"Go away!" One fat man with an ale-stained tunic bellowed at her. "Nothing good will come of if she is around..." She once heard an old woman whisper to her sister as she passed by. "Look! It's the witch!" Was the common chant of a gaggle of boys that threw rotten fruit at her feet when Isamora passed by.
Where the jeers and rebukes were loud and constant outside, within her own home, it was silent, yet the fear and resentment persisted. Her father and mother rarely looked her in the eyes. They too received the same derision as she did, being the parents of a cursed child, but it was not for this that they feared their only daughter. They knew what the Yitra could do.
No one knows how they are brought into this world. Neither blood nor environment could predict a child to be born with such a curse. Silence and horror would often fall upon mothers who behold their child to be Yitra. The irremovable mark on their forehead, a stain written on them by some great and mysterious dark god, is how natural humans recognized them.
Growing up, she had heard stories about her kind and why they were so despised. The Yitra could open doors and windows. Not the ones within castles and houses, to be sure, but the ones that separated this world, the one of humans, to the innumerable ones of greater and lesser beings. Worlds of horror and pleasure, light and dark, simple and enigmatic. As the Yitra could create passable rifts through these worlds, they could surely walk through them themselves and grant to same to the alien beings they encounter. For this, they were powerful, and, as Isamora concluded, why they were feared, even as children.
This fear has been proven though, Isamora had to admit. Several Yitra have used it for selfish and evil purposes. Exiles returned to the cities that had cast them out, and wreaked havoc by opening portals that allowed unimaginable horrors crawled out harry the humans. But Isamora did not want to hurt anyone. She only wanted to be in a place where she was liked and belonged. If only she was a powerful as the other villagers feared she was. The only worlds she could travel through were her dreams when she slept, which wasn't so bad sometimes.
It was her grandmother she dreamed of. Unlike her parents, she did not fear, but loved her truly, though she was Yitra. "You're special," she would tell her as she brushed the hair out her eyes with an old shaky hand, "you don't scare me." But she was gone, taken by illness when she was six year's old. She had heard the adults talk about the life that followed after death. The spirit, the Vis, the mind that left the body, would find its peace in another world where it continued to exist.
Isamora tried and tried to reach this world, but knew not how to start. She had several strategies, all ended in failure and headaches. What if I try to dream while awake? She wondered, one time. What if I stare at a wall and imagine a door? This method made her feel like the most foolish fool when she found it to be fruitless when put to the test.
No matter how hard she focused, she could only see the world she grew up in. Here, she could not find the answer. However, one night, the answer rushed to find her, it seemed.
Another war between kingdoms erupted. Villages were pillaged, and her own was no exception. Her parents ran in ahead of her, her mother taking her hand through the moonlit woods. Other families were interspersed among the trees and shrubs, all heading in one direction, though Isamora could not tell what exactly was their destination. She had woken up to yelling and the smell of smoke. Only a short amount of time had passed, while running barefoot through the dead leaves, when she realized she did not have Litza, the old ragged doll her grandmother had given her before she left this world. She broke from her mother's grasp and headed back towards the village. She did not look back to see if they would chase after her.
She managed to sneak back into her house; the village was crawling with soldiers from the enemy kingdom. She found Litza, but a soldier had made his way in her house as she was about to leave. They stood facing each other.
"Oh, just a child," the armored man said kindly, putting his dagger away. "Run along, now, children don't-" the pause in his speech and the weary look he gave her was something she was used to. But here, it meant much worse. "Yitra! In here!" The man's warm, kind tone died and from it, rose different one, cold and dead." Don't move, creature." The soldier pulled his dagger out once more and approached her. She through a jug of water at his face and bolted for the door. She was thin and quick, and able to slip past him by his side as he muttered curses and wiped his face.
His men had surely heard his call, and now they were hunting the Yitra holding a doll. She ran into the woods and started going in the direction she thought her parents and the others were running to.
"There! I see her. Get her!" A younger man's voice shouted. The voices grew closer. She heard the beating of hooves. She glanced behind her and saw the soldiers armed with steel, torches and ropes. She feared for her life. They would treat her like a monster, maybe lock her in a cage. They would do worse to Yitra than they would their prisoners, she feared. Why was this her life? Always unwanted, yet chased down and yelled at, though she did nothing wrong. She didn't want to be Yitra. She never asked for it, just like all those born with the ugly mark. She wanted her grandmother. She wished the doll would transform into her and hold her in her loving arms. Grandmother... The beating of the hooves were getting louder, the torch light at her back getting brighter. She forced her legs harder, sprinting as fast as she could. A huge war horse suddenly appeared out of the woods before her, its rider having an unfriendly look. She tried to stop, and she stumbled.
