Just as a reminder on the project:
"This epic narrative, which begins just after world war 1 and is set in Sicily, follows the transformational journey of Aradia Medrano, birthed twice into surreal situations: once as the avatar of the Mother Goddess, and once as a powerful vampire. But not just any vampire. A creature from Romani folklore called a Mulo. A "Mulo" is born of pain and suffering and injustice all served up fresh on a wrongful death and an improper burial.
You might be thinking "Revenant," and you'd be right -- sort of. When a poor soul rises from the grave to seek justice and/or revenge on those who wronged them in life, AND kills them by drinking their blood and then being cursed to roam the earth for all time, AANNNDDDD can only be stopped by their first born.... you get a Mulo. Or in my story's case, a Mula -- which is the feminine version.
I employed the stories of my elders to serve as the backdrop and origin of my character, took the lore of the Mulo, and added the mysticism of my personal family lineage. It is many things, this book. It's folklore. It's historical fiction. It's fantasy. And -- it's horror.
On the outside.
On the inside, it is an attempt to decolonize my people. It is me sharing pieces of my culture. It is reclamation, preservation and metaphor. It is survivor's guilt, loss and compounding generational trauma. It is the universal human experience of discovering and embracing your truest self, against all odds."
~~~
Aradia was standing in the sun with the woods at her back, dazzled by the intense bright light of midday, waiting for her eyes to adjust. She squinted in futility until she was barely able to see through her lashes, noting that the cool air smelled sweetly of fresh lilacs and honeycomb. Above, exotic, brightly colored birds flitted from one tree to another, squawking cheerfully. The sun beamed fiercely and with impunity, but did so beautifully in an almost electric blue sky. It was a clear, unfiltered light that made all the colors beneath it vibrate in contrast as if soaked in pure pigments. In many ways, it reminded her of the impressionistic paintings of van Gogh that Sister Josephine would fawn over during their art lessons. Unfortunately, this was not ‘Sunny lawn in public park.’ So, temporarily blinded and thoroughly irritated, Aradia reached her mind through the infinite, inky void, visualized her favorite, dark-tinted cateye sunglasses that she kept on the dresser at home, and pulled them out from the air before her. With aplomb, she slid them on, sighing with relief; “Therrre we go.”
At last able to see more clearly, she walked out into the meadow towards the ancient Banyan in the center, and aimed herself at Mother Losna’s caravan. The tree’s extensive overstory provided a gorgeous mosaic of filtered light and shade that danced across the ground and over Losna’s home with the light breeze that blew through it. Its thickly bundled, incorporated trunk turned gently upwards. New roots reached down from older branches, each embellished with protective sigils.
Ahead, just off to the right of what was once her childhood home, was a small, round, makeshift table made of an old barrel and a repurposed tarot reading sign. Placed around this, were a few mis-matched folding chairs. There was a grand, colorful, patchworked umbrella set through its center, and numerous brown and green bottles hanging from all the lower branches that twinkled quietly in the daylight. On the other side, grew a modest garden of herbs, tomatoes, squashes and greens. Near the back, happily munching on some fresh grass and grain, was Johara, Losna’s cow-patterned black and white horse. A few meters in front of her doorway, she had a small fire going, with a pot of something bubbling over it. It looked storybook cheerful and deliciously inviting, as though it were an idyllic scene pulled from a children’s book. The caravan looked recently stained. There was a deep blue and gold painted paisley design around the doorway that was marked with a blessing carved in witches script along the top. This motif was repeated around each window, which were adorned with baskets of bright orange and gold gerbera daisies. Its rounded roof was newly patched and shingled; each sixteen spoked wagon wheel had been painted a bright red.
She chuckled to herself, shaking her head; “Of course she would set up camp beneath the literal tree of life.” She cupped her hands around her mouth: “ALLO!! TE ‘AVEN BAXTALE, MAMMA!!!” The door opened, and Losna stuck her head out cautiously. Aradia’s heart leapt.
“AY? WHO IS THAT?” Losna stepped down into the grass, wiping her hands on her apron. In her go-to dusky rose long skirt, and half buttoned, white men’s dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, she too seemed refreshed; younger than Aradia recalled, as if the two were only separated by a few months in age. Aradia broke into a sprint.
