Vedasto's Curse: The Cornucopia

For part 1: https://vocal.media/fiction/vedasto-s-curse-the-champion

For part 2: https://vocal.media/fiction/vedasto-s-curse-the-challenge

~~~

Food is a gift, even if it comes from a beast which nearly killed Chiara. With more resilience and positivity than Lorenzo, she likes to believe it is a blessing from the Giver herself, Pletora. Lorenzo gave a tight smile to Chiara when she explained her theory this morning, but he fears it is a bad omen. Food in the form of a gift would have been a deer breaking its leg by their camp, not a predator tearing his companion’s leg off.

Still, despite his reservations he tries to stay optimistic for her benefit. Chiara is cart-bound, now nestled among the sacks of coins while Lorenzo staggers onward. The soles of his shoes have worn holes through them and bloody patches have stained the material wrapping his hands, which are raw and splintered.

The downhill trend isn’t much easier than the uphill push as he struggles to keep the cart from speeding down a slope. With stiff fingers and throbbing forearms, Lorenzo clenches his jaw so tightly he can’t continue conversation with Chiara.

“Take a break, Ren,” she says softly.

The young man shakes his head, pivoting the cart to carefully navigate the next slope. His palms are burning beneath the wraps.

“Lorenzo, listen to me. Stop here and rest. You will only end up injuring yourself if you push too hard. Are you listening? Ren, be smart and stop. If you don’t, I will get out of the cart and make-”

“Shh.”

It’s a small sound, but the urgency in his tone is clear. She presses her lips shut and listens, hearing nothing.

“I think I can hear water.”

“Oh - you might be right. Look.”

Lorenzo follows her pointed finger to the right, spotting a smattering of yellow flowers under the cover of a small bush. Dainty little things; Lorenzo almost missed them. It’s a relief to finally arrive at the next piece of the puzzle. Follow the yellow flowers to the river, which leads to a lake. They are nearing Pletora’s grove. His heart gives an excited hop in beat and he relaxes against the cart a minute.

“You know, this is comfortable, if you need to lie down.”

The last hundred metres have been precarious at best; he can’t deny how exhausted he is. Even if he did, Chiara would see through him. He limps around to the back of the back and climbs on, groaning loudly as his back decompresses.

“I told you.”

“I know. I needed this.”

A small satisfied sound almost makes him laugh at her smugness. Lorenzo would never have looked at the mountain of golden coins in Vedasto’s fountain and considered them to be a comfortable bed, but here he is, sinking into the metal tokens as if they are goose feathers.

“I wish I could help.”

Over the last two weeks, Lorenzo has developed a knack for hearing the worry in her tone. He musters a mumble and falls into a comfortable silence for a few minutes until his heart rate slows and the burning pain in his hands subsides.

“We should probably keep going. Get to this river, wash up and cool down. I am sure we need to clean our wounds, and replenish our water skins.”

Not as refreshed as he hoped, Lorenzo continues being the strength behind the cart while Chiara navigates them to the next patch of yellow blossoms. With Chiara’s clear instruction Lorenzo lets his mind fall back into some obedient and passive state, at rest while Chiara directs his every move. It’s a relief to only have to listen and move, and not have to think anymore. In a way, it brings his attention to the emotional and mental strain he has been under. Chiara called him out for shouldering too much on his own early in the journey but he is stubborn. Truthfully, he overestimated himself, thriving on some magical confidence bestowed upon him by the lady at the fountain which has all but run dry.

“You’re about to go over a small tree branch. I smell it, we are getting close! Small dip coming up, tree to your left, keep going straight.”

At last, Chiara’s excited squeals are like music to Lorenzo’s ears as the river comes into view. It’s not a minute too soon, as he collapses to his knees soon after. As the girl clambers out of the cart, the soft clinking of coins encourages Lorenzo to stand and help her. Her small frame leans on him as she hops towards the water’s edge, but she doesn’t wait for him as she hops back to the cart to unload their things.

