A New Dawn
When Gratia finally came to rest by the side of an overgrown mountain path, the velvety blackness of night rushed in to suffocate her. She had no lantern and no blanket, and it was getting colder.
Reaching in to her bag she plucked out a hunk of crusty loaf and began to chew on it. Unscrewing the top from the canteen, she was met by an unpleasant surprise: the milk was sour. For a brief second she contemplated returning to the camp, but what good would that do her? Didn’t Etruschan believe it was her destiny to leave? And the mage she had met as a girl had also believed that to be true. Besides, she could not go anywhere until it was light, when she would have to find a stream anyway.
As far as she knew, there were no animals in the hills more dangerous than a rabbit, or at most a fox, yet the darkness did nothing to ease her mind. It was not like the night-time of the valley that teamed with crickets and other nocturnal insects. This was a more absolute night; a deathly silent one. She found little comfort in it, and the sleep that she did manage was troubled and restless.
When the dawn finally did come, after what seemed like a lifetime of blackness, Gratia saw for the first time where it was that she had spent the night. Her eyes widened in awe as she looked out across an open landscape of woods and valleys. There were great glistening lakes and huge plains, the likes of which would surely have filled her tiny valley hundreds of times over. It was all covered in a light, hazy mist of morning. She had never seen anything like it before.
As Gratia began to weep at the sheer beauty of the sight before her, she knew in her heart that it was indeed her destiny to leave; that nothing in her past mattered now. She was standing atop the world, and all this was now hers to explore and become a part of.
The only thing she could not see, was anything that resembled a village or dwelling of any sort where she might find a meal or shelter for a while. But this did not deter her. Without looking back, she began to descend the hillside.
For the next few weeks, Gratia travelled the new land she had discovered. The air was much warmer than it had been in the hills, and the woods and rivers held an abundance of food such as berries, nuts and fish, which she cooked on small fires built of twigs and branches. Yet in all of her time spent travelling, she still found no sign of other life apart from the woodland creatures.
During the many long nights, she had thought deeply about the argument she had witnessed; that her mother had died giving birth to her, not through the sickness her father had claimed. But she saw he had lied to spare her feelings, and she did not think unkindly of him for that. It was more the part about her mother’s spirit being inside her; being her mother's soul. She did not believe that. She was pretty certain she would know if she were her mother, pretty certain she would be able to remember her previous life. Yet still it troubled her greatly. While not always believing the stories her elders had told her, she had never dismissed them completely. She still wondered if there was an element of truth in the old fortune teller’s words.
She had removed her old dress, tearing it down one side to create a make-shift shawl for warmth, wearing instead her mother’s dress. In the parcel she found a pair of crimson silk shoes, also a good fit, but the grass beneath her feet was all the comfort she required, and she did not wish to spoil them.
One night, as she slept, a strange dream came to her:
There is a small stone cottage directly ahead. A wisp of applewood smoke curls up from the chimney. A pretty garden with foxgloves and poppies is surrounded by a white picket fence. The gate is open and there is a narrow, winding path leading to the front door.
Gratia takes a step forward, her feet developing a will of their own. Soon she is at the door. Yet before she has reached for the little brass knocker, the door is open. An elderly crone with a large grey shawl stands before her. She is somewhat shrivelled, but her eyes and smile are kind. She beckons for Gratia to enter.
Once inside, she follows the crone into a large kitchen. There are dried herbs hanging from the walls and ceiling. Racks containing jars of spices line the far wall and there is a blazing open fireplace with pots of all sizes hung above. The crone pulls a chair from a long wooden table and sits down. For some reason, Gratia does the same.
“Your mother won’t be long, Evaina. I believe she is putting her dress on as we speak.”
“How do you know my name?”
“Your name is my name, Evaina. I delivered you, and so your father thought it right to show his gratitude in your name.”
“You delivered me?”
“Yes, my dear. And quite the charming baby you were at that.”
“But I have never met you before!”
“Well, you wouldn’t have my dear. I died the very next week.”
“You are dead?”
The old crone nods. At this point the door to the kitchen opens and a beautiful gypsy woman stands in the doorway, her long luxurious locks flowing over her shoulders and cascading down her back. Her lips are curled into a radiant smile, her dark brown eyes glistening with tears.
“Mama?”
As if seeking confirmation, Gratia turns back to the crone but she is no longer there.
“Oh, my baby. My dear, sweet baby....”
“Mama.”
The Gypsy lady’s smile falters slightly as floods of warm tears flow down her cheeks. Gratia stands and runs to embrace her mother.
Gratia awoke with a start. What was happening? For a moment she shook herself to try and escape her captor, then suddenly the scent of a warm, musky perfume filled the air. As she looked up into her mother’s eyes, Gratia herself began to weep.
“Mama, it is you!”
“Oh, my baby.”
For a long time, mother and daughter sat in one another’s embrace.
When morning finally awoke her, Gratia remembered nothing for the first few moments of blurry awakening. Then it all flooded back. With a sudden sense of knowing, she realised that she had not wronged her mother in any way. That there was nothing her mother had to forgive her for. She had not killed her mother, it had been fate playing its game as with all others in the world. Most importantly, she was her own person, just as her father had told Etruscan. Her mother was in heaven now.
