Godmother
Chapter Seven
…..
I have to say a quick thank you to everyone who has reviewed the fic so far, reviews go a long way to keep me motivated to keep writing, especially right now as I'm hooked up to a heart monitor and don't really feel like doing anything full stop. Feel free to ask any questions, though I can't promise a straight answer when I'm trying to build suspense.
…..
When Isabela was born, everyone in the village came to Casíta to congratulate the new parents and see the baby. Julieta would recall one little visitor for years to come.
Her name was Gabriela, she was about six or seven years old, and her family hadn't lived in the Encanto for very long. She smiled and waved at the baby like all the other children who had come to visit, until...
"Oh Gabita, isn't she beautiful?" her mother cooed.
"No."
There was a stunned, incredibly awkward silence. Gabriela stared back at the confused new parents.
"Apologize right now," her mother hissed.
"But my nonna said!" Gabriela insisted. "You can't say a baby is beautiful, it will make the espíritu jealous and they'll take the baby away and put a monster in its place!"
The mother groaned, wrapped one hand around the little girl's mouth and pulled her away.
"I am so sorry," she said over Gabriela's muffled protesting. "Her abuela, she has her ways...from the old country, you know?"
The residents of the Encanto had ancestors all over the world, it was next to impossible to know what old country she was referring to. There were a variety of old superstitions and customs observed all over the village, some of them exceedingly strange. But they had dismissed it at the time, laughed it off as a funny story they would tell Isabela when she was older.
Julieta would recall it a few years later, in much unhappier circumstances. And she was recalling it again, in the days following the funeral, Gabriela's serious little face as she declared that a baby must never be called beautiful or it would be stolen away.
I should have listened to her, and not gotten so attached to my babies. It would hurt so much less.
She was stuck in a cycle of intense grief and cold resentment. She hadn't gone into the kitchen since the memorial, couldn't bring herself to cook anything. Food tasted like ash in her mouth, eating was an unpleasant chore. She spoke very little, for fear that she would lash out and hurt someone.
She was angry with her sister, who was regularly dissolving into crying fits, even though she still had three living children. She was angry with her own children and her niece and nephew, though she knew it was wrong, for failing to save Mirabel. She was angry with Mariano Gúzman for entrusting her daughter's fate to an inept, violent mob. She was angry with her husband for how he didn't seem to be as devastated as she herself was. She was angry with Antonio for carrying Mirabel's glasses around and refusing to put them away, dealing her a fresh wave of pain every time she spotted them hanging out of his pocket or clutched in his hand.
She held an icy bitterness towards her own mother, a bitterness that had built up over years of watching Alma dismiss Mirabel, push her to the the edge of the family unit and enabled them all to get so careless that a stranger was able to take her away. Even the Casíta earned her contempt, every corner, floorboard and window was a reminder of what she had lost.
Mostly, she saved her anger for herself. She hated that she had let her mother dominate how she brought up her own children, how reliant she had been on the validation from the community, how useless she had been in protecting her child. She hadn't even realized Mirabel was missing until the fire was put out, she turned that little fact over and over in her head. She failed to learn from the first time she turned her back for just long enough...
...and leave a monster in its place...
She really hated that shred of doubt that festered after so long, that Mirabel had never really been hers to keep in the first place.
She was staring out the window, tracing a path through a nearby cornfield and recalling that cold dread she had felt the first time...
"Julieta? Please, we need you to come out..."
This knock on the door came once a day. The villagers were starting to gather at the Casíta again, expecting the grieving period to be over and life to get back to normal. Julieta could see them from where she was, holding injured arms and loosely bandaged heads, helpless as children.
"Not today," Julieta called back to her mother. "Maybe tomorrow."
Alma sighed, loud enough to be heard through the door. It was the same response she'd gotten the day before, and would get the next day. The Madrigal gifts had not gone away, but they had definitely been weakened by everyone's mental state. The Casíta itself was in mourning, it did not move or react with the same gusto that it had before.
"The villagers need you, amore," Alma called again. "I know how you feel, but you are letting them suffer..."
Good. Let them suffer like I'm suffering.
"Have them bring in a real doctor," she retorted. "Like every other village."
Alma's footsteps slowly shuffled away. Julieta had always been her best-behaved child, dutiful and placid and always willing to help. She had never talked back with such venom before, even in her teenage years when some rebellion was to be expected. Julieta knew that her mother had a hard time handling the change and a little spiteful part of herself was enjoying Alma's discomfort.
There was another window in her room, overlooking the troje, still scorched from the fire. Dolores was having a small struggle with Antonio, just as Pepa and Felix had been having since the memorial.
"Give me the glasses now," Dolores demanded in a hushed tone. "You can't keep doing this!"
"No," Antonio huffed, clutching Mirabel's glasses to his chest. "She needs them."
