Vengeance Upturned

Vengeance Upturned - Chapter 6

“Rye?” Henrietta said as she walked shoulder to shoulder with her twin on their way back home. They had gone to the town today, exchanging coins, they had earned by selling cow milk, for food, clothes and other goods. The wicker baskets carried on their backs were filled to the brim.

“Hmm?” Henry glanced at his sister with a raised eyebrow. He resembled their mother more than their father. His skin was lighter, eyes less slanted and a bright hazel color, golden almost.  Just as Henrietta’s, his hair was as their father’s; obsidian black, shiny and straight. He, too, wore it in a braid reaching his lower back.

“Is that smoke rising from our house?” Etta pointed in the direction of their home, her eyes wide and mind unbelieving.

“Wha— YES! Our home!”

The baskets were dropped in haste as Henrietta and Henry dashed forward. They took a shortcut through the fields.

Since Etta was very much aware of her dreams, she knew how it was going to end… this nightmarish memory. It ended the same every time, just as it had transpired that day. They made it back to see three bandits heading for their barn. Most of their belongings were scattered about, as the blazing fire devoured their birth-house.

They quickly disposed of those bandits, only for new ones to appear. Seven of them now, demanding that the twins hand over a map.

Henrietta knew nothing of a map, and Henry told them as much, but the bandits wouldn’t stand down. The men had one common feature; a crimson sash tied either around their arm, head or used as a belt.

But this time, such things did not happen once they reached the house. There were no bandits, only a roaring fire engulfing their humble home. Feet rooted to the spot, Etta stared confused at the fire. Why was the dream different?

“Rye!” she called out when Henry simply walked by her and toward the flames.

“RYE!” she screamed again reaching for her brother but her feet wouldn’t obey. “No! Rye, stop!”

Why is the dream different? Is it dream? Or is it real? WHAT IS REAL? Those thoughts scrambled Etta’s mind. But the need to stop her brother from getting hurt was overwhelming, be it dream or not. She would not leave his side again.

“HENRY! Stop… please!” Etta struggled against the invisible bonds, coiled around her feet, keeping her from moving forward. “No…” Tears streamed down her cheek. “No, Rye…” she hiccupped as she grabbed her own leg with her hands, forcefully trying to make a step. “Please!” Looking up she saw Henry enter the burning house, the flames cloaking him as he walked further in.

Etta screamed until she had no more breath left in her lungs, and then she screamed again as she clawed at the ground, in an attempt to drag herself closer to the house, but her legs still wouldn’t budge.

When she could no longer see Henry or the outline of his features, and the fire still blazed, Etta sobbed into her hands, sitting on her knees. Only when the flames subsided, leaving behind a heap of burned remains, was Etta able to move once again.  She jumped to her feet and ran to where she had last seen Henry. As she threaded through the black dunes of knee-high brittle ash, Etta hoped to see a glimpse of Henry somewhere… her Rye… a lock of his hair, his foot or even his pinky… but nothing. The world around her turned into a black desert and she dropped onto her knees, crawling through the blackened sand, carrying hope on her hands as she felt around for a proof of her brother’s existence, or their home.

With a sweep of her hand, Etta’s fingers brushed a cold smooth surface. She grasped it and winced at the bite against her palm but persisted as warm liquid drenched her hand while she raised the object before her eyes.