The Unearthing

My late mother told me just a month ago to be sure to keep my promise to her of never leaving our home. I wasn’t there when she left for the hospital, and I wasn’t there when she was no doubt pronounced dead. She left experiencing shortness of breath and chest pain and must have known there was a possibility of her not returning to our shack behind the city. She somehow looked more anxious than usual so, maybe I knew deep down that she wouldn’t return either.

I never was good at keeping my promises. I remember getting into trouble as a child for sneaking out to take glimpses of the world outside of our cramped walls. Once, I actually did take three steps out the door to feel the new texture of cobblestone on my feet and actually see the stars. My mother never screamed at me more than that day and I still remember how terrified and angry she was with the tears rolling down her face as she gripped me tight.

I was always told how special I was. Even my earliest memories were of my mother telling me I wasn’t like other kids and that she wished everyone could see how amazing I am. When I was four, we had our first “big girl talk” and I was told I wouldn’t be leaving the house for a long, long time.

“Eirian,” my mother had said while brushing my tangled hair. “You know Mama loves you and would do anything to protect you, right?” The brush slowed.

“Yes,” I replied, not looking up from my paper dolls.

“Well, I think it’s time I tell you a little about where we live.” She put the brush down and circled around me, sitting on the floor to meet my eyes. “Azura is a very dangerous place. I want you to be safe, and there are bad people outside. You have to promise me that you will always stay inside.” She had never looked more serious nor been so tense before.

“Okay,” I said, cautiously. “But Mama, why do you go outside at night time then?”

She chuckled through a straight face, running her fingers through my hair and petting my cheek. “Because, my dear, I have to leave to make sure that you’re well fed and that I have thread to make you clothes to wear.” The answer seemed to satisfy me in the moment but, as I grew, that conversation had become the subject of many an argument. I wanted to be rebellious, I wanted to feel free, I wanted to feel like a person instead of a caged animal.

Now look at me, a woman in her twenties sneaking out of an empty home just to feel sunlight on her skin. I still look back occasionally, expecting to be yelled at and tugged back in by my coattails. Then, the weight of loneliness creeps over me. The realization that I may never get to speak to someone again is enough to drive me mad, even though it’s only been just over three weeks. I exhale and carefully make my way back through the door, being sure to avoid dragging my feet and closing the door too roughly.

Making my way to the pantry, I retrieve a can of chicken. The stock pile is getting low. My mother was planning to expand it by building a shed outside, but alas it never happened. We both thought she had a lot more time left. She was relatively young but, I suppose not taking yourself to any kind of doctor for routine checkups makes illness sneak up on you a lot easier.

I muscle through the can of mush, swallowing dangerously large mouthfuls just to get through it as quickly as possible, and then throw the can out the window and over the wall like I’d seen my mother do with garbage my entire life. It takes a heavy throw, but there is supposedly a dumpster on the other side of us. It definitely smells of festering trash when the windows are open, that’s for sure. I sit on the low sofa, which I always call the potato couch due to the hand-sewn burlap bags it was born from, and work on feathering my arrows. Mama gave me my grandfathers bow when I turned ten and taught me how to make arrows like she did for her father when she was a child. Ever since, that’s what takes up my ample free time. I sit and form rocks into arrowheads, peel bark off of sticks and carve notches into them with my dagger, and use glue and string to assemble them. It’s become a therapeutic practice for me, as it’s all very repetitive. I’ve got four bags of arrows in case I ever needed them but, the truth is, I have no idea how to actually shoot one. Mama taught me how to hold the bow and how to string the arrow, but I was never allowed outside to learn the most important part. She always said that if we ever needed them, they would be good to have. I guess she knew how to shoot, but never thought it’d be good for me to. That’s the real reason I was given the dagger. Dawned with a red rose on the end of the handle, it was intended to be my self-defense tool and I’ve had plenty of practice wielding it. I’ve never had to use it on another person, thankfully, but I’ve learned all of the different ways I can protect myself with it and have used it to gut fish for Mama.

I sit and make a few arrows to try and calm my racing thoughts to no avail. I can’t stop thinking about the food shortage, about Mama, about how quiet the house is now, and about the fact that Mama made me promise not to ever leave while not giving me enough of a stockpile to last me even three months. I start making a plan, then, for how I’m going to manage to sneak around in plain sight. I grab a newly emptied potato sack, my dagger, some copper from the hollowed out brick in the floor of my and Mama’s room, and a tangled up wig from Mama’s trunk under our blankets. I sit down on the makeshift bed, made from sewn cotton stuffed with old and tattered clothes on top of miscellaneous boxes, and brush out the wig. I think I remember how Mama did this. I braid my hair in a french braid, making it as flat on my head as possible, and then slip on and adjust the brown, curly wig until I can’t see any stray hairs poking through when I look in the small mirror. Lastly, I retrieve the special glasses given to me by my grandmother, and look at myself one last time. I don’t recognize the reflection that’s supposed to be me, which is a good sign but, a shocking one. I’ve never touched Mama’s wigs, never even put on the glasses. They were given to me in case I was ever around people outside of my family, but Mama always thought they weren’t reliable. What choice do I have now, though?

