Ella’s Wish
“I’m taking a vacation,” Ella announced as she barged into her family’s cottage. “Someone else will have to look after the farm while I’m gone.” With chin held high, she threw off her wool cloak and marched across the room.
Her brother, Samuel, looked up from honing the edge of his sword. “You’re leaving the house for something besides a trip to the market? You haven’t left the house since…”
“Well I’m leaving tomorrow.” She stopped and shot him a glare. “I’m going to a festival, and I’m using your gear.” It wasn’t as if she had any of her own.
Samuel sat back and set his blade on the table, watching his sister with the umbrage of an overworked horse. “How long are you leaving for? I have another job in three days.”
“Tell them you’ll be late. This won’t take more than five.”
Ella had first encountered the whispers concerning Aferton’s annual Pyre Festival in the market square. An old wives’ tale, the stories said. A summoning of fiends for a prosperous harvest. Fiends who’d grant the wishes of one worthy lost soul. Unfounded rumors to scare off the outsiders. No village would rationally invite hellions into their home.
But Ella also knew rumors held a thread of truth. Even a faint possibility of having her wish granted, no matter the means, was worth her time to investigate.
Samuel watched and waited for any sense to come back to her as she crammed clothing into his rucksack. “What festival?”
“It’s not far from here.” She shoved two shirts into the bag and yanked the drawstring closed, keeping her back to her brother. Her breath caught in her throat at the thought of being stopped, at being kept from her last hope.
“What happened to you, Ella?” he asked as she stood at the door. “This isn’t you. This isn’t even the old you. Why are you really leaving? Are you even going to wait and say goodbye to ma and pa?”
“No. I’m not waiting for anyone anymore.” She walked out the door and stepped into her destiny.
The journey itself proved simple. Every crowded inn, every muddy road held travelers who greeted her with friendly conversation and offers of kinship. But their kindness rolled off of her like rain from a clay roof. She didn’t have time for their mirth and their glee, not when she was so close to reclaiming her own.
Traversing the well-maintained road past swamps and forests and untamed wilderness, Ella finally reached Aferton. She paraded herself straight into the mayor’s office.
“They say the fiends at your festival are more powerful than all the mages and witches and soothsayers. That they can grant the impossible wish. I’ll do whatever I must to have them grant mine.”
A wide smile consumed the man’s face. “Tell me everything, my child.”
The following morning colorful flags and banners teeming with runes and sigils lined the streets. In the town center a wooden pyre ten feet tall loomed over the crowd gathered below.
“Ella comes to us answering our call,” the mayor beamed as he projected from the podium beside the stacked wood. “She wishes for the Pyre to burn her memories. She came to me pleading for freedom from her past. Arcanists and herbalists could not assist her. We will show her our generosity and in turn she will ensure our most prosperous harvest yet.”
Ella steadied herself. What every mage, every doctor, every witch, every druid could not do, the fiends of Aferton could. She tired of the temporary respite mortals provided her. Each time her memories returned, leaking into her mind like a plugged sieve. And as they came back, she’d relive them, again and again and again.
A murmur spread throughout the gathered crowd like the growing buzz of cicadas before a storm. The mayor beckoned for her to join him upon the stage. Each hesitant step brought her closer to peace. “You’re certain of your wish? For your memories to burn?” he asked.
She nodded. “More than anything. Ash cannot reform into a tree, but it can grow something anew.”
The mayor took a lit torch in his hand and led Ella to the end of the dais. “Here you go my dear.” He guided her up the stairs to the top of the pyre.
She reached out and accepted the torch, staring at the flame pulsing in her hands. Hope cast light where no shadows could hide. She knelt down upon the platform of sticks and logs and lowered the flame. They caught, for only a moment, and a smile crossed her lips. She closed her eyes and waited, wondering if the flames would take her too.
Distant wails and shrieks carried on the wind, caressing her ears over the cheers of the gathered crowd. When she opened her eyes the fire at her hands had gone out. She stood, unsteady, and turned to the horizon.
Black smoke rose against an orange glow from the direction she had traveled, from the direction of her village, her farm, her home. A trail of fire consumed the trees outside the town, just beyond the colorful flags, leaving a trail along the road which she had traversed. Plumes of black rose from the market square, the farm, the entire city.
Every person, every city, every path, every creature and field and inn and house and market —
Ella’s every memory burned.
