The Cursed Turns
By Erin Mills
In the depths of the Earth, there is a craving for blood. For rotten flesh and exhausted
bones. It’s the way of things, the Elder knows. Worms need something to wander through
and daisies need to eat. She used to ponder what it was about her that the Earth couldn’t
accept; or what was so worthy of her long existence. Not everyone can live forever. Perhaps
it’s anger, love, or anticipation for something that tempts the Earth to keep them glued
above ground like this, watching its turn far too many times.
The lough is curiously quiet and, having waited longer than usual, the Elder doesn’t mind
having an eavesdropper on this reunion. On this turn her little sister’s taller, so they stand at
the same height. Cas comes back slightly off-kilter every time she wakes. A few more
freckles, a little more wildness in her hair, a disposition just this side of arrogance. Always
ethereal. Her skin glows from the inside out, made from the silvery waters of the lake she
slept in. The Elder is more earthly, herself.
There are tears, this time, as they sit between worlds on the bank of the lough. Wet patches
on their shoulders and the back of their long coats.
“How long?” Cas leans back on strong hands, damp grass weaving through the calluses. Each
of her movements was ever so deliberate, ever so loud. But the resurrection takes its toll. Her
memories are still settling back into their nooks. It’s a curious process, how her mind seems
to realise its old age, slow, then hurtle.
She wishes she could keep her sister waiting, just to spite her, but the pause is barely there.
“Almost two centuries.”
A huff of air, but Cas doesn’t speak. Even in silence, they have their same old rhythm. But her
sister hates the quiet, so she fills it for her. “I’ve been all right. Done a lot. Moved around. I went to the Taj Mahal.” Because Cas had wanted to go. There’s a laughing,
irritated flick in her brow that means your arse, you went without me.
“And how else did you occupy the boring time without me?”
“Well,” she drawls and hooks one leg over the other. Where to begin? “I’ve been all over.
Always came back home, though, you know me. But I’ve lived. Been in love, I think.”
“With what?” Cas curls forward.
“With everything, I suppose. Life.” She’d had centuries to learn how.
In her first life, before any considerations of duty, she had dwelled on a farm. It was a
crevice of a place, in a lull of hills. The world was all green, there; emerging in trees, soil,
water. As a girl she’d been scared of the rain, worried that with too much of it, it would fill
up the gaps in the hills and they’d have to live underwater. She stood by a window in every
storm, protecting her family with all her will. And Mother would scoff.
One such day drew Cas out for a game, despite the cold, and where her sister went so did
she. It started only as a pitter-patter, as they ran to the lough, scaring their neighbour’s
chickens and racing them on the way. They snapped off branches, which were soon swords.
“I wish we could have real swords,” Cas had lamented, “I’d make a wonderful warrior, you
know, if I didn’t have to be here all day.”
So the Elder had flicked her sandy hair away and stuck hands on hips and scolded, just like
Mother, “We’ve so much to do, and you want to run off? The land is ripe, the animals are
well. Mother has made it so.”
Her sister let out a rather petulant, theatrical groan that only those young enough can
muster, and with a lowered voice in poor imitation of her own, “And one day it will come
upon us to make it so, to master such powers and continue our legacy.”
“Oi!” She shrieked, whacking her sister with the stick-sword, “She only says that for our
sake. Our kind is dwindling. Shall we practice our spellwork?”
Of course, Cas refused and threw a foxglove gauntlet on the dampening soil. But the Elder
had been itching to practice, so it didn’t take too much convincing. Neither was gifted, not
as their Mother, a natural-born witch, wanted them to be.
So, even as raindrops got heavier, the sisters stayed, mustering just enough of themselves
to make each spell utterly pathetic. When their mother came to find them through the
onslaught of water, a soaked-through shawl clutching to her, she took a moment to observe
the children’s work. Twitching, surly muscles leaped around in her cheek, shouting at them
from around her downturned mouth. The Elder could never stand the disappointment. Cas
could, even on the occasions her limbs would fold up and she shrunk, angry. Her disdain for
her daughters had only grown the older they got.
That’s what started to kill their mother. Perhaps the rain, perhaps the resentful shards that
cut her insides. It was a long, long illness, that sucked away her spirit, her magic. The last of
herself was split in three: a curse, and two daughters.
By the lough. Grey leaves, eyes, water, hair, skin. Mother had bellowed the spell, her voice
ripped from underground dregs and gripped their hands until they were all joined. Nails dug
blood. Her last breath made awful promises of disjointed eternity. And then she was a
crazed heap on the ground.
By the time they understood the knot that had been tied, it was undoable. The Elder could
only watch each wrinkle carve itself onto Cas’ face, while she remained immune to time.
That first life was the longest when seconds and hours still seemed important. But they
kept days close, with each other. Both got frailer and emptier when they realised. One would
die.
