Sins Not Her Own

Medda galloped. Hard. Sweat soaked the lining of her hat and beaded on her chestnut flank as she practically flew across the desert surrounding the small town of Hope’s Landing. The flat valley, dotted only by sagebrush and jutting rocks, radiated heat from packed dirt reflecting the afternoon sun. She had to use a cooling spell (heatstroke wouldn’t help anyone), but found it difficult to concentrate beyond her sinking in her gut that told her something was wrong, wrong, Wrong! That, in turn, meant her usually precise control fluctuated drastically. She’d likely be recovering for days, but she didn’t care. She had to get there in time—had to make it. She wouldn’t be able to live with herself if she didn’t try and her fears proved true.

She hoped she was wrong, that she’d misjudged the situation. After a year and a half, she still considered herself new to the area because centaurs seemed to think so differently here. Maybe she’d read too much into it?

But what if…

This hadn’t been what she’d hoped for when looking for a new start. She’d wanted someplace where she could work on herself without judgment or sabotage. She’d wanted to escape her past, hoped it wouldn’t follow her. It had… just not in the way she’d feared. She hadn’t even realized her own thoughts and habits, how she shrank into the background, too afraid to draw attention.

She hoped the price for keeping those habits wouldn’t be too high.

She focused back on the path and tried to take a steadying breath, difficult to do when running full-speed across a barren meadow to reach the first true friend she’d made in years.

“From an outsider’s perspective, if losing one life could prevent the suffering of others, would it be worthwhile?” The words ran through Medda’s head, loud and pounding, drowning out her heart and hoof beats. Banea had asked it so casually—so nonchalantly—Medda had thought nothing of it at the time. Now, the words came back like lightning spells tearing through her soul. That had been months ago, a little over a year after she’d come to the village.

It had been a bitter question from one ostracized mare to another.

The exclusion towards Medda had never been active or malicious, she was just a newcomer from back east with strange ideals. She’d known it would take time for the town to get used to her, especially as she’d never been outgoing. The locals were polite and would talk to her, but most conversations had been stilted and awkward. Even the other teachers acted merely cordial, although some had become more friendly as time went on, but Medda still wasn’t comfortable intruding on their micro-herds and conversations, so she’d become friends with the town’s other ‘loner’.

Befriending Banea probably hadn’t helped Medda in the eyes of Hope’s Landing.

They outright shunned her.

“It’s not you,” the white-flanked centaur said softly, both watching the swishing tail of the centaur Medda had been speaking with as he trotted coldly away. She’d only waved Banea over. “They know you have no reason to dislike me and… don’t like to talk about it. The one perk of being new, I suppose.” Medda frowned. It was a town party. Her friend was part of the town. She shouldn’t be discluded.

“Why do they do that?” the chestnut-coated centaur inquired. “I finally got the courage to ask, but no one will explain. How can they justify treating you like this?”

A pause. “I’m cursed.”

Medda frowned, fingering the sleeve of her best dress absently. “Um… is it an actual curse, or one of those… tales? It just… true, lasting curses are hard to cast. And even harder to break.” She cleared her throat. “My mother was a curse-breaker before she died.”

Banea considered her for a moment, then sighed. “Have you noticed how my herd’s land is always green?”

Medda’s frown deepened. “Yes…. It’s by the river.”

The other centaur shook her head, white curls fanning behind her. Not for the first time, Medda stomped down jealousy. Her own hair had always hung flat and straight, much like her tail. No movement, no volume, so she kept it short, something she hadn’t seen on any other mare since stepping off the train. Yet another reason the townsfolk side-eyed her.

“My herd didn’t always own what we have today,” Banea admitted. “Did you know the whole valley used to be green except for what my herd owned?”

“The whole valley?” Medda asked, surprised. She’d seen very little grow outside of farms and Banea’s land.

The other mare nodded. “Just after Hope’s Landing was settled, my herd picked up the last claim for land. It had no water source. Irrigation kept the farm going, but… barely. For years, they struggled, not having any money to move on. Finally my uncle… did something stupid. He… chained the local land-spirit.”

Medda, who had lifted her glass to take a drink, immediately slammed it back down on the table. Amber liquid sloshed over the rim, but she only barely noticed.

“He what?!”

Banea shrugged uncomfortably. “It worked. Our land has been green and growing ever since. We earned enough money to buy what my grandparents always dreamed of… just at the cost of the rest of the valley.” She looked down, ashamed.

“Ever since…?” Medda swallowed. “He didn’t release it?”

The other mare shook her head sadly. “The rest of my herd didn’t know. He didn’t want to tell them and kept putting the release off.”

A mildly hysterical laugh fell from Medda’s mouth. “Not… the brightest lantern in the mine. Or did he not know… somehow?” Unlikely. If he knew enough to bind a New World Fae, he couldn’t have possibly missed all the warnings too.

Banea sighed. “I think it was a combination of desperation and willful blindness.”

Or cowardice, Medda thought. Nothing could justify his actions, especially if no one else knew.

“How… how long?” she asked, afraid of the answer.

“Nearly two decades.”

