The Amalfi Curse

by Sarah Penner

The sea always prevails.”

Hers bore tiny amulets from the sea and coastline: a moon shell, an ammonite fossil, a kernel of gray volcanic pumice. Recently, Mari had found a tiny coral fragment in the perfect shape of a mountain, which she especially liked. Mountains made her think of inland places, which made her think of freedom.

Sometimes the answers aren’t in the water, but out of it.

Inhale, he’d taught her, and count five or six stars. Imagine they form a shape, that they are something altogether different than stars. Just as you are different than your feelings, your pain. They do not make you who you are.

“I sometimes think they seized me for more than just the riches I could lead them to. The sea has always been the domain of men, an instrument in their aims of domination. Once they realized who I was, I suspect they were scared. Isn’t that why men fear witches, anyway? A woman using her powers to destroy them?

Sacrifice, Lia was quickly learning, was the greatest form of love.

“But remember,” Mari said, closing Lia’s fingers around the stones, “the treasure one seeks, whether by using the hagstones or by some other means, does not necessarily mean jewels or gems or expensive things. Your rescue from Ischia is proof of it.” Mari placed a tiny wooden baby rattle on the newly cleared shelf. “Sometimes,” she concluded, “the greatest treasure to be found is…love.”