her child close to her chest. She would’ve faltered hadn’t it been for the nudge she received. Staring at her, the grandmother, who was barely in her twenties, scowled. New mothers were always hesitant, but Grandmothers knew best. They knew how to respect tradition.
Lú’s mother put her on the dirt. She stripped the infant of her white clothes to show her smooth, tanned skin. On her left forearm, the child had a symbol carved in ink: a triangle, entangled with two infinity signs that crossed each other. The mother remembered how her child wept when they engraved the ink into her skin. That pain was nothing compared to what was about to come.
"This is her secret." The grandmother referred to the tattoo on the infant’s arm.
"Now, she gets her virtue," said ugly Umu. With the blade in her hand, she edged towards the infant who started to whimper.
The mother clutched at her daughter and pulled her away, but the grandmother intervened, "You’re not strong enough." New mothers never had the strength.
The grandmother restrained the infant while the mother retreated to the corner and covered her eyes. Her skin crawled as she imagined the hot blade getting closer and closer to her child’s genitalia.
The infant screeched like a kitten devoured by a predator.
The mother’s heart sank. She fell to her knees. But she didn’t try to interfere. She let the grandmother do the job. After all, grandmothers knew best. They had lived through this so many times they learned to accept it.
The infant’s blood flowed down her legs. Umu put a few leaves on the wound and left it alone to heal, and the mother stayed on her knees, paralyzed by shame and self-loathing. That was the world Lú came from, one where a mother failed to protect her child and where infants were mutilated in the name of virtue. The name Lú was Sumerian for “someone,” but it also meant “no one.” She was someone because, well, she had a physical body. She was no one, denied the right to become somebody. Before she could speak, she learned to be voiceless, to accept intrusion, and to endure the inescapable pain.
***
When Lú turned thirteen, her father arranged her marriage to Na, a man of war, named after a rock.
After the marriage, Lú spent her time fetching water, cooking and cutting wood for the hearth. One day, she placed a small-footed pot on the fire. The smoke of burned wood hung in the air, its taste lingering in Lú’s mouth. She peeked through the door to make sure no one watched, then waved her hand, clearing the smoke with her magic.
She sat on her straw bedding, staring at the food she cooked. The smell of stew made her stomach gurgle, but she wasn’t allowed to eat, not until Na did.
A squeaky voice caught Lú’s attention. She kneeled to look under the bedding where an extraordinary animal had hidden. It had the body of a squirrel and the ears of a hare, and it stared at her with its big, pitiful eyes.
"How goes it, little thing?" Lú asked. "You must be looking for food."
She grabbed a wooden ladle and scooped some stew for her new friend, who lapped it up. Its short, slurping noises made Lú giggle, but the laughter stopped when she heard someone outside. She hid her friend under the bedding and whispered, "Don’t make a noise."
Na pushed the door open and swaggered in, sniffing the air. "You used magic," he said in a hateful tone.
"O-only to c-clear the smoke." Lú put her hands on her abdomen. "It can hurt your child."
"I ordered you not to use magic," Na spoke through his gritted teeth.
"N-n-ot again, never again." She bowed.
"You think I’ll believe you?" He dumped his staff and grabbed her by the hair.
"I-I b-beg you," she cried. "Don’t beat me again. This time, the child will die."
Lú’s lips trembled. She stayed quiet, hoping to evoke her husband’s sympathy, but his blood boiled with anger. He seemed ready to smash her head at the wall, but instead, he laid her in bed and climbed on top.
Lú’s skin fidgeted. Her eyes teared up. Every time Na touched her, it hurt, but she had to endure the pain. What else could she do?
***
After the birth of her daughter, Lú’s husband went back to beating her. He didn’t even wait for her bleeding to stop. He lashed at her until she vomited blood, but no one could hear her wailing over the crying infant. Had anyone been listening, they would’ve told her to behave, to obey.
Fed up, exhausted, and frightened, Lú woke up one night, grabbed her child, and left. She fled to the other side of the oasis, to the Gudea tribe, where a friend lived. When the furious husband found out where she went, he gathered his family, and they crowded in front of the friend’s hut, threatening to burn it. "Let her out or you all die. Let her out or you all die."
"I brought you a lot of trouble, Jivaros," Lú apologized and bowed down to her friend’s husband, a charming thirty-six-year-old man dressed in a white, linen tunic.