I was born in the privacy of my grandparents’ home. My family never wanted anyone outside of themselves to know of my existence. Not doctors, not neighbors, and definitely not the council. My Mama and I had to leave my grandparents when I was still too young to be able to remember them. She told me that we used to live in a big house just outside of the busiest part of the city, told me about my grandparents’ lives and her life when she was young, and told me all about Azura before the council became a tight-knit group of dictators. It seems more like a dream than a reality, and it always hurts to know that life could have been so much more than this. It is what it is, I suppose. I’m just thankful that my grandparents at least looked out for my future enough to supply Mama with some heirlooms and some helpful technology for emergencies like this.

I can tell by the crack in the wall that the sun is setting, amber light is shining through and casting a sliver of gold onto the blanket beside me. I should go now, before it gets too dark to see where I’m going. Still, I can barely lift my body off of the bed and haul the sack to my shoulder. My palms sweat as I lift the bar that locks our front door, and I step outside with a purpose for the first time. I feel like an infant learning to walk for the first time as I struggle to maintain quiet steps with shoes that feel more like a hindrance than a comfort.

I just need to find the corner store that Mama always talks about, get in, grab some non-perishable food, and get back home. I think to myself on repeat, fearing that I might lose all of my false confidence if I stop repeating it and really think about the stakes of what I’m doing. I find a small gap in the walls that surround our shack, and manage to squeeze my way through until I arrive at a dead end. I blindly push against the walls beside and in front of me, when I feel that a piece of wood in front of me is loose. When I push the board and it swings open like a door, I’m met with a less narrow alley and a bright light at the end of it. From where I stand, it seems to be the last place that I’m fully out of sight because I can see shadows of people walking, but can’t make out any details; likely they can’t see me either from back here. My knees feel like they will give out at any moment, and my body tries to ignore my brains pleas to move forward. After a moment of deep breathing, I find the courage to start slowly walking toward the light. My steps are getting louder on the new, harder ground and I begin to hear a chorus of footsteps of men, women, and children who were undoubtedly never told to watch the volume at which they walked. I quickly shuffled out onto the smooth stone road and stood off to the side, assessing the new and shocking environment I found myself in. Lanterns full of fire illuminated the ground and walls of buildings, making the ground light though the sun was halfway set. People were dressed in luxurious cotton and silk with ornate accessories. Women wearing jewelry like I had only ever seen in picture books. Children running and playing with one another when I was only ever allowed to sit indoors and play quietly with no idea that other children even existed in real life. Mama spoke of a wondrous life before the dictatorship, but the life going on out here seems just as wondrous. I almost forgot that it was real and that I needed to be quick. I can see a couple of people eyeing me in my peripheral vision, which made a bead of sweat form on my forehead. I walk a bit farther, attempting to blend in with my surroundings, when a mysterious woman starts waving me over to her.

“Veryn! I haven’t seen you for ages, love! How have you been?” the chipper woman exclaims. I want to disappear. Mama’s name was Terrin, not Veryn. Does this woman have the wrong person in mind, or did Mama have a pseudonym? What do I do, what do I do?

“Hello! Sorry, I’ve been so busy with housework, I haven’t had a chance to come pay you a visit. I’m well,” I try to impersonate Mama’s voice as best I can and find myself talking a bit too quietly. I fear that the woman will keep me stuck in this conversation for ages as she gives me a confused look. Please don’t ask questions, please met me leave.

“Are you sure? Your voice is so hoarse and I don’t remember you ever wearing glasses. How is your health?” She moves her hand to try and pat my arm, but I jerk it away.

“Oh, everything’s fine. These are my reading glasses. I just forgot that I was wearing them,” I forced one of Mama’s chuckles. “I was on my way to the corner store, actually, so I’ve got to run. I’ll see you later.” I don’t let her reply before I walk away, but she calls after me anyway.

“Wait! You’re going the wrong way, though!” I freeze and turn to meet her gaze again, and I fear she’s starting to look suspicious of me. I smile and thank her before hurrying in the other direction. The daylight is about completely gone because of these setbacks, and I desperately just want to be back in the comfort of home.