Their water skins are filled with the fresh running water of the river before Lorenzo unwraps his hands carefully. At the last layer, he hisses as the material sticks to his flesh. Tugging at the material slowly makes him feel sick so he squeezes his eyes shut and holds his breath.

He opens them to a bloody mess. The skin of his palms is torn and blisters build upon blisters. So focused on his tasks, he didn’t realise Chiara was watching him. The poor girl is so pale Lorenzo fears she will faint.

“It’s fine.”

She blinks, staring at him dumbly. “It’s … fine?”

He opens his mouth to persuade her, but there is nothing he can do to convince her with hands looking like this.

“I suppose it’s not fine,” he sighs. “I am going to bathe. Do you mind?”

Her brow twitches. “No. I will be down river a bit.”

“Wait, don’t go too far. We should stay within sight of each other.”

The sincerity in his eyes is something she can’t argue with. While Lorenzo peels his shirt off, she shimmies carefully downriver and hides behind a tree to remove her clothing. She brought very little with her, only three dresses which have been damaged in some way, so she didn’t want to have one soaking wet over the next day or more on top of that.

The river immediately sets its icy grip around her ankle and she starts to question if cleanliness is worth the chill. She twists to prop her injured leg up on the bank and the rest of her body sinks into the water. It’s freezing, but it’s a relief to rub the oil and dirt from her hair. The water is so cold it soothes the soreness of her injured arm. Through the canopy the sun strikes her skin and warms her, but not enough to stay in the water too long.

Clean skin does wonders for the mind more than the body, as she returns feeling cheerier than ever to Lorenzo, still hip-deep in the river. Facing away from the water, she rests against a tree trunk, considering what comes next.

“Do you think it will be obvious when we find the cornucopia?” she asks. “The lady from Vedasto’s fountain said Pletora would be there so I hope we don’t miss it.”

“We will find it,” he grunts as he pulls himself up onto the river bank. “Pletora will take the coins, and then we go home. We right the wrongs of our ancestors to fix this mess.”

Lorenzo’s mind goes to his mother, practically on her death-bed when he left, and senses by Chiara’s silence that her thoughts are in a similar place.

“Then we had better not delay. Let’s go. Your hands… I don’t know what to do about your hands.”

There is nothing which could fix his hands. Pain is inevitable, but it is easier to push through it mentally knowing how close they are to their goal. An hour or so passes while the duo and their cart follow the river deeper into the valley.

At this point in the journey, Chiara has a sixth sense for when Lorenzo’s spirits begin to fall. She repeats her mantra to encourage him and it is when her voice succumbs to silence that her partner lifts his gaze to the cornucopia.

It is in this pocket of the world that the laws of the forest don’t apply. The trees don’t fight for sunlight wherein the largest smothers the smallest in the process. Instead, each tree stretches high and wide, unrestricted. The flowers don’t wilt; each one an example of a timeless, perfect blossom. The grass is soft underfoot, without fallen sticks or burs to threaten a bare foot. Butterflies kiss the flower petals, sunlight heats the rocks for lizards to laze, and birdsong echoes through the cornucopia. Rabbits poke around without fear of Lorenzo and Chiara. Berry bushes are in abundance with ripe, juicy pendants hanging from the branches. The lake is undisturbed aside from ripples from fish in its embrace.

“It’s beautiful,” Chiara says softly. “I could stay here forever.”

It is undeniably the most precious place Lorenzo has ever seen. It scares him that his first thought was how it would be destroyed if anybody ever found it.

“Enjoy it while you can, because I won’t be leaving you here.”

“Visitors,” a dry voice says. “Are you lost?”

Lorenzo hurries to help Chiara out of the cart and they address their host. The figure of a woman stands before them wearing thick robes, an unimpressed expression plastered across her face.

“I’m Lorenzo. This is Chiara. We aren’t lost. We have come seeking you.”

“I don’t accept visitors. I have nothing to give you.”

