Echoes of Regret

You heard your mother’s voice resounding inside your head again. It mingled with the polluted sounds of neighing horses, carriages making their way through the hallways of the town, and kids playing early in the morning screaming tediously amidst the beginning of a new day. Bright yellow light cut in-between gray curtains, illuminating the pale blankets that wrapped your body. A boy you were, alone in the world –a tragedy you wouldn’t wish even to the worse of enemies.

Wrapping your hands together, you prayed and bit your lips, attempting to stop the upcoming current of tears that vehemently wanted to burst out of your eyelids. You couldn’t speak anymore; your mother took your heart away the day you found her lying breathless on her bed. She hid her sickness very well from you, but this time she was gone, and you were away the time she needed you the most. The day her last breath puffed out of her mouth, vanishing whatever light was left from her hazel eyes.

Despite her controlling nature, you loved her. She was no royal woman, no regular villager, but the mistress of a Dane invader, whose name neither of you could recall. There was a time when a girl called you “crow boy” because of your long nose and long brunet hair, your mother stood in front of you, taking the spitting and the hitting from the crowds that despised you. To be the son of a heathen man was worse than living. You preferred to have been born a pig than the child of a Dane –at least they were treated with decency. 

Then one day you left without notice, and never came back. Your body vanished the moment it walked through that door, drowning itself amidst the mist of the frozen mountains, and blankets of white snow. A goodbye you thought was unnecessary, but now you regretted it. The feelings of guilt laid on your shoulders like a heavy boulder, tormenting you through endless nightmares every time you tried to sleep. You missed her, and you couldn’t do anything to ease the heaviness of your heart.

           As your face drowned inside pillows, the sound of turning wheels echoed through the wooden halls. Visitors you thought, but you didn’t stand up to see who or what was out there. The coming of outsiders was a strange manifestation that happened perhaps once or twice a year. You remembered the times in which you would gather around the crowds of people that waited for their coming, gaping with amazement at how different they looked. The most memorable visit was the Saxon king himself, who’s coming came unexpectedly at the doors of the town. There were knights covered in silver armors, with shields painted on their breasted plates, hiding their eyes beneath helms with holes that shadowed their color.

           The voices become louder with every minute that passed, thinning whatever patience you had left at that moment. At last, Not being able to tolerate it anymore, you opened the door to see what the commotion was all about. However, you noticed a shift in the tone of the atmosphere. The crowd slowly quieted down, and two men and a woman stood along a carriage inside the center.

           “What are Danes doin’ here?” One person whispered, spreading, and unifying the words along other voices repeating the same question.

           “We come in peace,” one of the men said, noticing the fearful faces of the people that surrounded them. He wore a rusty helm, with a beard stringing down his chest, and long red hair resting on his back. Both men were covered by cottoned layers of cloth, with armored shoulders and unsheathed weapons on their scabbard. The woman stood in between both men, wearing a long blue dress almost reaching the tip of her toes. Her hair was long and black, and her eyes a bright blue that could be noticed even from where you stood. She glanced at the crowd, and for a second, you almost believed her eyes were staring at yours.

           “We’re here to offer our services –for us to return to you whatever you might have lost.” She turned and took out something from a bag. “The price, of course, will be in silver, and we are open to negotiations if your desire is strong enough to exchange this service for something of equal value.” Her paled hands rose, holding a black shiny ball, the size of a man’s head.

           Some people started shouting, spitting to the ground next to them, uncredulous of such an offer. “Witch!” they yelled at her. These were the most religious men and women in town, the most blinded ones it seemed. Most of them turned around resumed their life as if nothing had happened. Some stood still, silent, considering the offer of the Danes. You stood there as well, but eventually, you turned back as well, returning to the place you came from. There was no way your mother could revive from this, you thought. No living being on this earth could possess such a power. Still, however much you tried to convinced yourself, a part of you wanted to try, if such a thing was possible then maybe –you shook your head, brushing off the thought out of your mind. Lying down on your bed, you closed your eyes and waited for the sun to fall, and for the day to be consummated by the night.

           As your eyes closed, you saw someone standing in front of the door. A woman. All you could see was a slanted back, with long black hair dancing in curls down the spine. Mother.

           “Mother...?” you asked, rising from your bed in a haste. “Is that you? Mother?”

           She didn’t turn. Instead, she opened the door and started heading her feet outside the house. You tried to run after her, but every step you took seemed to take her further away from you. “Mother!” you cried, still running after her, suddenly stumbling onto the ground. Grass entered your mouth, and the taste of dirt filled your tongue with its dryness. You looked up to see if she was still in front of you, but she was no longer there, there was only a path that headed towards the woods. You curled your body like babies do inside their mother’s womb and cried your heart out until you couldn’t no more.

           Your eyes opened, but all there was in front of you was the roof and the small glints of moonlight cutting in between the wood. You sat on your bed, sliding your hand across your face. You must see her you thought, it was worth a try, there was nothing else for you to lose anyway. The people from this town already despised you, this would just be something more to add to the collection. You opened drawers, vaults, and looked for secret doors on the floor, trying to find silver your mother might have hidden at your house.

           There was nothing.

           You sat once again in defeat, and then you remember the words of the heathen woman “It can be negotiable” without hesitation, you put on a cloak and headed towards the outskirts of the town. Looking around, you noticed that the carriage was gone, and only the sounds of blacksmiths hammering iron could be heard among the many voices of the town. You turned swiftly towards to woods, hoping it wasn’t too late to find the carriage. But before you even reach it, you hear the voice of a woman seating on a rock behind the stables, close to the river.