"I promised to protect you," he said.
"All I want is to be safe with my daughter. Please, help me escape the oasis."
"First, I need to know..." He paused. "Are the rumors true?"
Lú bit her lips. She had heard the rumors but never confirmed them, fearing her family would bury her alive.
"Is it true, Lú?" he asked again. "Do you have the power to control time?"
"I do." Lú dropped her head. Back in these days, magic was an abomination. The more powerful a witch was, the more shame she held, and Lú was the most powerful of all—one out of five nobles in the oasis.
"Magnificent." Jivaros looked startled. "I have seen a lot of magic in my time, but yours is like nothing else."
Lú forced a grin. She never learned how to respond to a compliment.
"May I ask a favor of you?" Jivaros asked. "There’s a spell I need that only you can create."
"But using magic is forbidden," she said.
"Only in the oasis, it is," he argued and offered a charming smile. "You have nothing to fear, Lú. You have the power."
Lú was flattered by his words. She always knew she had power but was too ashamed to claim it. The idea of helping Jivaros appealed to her. In her heart, she wanted to rebel, to do something wrong, something unacceptable regardless of the consequences.
***
I woke up in a hospital bed, dressed in a patient gown and a brace that enveloped my broken ribs. Everything smelled of chloroform. Glancing through the window to my right, I realized I was still in Shady Mews. The sun sank behind the large mountain, leaving behind a gentle hue of blue and gold.
Trying to sit up, I moaned.
"Don’t move," Doyle told me. I hadn’t noticed him in the room. He was sitting on the small couch in the corner with his back slouched and his elbows resting on his knees, still wearing the same worn-out clothes he had in the cave.
"How’s Vanna?" I cried out.
"She lost a lot of blood," he said. "But the doctor said she’ll be all right."
"And do you know where Ebba is?"
"Ebba?" He seemed confused. "Why would she be anywhere but home?"
"I’m not sure." Earlier that day, Ebba had shown up in the cave, saved us from Zaros’s soulless army, and revealed she was my great-grandmother Lú, but Doyle appeared oblivious to all this.
"How about the woman?" I asked. "The one who was locked up behind the wall. Did she survive?"
Doyle pointed to my left, to the adjacent bed where the dark-haired woman slept.
"Who’s she?" I asked, but he evaded my question. Coming to his feet, he inched closer and pressed the call button attached to my bed.
"The nurse told me to call when you wake up," he said. "After the fight, you and Vanna were severely injured. The healing potion stopped the bleeding, but you refused to wake up."
"I see." Why didn’t Ebba save us? Does she have the power to stop time but not to heal our wounds? She also showed up out of nowhere. Can she teleport? And why would she disappear now? My mind was preoccupied.
"How are we doing now?" The nurse cruised into the room and set a tray of equipment on the table.
"I’m doing fine, thank you."
"You’ll do even better when you take your injection," she said with a cheery smile.
She drew a medication into a syringe and injected it into my arm.
"You’re finally awake?" the nurse asked the dark-haired woman, who was starting to wake up.
"Where am I?" she murmured, lids half-closed.
"You’re in Shady Mews Hospital," the nurse explained. "You’ve been in an accident, but you’re going to be okay." The nurse reached for the medical chart hanging on the bed and grabbed her pen to write. "I just need your name. We didn’t find any identification on you."
"Rose," the woman said as she sat up. "Rose Miles."
"Ms. Miles, would you like us to contact any of your family members?"
"My husband Zachery. I’ll give you his number."
Like the nurse, I also had questions for Rose, but she looked too unwell to answer. I turned to Doyle, who stole a few glances at her. Neither of us said anything until the nurse left, and it was Rose who spoke first. "You saved my life," she told Doyle. "You pulled me out of the fire."
He didn’t respond.
"That psychopath in the cave, he said..." Her cheeks turned red. "He said you’re my son."
"He lied," Doyle said. He straightened his back and walked away. Rose failed to hold back her tears.
The shock hit me like a ton of bricks. I didn’t believe what I had just heard. But who cared about me or how baffled I was? My heart tore for the weeping woman a few feet away.
Half an hour passed, and Rose and I never said a thing. From the window, I watched the street poles light up. The town seemed so small from where I was.
