Cauldron Anthology Issue 3: Year 1 Collection Cauldron Anthology Year One Issue FINAL 1.17.18 | Page 38

The door clicks shut behind me as I gaze out into the early morning mist, swirling with
poten-tial, roiling with hope. Everywhere there is a slight green hue to the world and the sun takes
shel-ter behind some clouds as a low rumble of thunder announces its presence.
Before I can even reach my rocking chair, his voice comes to me, unseen, unbidden, but heard
all the same. “So you have returned.”
“As have you.”
“I have come to remind you of who you were before.”
“Before what?” Before what? I have always been me. I have always been a Kalip Woman.
“Before you let the world change you.”
“The world has not changed me. I have changed the world.”
He laughs and steps closer to the bottom step. His eyes look red in the early morning light.
“How have you changed the world?”
“I have brought peace to people who sought me in their distress.” Why else would I sit here,
rocking in the sun every day?
“Again with the lies. Do you think they feel any peace when the next day dawns and they re-alize
they still have the same questions?”
Again, my back bunches and twists, hot pokers of unease pulling at my skin, but my mouth
stays silent.
He steps forward again, the toe of his left boot touching the bottom stone step. I have never
known a man to do that and I push my feet backwards against the floor, sliding the chair in a
screech that seems likely to bring the sky down.
But the sky doesn’t fall. We are just two people, me and him, woman and man, truth and fan-ta-
sy, life and death.
“Don’t you remember your before? The days of the gods?” He is no longer laughing.
“There is just the Kalip Women. No other gods are needed.”
“Are they not?”
“No.” My voice is strong, vital, final. “You may go now.”
“I have come to return you.”
“I have never left.” My red cloak feels heavy, hot, suffocating.
“You will be free.”
“I am not in chains.”
“Of your own making, I’m afraid.”
“Now you are the liar.” My laugh is hollow, empty, a shadow of unease. A curse.
“You do not remember me.” He sounds sad. As if a man’s sadness has ever had any bearing on
my life.
“No. And I do not want to know you now.” I am being crushed under the weight of my cloak,
the sky, the world, his eyes.
“Look at me, Kalip Woman, and remember.” He steps onto the first stone step and a snarl leaps
from my throat, more animal than human. His eyes engulf me. I am falling into his eyes.
The mist around the great stone house vanishes, replaced by the bright sun of faraway places,
of sand, and marble, and plants that perfumed the air long ago. Of rushing water that few crossed
willingly, of a multitude of buildings all with their own stones steps, of gods who shout-ed on high