Chapter Twenty-one

When Pixie arrives at the Huldu village she has cuts along her face and body from twigs that whipped her as she ran. She is panting heavily and trying to speak to the group who gather quickly; they have been waiting for her.

“It’s okay, dear,” Edna says, “Just catch your breath…”

But Pixie does not want to wait, “we must…someone must…I will…” The more Pixie tries to speak, the harder it is to talk, so she relents and catches her breath. It is not until what feels like an eternity later that words sprint off her tongue, each chasing the previous, as Pixie tells them what she knows. “The spell is already coming towards us in the wind, we don’t have much time, one of us has to willingly sacrifice themself and everybody else must agree to it. I’ll do it, I’ll sacrifice myself!”

“Absolutely not!” Twynne says. “I’ll do it!”

In fact, everyone will do it. There are multiple voices, all fighting to be heard over the others, each making a case for why that person should do it.

Pixie is shocked by the most unexpected of dilemmas. The cyclops was dead wrong. Finding someone who would be willing to sacrifice themselves is not impossible. And the easy part is not everyone else agreeing to be saved. The dilemma is agreeing on who will sacrifice themself, and this seems to be impossible in the few precious moments they have to make a decision.

“You all don’t understand,” Pixie says, “the spell won’t just kill you. It’ll torment you, first. It’s a fate worse than death. And if at any moment you relent, you’ll have lost. We’ll all be dead. I’ve been mentally preparing for since I’ve found out. So, I’m best prepared!”

But this does not settle any questions in the mind of the others. The news does lesson the intensity of the widespread insistence, though, as now each creature must be sure they will not relent to the torture and doom the others. But the arguing continues.

Edna watches the crowd as they argue. There is no anger about the dispute. It is the loveliest and yet the most illogical and dangerous argument she has ever witnessed. One might say, in this moment, there is too much love to do anyone any good. But too much love is a contradiction. It is impossible. What there really is, in this moment, is foolishness and fear—fear of living in shame for allowing someone else to suffer for one’s own sake, and foolishness because no one seems to be discerning the situation for what it is. Edna knows, finally, why she is here.

“Stop!” she yells. “Everybody be quiet a second, please.” She puts her right arm high into the air, as though she still holds the cane; as though she is still the long-anticipated savior of Storia. “You are all being fools! You’re gonna get every one of us killed! I’m here at the age of 85, rather than as a child, and there must be a reason. We just haven’t known what the reason is yet. But now I know. I must be the sacrifice. I’ve lived a long life, and I’ve faced many struggles. So maybe I’m best capable of enduring the torture without relenting. I don’t know if I am, actually. I’ve never been brave. I’ve been afraid my whole life. But I have to trust that I’ll be given the strength I need. I’m sure you’re all brave, and capable of withstanding the pain. But, if I weren’t here, you’d all die arguing, and I’m not gonna let that happen. I’m not trying to be the hero. But it has to be me. I know it now. It’s part of the prophecy; this is how I save Storia.

Everyone relents. If nothing else, she is right about one thing; continuing to argue is going to get everyone killed. Cellu feels shame for not being as outspoken as Edna. If anyone should die it should be him, he thinks, and he could make a good case, just as Edna has done, since he’s the one who betrayed them. But he fears that he’s not strong enough to withstand the torture; his dark past so recent. So, though he feels cowardly, he bravely and wisely holds his tongue; even with the worry that others might think him selfish. In reality, everyone else is having similar thoughts about themselves.

“Get the fans!” Edna yells, and the large fans that had been quickly fastened together with an assortment of materials, while they waited for information, are raised, ready. Pixie goes inside one of the dwellings, where Kadiatu has been waiting obediently, staying out of the anticipated chaos, and she tells the child what is happening as best as she can with as little scary detail as possible, so that Kadiatu, too, knows about the plan, and can agree to let Edna stand in for her. Kadiatu has heard many stories about brave individuals from her village who lost their lives protecting others during the war in her country. So she understands what is happening. And it is her innocence that accepts the gift for what it is, without feeling shame for doing so.

