The Old Hag With Fiery Eyes Holds The Valley's Survival in Her Hands

There weren't always dragons in the Valley. They descended upon the people with swift and fiery destruction. Screams of horror with the rancid stench of burnt hair and flesh were etched in the memories of a few survivors. 

The senseless deaths were unforgivable and unforgettable. 

A 4-year-old Marisol gazed up in awe as her great-grandpa regaled her with the history of conquering the formidable dragons. Long, overly embellished tales of sword fights and heroism died along with his generation. 

So, too, would preparedness.

This would prove unfortunate, for the dragons would return.

The trickle of blood quietly rolled from the corner of Marisol's mouth. The shocking redness stained her white enamel. Her organs fought for release from the squeeze of an invisible vice grip.

Oh, God. Not now. Please, make it stop.

Unlike an ominous slow-rolling thunder, she had nowhere to run for cover. How does one escape oneself?

Each time the pain returned unannounced, it did so with a vengeance, and she dropped to the ground, writhing in agony.

Why me? She begged no one, for no one would hear her pleas in the quarry.

Eyes squeezed shut, the 16-year-old gnashed her teeth to distract her mind from the intensity of clawing in her stomach. The blood pooled in her palms, as her fingernails dug deep into her clenched fists. Sweat beaded above her brow. Her entire body glistened with the sheen of pain. Rocking, rocking, and rocking, she willed it to calm.

Of its own accord, the pain ebbed and retreated.

She peeled off her soaked sundress, unafraid of discovery in the secluded ravine, and draped it over the rocks to dry in the beating rays of the high sun. Her eyes quickly scanned the quarry through teary eyes to ensure she was alone.

Marisol was beyond weary of these attacks. She sat in the cool reeds with her back against the rocks. As exhaustion took over, she drifted off. Behind the darkness of her closed eyes, she slept. From the distance, she sensed a faint beckoning, an echo of her name being called.

Marisol… Marisol…where are you?

It was him.

Edgar came back, if only in her dreams.

They first met near these very boulders. The soft breeze had shifted and a lightness overcame her. He spoke through his eyes which gently caressed her mind. Marisol possessed no desire to fight against a blessed destiny. 

Edgar was magnificent.

And he, indeed, was her destiny.

Her skin tingled with the memory of his flesh pressing into hers. She watched his muscular outline grow smaller as he floated over the horizon. He turned back and blew her a kiss. Until next time, my love.

But, there was no next time. All that remained was deafening silence and an emptiness in her heart.

Weeks passed with no sign of Edgar but for her imagination.

Marisol pined for his touch. 

I am Marisol. 

Long before the sun started its ascent, I awakened with a jolt.

His muscular outline grew smaller as he floated to the horizon. He turned back to blow me a kiss, his beautiful face now grossly distorted, his mouth dripping blood, and his green eyes replaced by black holes.

Rarely do I give the memories of him the freedom to surface. I desperately tucked them deep but they find their release by stealing the sanctity of my slumber. My fits after darkness falls, wake me drenched in recurring fear. I am afraid to have him again; I am scared that I've lost him forever. 

Mostly, I am deathly afraid of the pain now living in my wretched, aching soul.

I traced the scabs on my palms as they flared with anger. The gut-wrenching episodes are more furious in their unrelenting pain than they were before.

I visited the old hag, rumored to be a witch, but once. When I knocked on her shanty door to beg for her healing hands to rid my body of the horrors, she hesitated. "Child, you are so young. Go on home where you belong. This is no place for the innocent." I planted my feet in defiance, and I told her I would soon be a young woman. In mere days, I would turn seventeen.

I dug deep into my pockets and thrust the few coins I had into her cupped hands, mottled with brown spots. They were soft and warm, though the gnarled knuckles prevented her fingers from straightening. 

She was my only hope. 

I didn't budge and pleaded my case.

You have to help me.

My tears broke through my brave front and my body shook. Words tumbled out incoherently as I sobbed in desperation.

The pain will kill me. I need your help, please! Please, don't turn me away. They insist it's my imagination and it's not. I tell you, I am not crazy. Something is inside me, trying to get out.

She shrugged and chose to pacify me, I could tell. She, too, thinks me a mere simpleton.

She casually tossed the coins into a rusty watering can. The clank of metal on metal rattled with emptiness. The hag rummaged through what appeared to be a large, handmade satchel with tired seams. She turned back around wearing small glasses with no lenses. She is a bat-shit crazy one. Her left hand clutched an unrecognizable medallion. She placed it in her mouth and gripped it with her broken teeth. 

She peered at me for an eternity. Her hands pulled and twisted her long wiry tresses into a haphazard bun away from her face.

The hag slipped the disc from her teeth and placed it in my mouth. I recoiled from the metallic, oily, and foreign feeling. She watched me closely as she removed the medallion and held it up to the light. It had melted and was misshapen. 

Fear gripped me.

"Lay still, child. You are Marisol, are you not?"

Startled, I barely nodded. I concentrated on her healing powers and didn't ask how she knew my name. My body lay motionless on the hard pine table as she placed her hands on my ankles. That's not where it hurts, it's… "Hush, child." Her surprisingly deft hands kneaded behind my ankles and to my knees.

Placing a hand on each of my thighs, she closed her eyes and hummed unfamiliar words. Is this an incantation? Regret for my decision to come here crept in. She slid around to my shoulders and pressed each down flat with unexpected strength.

Her humming had a foreboding cadence and did not soothe me. As she increased her tempo, my pain returned. My immediate reflex to the scratching inside forced me to a fetal position, and I groaned the sounds of a wounded animal. Sweat enveloped me and tears mixed with traces of blood soon appeared in my eyes. 

It's back. Make it stop, please, I wailed through gritted teeth.

Her eyes glazed over as she focused on my ribs. She grabbed my stomach and probed with furious intent. Her hands jerked away from my midsection as if scalded. She reeled backward and cried out, "Oh Marisol, what have you done? What have you done?" She let out a guttural scream and dropped to her knees.

A black tunnel engulfed me. The agony shut my body down.

My eyes opened to darkness. I strained to orient myself and spotted the hag in the corner furthest from me, surrounded by a sea of flickering flames. I sat up on the table and listened to her low murmurs while she rocked back and forth, cradling her own knees. Musky smells from the lit candles wafted over, adding to my dizziness. Large ceramic bowls held remnants of pungent herbs that she had ground to dust.

Can you help me? I heard myself whimper one last plea. 

Can you make it go away?

Her whisper was tired and throaty. "Tell me, Marisol. You have been to the quarry. Met with Edgar. Mesmerizing, piercing green eyes, and a diamond-like smile?"

My eyes widened and my hand flew to my mouth. I couldn't answer, but she knew. How could she know my love?

"Child, I have only seen this once, just near a century ago. But for the golden sword, we may have lost the battle. The evil has reawakened and now rears its head through you."

She contemplated her words lest she revealed too much.

"I know of Edgar. He professed his love and disappeared. He left you alone to wallow in grief, no?" 

Her hands trembled but steely resolve shone brightly from her eyes.

"Take this jug and store it under your bed." She hissed at me. "Tell no one. Drink a long swig in the morning, another at high noon, and one at midnight, each day until it's gone."

"You'll be back, I'm sure of it. If you live, of course."

She stared at the ceiling with shoulders slumped and sucked in her breath. 

"There is nothing in you, child, for it IS you. It is you."

If I live? What IS me? 

I ran. The jug sloshed, but the cork held strong. 

Hidden in the trees, the green shine of Edgar's eyes followed my every move.

And, he smiled.