"You are hurting your Tia Julieta, is that what you want? The glass is broken, you'll cut yourself..."
"No," Antonio repeated. "No, no, no, no, no..."
He shook his head rapidly, crouching in a protective stance over the glasses. Several family members had tried to wrestle them away from him already, but he threw tantrums so loud and fierce that they gave up very quickly. It didn't help that his jaguar friend hovered nearby, waiting to step in to defend him if needed. He was a different child now, moody and combative.
Deep down, Julieta didn't really care that he held on to the glasses. She suspected it made everyone else uncomfortable to see them, but if he got some sort of comfort out of them then he was welcome to them. It was more than anyone else was getting.
…..
One of the great advantages of being raised in a magical house was that it was hard to be shocked or surprised when anything strange happened. The things Mirabel was seeing might have driven a normal person to madness, but she was taking it rather well, all things considered.
The residents of this place she had found herself in changed shape constantly, morphing between insect and humanoid form on a whim. They came in all shapes and sizes, wearing the guise of butterflies and moths that she recognized; pale green luna moths, red spotted monarchs, delicate glasswings, vivid swallowtails, dark mourning cloaks, giant birdwings, black witches, thin plume moths, along with hundreds that she didn't know. They fluttered over every available surface, skimmed across the water, and hovered as near to her as they could get.
They were mercurial little creatures, whispering and singing to each other and to her, sometimes having little squabbles over who got to sit with her. She had perched herself on one of the little islands, propped up against what could have been a very tall tree, and it seemed like she was holding a strange little court. The creatures brought her food, fruit and edible flowers, and even curved leaves full of nectar.
Mirabel couldn't say for certain how long she had been there; there was no sun or moon, or any indication of whether it was day or night. The only source of light came from the creatures themselves, who glowed faintly like tiny votive candles, and something far above them that passed by every now and then, like a golden cloud. For the first few hours (minutes? days?) she did very little but tear a few strips from her dress to wrap around her gunshot wounds and try to figure out what to do through a haze of confusion and probable blood loss. She drifted off to sleep on the island sometimes, the creatures covering her like a living blanket.
Strangely, she felt at home in this place. Being able to see everything clearly without her glasses was incredible, and she found if she waded through the water she felt less pain from her wounds. She felt no hunger or thirst, although she ate and drank everything the creatures brought to her (and was amused by watching three or four of them struggle under the weight of a single piece of fruit) and the air was neither too cold or too warm. The creatures tried to emulate her in their shifting forms, manifesting curls and wrapping flower petals around themselves like dresses.
When they spoke or sang, it was a mix of intelligible words and sounds along with clicks, whistles and rustling. Mirabel could recognize a word here or there, but mostly she just heard pleasant gibberish. They demanded that she sing to them in their fashion, and she obliged with a few songs she loved as a child. They were enraptured when she sang to them, and they echoed her for a long time afterwards, the sound trickling off into the distance.
Eventually, when she felt stronger, she realized she would have to find a way out of this place and back to her worried family. She addressed the creature that seemed to have the most sway over the others, a green birdwing that was wearing a pata de vaca as a skirt.
"Do you know the way I can get back home, by any chance?" she asked.
The birdwing blinked with its compound eyes, screwed up its little mouth and rubbed its chin. It consulted some of its brethren nearby with a series of clicks and whirrs. Then it grinned at her, fluttered into the air and gestured for her to follow.
Even with the pain dulled by wading through the water, walking was difficult on her bad leg. It had gone numb from the upper thigh down, so she asked the creatures if they could fetch her a cane to lean on. Moments later, thirty or so came crashing down from the expanse above them, trying to carry a long straight tree branch.
They floated alongside her, the birdwing leading them through the islands, singing a little marching rondo. How they could even tell where they were going was a mystery to Mirabel; there was no clear path, the water was still and as far as she could see there was nothing in the distance but more tiny islands. Still, they seemed confident of where they were leading her. A few of them carried little twigs as crutches in an imitation of her that might have been cruel if they had any sense of malice.
She tired easily, and stopped to rest often. Rain fell in sheets from above a few times, during which the creatures gathered to make a dome as a shelter for her. The rain carried a strange scent with it, something sharp and sweet like lime juice or palm sugar. If it wasn't for her dead leg, Mirabel might have tried to climb one of the tree-like structures to get an idea of her surroundings.
She had just sat up on yet another island for a rest when a hush fell over the creatures, they stopped their singing and marching and settled across the other islands, whispering to each other. Their glowing wavered, flickered, grew in intensity. Mixed in with the gibberish, Mirabel caught a few words she knew, repeated over and over.
...she is coming...she is here...
The golden cloud that had been swooping over them hovered in place, and then slowly it descended on them, growing smaller but more defined as it floated down. A body was formed, all long multifaceted wings and spindly limbs, a shining carapace, two long feathery plumes glowing powdery gold. A female torso, unnaturally long. Huge black eyes that reflected no light but burned from the inside out. Beautiful and terrifying in equal measure.
