The Day the Curse was Broken

THE DAY THE CURSE WAS BROKEN

by Tobias Bernstein

The Day the Curse was Broken can be found in Tales & Feathers Issue 1.

The flowers no longer bloomed, but Leddie remembered them from days gone by. She still liked to sit in the field where they had once grown and hold their stems together, the brown tips forming a rotting bouquet, still soft within her wrinkled hands. She took a deep breath, doing her best to ignore the stench of decay that filled the air, and tried to remember the scents of her youth, wild pickings exchanged and flower crowns woven through a lover’s hair. The curse, as always, deadened the memories into gray fragments, the emotions inaccessible, the sensations unimaginable. Still, Leddie liked to try.

Halfway through Leddie’s second breath, a single moment from the past caught her, became brighter. It began with that scent she’d been trying so hard to summon, a single whiff of sweetness as a flower passed over her face, tucked behind her ear by a gentle hand. The warmth of a hand on Leddie’s face; the crinkle of a smile close enough to touch; a laugh that faded into a contented sigh. The gentle kiss goodbye and the sweet mix of longing and excitement at a promise exchanged—a promise that the curse would keep from being fulfilled.

Leddie held very still. She had not seen or felt these things, even in memory, for a very, very long time. But she had not forgotten their absence. The curse hadn’t let her, wouldn’t let any of them adapt to their reality, only to trudge through it while longing for the memories it kept locked away. It kept them full of the type of hope that forms the kernel of despair.

Suddenly, the brittle stems in her hands softened, straightened, greened. Yellow petals that hadn’t been there moments before pushed upwards towards her indrawn breath, a few breaking loose to drift toward the ground. And the ground—everywhere!—from dead stalks and from dry soil there sprouted new growth, new life. Green and yellow and red and blue and purple, vibrant colours that Leddie had forgotten existed, reignited in the gentle curves and delicate stems of wildflowers.

The scent Leddie had been trying so hard to summon bloomed all around her.

She didn’t need to hear the cries breaking out from the nearby village, didn’t need the runner’s breathless words: a valiant battle, a tyrant overthrown. None of it mattered to Leddie. It was just another tale, pale before the truth of the moment. The curse was broken. It wasn’t worth thinking about how when Leddie could be thinking about what now.

As the curse’s veil of despair lifted from her mind and her heart, more memories weaved their way around the first, slowly coalescing into a whole. Each returning piece stacked together, burning hotter and hotter like simmering coal. Each spark of remembered warmth flared momentarily into sadness, as it brought a deeper understanding of what she had missed for all those long years. But it was worth that small pain to finally feel this breath of wind sparking cinders of feelings into flame. She breathed in the memories like she had breathed in the flowers, bracing herself as they settled into her body, into her bones. New joy, relief, and longing threaded and merged with the old. They beckoned her to a journey too long untravelled, bringing urgency in their wake.

Her old walking stick rested beside her, buried now in the newly-grown flowers. Leaning heavily on it, she levered herself upright and hurried to the home she shared with four other women. There, she filled a cloth bag with what had been meagre supplies. Even as she picked them up they transformed; the fruits grew plump; the meats grew fat; the bread turned soft and moist. The other women emerged, and Leddie braced herself for the anger and the fear, turned to shield what she had gathered, ready to ward off accusations of theft. But the others were looking at holes closing in the once-rotting wooden beams and at the pantries filling with food, and they were smiling. Leddie smiled too and left them to their joy.

The road at Leddie’s feet was cracked and treacherous, choked with clutching roots and vines, as it had been for many years. Under the curse, the distance had seemed insurmountable—Leddie had not even dared to attempt this journey in a long time. Now it was a simple afternoon’s stroll. As Leddie walked, the road before her became smooth and clear, with nothing to catch a shuffling foot. By the roadside, crumbling houses suddenly repaired and strengthened themselves; dead crops became swift-growing; parents lifted their children into the air and embraced them. Strangers and friends alike unexpectedly called out to Leddie as she walked, wishing her well and seeming to mean it. Leddie waved back in greeting, but only paused long enough to catch her breath. She didn’t have time to chat with them, though after all the hardship, it would have been a pleasure.

When Leddie arrived in the next village, the glow of freedom began to fade, and the reality of the cursed years began to set back in.

The village had changed since she had seen it last. The curse was lifting here too. Collapsed roofs knit themselves back together. Trees sprouted from spindly shrubs into the promise of towering giants. But in too many places, empty buildings had become ruins of rotten wood and stone, and some of the roofs closed themselves haphazardly around the branches of those now-growing trees whose seeds had fallen into their rubble. Leddie felt emptiness where she should have felt comfort. Too much of the village had disappeared for it to feel familiar.