           “I know we haven’t had anyone yet, however, what else could have we expected when you decided to come to this religi—” You stepped in, her puzzling blue eyes suddenly fixed on yours. The two men grew cautious and touched the pommel of their swords warning you to not do anything reckless.

           “Don’t worry friends, I come in peace.” You said, your hands trembling with the thought of a blade slicing your skin. “I came because… because I want to request the service of …” you paused for a moment not knowing how to address her. “this…lady?” They all turned and looked at each other and start laughing as if he had said something funny. “Well, I am the furthest thing you could call a lady young man. Now here, I hope you have some silver on you or something similar if you are asking for my services.”

           “I don’t have anything to offer you.” You revealed, their faces amused and puzzled by your words. “But I want to negotiate!”

           “Talk then” sighed the woman, taking an apple from a basket that laid next to her. A crackling sound could be heard from her mouth with the first bite she took from it. “I want to give myself as the payment. I’ll serve you until I repay this debt I’ll owe you… or until you wish to release me m’ lady.”

           The woman grinned, taking a last bite to the red apple. “You are offering me yourself? I am not sure what your skills are boy if you have any. You don’t know what lies in the path ahead, or what our purpose is, yet—you wish to become of service to us?”

           “Yes!” you responded enthusiastically. “I don’t care, I have nothing to lose. The people in this town don’t want the son of a Dane to live among them, this is making myself a favor from having to suffer in this miserable town one more year.”

           The group of heathens stared at each other for a moment and laughed once again at him, the mockery this time getting to his nerves. “Very well boy, I knew the moment I looked at you through the crowd that your face didn’t belong here. There is a certain wildness in those eyes, I couldn’t help myself but fix my eyes on you” The woman rose from the rock and walked towards the carriage to search for something. Holding a bag with both arms, she released the black ball she held the moment she presented herself to the town.

 “what is it that you desire to have back?”

           “My mother” you responded. The woman stayed quiet, looking at you with eyes of pity. “I am sorry, it is not possible for me to bring the dead back to life.” She finished, but before you could speak another word, she continued. “But I can let you see her for a few seconds one more time. However, after this, there won’t be any other chance of you seeing her in the future. I would recommend taking as much as you can from this moment.”

           You nodded, but your face showed obvious disappointment. A few seconds didn’t seem like much in your mind, but you will have to make it worth it. “Hold this,” she said, making you hold the black ball with your bare hands. The light of the moon reflects itself onto its smooth texture, twinning your brown eyes like a mirror. “Now, don’t get scared and hold the ball tightly. It will burn, but you will not be harmed by the flames. Once the flames rise up from the Morva’esie, you will close your eyes and I will speak to it, and your mother shall show herself to you.”

           Doing as she said, you closed your eyes and felt the hands of the woman touching yours, eventually disappearing into a strange language. She whispered words that were unintelligible for you, and the smell of burning paper filled the insides of your nose and throat. Your eyes felt the rising of flames like a blink of a mild explosion happening in front of you. You tightened your hands against the ball, afraid that if you didn’t, you might let go of it.

           Your hands were warmer, and the bright light that bothered through your closed eyelids became softer. The woman’s whispers cease to be, and only silence filled the space between you and her. “You may open your eyes,” she said, her steps becoming faint and distant. You observed the ball, and blue flames were growing out of its black skin. Like paper, it crackled and flew along with the soft breeze of the night. You lifted your gaze, and your eyes itched and watered down into rivers of tears. Your mother stands in front of you. “Mother.” you tried to say, but somehow the words weren’t coming out as easily. You felt a node inside your throat, cracking your voice every time you tried to speak.

           “My boy – “she said, caressing your hair like she used to when you were only a kid. “You have grown taller and handsomely. I have missed you so much.” Her words were like knives stabbing themselves onto your heart. You should’ve never left you thought, mother needed you and here you were not being able to speak a word to her. The flames continued to consume the black ball, becoming thinner and smaller than before. Noticing this, you looked up to your mother once again, letting the tears free themselves from your eyes. “Mother I have made my peace,” you said, standing up without letting go of the ball. “I am your son and nothing more. It doesn’t matter who my father is or was –we were enough. We were always enough. I am sorry for not being there for you ma’. It’s all my fault.”

           Mother traveled her hands down your cheeks, drying your tears with her bare hands. “I am glad. I have always loved you, Lazaro, don’t blame yourself for what happened to me. It’s life, and nothing makes me happier than seeing you growing well and healthy. There is nothing to forgive my love.”

           Her hands slowly abandoned your skin, and mother turned and walked away. You stand there, letting her go, observing her back from a distance. The same back you remembered seeing the many times she protected you from others, always standing like a wall receiving all the punches the world could give you. This wasn’t enough you thought. This couldn’t be it. There is so much you wanted to tell her. You wanted to end this right.

"Wait!" you yelled, feeling the burning sensation of the remaining of the black ball falling down your fingers. Her walking slowed, and her eyes returned to look at yours, her skin slowly vanishing into clouds of dust. "Just say it" you silently reminded yourself. You knew you'd regret it if you didn't."Mother, I—" you cried, your breathless throat overpowering your trembling voice. You have never spoken these words before, how did you live without them? there was no turning back, she was worth all of it.

"I love you."