Blue Rose, Part I

Marietta loomed over the cauldron at the fireplace. The various herbs and water were boiling together. A stranger might have called it witchcraft, but her mother called it healing tricks that anyone, witch or not, would be able to do. That is, if they knew the recipe and chant. “Serpum tio wynth ov teo quancem,” Mari said. “Heal this sister of the light.” Mari would have giggled, or at least smiled, were it not for the reason she had to say it. Her mother was in the next room in their tiny cottage, coughing up blood and making horrible moaning noises. And it was her thirty-first birthday, too. What a way to celebrate, Mari thought glumly.1

Despite the fact that Mari’s mother was the town healer and Mari had grown up learning herbs, chants, and concoctions, Mari had never seen such a case as this. Her mother seemed almost—inhuman, as if something was possessing her. Mari didn’t know what to do, and had simply thrown random herbs into the cauldron, hoping it would turn out right. A little burdock root, a few sprinkles of cayenne, and oregano for the cough. Mari sighed. None of this could possibly make her mother’s condition any worse, so it was worth a try.2

The smell floated throughout the three-room house, a spicy smell that made one’s nose tickle. It was refreshing, though, from the smell of sickness. Mari had smelled sickness many times, but never had to live with it. She helped her mother willingly with other patients, because she knew when she got home, everything would be back to normal. Well, not this time. There was no escape.3

“Serpum tio wynth ov teo quancem,” Mari repeated, hoping to make the medicine go quicker. She even tried to blow the fire upwards towards the cauldron. “This is ridiculous,” She finally mumbled, and took the cauldron out from the fireplace. She quickly scooped up some of the mix while it was still boiling with a ladle, and half ran, half walked to her mother’s room.4

As she came in, she almost spilled the stuff on herself as she accidentally stepped on a rat. “Shoo!” She whispered harshly, not knowing if her mother was asleep. She had been quiet for the last few minutes. I hope there is still time, Mari thought to herself. If she is gone…she shook her head. I won’t think on that. Of course mother will get better! Mari walked over to the bedside. “Mother?” She said quietly.5

Her mother’s eyes opened, if only a little, and she turned her head towards her daughter. Suddenly, she grabbed Mari’s wrist and gripped it so hard, that Mari gasped in surprise. “Mari,” She whispered hoarsely. “You will have to be the town healer now. But…but…before you do that, would you do something for me? Something I was never able to do.”6

“I’ll do anything, Mother! What is it?”7

“Find the Blue Rose. And take my neaklace—a rotting corpse has no need for such fineries.”8

“No…” but her mother had loosened her grip, and laid her head back down on the straw-stuffed pillow. She finally looked at peace. Suddenly, Mari grew angry. “No!” She said, standing up. “You can’t leave me like this! I have no one except you! And you weren’t through teaching me!” She threw the ladle of who-knows-what across the room, and steamed crawled up the wooden wall.9

She sat down on the floor beside her mother. “Take my necklace,” She had said, but Mari couldn’t do it. Mother had never taken that neaklace off, not since Mari was born. As much as her mother had frowned upon anything expensive and useless, she had cherished the rose necklace. She said it had been passed from generation upon generation of Akham women. Mari hadn’t believed that, since the gold was shining as if it were brand new. She always thought her mother had made that as an excuse to have just one nice thing. Or maybe her father had given it to her.10

Mother always spoke of Father in a cold tone, Mari said to herself. But she told me that you can’t simply ignore the past, and she would tell me the story of my father. They had grown up together in a town not far from here—where that town was, Mari did not know—and had fallen in love by the time they were twelve. Or so Mother had thought. Though they never married, Mother bore a girl—little Marietta, the apple of her mother’s eye—when she was sixteen. Father had grown frightened when he realized he was having a bastard child. After all, he was engaged to another woman. He refused to even look at the baby, and cursed his lover endlessly. Of course, Mari’s mother knew those curses could do nothing. She, on the other hand, could curse him, and did so when he insulted the as-of-then unborn child. She yelled a curse in the ancient tounge, and his body suddenly burst into flames. She remembered his screams until the day she died. At age thirty-one.11

Of course, Mari and her mother were chased out of town. Mother always hissed with anger when she told this part. “People are afraid of what they do not understand,” She said. “Yes, I burnt his body with a spell, but before that, I had never used my powers for anything but healing, and I never did again. They ignored all the times I had healed them and their families, and only remembered the one time I gave a man what he deserved. And that, my darling,” Mari thought to herself in her mother’s tone, “Is the story of me and your father.”12

She sniffed and realized her face was wet and her nose was stuffy. “I have to go find that Blue Rose,” She said to the pesky rat running to and fro around the room. “Maybe if I find it…well, who knows what will happen? I may have the life Mother always wished for. I won’t be feared by others like she was. Maybe I won’t feel so alone.” These words comforted her enough to allow her to gather a few things, including a small purse of the copper coins Mother had collected and not used over the years. Her mind was clearing up, and she remembered to put the necklace around her slender neck. She walked outside to see naught but trees, trees, and more trees. Putting her hands on her hips, she said, “Now, where do I begin?”13