Leddie knew the way. The path was still set in her muscles from the many times she had walked it in her youth. But now, fear spiked through her heart, and hope was beginning to leak through the tear. What if the path led to another empty ruin? Had the curse lasted too long, led Greta away to a place Leddie would never find her? The house had to be there. But what if Greta wasn’t inside? No, the tale had to have a happy ending, now that the curse was broken. Surely, there had to be a little bit of balance, of justice, in the world. Leddie deserved at least that.

She rounded the corner, holding her breath. She needed to see that tiny cottage with its shallow roof and stone ramp rejuvenating before her eyes like the other houses had.

The old plot was empty. Grass and clover grew over an indentation in the ground. The cottage was missing, perhaps disassembled, its pieces scavenged for other uses. Greta was gone.

Leddie stared, and despair, too immediate to be familiar, spread through her as a chill. This was no curse-based dampening, no current of emptiness and longing and distrust soaking through her mind. She should have made the journey sooner, curse or no curse. Maybe if she had tried harder, been stronger, she could have forced herself to see through the curse’s twisted lies. Instead, the curse had taken the only thing that might have made those years worth living.

Her daze was interrupted as a voice called out from behind her, “Welcome, traveller!” Leddie turned to find a young man, perhaps twenty years old, certainly born during the cursed time, grinning as he leaned on a broom. Behind him stretched a clean walkway leading to the old town hall. Sounds of laughter and smells of cooking meat, soups and spices drifted through its open doors. 

“Have you come to join the feast? I’m told it’s open to all! Who ever heard of such a thing?” he asked.

Leddie shook her head, but the words had brought her out of her spiraling thoughts, and her hope was renewed.. The building was destroyed, but that didn’t mean its inhabitants were. 

“A family used to live here. Do you know where they’ve gone?” she asked.

The man shook his head apologetically, though his smile never dipped. He clung to it with an uncomfortable intensity that could only come from having never smiled before. “It’s before my time, but perhaps someone inside can help you.” The young man stepped off the walkway and beckoned her inside welcomingly. “Come on, I won’t even complain at the extra sweeping!”

Leddie hesitated, waiting for the old fear to warn her off, but it did not come. She gathered her courage and strode toward the doors, leaving behind a dusty trail and the sound of a broom swishing.

The hall was full of people rushing around, laughing, hugging each other and smiling, always smiling. People were creating: cooking and drawing and singing.There was a rumble of cheerful conversations, sharing stories and memories and exclamations of pure emotions. To the side, Leddie saw piles of bedding and belongings. Belongings just left where anyone could walk away with them—but no one did! 

Yet, in spite of all the elements clamoring for the attention of her senses, Leddie’s eyes instantly picked out one figure.

She was sitting by the oven and knitting with the slow intensity of someone practicing a craft they have nearly forgotten. Joy fluttered from Leddie’s stomach, burned its way through her heart. Decades had passed, but the smile on that face was the same gentle curve, and the look in those eyes had the same calm focus. Leddie would know them anywhere.

“Greta!” 

The word came out between a cry and a croak, and Leddie was not surprised to feel that her eyes were moist.

Greta looked up at her name. Her needles clattered to a stop. Leddie had half worried that Greta would not recognize her, but the worry was gone the moment Greta’s eyes met hers. There was surprise there, yes, but mostly warmth—a warmth Leddie had thought was no longer possible to feel.

The shock on Greta’s lips trailed into a smile. “I’ve been waiting, you know.”

“I know.” Leddie crossed the small room quickly, trying to keep pace with her fluttering heart. Their small drama was unnoticed by the other occupants, but to the two of them—it was the whole world. “I didn’t think I’d take so long.” Leddie reached out as Greta laid her knitting aside. Leddie took Greta’s hand in her own, helping her to her feet with one hand while leaning on her cane with the other. 

“I’m here now,” she said.

“So you are,” Greta replied softly. She traced her fingertips behind Leddie’s ear, the same way she had tucked a flower there so many years ago, when a promise had been made. That promise now hovered between them again.

Ever so gently, Leddie leaned forward, offering, and Greta accepted. They met in a kiss, tenderly, with the awed passion and patience of that vast gulf of time. 

When they parted at last, Leddie rested her forehead against Greta’s, and for a moment, the two just breathed, together.

“I kept that flower, as long as I could,” Leddie said. “But it’s gone, now.”

“Come with me,” Greta replied, her eyes twinkling as she drew Leddie toward the door. “I’ll give you a new one.”