"Rose," Doyle’s voice spoke, but it wasn’t him at the door. A thin man with dark hair and black-framed eyeglasses walked in and took Rose in his arms. "I was worried sick," he said, holding her tightly.
Could this be? Doyle’s family? How is this possible? The day continued to puzzle me.
***
Vanna rested in bed with a blood bag connected to the IV in her arm. Kirby sat by her side. He had challenged himself to eat all the patient’s jello he could find.
"I’m sorry, Vanna," I said, lowering my head. "It’s all my fault. We should’ve retreated once we got Doyle, but I was reckless. "
"You made a mistake," Vanna replied in a faint voice. "But I’m fine. The doctors said I’ll have to stay here for two days."
"There’s no need. I can just use a spell."
"You can’t make my wounds disappear," Vanna said. "We wouldn’t want to look suspicious."
"Right." I pressed my finger to my chin. "Then, I’ll stay with you until you’re discharged."
"Go home and rest, Echo," Kirby broke in. "I’ll keep Vanna’s company. I’m her brother, after all."
"Okay, then." I paused. "By any chance, have any of you talked to Ebba since we came to Shady Mews?"
"I called home earlier, but she was out," Kirby said. "Why ask?"
"Just checking." I didn’t want to worry them.
After I left Vanna’s room, I called Grandpa, who sent a car for Doyle and me. His reaction was one more thing to worry about, given that I left home in one piece and went back wearing a cast.
***
"What are you making?" Doyle asked as he came into my lair. He had cleaned up and changed into fresh clothes, yet he seemed shaken and tense. I could tell from his eyes.
"An advanced healing potion," I replied as I struggled to stir the giant spoon."I found it in the books."
Like a gentleman, Doyle took over the brewing, letting me rest. As he stirred, bubbles formed in the green-colored potion, and the steam puffed out of it in small clouds. I winced at the acetone-like smell. Though I couldn’t imagine drinking that thing, I wasn’t willing to wear a brace for six weeks. The fight at the cave had drained my magic, so I couldn’t use the Grimoire to heal myself.
"Did you talk to Ebba?" Doyle asked. "You were worried about her."
"I wanted to talk to her when we came back, but I ended up hiding in here to avoid her. It’s a conversation I’m not ready for."
"I see." He continued to stir. We were side by side, our shoulders casually touching. It felt strange but nice. When did we become so close? I pressed my hand on my belly when I sensed a crawling sensation. Did I eat something funny?
Looking at Doyle closely, I realized it wasn’t food poisoning but butterflies that crept on me. He has such broad shoulders. I shook my head to dismiss the thought.
"Coming to think of it, it’s not just me who’s feeling down," I said. "Do you want to talk about what happened? The woman at the hospital—"
"It’s not about her," he said.
"What’s not about her?"
"She’s not the reason I’m feeling down." His hand went faster as he stirred.
Does he want to talk? Is this his way of reaching out? I felt relieved. "Then tell me what it is about," I said. "Whatever it is, I’ll understand."
Doyle and I talked. He opened up about what happened with Viessa, how he thought she betrayed him, and how he realized he was wrong. Heartbroken, he sought comfort in our conversation, and so did I. Talking to him gave me the courage to do what I had to do.
Doyle accompanied me when I went to see Ebba, who sat in the living room with her head hanging and hands wrapped in her lap. "Will you keep avoiding me forever?" I asked.
"I-I’m not a-avoiding you," she said as her chest rose and fell in a panic.
"Then let’s talk." I sat next to her. "Explain to me what happened in Shady Mews?"
"Ca-can we talk alone?"
"I’ve already told Doyle everything."
"Fine,"she said in a bitter tone, then waited for a few seconds. "I’m Lú, Echo. I’m the reason Jivaros is immortal, the reason for all the suffering. It’s a-all me."
"How’s this possible?" I asked. How could the mighty, powerful Lú be the helpless girl in front of me?
***
Written in every book of magic, a golden rule to which all witches abode: "One shall never defy the laws of nature." That didn’t stop Lú from fighting mortality. By helping Jivaoros, she earned her punishment and trudged in the never-ending desert with nothing but a thin cloak shading her from the sun.
She fell to her knees. Her mouth went so arid that she licked the sweat off her face. Not far away on the ground were the remains of a dead tree. She crawled over, hoping to find a stick to help her walk. But where would she go? Nothing would earn her husband’s forgiveness. Nothing would bring back her daughter that he took away. Her family disowned her and called her wicked, and even Jivaros, the beast she had created, turned against her.
