It became warm in her grandmother's house . . . as though she were wearing a sheepskin coat. Enja went out to the terrace and surrendered herself to the lashing of the cruelly biting wind. She shivered, then sat herself on the top of the ladder, letting her white dress fall over the polished rungs.

She felt a pleasant thrill in her stomach in response to her grandmother's potion. It was hot and sweet . . . as though it were made from mint.

If my grandmother's words were correct, she thought, it will need a short time to show its effect. My grandmother is skillful. Very experienced. She knew she had been searching out the plants to prepare it much of the previous day. Enja had noticed that the plants had flowers like human eyes.

She glanced over at her village. It was basically a row of wooden houses built high on platforms which were braced by crosspieces. Her eyes were drawn to a stone tower on the hill. The guards on the walls of the fortress were patrolling nervously. They were always nervous. Even when it was certain that the enemy wouldn't attack. There had been few surprise attacks this year, Enja recalled, but the number of local duels has been rising steadily.

Enja looked in the direction of the street with her glistening brown eyes. The cruel Arveleg began to bore her. He had been showing off with the head of his killed rival, Maldir, for the fifth time this morning. He had it tethered at his waist as he paraded on his horse, blood still dripping from the neck of his unfortunate rival. What more did he want? Does he want people to shout his name every time he passes through the village? It seemed that a stately parade wasn't enough for him. Even the Druids refused to look at Arveleg with their holy eyes. Only the village idlers were left to cheer him.

Enja cautiously went down the rungs of the ladder and cautiously walked towards the Great Water. She felt exhausted. That meant that her grandmother's potion was beginning to take effect.

On her way along the path, the apprentices from the blacksmith's workshop called her, uttering obscene words. She glanced at them fearlessly, clenched her fist and threatened them with a gesture, but it failed to stop them. Many of them showed their crude masculine lust with lewd gestures. They stopped calling after her only when their master appeared and showed them his fist and threatened them loudly.

When she left the village, Enja felt that the effect of the potion was becoming much stronger, as her grandmother had told her it would. The tree which she held on to in order to support herself started to swing, and it became unsubstantial and started to drift away from her nervous hands.

It seemed to the girl that its dark bark began to glitter, as if made of burnished metal. It ruffled, swelled as if the tree were alive and that some tailed creature was running around it and hissing. She detached herself from the tree with great difficulty. She began to feel afraid.

Then she caught sight of the Great Water. And not just it. On it was a ship with a golden sail. It was sailing in her direction and leaving a deeply furrowed wake behind it. Impatient to meet with it, she wished she could walk on the water. But couldn't she do that? She felt she could. But the ship was traveling too fast for her. It glowed impressively as it drew close to the coast.

On board the ship Enja saw people with golden eyes and golden hair. Their features were soft as jelly, and their transparent lips were uttering some unknown words which were, nevertheless, most pleasant to the ear, stirring a vague memory within her. She stretched out her hands. She wished she could interweave her fingers with theirs, to hold them tight, to embrace the whole vessel. But she couldn't get a grasp of them. In the aura of its golden light, the ship quickly sailed up toward the sky . . . and vanished.

Enja felt water on her right palm. She stumbled and fell with the strength of the emotion that suddenly overwhelmed her.

A man dressed in modest clothes approached the girl and helped her to her feet, his arms as strong as young saplings.

Enja hopefully looked deep into his eyes. They were like the rust that she saw on the swords of the negligent warriors. The look in those eyes forced her to throw up, long and painfully.

Finally relieved, and after murmuring an apology to him, she returned to the village.

She climbed thoughtfully up the ladder of her grandmother's house. It was still warm inside - the warmth of a well-fitting sheepskin coat. She excitedly told her grandmother what she had experienced under the effect of the potion. Her grandmother congratulated her excitedly, admitting that she'd once had the same vision as Enja. She explained that the ship with the golden sail had come from the shores of the Abalone a long, long time ago, and that the people with golden eyes and hair were Enja's ancestors. That was why she felt closeness with them. And she said that their predecessors had intermarried with the natives who had eyes like the red color of rust and that, over the ages, no one now knew who was of gold and who was of iron origin.

Then she asked Enja to show her her right hand. Enja did so. Both looked, amazed, to see the waterseal which rested on the girl's palm like a golden coin. Nor had it even spilled. It was one more proof, grandmother said excitedly, that Enja's origin was golden. The circle is the gift from her ancestors, and was their symbol as well, and it was the sign of perfection, completeness and God, because the people from Abalone themselves had something divine about them. And they had spread that quality by mixing their blood with the blood of the people who originally lived hereabouts.

Grandmother's test with Enja had been a success. Nothing had appeared to Idrila, her older granddaughter, when she had been under the effect of the potion when she was near the Great water. It had only happened to Enja.

Outside, in the fresh air, Enja regarded the waterseal for a long time, as though she were under its spell. The circle of water only disappeared from her palm when darkness fell.

- Zivojin Petrovic
Vršac, Serbia, Yugoslavia.
http://www.arijel.cjb.net