I heard the key in the lock of the thick metal door and looked up as a small, old woman with frizzy white hair was let in and then the door was closed and locked again.
"Mother Willa," I said, starting to stand.
She made a sound of impatience, waving her hand to indicate I should stay seated. I sunk back down.
She opened a large, crochet bag she had slung over her shoulder and started taking out small fabric pouches, and a little bowl that looked like it had once been a rock of some sort. As she mixed various items together with a small amount of water in her bowl, a strong herbal smell rose around me. She began smashing it and mixing it together until it was a dark green paste. She came closer to me and set it down as she examined my legs, making tsk-tsking sounds as she used her hands gently to turn them this way and that.
"The gods had nothing to do with this," she said, almost as if to herself. "Here, take this. It will help with the pain." She handed me a small packet of powder and a wooden jug she had uncorked. "Drink it all."
I tipped the packet of powder into my mouth and drank from the jug, emptying it. My body immediately felt warm and the throbbing in my legs began to abate. I sighed and leaned my head back on the wall. I felt something cool being applied to my legs, but didn't look down.
After a minute, Mother Willa asked, "What in this world did you do to displease Hector?"
"I . . . think I threatened him, challenged him," I said, my eyes still closed. My head was starting to swim, but in a good way.
She was quiet for a good long while. "You must leave then. Things will only get worse for you."
I opened my heavy eyes and looked down at her. Crystal clear blue eyes met mine and I just stared into them for a few seconds. Her skin was leathery and wrinkled, her hair was brittle and pure white, and she only had a few teeth, but I swore in her eyes, she was as young as a girl.
"I'm going to make things better," I said.
She shook her head, applying more cool paste to my wounds.
"You've permanently upset the balance. Things can't be made better. No. You should leave now."
I shook my head. "There are people I love here."
She nodded, taking out a pile of white linen strips. "Even more reason for you to leave. As soon as you are released from here, start walking, and don't stop until you're far away."
I shook my head back and forth again, the air around me seeming to shimmer. "I can't do that. There are people here I have to take care of."
Mother Willa sighed loudly. "You have made your sacrifice in this life, Calder Raynes," she applied a fabric strip to my knee and tied it around the back, "whether you know it or not."
"I don't understand," I said, confused. My tongue felt thick and I worked to form the words.
Those crystal eyes met mine. "You were very young. You must not remember coming here."
I shook my head slightly, trying to understand. "Coming here? No. Me and Maya, we were born here."
Mother Willa laughed softly and shook her head. "Aye. Maya, yes. Not you, Calder. You were not born here. But you belong to Hector all the same. And now you've crossed him, threatened him, and he won't abide by that. And so if you want to protect the people you love, you leave here, do you hear me?"
"Why? What? I don't . . ."
Mother Willa nodded and patted my foot softly. "A gift to them—that's what you were. Such a perfect boy, so very, very beautiful, to balance the imperfection they were given in your sister."
It felt like fog was moving through my head, and I couldn't wade through it to grasp my own thoughts, or separate the ones that mattered from the ones that didn't. Surely this ancient woman was crazy, or suffering from some sort of dementia.
"You're really old," I somehow managed, my words slurring.
Mother Willa cackled loudly and continued wrapping strips of white material around my legs.
"Someday you will be, too."
I shook my head. "Will I? Will anyone?"
"I think so," she said, looking slightly confused before her expression cleared again. She nodded her head. "If certain things . . . yes."
I had no idea what she was talking about, but I didn't care. Nothing seemed to matter except for the warmth flowing through my veins and the absence of pain. I closed my eyes again.
"Do you like it here, Mother Willa?"
She took a minute to answer. "I suppose I do. There is room for me here. And," she inclined her head toward my legs, "I earn my keep. Here I'm useful."
I nodded my head. I'd never been doctored by Mother Willa, but I'd heard women who gave birth here sang her praises, and many wounds would have festered without her herbs, and of course, like Hector always said, the healing will of the gods. Only that part seemed questionable now.