The Tale of Ernaline 

By: Kaylee Tate

Long ago, long before current borders, but quite long after Jesus laid upon the cross, an angel looked down. 

In a void started by forgiveness, now leaving those in the sky with empty pearly views; Hwómé had existed in this gap between for quite some time, and nothing had ever caused him to truly feel. Though now, staring at her underdress blowing in the wind as she wrote, he felt need. 

It was a peculiar feeling, like a gripping upon the chest, a spinning poison upon his brain. The light bounced off her stark black hair, shielding her skin like a masquerade as she dipped her quill in a carton of ink, sitting quite haphazardly beside her upon the rock she occupied. It took one wrong lift of her hand for it to fall, and there to catch it—was a boy. 

The wind, the cool of his grip, the heat of the sun, all of the sensations wrapped around his newfound body. 

Hwómé knew it was forbidden, to feel grass tickling the feet—feet he now had—and the cool of the carton upon skin, his immortality is his gift for ignoring the draw of sensuality. Yet—a heart beat wildly in his chest, and beside her, crouching on the earth, he was here. 

She looked down at him, icy gaze shaded by a pale hand. Her head tilted to the side and a slight smirk tinted her rosy lips, "That is my ink. And by what name may I call the one who holds it?"

"..Jude. And whose ink do I return?" Hwómé placed the carton in her hand, his newfound brown eyes looked up to her, wide and eager. 

"Ernaline."

And with that, the tale had begun, but this is not a love story. This tale is one of anger and greed, things Hwómé had quite terribly mistaken for love. 

A tale of tragedy awaited the two, and it started from one look down; whose is still to question.  

Their interaction moved as Hwómé spun the story of "Jude," the carpenter boy from far south, with no land or home to return to. The silky story went on, met with vivid curiosity until the sky faded to pink over the rows of trees. 

"Ernaline, girl! Your supper is cold!" A shrill woman's voice screeched not that long a way through the brush behind the two. And so she parted ways, hands smoothing down her dress as she walked through, quickly disappearing into the green, faded by the lack of day. 

That night, Jude learned of sleep. An odd concept, though not far off from his past state of existence; the darkness was quite troubling. And so, the grounded angel slept among sheep where a lantern kept the pen dim. 

He did so night after night, waking up each morning as the tones of peach formed along the rays of sun and standing with Ernaline as she completed her chores. 

He offered to help each meeting, and without falter, he was equally declined. He soon learned that her mother and father had passed young, casualties of war with "Indians" leaving her in the care of her three unmarried aunts. While he did not comprehend the act of war, he was aware in the regard that he knew there were no Indians in this land. 

Nevertheless, prying at the frigid girl for pieces of her, like a beggar on the street, fulfilled his days quite well. He even offered to reframe the pen in exchange for lodging when caught by the Shepherd.

And even though Jude was satisfied with the scraps he gathered, Ernaline asked almost twice as many questions, and in some, Jude slipped. 

"Do you believe in God?" Ernaline asked, lips pursing in hesitant retreat as the words fell from her mouth. 

He stared at her quizzically as she looked down at her bare feet tapping the side of the rock; the same place they had met not one month before. Though now he stood, feet in the water with a thinly lined net resting in his hands patiently. "Do humans truly question the existence of God?"

She halted the tapping of her feet and cleared her throat, her voice softer than the one he was typically met with from her. "I fear I may be the only one who does at times. Though you, and may this not gain you even one stroke of arrogance from me saying so, are most certainly the most intelligent individual I have greeted since my mother. And if anyone were to see the logical fallacies and possibility for disbelief that I do, I had a feeling it may be you."

The end of her vowel was cut short by the rush of water falling as Jude ripped the net to the surface, three shiny fish flailing about from the confines. 

He did not even bear her a glance as he scoffed, shoulders broad as he dropped the fish into a basket. "When you have seen heaven, to doubt its creator is ridiculous. That would be akin to the shepherd watching me build his pen, then pondering whether or not I am real."

"..You have seen heaven? It would be quite marvelous if you had, but it’s most surely impossible. This is an arrogant lie! I will not stand for it; take it back as you have more than made your point in making me feel foolish."

"It is not! I have seen, and I know all. I could tell you all! Yes, such marvelous, wonderful things, just love me, and I can explain each star's twinkle, every detail in your bones—"

"You swear!" She stood, her dress wrinkled from its prior position sticking to her leg, "You swear on everything that you have seen? With what proof? In what way?"

"I swear on all; I swear on my love—near death, you see, I nearly reached demise falling from a tree and saw the gates. The gates are not as the scripture say. They are clear like glass, not a pearly white. That is all the proof I can offer, but I know you enogh to know you believe; your faith is strong."

"...You do not know me well, and I cannot promise my love. But I can certainly pledge my time if you would care to explain all of which it is you know."

"I may."

