“What are you doing?” Maladia looked towards her friend, somewhat startled. Dola didn’t answer at first, stepping back to inspect her work. She cast her bones again and walked up to Maladia’s other side.
“This is little enough protection, but it’s all I can do for you, and it’s something at least,” she said. “Something’s more than nothing, and I can’t bear to give you nothing. I won’t be there when the little one comes.” Tears stood in her eyes, and she wiped them impatiently with her sleeve. Maladia stiffened and the startled Dola realized her mistake. Her hand flew to her mouth. She looked to Trina and back. “I thought you’d told her! You said you would!”
“I was going to…” Maladia tucked her hair behind her ear and turned to Trina, who sat motionless, her eyes as round as the moon. “At first, I waited until I was sure this one would stick. And then all this happened…” Maladia said, her eyes cast down.
“No,” Trina said, standing up. She walked up closer to Markus, though not close enough for her shadow to reach his. “You can’t really mean to take her with you. Not like this.”
“It’s my decision,” Maladia said. She looked to Miriat for support.
“She’s right, Trina. You can’t keep her,” Miriat said in a voice so quiet it barely reached their ears.
“I can’t? So who has the right, if not me?” Trina’s face turned red. “Markus is a stigoi now.” She turned to Markus, “I’m sorry, child, but it’s true. I’m thankful for what you did for my daughter, but how can you take care of her baby? How can you teach it to control its other heart, all the while letting your own feast on your soul?”
Markus sat very still, the steaming bowl of food in his lap. He half-turned to Maladia as if to say something. But he just continued sitting in silence, with a plaintive look on his face. He had used up what defiance he had in him at the trial. Maladia watched him quietly for a moment. She could see Trina’s shoulders start to relax, letting herself believe she’d won. That her child and grandchild would indeed stay.
Trina’s relief turned to horror as Maladia exhaled slowly, her shadow rippling on the ground, reaching its dark hand towards Markus’ stigoi. The two shadows merged in an embrace.
Trina took a step back and Miriat nearly fell off her stool. It was the greatest of blasphemies – the second bell ringing for no other purpose than to hear its own music.
There was nothing left to be said after that. Trina just sat on the ground, empty-eyed, as Maladia approached her and kissed her cheek.
“Sorry, Mama. I love you, Mama,” Maladia said. Then she walked away, never letting go of Markus’ hand.
Once the two left, and she couldn’t hear their footsteps anymore, Trina slid off the stool and seemed to fold into herself. A low wail escaped her throat.
“I didn’t stop her, Miriat! Why couldn’t I stop her?”
Miriat knelt by Trina and wrapped her arms around her. “She made her choice, Trina. Could your grandmother have stopped your own mother all those years ago?”
“She will die out there. Her baby will die. You know what they do to strigas when they find them. And they will find them. You saw his shadow! And you know how Maladia is! She’s never careful, she never hides, she never…” Trina sobbed uncontrollably, supported by her friend.
Dola knelt by Trina and said, “She’ll be all right. I can see she’ll be all right.” She let Trina hold her hand gratefully and exchanged a look with Miriat, sharing in the comfort of the lie.
CHAPTER 4
Dran walked through the forest as quickly as his clubfoot allowed him. He tripped over a stone and winced at the pain, steadying himself by grabbing onto a tree. He took a breath and continued the hobbled half-walk, half-run. Soon Markus and Maladia would be too far for him to catch up to, and he would miss his chance.
A trickle of sweat ran down his forehead and he wiped it with the back of his hand. Dran had grown up to be a handsome, if a wiry young man, and he enjoyed the attentions of most of the young female strigas in the village. He had a narrow face with dark eyes often called soulful by those inclined to see them that way.
His foot hurt now, a steady familiar ache which he knew would soon turn into a sharp stabbing pain that would travel from his ankle right up to his groin. But he pressed on. Soon there would be no pain at all and no shame either.
