The Writer - Chapter 5

The Healer

Clara swam through the darkness for a brief period of time before a scene took shape in front of her. Mist poured around her ankles like a smokey blanket, the scene painting itself right in front of her face. 

She recognized the plaza in front of her as the one she had been standing on not long before. Yet instead of being covered in various foods and spilled drinks, the tables were lined with glass bottles and different colored potions. The word alchemy popped into Clara’s mind even though she didn’t know where it came from. 

Luca was known for his alchemy, a voice in her head purred. Clara realized that Elyviella was guiding her through memories of the past. 

A man that looked like a younger version of Luca was standing near one of the tables, his garb fancy and professional. 

Other people milled around, staring at the potions and the projects that blanketed the tables. Luca made pleasant conversation with some of them, but the conversation sounded like it was underwater. 

From Clara’s perspective, she could see a woman blink into existence in one of the dark corners. Clara noticed that she herself was just a murky shadow, unnoticeable to all of the other people attending this gathering. And yet the woman stared straight at her, eyes piercing Clara’s chest. 

Her powder white hair took on a silvery sheen and the woman’s pale skin filled with a tiny bit of color. Ibenily saw him as a threat to the magic that kept the world running and prepared to destroy the man and his work, Elyviella narrated like she was reading a script. 

As if Luca could hear the goddess’s words, he turned around and promptly saw Ibenily approaching him. He broke in a smile, but his eyes were filled with warmth that countered Ibenily’s icy coolness. The entire party seemed to hold its breath as Ibenily walked calmly towards Luca. 

Clara watched in amazement and horror as a white knife grew straight from Ibenily’s palm. The blade blended with the fabric folds of her dress. The two stopped about six inches from each other. 

“Hello, my name is Luca. I don’t believe we’ve met,” the man introduced himself, holding out a hand. 

Ibenily kept her expression cool but Clara could feel the tension between them like a rope pulled taut. “I’m Isabelle,” Ibenily said, her voice incredibly powerful. Her words were slow yet filled to the brim with force. “And I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of meeting you.” She tucked her knife into the folds of her breath and shook Luca’s hand. 

Clara half expected to see sparks fly from their met hands, but there was no reaction. 

“Isabelle,” Luca repeated. “You have an interest in alchemy?” It was a question, but Luca expected the answer to be yes. 

Ibenily nodded. “Of course. But I was told this was a … what did they call it, party?” 

Clara wasn’t sure where the goddess was going with this. Luca seemed hesitant as well, and he was woefully unprepared to talk to women. 

Blushing furiously, Luca thought for a moment. “It was supposed to be a professional gathering, but I suppose party would be a lovely term for it. Would you care for a dance, even if we don’t have music?” 

Ibenily’s eyes glittered with malice. “Of course.” 

The two grasped each other tightly and Clara backed away the best she could in her smokey form. A woman and man nearby began to warble a morsoe duet, their voices blending together perfectly. 

Luca and Ibenily danced, somehow finding each other’s rhythm and step. 

They danced in silence for the first few songs. Then they began pleasant conversation. Clara was waiting for Ibenily to make an attack, but the woman made no move. 

The malevolence in her eyes was soon replaced with adoration and wonder. Luca talked a bit about his alchemy, soon spilling a good majority of his thoughts on the concept. As he droned on, Ibenily listened and Clara suspected it was more than a formality. The goddess was interested in what the man had to say. 

The scene faded into darkness again as the blade under Ibenily’s belt morphed into nothingness. 

Demigoddesses are born when a goddess and a mortal strike true love, Elyviella explained. Baelle was a result of pure love between Luca and Ibenily. She simply glittered in existence one day and Ibenily used the little magic she had to erase parts of Luca’s mind. 

“Is that why he is the way he is?” Clara asked, but she got no response. 

Instead, another scene took shape in front of her. 

She found herself in the front rooms of Luca’s house. Ibenily and Luca were standing at the door, the latter looked flustered and upset while Ibenily kept an annoyingly calm expression. 

“Luca, I understand that you don’t understand,” Ibenily was saying. “But I cannot be allowed to live with you.” 