The chestnut-haired mare winced. Land-spirits would follow fae-based contracts, but they despised doing so and their resentment would often build to a point of leaking out as one of the few naturally occurring curses—curses that grew more potent the longer the land-spirit was “chained”. Eventually, the curse would begin to seep past affecting only the captor and into the lives of those close to them. Whole families had been wiped from existence like that.

“So… your curse makes the town hate you?” Medda asked, eyeing the other centaurs milling around Hope’s Landing’s central square. Most completely ignored the two mares, though a couple shot them disapproving looks.

Banea shook her head again. “No. Well, not directly. Once my herd discovered what my uncle did, they made him release the spirit. He, of course, was killed…” she paused, face twisting, “painfully, along with his immediate family. That didn’t stop horrible luck hurting and killing the rest of my herd in the years following. Beyond that, though, the spirit vowed it wouldn't return to the valley as long as any member of my herd lives, freezing the land energies as they are.”

Oh.

“Well… Technically, that’s not a curse,” Medda said weakly. Lasting curses required metaphysical energy tied via both will and an anchor—such as a rune or other mark, the more intricate, the more difficult to cast successfully. Picture-based curses could be nasty if one could imbue the magical energy correctly.

However, functionally, Banea’s herd was cursed.

“But… it wasn’t your fault.” Medda bit her lip, looking around uncomfortably. “They….” She didn’t know how to finish that thought.

Banea smiled sadly. “They’ve had their own share of bad luck due to our curse. Some centaurs tried marrying out of the herd, but the magic counts that as bringing people into the herd, thus spreading worse luck—luck that can be deadly. No one wants to deal with that, so they’ve turned to shunning us. They tolerate us because we tried to make up for it, gave our excess away, offered shelter… it didn’t help. The food…” she shook her head. “The contract made it so the rest of the valley would only do as well as my herd’s original farm had up until The Chaining—barely enough to get by. They only found out about it the year before you came.” She shrugged helplessly.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Medda asked, horrified. What had she gotten into?

Banea blinked. “Like what?”

“Help with harvest… maybe? Although, I probably won’t be much help. I’m a teacher, not a farmer.” She rubbed the back of her neck sheepishly.

Up until that moment, Medda hadn’t realized all of Banea’s previous smiles had been so forced.

“Thank you,” her friend whispered softly. “But, no. I have a solution.”

That conversation had taken place a week ago. Something about it had bothered Medda. Finally, she’d gathered the courage to speak with one of the other, friendlier teachers, just for a different perspective.

“I don’t like to talk about her,” Gretua muttered as they swept the schoolhouse together.

“Yes, I know… I just don’t understand why, is all. I know her herd effectively cursed the valley but—”

“They’re the reason we lost so many children during the flu epidemic four years ago,” Gretua snapped, then looked down at the pile she’d been sweeping. “We just didn’t know it until later.”

Oh. That…

Medda took a deep breath and shook her head.“Her uncle’s the reason. She didn’t know.”

“Doesn’t fill the six empty seats after that winter, or return the two-dozen other centaurs we lost around the valley because they didn’t have enough medicine or food. So many have had to leave because there just isn’t enough here anymore.”

The younger teacher tipped her head, puzzled and frustrated. “Why isn’t there enough, though? She said something about their food not helping, but I don’t understand.”

Gretua’s lined faced twisted in pain. After a moment, she shook her head. “That land is wrong… and the food’s just as cursed. Only their herd can live off of it. To us it’s more like… bubbles.”

“Bubbles?” Medda repeated, confused until she remembered how her friend had always made excuses to not eat at her herd’s homestead.

Gretua nodded slowly. “No one else can benefit from that land. Not since The Chaining. Yet another way people have died…” She took a deep breath. “Honestly, if I had any prospects or money, I’d leave, too. But I don’t. I came here much like you did. My mother, your aunt, they were cut from the same cloth.” Medda winced. From what Gretua told her, she wasn’t wrong. They hadn’t spoken about their pasts much, but from what they had shared, they knew the other understood.

After Medda’s parents’ death, her aunt had taken her in. Even years later, dwelling on those memories could make her panic. The moment she’d reached adulthood, she’d accepted the first job she could and left. Hence, Hope’s Landing.

“Do you regret it?” Medda asked. “Leaving?”

The older dapple-gray paused and thought about that. “No. But I regret not knowing what I was coming into.”

Fair.

“In any case, we probably won’t have to worry much longer, since your friend’s the only surviving member of her herd, now.”

That startled Medda. “What?”

Gretua looked surprised. “I thought you… oh. Um… her mother passed away… three days ago? I live next to the undertaker and overheard her.”

Medda’s stomach sank. “She what?! But… why didn’t she tell me?”

Gretua shrugged as she finished cleaning her side of the schoolhouse. “Some like to grieve alone.”

That didn’t sound like Banea…

Something was wrong.

Very wrong.

“I have to go,” the younger mare said turning to hurry out, grabbing her hat on the way.

“Medda?!” she heard Gretua call, but she didn’t stop.