When I walk into the small corner store, a man behind the counter gives me a nod and I thank my lucky stars that he doesn’t say anything to me. I’m alone in the store and the silence brings me more comfort than ever before. I curse myself for ever wanting noise to fill it with as I grab anything that can fit in my sack. There were so many different kinds of food that I’d never seen before. Fruits and vegetables already sliced, barrels of meats that I had never heard of, glass bottles full of herbs and spices that I had only ever seen come home in single portion paper bags. I wonder where Mama usually got our food if things are this nice at the store. I put all of my goods on the counter and waited for the silent man to tell me what I owed.

While he counts and writes things down on his pad of paper, I hear the door creak open to see none other than the strange woman from before. Why me?

“Sorry to bother you again, but I just wanted to catch you before you left,” she starts, approaching me. My heart is beating out of my chest. The man behind the counter, as if he doesn’t even realize someone else has come in, interrupts.

“I would need 9 copper for all of this, ma’am, unless you have another barter.” The room is spinning and I can feel my face getting hot. Everything is going wrong. How is it this difficult navigating something that should be so simple? How did Mama do this every week?

“Can I put some things back? I don’t have anything more than five. Sorry,” I tell him. He gives a quiet sigh and shrugs as I shamefully put the potatoes that I grabbed back.

“Veryn,” the woman calls to me like I’ve somehow forgotten she’s standing there.

“Yes?” I ask, a bit more snappy than I meant to. She raises an eyebrow at me and I try to take a deep breath even though I just want to run away and never try this again. I think starving would be easier.

“I don’t know what’s going on with you, but I’m worried. You’ve been gone for over a month, your voice sounds funny, you suddenly have reading glasses which you’ve never used before, and you’re getting all red and flustered trying to buy groceries. Do you need help with anything?” I look up to the ceiling, holding back tears, and I find myself yelling if only so I don’t cry.

“I’m fine! Please just let me buy my groceries and get home!” Silence falls over the room again. The man still seems unbothered, but I can tell I struck a cord with this woman. She says nothing, but leaves the store and I let out a sigh of relief.

I manage to get my total down to five coppers, though I now understand why Mama kept so many cans of chicken in the stockpile. I want variety, but variety is a luxury that I cannot afford if I want to make these coppers last any longer period of time. I lug the now heavier sack on my back and retrace my steps to get back to the dark alley. There’s no sign of that woman from earlier, thankfully, so I finally let my guard down enough to release the tears that I’d been holding in. It was much harder to get the fuller sack through the narrow section of walls leading back to the shack in the square, but I managed to get it through and into the house. I replace the makeshift lock on the door, and unload my haul. It’s fully dark out now and I just can’t wait to lay down for the night. I remove my disguise, replace all of the items where I found them, and get ready to nest into bed for the night when I hear what sounds like a crunch. I never hear anything in the square, just the soft sound of wind coming through the cracks in the shack. I wonder if it’s some sort of animal that’s gotten itself lost. A feral cat made its way to our little square once, so I wonder if it’s another temporary friend. I don’t have anything to offer it other than water, but I get up and grab a bucketfull anyway.

When I open the door, I’m face to face with another person. That woman from earlier. She gasps and I freeze, dropping the water. As she tries to turn and run away, my eyes glow in the night and I produce an illusion so powerful that I hope she thinks she’s dreaming by its end. The tiny square seemingly turns into a castle and I fill her field of vision with hundreds of other people. I give her smells of gunpowder and sweat and start to push her toward the small opening in the wall while she’s disoriented. She screams as I shove her back through the door-like wood panel and rush back inside to grab my dagger. If she dares to try and come back, I’ll give her a warning she won’t soon forget. I don’t see her come back, but I hear a loud thud. I cautiously crack open the wood panel to see that she’s ran head-first into one of the brick walls on the sides of the alley and her head is bleeding. I softly nudge her with my foot and, when she doesn’t respond to the movement, I quietly drag her closer to the main road. I keep us hidden, but I get her as far away from the entrance to the square as possible. When I’m satisfied with the distance between her and the door, I make a run for it. Once inside, I pick up all of the heaviest rocks and other objects that I can and lug them to the crack in the wall. I wedge another piece of wood into the crack that can be used to open the door, and use all of the heaviest rocks first to build a sort of barracade that will stop anyone if they manage to find and remove that slab of wood somehow.

I am having a panic attack that doesn’t go away even after I finish, go back inside, lock the door, and hide under the blankets. I miss my Mama, and I know that she would know what to do in this situation. I just hope that I did what she would have done. Even more so, I hope that that woman forgets what she found behind the wall and doesn’t report me to the council. The thought keeps me up into the late hours of night even though I’m exhausted from creating a multifaceted illusion, the first illusion I've made in years and the first one I've ever made as a defense since I became aware of my power at five.