Mirabel froze on the spot as this new being reached for her with its needle-tipped limbs, her heart hammering painfully in her chest. A living god, a thousand times more dangerous than El Verraco, the tall man and all their cronies. And yet...
know you...
The being caressed her face, gentle as a kiss, and it spoke to her. Though its voice was mystifying, sonorous and rich as a stringed instrument, she understood.
My child.
I have missed you so.
I have been waiting for you.
She knew this being's face. Somewhere deep in her subconscious, she remembered and loved it.
Loved her.
The being pressed her head to Mirabel's, a kiss from a creature that didn't have a mouth. Under her skin, running through her veins, spots of gold began to glimmer like stardust, just about visible. The other creatures glowed too, pulsating in harmony with her heartbeat.
Welcome home.
…..
Dolores snuck out to the Gúzman house as soon as she was sure that everyone else had gone to bed, if not to sleep. She was weary of the grief in the Casíta, every moment filled with the sounds of at least one person crying in private. She could have handled that, but Julieta's lack of tears disturbed her. It was like that part of her kindly aunt had died along with Mirabel.
Mariano welcomed her with a warm hug and a gentle kiss to her forehead, although he might have preferred more affection from his fiancé he was always considerate. She considered herself a very lucky girl.
"How is everyone holding up?" he asked tentatively, pushing a cup of coffee in front of her.
"Pretty terrible," she sighed. "Antonio's like a demon right now, he won't let go of Mirabel's glasses...Mom's a wreck, Dad spends all day trying to keep her from flooding the house, Camilo hasn't said a word to anyone in days..."
She trailed off, rubbing her temples. Mariano squeezed her hand with a wry smile.
"Isabela's holed up in her room and you can't get past the cactus grove," she continued. "Everyone else is just trying to get things back to normal, me included."
"There's not really a 'normal' after something like this," he told her.
"I know, but the community depends on us."
"That's your abuela talking. The community will find a way to manage, they owe you all some space."
"I guess," she groaned.
"Well, I have some news. It's not exactly good news, but you might get some satisfaction out of it. El Verraco is missing. He's probably dead."
Dolores did get a little spike of satisfaction from that, she even managed a flicker of a smile.
"How? Was in painful? Please tell me it was painful," she asked.
"Nobody knows," Mariano shrugged. "Supposedly he went into the forest when the fire was out, looking for...well, you know. He hasn't been seen since. Los Brutales is completely disbanded."
It wouldn't bring Mirabel back, but it was something at least. Dolores hoped with all her heart that the man who ruined her family had died screaming.
…..
The time that passed in the being's presence was a blur. She held Mirabel like a child and carried her far above the water, sheltered her from the occasional rainfall under her wings and lay beside her when she slept. She could not heal the wounds but she took the pain away with a single breath. Mirabel hadn't felt so safe and loved since she was a small child.
This butterfly queen (a childish moniker, but the only thing that occurred to her) held court with her followers, they echoed her songs and chants and glowed in patterns alongside her. Mirabel had heard these songs before, long ago, she knew that now.
She should have been angry, she thought. Here was the probable reason she hadn't received a gift along with the rest of her family, the queen's magic had blocked the Madrigal magic somehow. But that magic had rescued her from certain death, she didn't even have the will to question it. She couldn't even be sure that a creature so far removed from humanity could give a straight answer even if she did ask questions.
Eventually, the queen had to leave. She held Mirabel close to her before she ascended, turning back into the swooping golden cloud. The temptation to stick around until she came back down was intense, but Mirabel continued on her way, guided by the smaller creatures.
After a time, they reached a light coming from a door-sized gap between two islands. Peering through it, Mirabel was gobsmacked to see the little goat path that lead to the Encanto, on the very outskirts of the river. Many of the creatures said, clicked or whistled their farewells then and fluttered away, but a handful of them, including the birdwing, hovered around, waiting. She hesitated at the line that marked the end of the dark expanse and the beginning of the goat path.
"If I go through here," she asked the birdwing, "will I be able to come back?"
The thought of never being able to see this place and its inhabitants again was enough to bring her to tears, but she was delighted when the birdwing clicked and whirred and nodded. In its strange way, it managed to tell her that they all wanted her to come back, and soon.
When she did step over the precipice, she was hit by a wave of pain in her injured leg and the loss of her clear vision. Suddenly everything was a vaguely green haze, and although she was fairly sure of the way home it would be difficult to navigate without her glasses. The birdwing, now fully in the guise of a butterfly, fluttered just in front of her, beckoning her along the path.
Gripping the cane and dragging her bad leg behind her, she set out for home.
…..