And so, many more days and nights passed, though now after Ernaline's decline of aid with her chores, Jude answered any question she had. At some points, the questions became too plentiful, and even one could be a loaded musket staring her in the eye, with no knowledge to her. 

And in these scenarios, he would walk away to bring water. 

Though, as the weeks went by, her ability to work diminished. Her appearance was no less divine, but her hair became disheveled, and her eyes grew a dark haze underneath. 

When interrogated on her state, she consistently responded with a deflection, and the villagers stopped asking; though Jude never did. 

Ernaline's aunts were out of town, commuting to the port to bargain for lace, lace Ernaline could never dream of wearing. And so she sat at the table across from Jude in her quaint home, the warm aroma of vegetables cooking at the fire filling the room. It was quite early yet, the sky only blue by an hour or so. The pair in their drowsy silence were reflected in the only grand thing in the house, a mirror adorned in a brass frame of decadent snakes. Peering at the image, Jude noticed Ernaline's eyes slowly shutting.

"You have not slept, have you?" Jude questioned, though it was more of a statement as Ernaline was nodding off until he broke the silence. 

"Jude."

"My love, my dearest-"

"What is God? You say you know all of the heavens and that you fear the depths below for a reason. What is that reason? Who is God? I fear for I do not know. So, if you do, what is there still to fear?"

"Well, I mean I—"

"Is thy not benevolent? For if he is omniscient but still brings about fear, then that is no benevolent God. But if thy is not omniscient, then he is no God at all. I have spent nights pondering and sprawling myself thin upon these thoughts and..."

"Ernaline, silence."

Her gaze of mist froze to ice, hair tucked carefully behind her ear falling upon her brow, "Pardon yourself, Jude."

"I will do no pardoning for you are asking questions I have no answer to. Do you wish to make me feel as small as I am? For that is what you are accomplishing. I do not know what God is. Not even an angel could tell you who God is for he is merely above. In the same light, no demon knows who the devil is for he is merely below. No single conscious-ed being is ever supposed to ponder concepts so great that it makes us ill. I know enough for my existence, as do you. With God as our witness, let us go eat."

"...I do not wish to eat with you."

"You do not. Does thou wish to starve?"

"No. I simply do not wish to eat with you. For I am more than capable of doing so on my own, so I will." Her voice was stern, with a demeanor so tight not even a wisp of air could slip through.

Not even the one that hissed through the impact from the palm of Jude's hand striking her ivory cheek. 

"—Wait." He stared at his hand, rested rigid by his side where its arc completed. He had pushed the wooden chair back and was now standing. Trembling.  

Ernaline's hands gripped the table with a furious grip, white knuckles now as red as her face. Tears welled in her eyes, but she pressed her lips firm and thrust herself out of her seat. "You are to leave my home..."

"My love, please—"

"...at once."

"No, no. This has gotten much out of hand. If you wish to know the answers, the answers I have withheld thus far, meet me at the rock at sundown—"

"I said, ‘at once!’" Her voice broke as she pointed to the door, her head dropped low. 

With that, Jude shook his head and left with a slam of the door. 

As sundown tickled the water by the rock with reds, Jude waited firm, hands behind his back with his shoulders broad. His head of dark, messy locs were moved by no wind, the growing night was still. 

The only sound was that of Ernaline approaching through the brush, face bleeding of indifference. She wore a white dress, with a fanciful blue bow tying her high bodice. Her aunts had come home, bearing a rare gift for the girl's birthday. Her sleeves puffed along her small shoulders, highlighting her rigid posture. Her ruffled skirt stopped neatly at her ankles, old leather boots occupying the space below. Her strides were careful, stopping a few feet away from the boy. 

"I have come, what are you intending to share?"

He kneeled in the grass, looking up to her as he pulled a wooden box from behind him and held it in his hand. He opened it, revealing a small glass vial containing a green liquid. 

"I had to work quite hard, barter with many to obtain it. It is a colored ink, quite special. With it, I ask for your hand in marriage. And you will say ‘Yes,’ yes?"

"I have no apologies for my decline in your offer, Jude. If you so visibly have no more you are willing to share, I suggest you find your way home. Clearly you have much to write in your new hue. Goodnight." With that, Ernaline turned and walked home.

Jude, overwhelmed with shock and splintering with rejection in his gut, threw the open box into the rock with a snarl, watching the near black green drip off the earthy side. He stood, surrounded by his rage, now, with one intention; if he could not be with her, he would kill her. 

To understand how the events unfurl from this point on, one must understand who tells you this tale. For I am Schinditur, I am not fate, simply the overseer. My existence is the center of infinite threads, all moving at their pace. My responsibility is to watch each to ensure those tangled within them lead the lives they are destined. 

Though, in my observations, I fear I may have made a dire mistake; love. Similar to the angel Hwómé, the beautiful Ernaline caught my eye. And so, in an act no one would know but brings me great guilt to continue on with; I snipped her thread and attached anew. 