When she did, the world went quiet; right in the center. Everything turned molten,
and much more than she could handle. Every breath the Elder caught came out a sob. She
had failed her sister and was utterly alone. Surely Mother had a reason. She had a legacy, a
duty to their kind. It was like gravity, back then, and her bones crumpled with its strength.
Until a turn spun again.
One would wait. The Elder only knew when the lough brought her sister back. Cas swayed
like a ghost on the shores, alive again, a see-through shell. Almost a day went by before she
remembered everything. She woke to wretched pleas and protective arms.
“Morning,” Cas laughed, exhaled, and simply got up. Easy, for her. A few months later, she
left, traveling, uncaring of any purpose. The Elder followed, anyway. That was the way, for
much of their existence. One is always alive, one waking and sleeping over and over. The Elder
wondered, in every turn, how her sister would treat life. If Cas would ever get fast enough
to be away from her. If she could do what the Elder couldn’t and that’s why they were both
still here. Cas could’ve been a great witch, just as Mother wanted, had the fancy taken her,
had she been able to convince her. She could command the sun itself.
Of course, the Elder tried to rally the witches, between each turn when Cas had aged and
died again, asleep in the lake. But new mortals brought with them a hatred of her people, a
hunt for her kin, and soon their existence was only a fable. It was only the two of them,
now. It always had been.
Only, Cas couldn’t get far enough from her. She was just as temporary as mortals. That’s
what was filled in the space between them as they waited on the decaying wood of the pier.
Somewhere between the doubt and relief that came with every one of Cas’ reincarnations,
the Elder had felt herself grow bitter. As ever, they stood side by side, facing ahead. The
boat would be here soon.
“What do you want to do when we get there?” Cas yanked on a pair of woolen gloves and
bounced on the balls of her feet, jostling their pile of bags so that it threatened to topple.
The Elder hummed. “Whatever you want. Like you say, we’ll see what life has for us.” A
wave of her hands and a hop in her tone and its Cas’ bravado. She bends to fix their bags.
“You know, you could go somewhere you want to, this time.”
“What does that mean?”
Her sister sighed, eyes darting. “Only – you don’t have to follow me every time. You can get
back to your work.”
“My work is done.” Failed, but done. All she could do now was make sure her sister was
all right.
Cas was still facing the vacant, foggy sea, arms slumped at her sides. “Except it isn’t. Here
you are, with me.”
She stared at her. She wasn’t here out of duty. Without Cas, she’d be hollow. “That’s not
true.”
“Please. You wouldn’t be still trying to protect me from everything if Mother hadn’t tortured
us with obligation and legacy.” They hadn’t talked about Mother for such a long time.
“She didn’t torture us! She was only harsh when she cared.” The Elder didn’t have quite as
much certainty as her voice.
“Sister,” Cas sounded far too genuine, too calmly angry, all thunder, no lightning. Not
herself at all, and when she looked at her, her expression betrayed the same. These were
practiced words. “She hated us. She cursed me with purgatory. That’s what that lake is. I’m
half awake, in there, between life and death. And every time it brings me back, the world
has left me behind. You’re always different.”
“Me? Don’t you think I’m cursed with purgatory as well?” The boat glided into view.
“At least you’re alive.” Cas grabbed her bag.
“Alone!” She tried to bite in her shout. “Even when you’re here. You leave me behind, as
well.”
The boat stopped against the pier, wood grazing wood, and Cas made halting steps forward,
turning enough to huff, “Coming?”
“No.” And her eyes, the colour of soil, met water in her sister’s.
Those dreadful seconds, they mattered.
“Fine. If I’m not enough for you.” All at once she was on the boat and swallowed up by fog.
But the moment Cas was out of view, a violent fear tore open her chest and ripped out her
lungs. It was like Cas’ first death, grieving and lonely and she wasn’t coming back. She stayed
at the pier long after sunset.
The Elder became everything, in the between years. All the mess in her head could escape
through her hand, in endless vocations. When she’d mastered portraits, she’d painted her
sister, again and again. One of her poised to run back turned and faceless. One of her
features opened up by laughter. One of her flying hands tells tales. Now mortals gawk at
them from behind glass.
When the new countries go to war, she goes to protests. When another cycle of witch hunts
arises, for these mortals and those, she tries to save them. It’s the work she was meant
for.
And when the lough calls her back years later, she knows her sister has lived and died and is
ready to come back. They both are. Time has been so very cruel to them, in lacking and
abundance, but may relent now. The Earth has finally taken heed of them, she senses, and
will soon let them in, disregarding their curse. They’ll be tucked into the ground with a care
that Mother had never shown. Cas embraces her, cries into her shoulder, and mumbles
something about a home, a sister and I understand, now. So she hugs me back in silence me too, and inhales a breath of their final life.
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