“Why?!” Luca exclaimed loudly. He didn’t look so handsome with his features distorted with rage. Clara felt her stomach twisting as she watched Ibenily wring her fingers nervously. The tension from when the pair had first met had returned full force. 

A tiny toddler waddled out from one of the many hallways. Even as a child, Baelle was gifted with unnatural looks. Her dark hair sprouted from her head like fathers on a raven and in her hands was a large book. “Da-da,” Baelle giggled excitedly, accidentally dropping the thick book. “Wead.” 

“Not now, Bella,” Luca grumbled without moving his gaze from Ibenily. “You’re right. I don’t understand. I thought we had something, but apparently you didn’t feel the same way.” 

“I did love you,” Ibenily argued. “And I still do. But we simply cannot be together.” 

“Da-da?” Baelle repeated, stumbling over the book in confusion. “Mommy? Wead! Wead!” 

“You’re going to leave me with a child to care for all by myself,” Luca repeated bitterly. His expression then morphed into one of melancholy that broke Clara’s heart. He looked so sad… so heartsick. “Please, love, don’t leave me. I can’t bear the thought of living my life without you. The goddesses would beam upon our marriage and life together.” 

“No, they wouldn’t,” Ibenily said, her words carrying the slightest hint of sadness and guilt. It made Clara nearly hate the goddess. “Darling, have you ever wondered what would happen if a goddess were to fall in love with a mortal?” 

The realization struck Luca like a lightning bolt. His shoulders straightened and acknowledgement flooded his features. Ibenily twisted the rings around her wrists, not quite meeting the man’s eyes. Baelle was watching them with intrigue and for a second Clara felt sorry for her. 

“You’re one of them,” Luca spat. “This was all just a game, wasn’t it.” He didn’t ask it as a question - he stated it. 

“No-” 

“I understand now.” Luca turned away, clutching the doorknob tightly in his hand. “Go.” 

“Honey, I promise you I didn’t want this…” 

“Then you never should have played a game with a heart. You are not wanted here,” Luca hissed. Ibenily hung her head, ashamed. 

“I’ll be off. I did love you, Luca,” Ibenily promised. And then she disappeared with a flash. Baelle turned to her father, tears welling in her eyes as though she knew that her mother had left her forever. 

“It’ll be alright, Bella,” Luca assured the small girl, wrapping her in a hug. “We’ll survive this.” 

“Mommy,” Baelle wailed. Her cries died out as once again, the vision faded out of sight. 

“So Ibenily just left her child?” Clara asked, not even bothering to mask the bitterness in her voice. 

Ibenily fell in love with a mortal, Elyviella whispered comfortingly. At that point, that was still frowned upon in our society - especially since she was supposed to kill him. It was quite the scandal, especially considering Baelle was one of the first demigoddesses. But you have to understand all of this, you must in order for the prophecy to come true? 

Elyviella’s words sparked fear in Clara’s chest. “Prophecy? No one mentioned that before.” 

Forget I said anything, I’ve already told you too much. 

And then they were on to the next vision. Clara didn’t recognize this place, but it looked like a school building - not that she had ever seen one. Wooden tables were placed strategically throughout the room, but no children were present. 

At the front of the room was a man who Clara assumed was a teacher. He had a carefully trimmed mustache and he was clasping his hands together tightly. 

Across a table from him was Luca and Baelle, both wrapped in a hug. 

“I’m sorry, “ the teacher said with a sigh. “But this school has no tolerance for a cocky braggart.” 

“She’s just trying to be herself,” Luca argued. “Nothing else.” 

“Bella is a disruption to the entire school and the other children,” the teacher hissed. Then he looked around nervously. “Especially if you considered the, uh, rumors.” 

Luca paled for only a moment and Baelle gave her father a curious look. Clara watched from the distance with intrigue. “I don’t understand what you’re talking about. Rumors?” He waited, as if daring the teacher to argue. 

And argue the teacher did. “Sir, I don’t know if you’re aware, but we’ve had reports from the other villagers that claim they’ve seen your daughter, well, doing magic.” 