“MAMMA!” she called out. She waved excitedly with both hands. “IT'S ME, ARADIA!”
Losna’s eyes boggled. “ARADIA?!” She opened her arms just in time to catch her daughter as she flew into them. They stood there holding each other for several minutes, laugh-crying, Losna gently rocking them from side to side; “My sweet baby girl, you came back to me!” she sobbed into Aradia’s neck. Eventually, they pulled apart, sniveling – their eyes puffy and wet.
“Oh Ma,” cried Aradia, “I thought I’d never see you again! There's so much I've wanted to tell you.” She pushed her sunglasses up onto her head, swiped at her eyes, and looked upon the woman who had first mothered her, feeling every possible emotion. With a little squeal, she threw her arms around Losna, squeezed hard and kissed her cheek. “I missed you SO much.”
Losna held her child for a few more moments, tears streaming down her face; “Aradia, my light...” before she finally pulled away, turned and hooked her arm around her daughter’s waist, “You're just in time for supper. Come,” she said, leading them to the table, “Sit. Eat. Tell me everything I missed.”
So, for the next few hours – over Losna’s paprika soup, fresh tossed greens, cherry wine, and warm lemon bread, Aradia told her mother the story of her life. She spun the tale of days spent tending to the convent with Sister Josephine, the war, the death camps and occupation – her love, Luca. Ultimately though, she spent the most time talking about Losna Marie – her heart, her joy. She even spoke of the final hours leading to her death and beyond – all of it, right up to the moment when she first spotted Losna’s encampment nestled beneath the tree of life.
Losna was spellbound. “Is that what this place is?!” Aradia rolled her eyes dramatically at her and stuck out her tongue. Losna winked and finished her wine. “Where else would I go?” she said with a wave. After a long moment of silent reflection, Losna finally shook her head; "I'm grateful you had people to love who looked after you and loved you back. I just wish I could have been there to share it with you…” Aradia tried to look touched, but fell short, looking instead more guilty than anything else. “What a difficult road you’ve traveled,” she finished.
Aradia cast her eyes down and shrugged, feeling suddenly awkward. “I wish you had been there, too. Losing you… shattered me.” Drops of starlight fell from her eyes and splashed on the table: “But it is what it is, Ma, y’know?” She mindlessly fidgeted with her napkin, smoothing it across her lap, smiling thinly. “I tried to keep moving on, just as you always taught me.” she sniffled. “It was hard, sure, but as fleeting as it was, there was also love and light.” her voice cracked; “Until there wasn’t.”
Losna sat back, crossing her arms. “The world is so broken, and we roma have suffered some of the worst of it – trapped in the middle of gadje conflict, just like always.” She shook her head angrily and spat on the ground; “The gadje,” she snarled, “Why do they hate us so much? We’ve never done anyone any harm.”
Aradia swiftly disarmed her mother's obviously loaded question; “I’ll bet they’re just jealous of our carefree and glamorous lifestyle,” she said, flipping at her hair. Losna chortled, and the two burst out laughing.
“Yeah,” said Losna, slapping the table, “THAT’S why. Or,” she said soberly, “maybe it's because they're so disconnected from their own lives and communities. Everything about the gadje is toxic and mahrime.”
Aradia shrugged. “Perhaps. There is resistance though, Mamma,” she said seriously, "There was this day, in one of those horrible concentration camps, where we gathered whatever we could use as a weapon, and stared down our oppressors in glorious defiance. So, maybe it's our stubborn resilience?” Losna’s brows went up. “Because no one died that day, Ma. And since then, we've been more inspired to fight for our liberation and sovereignty.” Losna nodded slowly. “We will claim our seat at the table, we just need to have faith.”
Losna scoffed. “Faith?? Ha! I’ll believe it when I sss–...” she cut herself short, clearing her throat, realizing whose company she truly was in. “You’re right, you’re right” She said with her hands up, “I know you’re right. I just… It would've been nice to’ve lived long enough to've seen it.”
They sat together uncomfortably and let the air between them settle a bit. “Mamma,” Aradia said carefully, tracing circles on the table with her finger, “where is everyone? Why are you here alone?” Losna did not respond. “I’ve been pretty much doing all the talking since I got here. Maybe what I should've done is listen,” she continued. “I’m sorry. I guess I let my excitement get the better of me.” She reached forward and grasped Losna’s hands; “Don’t you think we should talk about the night we were separated?”