Elena had a job now, since she had turned nine years old and was deemed responsible enough to handle a task like finding wild growing fruit and reporting it back, but she was slacking off. She wanted to go see the fish in the river; her brother had told her he saw El Mohán lurking in the shallows, but she was certain he had just seen a particularly large catfish. She wanted to double-check, just in case.
She never made it as far as the river. She was stopped in her tracks by what she thought might have been La Patasola, the one-legged woman dressed in white that her brother had also told her he saw once. She had a cane, Elena could only see one foot under her dress, and there were butterflies floating around her face. Elena took a step back; La Patasola might drink her blood if she got too close.
"Who is that?" the ghost called out. "Rosa? No...Elena, is that you?"
It was weird that La Patasola would sound just like Mirabel Madrigal. She even kind of looked like Mirabel, but without the glasses. It was also weird that she knew her name.
"Elena, I can't see anything. Is that you?" the ghost called again.
"It's me," Elena agreed. "Are you a ghost?"
"What? No...I'm alive, sort of."
Everyone said Mirabel was dead (they didn't tell her how she died, just that she had and the Madrigals were very sad about it and wouldn't come out of their magic house for a while) but she did look mostly alive.
"What happened to you?" she asked. "Everyone says you died. Did you see El Mohán? Did he bring you to his palace under the water?"
"Yep, he sure did," Mirabel said. She sounded tired. "Listen, I can't walk much, my leg is all busted up, and I can't see. You think you can run up to the Casíta and tell them I'm back? You do that for me and I'll fix your monkey's leg for you."
It was definitely Mirabel. She'd promised to fix Elena's toy monkey shortly before she went missing.
"Okay, I'll do it," she agreed, hopping up and down, now excited at the prospect of being the one to cheer up the Madrigal family. "They're gonna be so happy, oh man..."
"Can you ask them to bring my glasses? I'm totally blind right now..."
"Yep!"
She ran back through the village as fast as her little legs could manage, not even stopping when her mother called after her for skipping work. Although it was a sunny day, the Casíta was covered by a cloud pouring rain in thick sheets. Elena pounded on the door.
Luisa was the one who opened the door, plastering on a fake smile for the child's sake.
"What is it, sweetie? Do you need..."
"Mirabel's back! I saw her down near the river!"
Luisa froze. A sharp set of footsteps approached and the door was flung open. The Madrigal matriarch scowled down at Elena.
"That is a very cruel joke to play," she scolded. "I'll be having words with your mother..."
"It's true! It's true!" Elena insisted. "I thought she was a ghost because I was looking for El Mohán because my brother said he saw him in the river and I said he was lying and she was there and her leg is busted up and she wants you to bring her glasses to her because she's totally blind!"
A few more Madrigals had trickled downstairs and were staring out at Elena, silent, their expressions stuck somewhere between hopeful and upset. The rain pouring down on the house slowed to a light shower.
"She said she'd fix my monkey's leg," Elena offered. "She was supposed to do it before she went away but she never did."
Luisa stepped outside, picking up Elena and throwing her up onto her shoulder.
"I'll go see what's going on," she told her family. "If she's lying..."
"I'm not lying," Elena insisted, punctuated with a little kick to Luisa's burly shoulder.
Luisa closed her eyes, tightened her grip.
"I'll be back soon."
When Luisa set out for the river, the rest of the village had already realized that something was going on and were lingering at their doors, talking quietly. Elena could feel the tension in Luisa's shoulders as she was bounced around by her, running so fast her teeth chattered. She was unceremoniously dumped on the ground when they reached the riverbank to find Mirabel propped up against a tree.
"I know those footsteps...Is that Luisa?" she called out.
Elena would have thought Luisa would be happy to see her sister. Instead of cheering or something, she just stood there staring with her hand over her mouth and tears dripping down her face. Go figure.
"Dios mío..." she heard her whisper. "Is it really you?"
"I think so," Mirabel laughed weakly. "Did you bring my glasses?"
Luisa swept her sister up in her arms, stopping short of a bone-crushing hug when Mirabel yelped a little in pain. She pressed kisses into her hair and cried so hard that the tears ran in little rivulets down Mirabel's shoulder. It was such a sweet thing to see that Elena didn't even mind when they left her behind on the goat path, speeding away towards home.
….
Notes: The superstition that you shouldn't call a baby beautiful is an old myth from Irish culture, the story goes that the fair folk will take a particularly beautiful child for themselves and leave a changeling baby in its place. It was most likely a way of explaining away things like autism, developmental disorders and disabilities.
El Mohán is a water spirit from Colombian myth, he supposedly lives in an underwater palace, steals fishing supplies from fishermen and his appearance is a bad omen that fortells earthquakes, floods and plagues.
La Patasola is a spirit that lives in dense jungle, has only one leg and tempts men into the forest so she can drink their blood.