Medda hoped she was wrong. She knew what Gretua meant about Banea’s land. It hadn’t felt right when she’d visited, but she’d chalked it up to simply getting used to her first real friendship since her mother had died. Now, though…

Above her, clouds began to form. She frowned, having never seen rain in the valley before. Snow? Sure. But not rain…

Her stomach clenched harder.

Her hooves slipped as she leaned around a corner, taking it as fast as she could, but she caught herself and kept going. Ahead, the familiar, large cabin came into view. She’d thought it the perfect place to raise colts before. Now it looked more deserted than ever.

“Where is everyone?” She remembered asking Banea once. “You said you had a big herd.”

The white-haired mare had smiled. “Outside, sleeping under the stars.” And if Medda had been a better friend—a better person—maybe she would have come over more often and realized…

She passed a small graveyard off to the right. It had a fresh grave and marker. Medda tried not to let that sting. She’d known Banea’s mother and would have liked to be there to support her friend if nothing else.

“Banea!” she shouted, breaths heaving. She couldn’t yell as loudly as she needed to! Frustrated, she burst through the front door, only to find the cabin empty; the dirt floors had been swept, no dishes stacked by the water pump, no dust, everything neat and tidy… it didn’t look lived in.

“Banea!”

Medda checked every room in the cabin. Her friend wasn’t there. Where else could she look, though? They had a lot of land. Medda needed to find her now! Where would she…?

Wait… that spot where they’d gone to watch the sunset…. That had been one of her favorite spots, right?

Medda dashed back outside. She could smell rain now.

“Banea!”

Nothing.

Cursing, she tried to remember the needed direction, taking two wrong trails before she found the right one. Too long, too long, Too Long! But finally, finally, she burst into the clearing on the hill overlooking the river, and froze. A man stood there, gazing out at the valley.

No… not a man, a fae. A New World Fae.

He only had two legs and a sage-green robe that blew elegantly in the wind as he watched the growing clouds begin to obscure the sun.

After several seconds, he turned, studying her over his shoulder. He had sharp, silver-green eyes that took what little breath she had left away. After a moment, he faced her completely.

“Who are you?” Medda asked, half-accusing, half-panicked.

“So, someone came,” he said quietly, although she couldn’t call his voice soft. It wasn’t… harsh either, but somewhere in between, flowing but erratic.

Medda knew who this was. “Where is she?!” the chestnut snarled and took a stance, ready to start kicking if she didn’t get answers. Fae or not, she’d like to see him stand up to a centaur's kick.

He sighed, green-tinged skin shifting to brown tones and back as he slumped. “Gone… or I wouldn’t be here.”

Medda swore her heart stopped. “No….” She shook her head emphatically.

“She left a message for… those who would listen—whispered it to the wind. Would you like to hear it?”

Medda’s mind kept screaming in denial, and she found her voice doing the same. “No! This... this is your fault! You cursed all of them! You didn’t have to! She was innocent!”

“Yes,” he said, matter-of-factly. “I was angry… and she suffered for it.” He looked back out at the valley. A raindrop fell on Medda’s head. “Because of her innocence, I will deliver her message. I owe her that.”

He owed more than that in Medda’s opinion. He didn’t deserve—

She cut that thought off. Whatever he deserved, he had Banea’s message. “Please do,” she said through gritted teeth.

He didn’t turn around. “She was sorry for her herd’s sins, but happy to be free. The town can split the land as they see fit.”

At those words, Medda noticed the wrongness from before had vanished. Which meant…

Tears came to her eyes.

“No,” she whispered, voice harsh. Banea was… she’d…

She hadn’t deserved any of this. Neither did Medda. They’d both needed a friend—so sick of being alone.

“I will bless this land in her name,” the fae whispered. She wasn’t sure how she could hear him over the wind and splattering rain.

“That doesn’t bring her back!” Medda sobbed.

“No, it doesn’t.” At least he sounded regretful. “I will be… more careful with my vows in the future.” Then, before her eyes, he dissolved. Just vanished. Into the air or the ground or… whatever.

“You’d better be!” she screamed after him, not knowing what else to say. His words weren’t enough. They never would be.

The town held a funeral at Medda’s request; a simple memorial service as they’d never found the body. Later, Medda had erected Banea’s gravestone next to her mother’s. It read: ‘An innocent soul selflessly carrying sins not her own.’ The town may not care, but she did, and she would not see her friend’s memory disrespected.

The people of the valley voted on how to divide her land. Medda hadn’t cared. She’d almost immediately sold the rights she’d received without a second thought, then turned around and bought a train ticket. Late in the season or not, she was leaving. She had to get away. Gretua had nodded sadly once she’d been told, like she knew and understood.

She didn’t.

Medda hadn’t forgiven the centaurs of Hope’s Landing or the land-spirit, and living around all of that…. No.

Less than a month after everything had been settled, she found herself sitting on a low chair, leaning against the window and watching the valley go by outside until the mountain blocked her view.

Only then did she felt herself settle.

She knew her heart would never stop hurting—it hadn’t for her parents—but she would find a place to begin healing again.

“Goodbye, Banea,” she whispered, and lived on.