“Wait! We don’t come to ask anything of you, we have come to return something to you.”

Her brow twitches with interest and her slender hand waves at them to proceed. Chiara steals a glance of the woman while Lorenzo unloads the bags of golden tokens. Pletora’s form is what Chiara would always consider to be a beautiful woman which holds the hearts of men, and girls like her aspire to be, with wide hips, a full bosom, and rich wavy locks spilling over her shoulders. Voluptuous would be the word. Her eyes, however, throw the whole image into question. Her eyes don’t have the sparkle of confidence a woman like that should have, but are dulled by disappointment.

Chiara purses her lips with a concerned frown, but remains silent.

“We are returning your coins, your tokens,” Lorenzo says with childlike excitement, desperate for the praise of a guardian. “The ones Vedasto stole from you.”

At the sound of the man’s name, Pletora’s jaw muscles flex and her steely stare pierces Lorenzo. “Do not say that name here again. These are called Favours, something which can only be given, not stolen.”

Lorenzo swallows nervously, heart hammering either from her striking beauty, her terrifying tone, or both. “Yes, I understand. We are returning them to you now that we know the truth of what he did. Oh - I also have this for you.”

The lady from Vedasto’s fountain gave Lorenzo her own Favour, and it rests in his palm, glinting in the sunlight.

“I see. She asked you to deliver this to me?”

“Yes, so you would know she is trying to redeem herself,” Chiara says. “Please, we hope you accept it.”

Pletora’s fingers pluck the coin from the boys hand, carefully avoiding direct skin contact. She turns it over and inspects it while deep in thought.

“I accept. You may leave, now.”

“Wait! Please,” Lorenzo can’t hide the panic in his voice. “We have returned the coins to you, can you now please restore health and prosperity to our town?”

All within a moment the Goddess of Gods becomes a dark, overpowering presence oozing vehemence. “You claimed you weren’t here to ask for anything, but here you are… liars. Your kind will always be liars, just like him.”

“Well, not a one-sided ask, but a trade. We return the coins, and you return health to our home.” Confidence is absent from his voice.

“Ah, let us be specific. You have returned something stolen. You have not gifted anything to me. Despite this, you expect me to give you something. Let it be known I did not bestow the plague upon your town, so there is nothing of my own doing to be undone.”

Ever-watchful and observant, Chiara notices the disdain Pletora holds for Lorenzo in the way she holds her chin, and the tightness of her voice. Being sent on the journey of a hero only to be accused of selfish intent isn’t something they prepared for, so poor Lorenzo is lost for words.

“Trying to think of a way to gain my trust like he did? My daughter was fooled by a man before, but I know better than that. I do appreciate you returning my Favours, of course, but I owe you no debt or trade. A wrong has been righted, consider I hold no ill-will against you.”

“You call us liars,” Chiara says. “And yet you commit the same act. I can see you hold ill-will, though I understand you won’t act upon it, right?”

It doesn’t take long for Chiara to instantly regret her words as the Goddess’ eyes narrow at her, a fire lit behind them.

“You have outstayed your welcome, although in truth you were never welcome here. Thank you for returning what is mine.”

Pletora spins on her heel, brushing her robes aside, but is stopped by a stubborn boy. “You won’t give what we have come for unless you receive something else in a trade, is that right?”

“Correct. You need to earn my Favour or trade in equivalent exchange,” she says. “What could possibly convince me to give you this? What is the equal price of life?”

“Another life,” Lorenzo says huskily. “I give my own to you, and ask that you save our town.”

A stunned silence falls upon the three of them. Even more so shocking, is the Goddess considering the offer.

“I was never going to succeed on my own. Your daughter assigned this quest to me, but I wonder if she knew Chiara was listening to us at Ve- - his fountain. Did she know I would invite Chiara to come with me? Did she know that each step would cause me pain, and break my resolve, and that Chiara would build it back up again?” Lorenzo shakes his head. “If I were alone, I would have given up. I am exactly who you expected I would be. I accepted this responsibility for selfish reasons, to save my mother, but I know she will have passed by now. It is Chiara’s desire to help everyone which kept me going. She is pure of heart, and without her, I wouldn’t have been able to return your Favours. I think this is the only thing left within my power to help everyone.”