With the fans now lifted in the air, Edna positions herself ahead of all the others. It has not been made clear what she must do to inform this spell that it can attack only her, so she stands like a mother hen with her arms out—well, one arm out. And she stares boldly towards the enemy’s camp. It is just as she gets in position that a thick dead grey cloud of smoke begins to roll towards them from the trees. This time the potion is not camouflaged by the wind; it is too alive to come unseen.

Those with fans stand behind Edna in a semi-circle, bowed away from her like a curved flock of birds with her at the head. The rest who do not have fans stand in the middle of the bow or are inside the cave directly behind them, with Kadiatu. The fans wave up and down with consistency, creating movement in the air. No one knows what to expect—they all fear they will have to watch while Edna is tormented to death. So they wave the fans vigorously in hopes that the full potion can be sent back without harming Edna.

Edna is afraid, too. She has had paralyzing nightmares, throughout her life, so she knows what terror feels like. She assumes that what she is about to experience is something like those nightmares, but worse. She has also experienced periods of depression in which the darkness of those night terrors seemed to hover about her during the days as a constant reminder of itself; of what she cannot escape. Edna fears that this potion is that darkness—that it is the terror that always hovered during her seasons of depression, and that paralyzed her as she slept—and that it will now finally be able to unleash itself upon her; as it has always threatened to do.

No-one has anticipated correctly.

Much of the potion is sent back in the direction it came, but that does not lessen the intensity of the smoke that makes it through. And, though Edna stands as the sacrifice, the cloud meanders through the crowd, first. It pulses against the bodies of the others, trying to tear into them, but there is an invisible barrier. The others are paralyzed by the cloud with the fear that Edna is used to. But like in Edna’s nightmares, it cannot consume them as it wants to. So, it eventually relents, and focuses its full energy on Edna.

Edna’s eyes are open when the cloud encompasses her. She sees countless faces full of hate, each one baring its teeth and gnashing at her, like vicious dogs. She closes her eyes, but the faces are still there, filling the black void of sightlessness. Then, as if she is looking into a mirror in the black of her closed eyes, she sees the cloud of faces throbbing and pulsating against her, tearing away at an invisible barrier, and then into her flesh.

As her flesh is ripped apart, piece by piece, her heart beats wildly as it anticipates its destruction. Edna faces what she feared she would—the nightmare has come alive and is finally able to accomplish what it has threatened for so long—yet, she is, at the same time, not afraid. It is as if her body and her spirit have separated, and the fear remains only in her body. And she can see the horror that has terrorized her most of her life for what it is; pitiful and powerless. It may be capable of destroying her flesh, but it cannot destroy her. Her spirit begins to laugh, maddening the legion of faces that gnash at her violently as they try to consume the entirety of her being.

In reality, they cannot even consume her flesh. Edna is not alone, and it is not she who is the sacrifice. The image of her shredded body blends into another image, and now there is what looks like the surface of water that has been disturbed by the touch of a finger. As the water calms, she sees herself again; whole. And someone is standing next to her. She feels that someone’s presence. It feels like the person who called her forth, in her wonderful dream not long ago.

What the enchanters were not aware of, as they prepared their deadly potion with incantations, and planned the antidote they thought useless, is that the antidote was already in effect. There had already been a sacrifice, and it was a sacrifice to end all sacrifices. That sacrifice took place on earth, in the middle east, many years ago. But that is a story that deserves, and indeed has, its own book.

The life of this spell is like that of a fruit fly. Once it encroaches upon its victims it either gorges itself to death or starves to death. Those who have been fanning the smoke away only discover that their arms are still in motion after the spell has starved itself to death.

Through the dying hateful faces that fill the smoke, Edna begins to see again. Her vision is blurry like the liquid air above a campfire, but she is alive and whole. And she knows she will never fear those nightmares again.

At the enchanters’ circle, where the enemies still grunt and groan, dance and drum, and churn the long heavy sticks in the large cauldron, the muddy sludge at the bottom–the throbbing heartbeat of what remains of the potion—begins to thud and splatter. The drumming and dancing halts, and the enchanters’ faces come out of their trance to fix their eyes in terror at the work of their own hands. The smoke they had sent away is returning to them. A smile rolls on the surface of the grey cloud before it swarms the camp and gorges itself to death.