She expected to land on her face and get a mouth full of dust, but the floor beneath her opened up and she fell into a hole the shape of a mouth. It looked to be filled with light, but it was just the darkness of the night that embellished it's brilliance.
The space that surrounded her was a place that of eternal sunshine. The lush grass she had landed on was softer than any bed she had ever slept on, and beyond the greenery continued. Though, it was the sky that caught her attention the most. Above clouds that were close to the ground seemed to speak. Countless voices, a chorus of lively conversations came from it. She realized, looking closely, that they were a mass of people, though she could see through them as if they were made of glass. The Vis of the departed, she concluded.
Among the many faces, she saw her grandmother. She called out to her and the Vis of her grandmother rushed to meet her. They embraced, her ghostly form becoming whole, as if she had returned to the flesh. Her arms were warm and not shaky and weak as they were in the few days before her passing.
"Is it really you?" Isamora asked, with tears in her eyes.
"Of course, sweetling. It is me, do not be troubled." Her grandmother giggled and saw what was in her hand. "You seem to have brought my old friend as well."
"We had to leave home. I couldn't leave it there, its all I have to remember you by." she felt silly saying it to her. The reality she had to accept was that she would never see her again, and Litza was a comforting little trinket. Though she doubted she would ever forget the sweet memories of the only person to show her love, it was nice to have something to hold and look at to remind her of her love.
But here it was, the confirmation of her grandmother's life beyond death. Would she need to carry around this old toy knowing what she accomplished?
"It was your remembrance of me that brought you here." Her grandmother explained, "I'm so proud of you. You were able to pass through the Curtain, and at such a young age! Your great-grandmother passed through for her first time when she was sixteen."
The news shocked her. There are other Yitra in my family before me? She thought to herself. Her grandmother, in the world of the living, had sensed something in Isamora when she was a baby. Something in her mind telling her not to fear her for what she was, for she too, at the time, worried about her granddaughter's "curse." It was then her dreams became unnaturally vivid. In them she met her real mother, who was forced to leave her in the care of natural humans who she thought, all this time, were her real parents. Her own mother was a Yitra, yet she herself was not, but the familial bond they shared allowed her mother to communicate with her in such a way.
"I told you that you were special." Isamora's grandmother reminded her. "You may be young now, but ahead of you is a great responsibility."
"What do you mean? What must I do?" Isamora asked.
"Listen closely, sweetling. The war, it will get worse. A Yitra has risen to power and wants to not only rule the world of humans, but many of the worlds outside it. He intends to part the Curtain for another realm, one filled with an ancient evil that should remain asleep."
"An ancient evil?" Isamora tried not to show her fear as she spoke.
"Yes. You see, as a Yitra, you also command forces present in other worlds, you need only summon them to assist you. This ancient evil is one that holds immense power. Any Yitra who has tried to summon it has either ended up being consumed by it, along with the world they came from." Her hands took Isamora's.
"This is why you are so special. If it wasn't for the Yitra of both our and many other worlds, everyone and everything would have been destroyed." The grass started to sway, moved by a violent wind. "You must find other Yitra in the human world. You will not have to fight alone. Many other worlds you must visit, too. This ruler in the human world is not alone."
As happy she was to meet her again, her heart fell. She did not want to return to the human world where everyone was cruel and unkind. She wanted to fly into the cloud of Vis with her grandmother forever and not have to worry about being lonely. But she knew this threat would also swallow this realm of everlasting sunshine and peace.
The signs had begun to show.
The wind become stronger and the grass looked as if though it was about to be torn from the ground. On the horizon, a hole, void of light, opened. The blue sky seemed to swirl around it like a whirlpool. The immortal sun seemed to shrink in the perfect sky, forsaking the land it warmed. The cloud of Vis swam away from it, and Isamora's grandmother was starting to drift away with them.
"Grandmother! No! Don't leave me!" She screamed as their hands parted.
"This isn't goodbye, sweetling. We will meet again! I love you with all my heart. Be strong, Isa. Be strong." Her flesh became glass again, and she melded with ghosts.
The grass below her parted and through the Curtain, as her grandmother called it, she went.
She was back in the human world. Judging by her surroundings, she was in the same place where she fell, but the soldiers were gone. She did not know how long she was gone, but it was still night. Alone in the woods. Alone once more.
The village was now empty, and she was grateful for that. In her house she found a small sack and filled it with whatever was left behind. She placed Litza on the table and began her search. An apple and a piece of bread were all she could find. They had more, she knew, but it seems the raiders came in and helped themselves. At the front door she realized she left Litza on the table.
She stuffed the doll into the sack, and the protector of worlds began her journey.
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