Losna’s eyes welled up and she pulled her hands away, standing suddenly, shaking her head. “I-I CAN’T. No.”
Aradia stood up with her, hurrying around the table; “Mamma, hold on…”
Losna rushed towards her garden in a panic, her voice shaky; “Come see! I grew all our favorites here.” She zipped around to the other side of the caravan, just out of sight; “I got tomatoes!” she called back, “big as your fist.”
Aradia followed behind her, feeling worried by Losna’s erratic behavior; “Ma? Mamma, wait. Please! Talk to me… we’re together now, finally… you’re safe. I won’t let anything hurt you.”
As she got to the other side of the caravan, she found Losna sitting in her garden, hugging her knees, sobbing and muttering to herself; “No more no more no more NOOOOOO!” She began hitting her head with balled up fists. “PLEASE!! Leave us alone!! No more, NO!”
“Hey!” Aradia shouted, she ran to where her mother was and kneeled in front of her; “Heyheyheyheyhey!!” She tried in vain to grab for her hands; “No Mamma stop, I'm here now, it's OK.”
“What is?” Losna cried out, her face flushed in anger. “What is ‘OK’? Was it OK when my mother died from a treatable illness? Maybe you mean when you took the love of my life from me? Or my baby?” She flinched at that, a ball of self-loathing caught in her throat.
Unsure what to do, Aradia leveled her gaze, and tried placing an image of the Mediterranean on a clear, spring day into Losna’s mind to help calm her. Losna looked up, fluttering her hands around her head, like she was swatting at flies; “No!” She sobbed, “You can’t do that, you can't just take my pain from me, too – I won’t let you. It’s all I have left.”
“Mamma, don't…” Aradia tried, but got immediately shut down by Losna as she rose:
“All I ever did was struggle and fail!” She took a step forward; “and anytime I would come close to SOME kind of-of-of joy you … punished me for it!! Why?!” Losna’s brows furrowed; her jaw snapped tight. Embers from the campfire began catching on the table and chairs – the steps to her home. She slapped at her chest. “What did I ever do to make you so angry with me, except devote my ENTIRE life to you? My miserable, shit-ass, terrible life?!?” Aradia took a step back. “I did everything you asked of me! EVERYTHING!!”
Fire quickly began spreading around them, running along the ground in sharp zig-zags – climbing up into the tree. “Didn’t I follow the old ways close enough for you, oh mighty goddess of the fucking moon???” she mocked, “Prancing around with your nymphs, eating fairy cakes while everything around me ended in ASH?!”
Her hands clenched tighter and tighter, until blood started to trickle from between her knuckles. Almost instantly, the fire consumed Losna’s vardo behind her like dry kindling. In seconds, it was an inferno, moaning and twisting with the heat. Fire exploded through the trees’ canopy like flash paper. Johara screamed and trumpeted behind it, trapped on all sides by flame. Losna, suddenly calm, looked into Aradia's sad wolf eyes, just as the fire reached her, engulfing her utterly; “What did faith ever get me?”
Aradia’s heart broke, as she helplessly watched her mother burn alive in front of her. Losna didn't flail, didn't scream – never broke eye contact with her, right up until the last second when she collapsed onto the ground. The bottles hanging from the surrounding branches popped like gunfire all around them.
Aradia stood stunned in the center of the blaze, perfectly untouched, when – as if she were watching a film strip run backwards, everything stopped and began to rapidly restore itself in reverse. The beauty of the day. The smell of soup cooking over losna’s small campfire. The awe-inspiring magnificence of the tree of life. Aradia walked around to the front of the caravan while everything around her reset to exactly how it was when she first arrived. She got to the steps and looked up at the door just as the latch turned and out came Losna, wiping her hands on her apron. She stopped short, locking eyes with Aradia; “Oh my lords! ARADIA??? Is that you?!”
Aradia, still processing what just happened, regrouped herself as best as she could in the moment, and cautiously tried on a warm smile; “Va Mamma, it’s me.” She did a little wave; “Surprise…”
…