And so, as Jude's steps thundered about the grass to obtain a weapon; the wind shifted. And to his feet a newspaper was swept, the cover reading:

WITCHES FOUND IN SALEM, 3 HUNG

He leaned down, clenching the paper to the point of folding, then dropped it. He began to run, shouting as he burst past the cottages, "Ernaline, she cast a spell upon me! Hear me as I cry, witch! Witch!"

And with these words, a fated death became more troublesome than I could have ever imagined in my meddling. And for that, I am sorry. 

After she was dragged from her home, Ernaline was tossed in the old jail. Her new white dress was now quite dirty, though, in the darkness, it was not something she was quite aware of. 

She lay there on the cold floor, not bothering to swat away the mice that nibbled at her limbs, when she heard a voice, a familiar old crone. 

"Poor dear, such dreadful luck for such a special day. How old?" 

"Eighteen."

"Hmm, and forever you shall be. Though, accept my help, and at only the cost of your soul, I can assure that you may stay on this plane." Ernaline felt the cold, bony hands of the woman hold hers. The nails had been long outgrown, painfully spiraled and brittle. 

Ernaline sighed, "I will not pledge my soul, as it is my own and my only one... though, I do not wish to die, and quite heavy on my shoulders do I feel such a fate awaiting me." She sniffled, though her voice was tired, devoid of emotion. 

The lady clicked her tongue, chains jingling as she pulled away. "Hmm, very well. I can still help, I believe. It will be quite simple, but it will prevent you from dying."

"You promise?"

"I do."

And so, later in the night, Ernaline was pulled from the dark cell into the blinding dim of lantern light, the sound of people rushing to her ears as the guard holding her pushed her out into the village square. There, a large stick stood as all whom she had ever met stood around, faces cruel. 

She was placed upon it, bound with rope by the legs and waist. Then, the priest approached. 

The old man with his gobbling neck spoke slowly, "On this night, we must condemn a soldier of the devil, a follower of his craft; witchcraft!"

The crowd roared as he took the two rocks together of flint and steel, striking them to light a cloth wrapped torch held by the shepherd of whom she had known since she was young. 

The priest turned to her, thin lips in a crooked smile, "Ernaline Carty, do you have any last words before you burn for your sin?"

As the fire crinkled, Ernaline stared down Jude, standing in the crowd. She met his smug gaze with one of indifference. Cold, stone nothing as she bit her palm without a wince. 

She spread the crimson that spilled from the wound in a line across her eyes and along the bridge of her nose. Screams of horror came from women and men alike. 

"I am Ernaline, woman of Carty. You choose to prosecute me for a crime I have not committed; you believe this boy we all know nothing of over my own reputation, and to that, I am ill. But as I burn tonight before you, I shall not pass to heaven nor hell. And this is not because I have sold my soul to the highest bidder down below, it is because it shall remain here. You will not know how or where, and I hope in that you all find fear. So now, set me aflame, you have my consent in doing so."

And with that, the priest threw the torch at her feet, and the body of the beautiful Ernaline burned without a sound. 

As the flames ripped waves across his hazy brown eyes, Jude's brows furrowed. He did not stay to watch her demise finish; he simply ran. He ran away from the square, through the brush and to the rock by the water. There, he crouched on all fours, flesh peeling back in agony as he attempted to reclaim his angelic form, though, as his form of light was halfway removed from the human figure, it filled the sky. 

It was not something he could explain, nor any being at all. He felt eyes, blaring with disappointment, eyes from every direction seeing, feeling, right through his entire existence—

"Let the judgment cease! I know I have wronged in human ways, I loved, and I needed to prove I could; is that enough to forgive me?" The mouth of Jude spoke as his true celestial body screeched in unison. 

He could feel the answer, and the answer was much worse than he had ever expected; his wings began to burn away as he was thrust back into the form of Jude. Though now, parts of Hwómé grotesquely shone through. His eyes bled as they shone a bright pearly white; his halo struck through his head in a firm arc, sitting above his curls of brown. He felt the pull, the pull down as the ground opened beneath him. As he was pulled down further, nails desperate for a grip upon earth, his skin went to blue. 

"Please! I beg of you, please, I repent what I have done! I thought I would be forced to stay among humanity—why send me below?"

As he fell further, his skin grew shades of peach as he protested to only one judgment, "I have done no more wrong than any up there; I am still above them! Send me home! I wish only to go home..."

His spine shattered as he landed in Hell, and his halo split into horns as crimson as his skin. And for his love, forever in damnation he lived. 

On the green of Earth, the people of the quaint village all migrated as quick as they could, leaving behind much of their belongings. The aunt's of Ernaline, in particular, could not afford the weight of the decadent brass mirror, lined with snakes that sat in their home. And for eternity, in that mirror, in the wooden walls of a ghost town, did Ernaline spend her existence. 

Even now, as I sit in my perpetuity, a web of lives untouched; I bide my time watching the never-ending thread of blue, where the girl of ebony hair writes in the mirror above the forever unlit fire. 

The End.