“You know very well I don’t believe that nonsense.” 

The teacher nodded solemnly, but then he opened a folder. Parchments littered the inside. “These are our files on Bella.” He flipped through the parchments, reading occasional excerpts. “Let’s see; here it says she turned one of the schoolgirls into a cat. A boy claims she made him jump into the river and nearly kill himself. Ah, and look, my own eyewitness account of when she made the chalk fly at me.” 

Luca and Baelle shared a look. The man obviously knew his daughter was capable of these things, yet it surprised Clara that he wasn’t broken by these revelations yet. 

“I’ll have none of this talk,” Luca announced at last, patting Baelle on the head. “You wouldn’t do such a thing, would you, Bella?” 

“Of course not,” Baelle lied, a small and innocent smile flitting across her face. “Rose is just a storyteller - you yourself told her that her poems were marvelous. And Apollo just wanted an excuse to blame me for something after I corrected his grammar. The chalk thing - as I’ve told you multiple times - was Apollo and his gang throwing chalk, not me.” 

“I … I saw your evil little grin,” the teacher exclaimed, flustered. “I saw you levitate the bloody chalk! Sir, you can’t believe this … these lies!” 

Luca and Baelle shared another look. “You’ve made yourself quite clear, Mister Elderwood. Obviously, Bella’s intelligence is usurping your own. I will raise her on my own, using my preferred methods of education. Good luck getting that alchemy job without my recommendation.” 

The scene faded away like seeds on the wind. Clara felt herself drifting aimlessly through space. “So Luca lied to protect Baelle?” she clarified. 

As any father should for their child. If Baelle’s power had been revealed then, she would’ve been burnt for witchcraft. At that time, the goddesses weren’t necessarily respected by the majority of the small town populations, Elyviella spoke softly. 

“So Luca is to blame for all of this?” 

We can’t play the blame game, child, Elyviella chastised. Or we could blame Ibenily for loving Luca. We could blame the goddesses for sending Ibenily to kill him in the first place. We could blame whoever created us goddesses for creating it in the first place. The blame cannot be pinned on one living being. Do you blame your Reader friend for not killing Baelle when she had the chance? 

Emmeline had been given the chance to kill Baelle? Was it when Baelle was unconscious while being written? Clara didn’t blame Emmeline - mainly because the girl had been acting in an attempt to both save Newt and herself - and she even tried to correct the mistake later on. 

“I … I think I understand,” Clara whispered at last. 

There is still a final memory I must share with you, Elyviella promised. 

Milky white mist filtered into Clara’s vision, spinning around her and dancing at her feet. It painted a scene in front of her, and at once Clara recognized the front hallway again. This time, it was more similar looking to the modern version. 

Baelle looked to be in her teens, but whether she was thirteen or eighteen, Clara couldn’t tell. She shifted from looking young with rosy cheeks to older with cold, hard eyes. 

Luca, however, looked the same. He was disgruntled and wrinkles had started to form on his forehead. He already looked older and haggard. “Darling, you have to understand…” he begged. 

Baelle glared at him. “You don’t need to explain, father. I’ve had enough.” 

“Bella, my child, please,” Luca pleaded. He sounded frantic and Clara wished she could help him. “I knew of your magic. Your mother - she knew too.” 

“I suppose she died then. Did you kill her?” 

“Of course not! She was the love of my life!” 

“Then why did you let her leave?” Baelle’s eyes were filled with hatred and Clara’s stomach boiled. What exactly was happening. 

“I didn’t want her to,” Luca whispered, his eyes cloudy as if he was reminiscing the past. “I never wanted any of this. Bella, you should never have killed that poor boy.” Oh, wow, Clara thought. Murder this early? 

Baelle rolled her eyes. “Please. You know that Apollo got on my nerves. Besides, he won’t be missed.” 

“You killed him. Your mother wouldn’t have wanted this,” Luca muttered. 

“How would you know?” Baelle spat. “She left you long ago, and for good reason too. If you were my husband - ha - what a pathetic picture.” 

