Return to Paeria-Portal Fantasy Excerpt

Photo by Nina Mierowska on Unsplash

Ella finished the walk to the top of the seaside cliff and found a stone bench overlooking the ocean. The view was exactly how she remembered it. She settled herself on the cold bench and took in the view. From this high point, she could see the entire beach; the expanse of ocean flanked by two mountains and the river in the valley below surrounded by lush greenery. The tide was rising, and the sun would set soon into the orangey, bluish haze of a May sky. The stone fence was overrun with beautiful weeds, she thought, as she allowed a memory of chamomile and milkthistle to fill her mind. Her grandmother used to pick them on their walks on the paseo and make tea in the evenings - each tea had a specific purpose, and it never failed.

As a girl, she had walked up this cliffside with abuela; she was the first to take her to the small white stucco chapel at its precipice. She got up from the bench and found the large wooden doors carved with an interlocking pattern of squares; she pulled on one of the doors, but it was locked. She peeked in through the window like she did as a child. A small wooden altar held a golden statue, and a few pews made of wood allowed room for occasional masses. Except for a few small relics on the altar, it appeared abandoned. A memory flooded her as she imagined the statue wearing a crown of red carnations. It was the time of year when the sailors would gather and take the virgin out to sea. She remembered watching the boats leaving the bay after the parade in honor of the Virgin of the Sea. The bagpipes led a procession of dancers, and the virgin, crowned with flowers, took her place on the lead boat; the oldest captain had the honor. One year, she rode on one of the fishing boats to take her out to sea, and the captain explained how ‘la santina’ guarded them on the open water and back home to safety.

“The sea we can not always trust, but the virgin keeps us safe, you remember that, keep your eyes on her always, and you will never be lost.”

The boat was lined with carnations in bright reds and pale pinks, interrupted by pure white roses. The procession of dancers echoed in the valley as they announced the arrival of the virgin to the port playing castan~ettes, bagpipes, and tambourines, beating with a glowing heart to the music of the salty breeze. The day ended in a final crowning moment in the open sea when the captain threw a sash of red roses into the deep, commemorating the Virgin’s birth at sea. The day became etched in the recesses of a mind with only faint outlines of memory, and as that day filled the corners of her face, wet tears began to form in her eyes. The feeling started to feel heavy, so she walked around the chapel walls.

The chapel remained exactly as she remembered it, only the white paint appeared cracked and worn. Was it still gleaming in the glow of the ocean in her younger years, or had it deteriorated this much? She wasn't sure; her view moved to a small window allowing an obstructed view of the interior. The virgin statue in the altar stood clothed in her regalia as she had always been. Ella held back the flood of tears, thinking of how the virgin should return to the sea, but the fishermen had long left the valley, and all that was left was a memory at the top of a forgotten cliff. Perhaps she was the last to have known the magic of the virgin of these waters.

She looked down at her wrinkled hands and wondered how time could go so quickly. She remembered wandering the bay at night, pretending to be a daughter of lands she so loved, the one place where she could feel herself, fully and wholly. She walked to the back of the chapel wall and found the familiar inscription. The plaque was dedicated to a woman who had her ashes thrown from this place almost a hundred years ago. Ella began to read the poem inscribed on the plaque, translating it to herself:

The river Sella called my name

Its wild waters stirred my soul

I was not born of you,

Yet my heart resides in your waters

I left my heart buried in the depths of your current

Your river carries the veins of my breath in its

sacred fish, its deep waters carry my memory

of who I once was, all that I am, and what I long to be,

Its veins carry my breath in its current,

boundless like the ocean,

Sella, xana, guarding the treasures of these waters

I abide in you, and you in me

Eternal sojourner, your waters run deep within me

No naci de ti, pero mi corazon esta en tus aguas - She memorized that line and had kept it with her all these years.

She turned away from the chapel wall and found her way to the cliff's edge overlooking the sea, which was surrounded by a rock fence. She began to walk down the small path along the sea, opening her hands and playing with the wind; allowing the chilly breeze to settle over them as she made swirls in the air with her fingers like a flamenco dancer.

The pathway overlooked the place the locals called “la punta,” the point where the dead water of the sea met the mouth of the river. In this dangerous place, undercurrents were known to take visitors swimming in the quiet water every year without warning. Below the stillness, wild currents raged, and the mixing of salt and fresh water created a treacherous pull out to sea beneath that water. Looking at this place in her memories from afar seemed so serene and mysterious, but today it felt cold, and there seemed a finality to it; she was unsure she would ever return. Nothing she loved remained but the memory; the heaviest thing she had ever carried all these years was the memory of knowing she could never return. She walked down the small stone stairway to the cliffside to take in the view of the dead water at the mouth of the river.

She turned her attention to the river now, facing south and turning her back to the ocean. Small boats lined the fjord just in the distance, and she could make out the low tide in the river, as the waters filled into the sea. As she gazed at the river in the far distance, she began to think of the days spent at the river’s edge, until finally coming at the space in her mind she had hoped to avoid. Fear.

Many years ago, she had almost drowned in this river's waters, but still she could not hate it. She wondered if she jumped in those same waters again, if the cold water hitting her body would give way to a sense of falling, rather than rising like the day the river spit her out. She wanted to test it, to see if the water still remembered her. She swung her legs over the fence and sat on the stone fence to settle her body for the sunset. She remembered the water fairy and the promise she made to her. She leaned her body toward the edge of the fence and, with a leap, jumped into the water. She felt the immediate chill of the water fill her body with hope. Today, she was ready to make good on her promise and return to Paeria before it was too late, before she died in the dream world.