Pure shock holds Pletora’s features still while the boy speaks, but by the end, Chiara is worked up into a panic.

“Ren, no! You can’t! How silly can you be? I would not have been able to do this alone, either. Every time I started to worry you made me feel better. You bore all that pain to get these tokens here, we both did!”

Lorenzo’s smile is soft and sad. “It’s for your brother, it’s for your father, it’s for you, it’s for me… it was for my mother. It’s for our neighbours. It’s for Pletora. I don’t intend on failing you so entirely now, Chiara. Let me do this for you.”

While his words are full of promise and reassurance, his eyes betray his fear. He waits for Pletora to consider his offer.

“Life exchanged for life,” she nods appreciatively. “I do not require your life, boy. Instead, you have earned my Favour. To sacrifice your life for others is a noble, worthy act. Here, take it.”

She presses one of the coins into Lorenzo’s hands and runs her fingers gently along his wrists. Similar to when the lady at the fountain touched his skin, a tingling sensation warms him before he feels reinvigorated, timeless, unbeatable. As the wounds of his palms seal, he grins widely, finally unburdened by the pain.

“Consider this a parting gift. After all these years, my daughter has finally learned who she can trust. You have made a larger impact than you understand, boy. The girl is right; don’t overlook your own achievements.”

Pletora approaches Chiara cautiously, seeking permission with her eyes before she touches her leg.

“I expect you will need to be able to walk to get back to your home. Please, follow mine to yours. May you have safe travels, and may health and prosperity return to your town.”

A butterfly floats from pink blossoms to Lorenzo and Chiara, fluttering about their faces before bouncing in the direction they came from. With a wave over her shoulder, Pletora leaves them without another word.

“I suppose we follow the butterfly?”

“You idiot!” Chiara’s fist comes down on Lorenzo’s chest.

“Ow!”

“How could you do that to me!? You think I want you to die for me? You stupid, stupid, supid -”

His hands come down on her small shoulders and his squeezes before offering an apologetic smile. “Let me make it up to you?”

Chiara scowls. “Fine. We go home, save the town, and then what?”

Lorenzo shrugs as he slings their belongings over his shoulder. “I could dedicate my life to you, would that make amends?”

“Hardly.” Chiara hides her smile.

"Before you go," a familiar voice sounds behind them, but it isn't Pletora. "Thank you both for fulfilling what I asked of you."

Lorenzo knows that voice; it sends shivers down his spine. He wants to finally gaze upon her, the beautiful woman whose image is pressed into the coin she gave him at Vedasto's fountain, but he can't bring himself to move. Air catches in his throat.

"You are right; this would only have been successful with the two of you. You have each righted the wrongs of Vedasto, but you, Lorenzo, have redeemed humanity. You are a stubborn boy, and I am grateful to you."

"Wh-what is your name?" he stammers, staring ahead at the butterfly, too nervous to turn.

"In your language, my name is Amora."

"I will pray to you, Amora."

Her laugh is like silk, smooth and delicate. "You already have enough love in your life without need to pray to me, but I promise I will hear you."

Sounds of padded footsteps on grass fade away, and Lorenzo steals a glance at Chiara who is looking back open-mouthed, cheeks blushing cherry-red.

"What's wrong? What did I miss?"

"N-nothing!"

She leaps after the butterfly and pulls Lorenzo with her. Chiara caught the gaze of Amora who gave her a knowing smile as she spoke of love to Lorenzo. It feels like her heart has been exposed, and is grateful Lorenzo can't yet see it.

Together, the pair travel home with Pletora's Favour heavy in Lorenzo's pocket.

~~

The End.