Luca trembled slightly, his hands shaking as he reached for Baelle. “Bella, your mother was a goddess. The love of my life, the Goddess of Knowledge. You were our darling little girl, she didn’t want to leave but… 

“Shut up!” Baelle yelled suddenly. “You have no right to talk about my mother.” 

“She was my wife-” 

“You are nothing!” Baelle screeched. Luca reached for her but Baelle thrust out her hands. Pure magic shot from her palms, hitting Luca point blank. The man collapsed to the ground, writhing in pain. 

Clara’s instinct was to bend down and heal him, but Elyviella’s presence held her back. This had already happened. 

Clara expected Baelle to feel remorse or to help her father. Instead, the girl turned on her heels and slammed the door behind her. A smoky form poured from under the door a moment later. The smoke took shape as a woman - Ibenily. 

The goddess bent down at Luca’s side. A small, silvery tear escaped from the corner of her eye. It trickled down her cheek. Luca’s eyes opened for a moment and a broken smile cracked across his face as he reached up and traced the tear down Ibenily’s face. The moment was pure love and Clara wondered how a child like Baelle had come from a relationship like that. 

The picture ended and Clara found herself still balanced on the windowsill. Elyviella’s misty form hovered in front of her. 

“I had no idea,” Clara whispered. “How could the goddesses let that happen to Luca?” 

Elyviella sneered. “You think we would interfere with mortal lives?” Then the goddess regained her composure, much to Clara’s relief. An angry goddess was not a fun situation. “Clara, child, it is of utmost importance that you understand Baelle’s past.” 

“I don’t understand - what is this prophecy? And what do I have to understand?” Clara asked frantically. Emmeline and Coral stirred inside the bedroom. 

Elyviella gave a small smile. “Knowledge comes with time, child.”

“Wait, what am I supposed to tell my friends?” Clara asked. “I can’t very well just tell them I met with a goddess.” 

“Maybe you don’t have to,” Elyviella smirked. “Because maybe this meeting never happened.” And with that, the image disappeared and Clara fell out of the window and spiraled towards the ground. 

Even if Luca didn’t know how to make tea, he sure knew how to cook. Clara couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps the ruined food outside had been as good as breakfast. 

Clara had woken up shaking, but luckily Emmeline and Coral were already in the dining room. She took a moment to regain her composure and stop trembling. Elyviella had pushed her out a window! 

Clara wasn’t sure if their meeting had been a dream or real life, but she decided not to focus on that. No matter what, the visions she saw made sense so she had to assume they were true. She decided to tell her friends later on, however, because Luca was actively listening - or at least, she thought he was. 

It was hard to tell because he was humming loudly. 

“Beckett, please watch what you’re doing,” Coral pleaded, breaking Clara from her thoughts as Beckett overflowed his glass with milk. It spilled off of the table and onto the floor. 

“Sorry,” Beckett mumbled, not looking remotely sorry at all. Luca hurried over absentmindedly and began to clean up the milk. 

The group shared a look. Emmeline had been oddly silent, but then again - she always was pretty quiet, at least since their fight against Baelle. Newt sat at her side, devouring as much food as she could. Coral and Forrest were also sitting side by side, though Coral was forcing a one sided casual conversation. 

“Where to next again?” Newt asked, swallowing a large mouthful of pancake. 

Emmeline elbowed him in the stomach and Coral cleared her throat. “To visit Aunt Georgia of course.” 

“Oh, yes, how could I forget?” Newt mumbled meekly, rubbing his stomach just as Luca straightened up. “Aunt Georgia will be expecting us.” Clara couldn’t tell if Luca was listening or being oblivious, but she knew to play it safe. 

“Hey, Luca, thanks for the help and all, but Aunt Georgia really needs us,” Clara interrupted. Coral and Emmeline sent her quizzical looks. Clara shrugged. 

Luca nodded, his stare blank. “I understand. But I thought I’d let you know that if you see my darling Bella on your journey, you should let her know she’ll always have a place here. Would you do that?” 

Clara choked back a sob that creeped up her throat and nodded. 

“I’m sure we’ll see her,” Newt said. “And I promise we’ll tell her that when we do.”