Only when Lú lost everything did she recognize her powers. Leaning on a stick, she paved her own path, and for months, she passed by the villages, reaching out to every witch on the island.
"Let’s share our powers and stop the beast," she told them. Some pushed her away, others called her insane, but a few dared to join her.
On the Lone Mountain, the rebelling witches cast a spell and banished Jivaros to the Land of No Return. Lú reveled, thinking she had finally atoned, not knowing her sins would ripple into the far future.
***
"I had a dream...a vision," Ebba told us. "J-jivaros is coming back. It killed me." She paused to take in a breath. "I thought of my magic. Maybe I u-use it to go back in time before I met him."
"Witches can’t travel through time," Doyle interrupted.
"I did. I wanted to travel to the p-past, but my spell brought me to Herotreat Coast, ten years ago. Pa found me in the ocean. He saved my life and made me his d-daughter."
Ebba sobbed. No matter how many times she wiped off her tears, they kept coming down. "I was a fish out of water. I didn’t know where I was. I didn’t understand the words Pa used. And I lost my magic."
"But you got it back," I said.
"You gave it to me," she explained. "When you did the healing spell in the oasis."
I gaped in disbelief.
"I swear. I didn’t use it to hurt anyone. When the devils attacked, I tried to save Tara, but I was too weak."
"You don’t have your full powers?" Doyle asked.
Nodding, she tried to stop the sobs. "When I came to this time, I thought God forgave me. I thought it was my second chance, a chance to be happy." She giggled nervously. "But I don’t deserve one."
***
For ten years, Ebba had lived in hiding. She spent her days sailing and fishing with a father who cared, but she could never escape the past. It haunted her in her sleep. Every night, she saw herself beaten up and frightened. She saw her husband take away her newborn child, and Jivaros, the beast she created, shedding the blood of the innocent.
That was until Jivar found out about Ebba and sent his army to Herotreat Coast. "Walk with me," a blue-eyed swordsman said while dragging her to Jivar’s chamber. She stumbled and fell, smacking her nose into the cold floor.
When she raised her head, she was overwhelmed by the brightness of the throne. Sitting on it, a familiar person awaited her. "You’ve done well, Doyle," he said as he rose from his seat. Ebba’s heart skipped a beat when she heard his voice.
"Stand," he ordered her. She jumped to her feet and wrapped her shaky arms around herself. Jivar stared, studying her, and seemingly looking for something. She dropped her head to avoid his eyes.
"She is not a witch," he said.
"Viessa was surprised as well," Doyle replied.
"How can this be?" Jivar extended his hands to hold Ebba’s cheeks in his palms. His eyes flared red as he commanded, "Tell the truth."
***
Doyle and I listened as Ebba told her story. When Doyle brought her to the castle, Jivar commanded her to tell the truth of who she was, and as he did, his eyes flashed a ruby red color.
"Are you saying what I think you’re saying?" I asked, alarmed by an unlikely possibility.
"Jivar has the Magic of Minds," she affirmed.
I swallowed. Historians didn’t say much about the Magic of Minds, except that it was rare. Had they discovered its truth, their memories would’ve been altered.
"But you lied to Jivar," Doyle said. "You pretended to be Ebba. How could you lie if you’re compelled not to?"
"Because of this." Ebba rolled up her sleeve to show a tattoo on her left forearm. "This is my family’s secret, protection against locator spells and mind games. Jivaros doesn’t know about it."
"This is amazing," I said, running my fingers over the marking. "Can you do this ritual? We can use protection."
She shook her head. "The only element I use is time, and even this takes more power than I have."
Silence fell. My mind drifted to the day I met Ebba, and everything made sense. At the castle, when Jivar sensed my presence, he called me Lú. He didn’t believe she was just a fisherman’s daughter. And when I did my Time Freeze spell, everything in the castle froze, except for Ebba. Because she had the Magic of Time, my amateurish spell didn’t affect her. It gave her a chance to escape.
"I can’t do the protection ritual," Ebba said. “But I’m the one who created the immortality spell for Jivaros. He wanted more time, so I gave it to him."
"Why does that matter now?" Doyle asked.
A wide grin crossed my face. "Because if you can create a spell, you can reverse it."