He looked up. It was already getting dark, and in the Heyne Mountains it was a stupid time to be out, but it couldn’t be helped. He stopped suddenly when a light flickered between the trees. Dran tried to approach quietly but his foot made it impossible to control his gait entirely. A twig snapped underfoot, and a familiar voice spoke behind him, “Turn around and put your palms up so I can see them, or I will crack your head open.”
“It’s me, Markus,” Dran said, turning around with a smile.
“Dran! What are you doing?” Markus lowered the branch he was holding. “You know you’re not supposed to be here! It’s nearly night.”
“Is that Dran? What are you doing here? Did my mother send you?” Maladia came out from behind Markus, her lips pursed into a thin line.
“No,” Dran said. “But I’m cold and tired. If you let me sit by your fire, I’ll tell you everything.”
“Come then,” Maladia nodded. Markus seemed uncertain and he tried to pull Maladia aside, but she shook him off. “What else can they do to us?” She shrugged her shoulders. Dran pretended not to notice the exchange and had already made himself comfortable at the fireside, stretching his leg. He winced as he did so and wrapped his coat closer around his shoulders as the evening wind beat against his back.
Maladia and Markus positioned themselves on the opposite side of the fire, with the bright flames dancing between them.
“So? What do you want?” Markus asked.
Dran stiffened. As Alma’s only son, he was usually spoken to more kindly than this, but now wasn’t the time to show temper.
Markus’ pale blue eyes seemed darker by the fire, and his usually friendly, open face was clouded with worry. He tensed his broad shoulders, and Dran noticed how the gentle giant had placed his hand on Maladia’s leg, shifting his shoulder ever so slightly in front of her, as if he would hide her behind his powerful frame.
“I’m sorry about what happened,” Dran said. “I’m still your friend, you know. You don’t need to act so suspicious.”
Markus took a moment to reply. “No, Dran. We were neighbors, but we’ve never been friends. We’ve barely exchanged five words together in your whole life. And now you show up here, after your mother banished us. So again: what do you want?”
Dran’s expression barely changed, though his eyes grew cold.
“I’m sorry you feel that way. My mother sent me.” Dran softened his tone, “But if you don’t care to hear what I have to say, it’s no skin off my back.” He moved as if he were about to get up.
Maladia raised her hand in alarm. “Wait! He didn’t mean it.” She shot a warning look at Markus, who leaned back and crossed his arms. Maladia continued, “We’re tired and worried is all. We’ll hear whatever message you bring.”
Dran made his face into a perfect mask of indifference as he turned to Markus. “Is that so?” he asked.
“Aye,” Markus said. His eyes never left Dran’s face. Dran waited for a moment, and Markus sighed. “I’m sorry.”
“Well, no harm no foul.” Dran smiled broadly. “I even brought some tea. Sweet and warming.” He passed a tall rod-reed flask to Maladia. She obligingly took a sip and passed the bottle to Markus who sniffed at it but then took a generous swig. The shadow behind Markus rose up ever so slightly. Dran shivered. The first time in his life facing a transformed striga shadow, a true stigoi, rattled him more than he cared to admit.
“My mother knows the punishment she dealt might be a bit extreme, and she’s willing to reconsider. Markus broke the law, that’s true…” he said. He paused, letting it sink in. Maladia had a hopeful look on her face. Encouraging. “…But in the end, he did so with good cause,
and Alma believes that should count for something.” Maladia was smiling now, though Markus’ face was still. Dran took a breath.
“Then again, we all know that this wasn’t some one-off transgression, but the reward of long and grueling practice. Practice which bore a permanent sort of fruit, I believe.” It was a wild gamble on Dran’s part, but it paid off as Maladia’s hand rose protectively to her belly. It lingered there briefly before falling to her side, confirming his suspicions. He felt relief roll over him like a wave. Markus looked away, his hands rolled into a fist in his lap.
“But you wouldn’t try such a delicate healing without being certain, would you? And that kind of a skill leaves a dark mark on a striga’s heart. The other heart, I mean. My mother knew all that.”
Maladia looked down, but Markus turned his eyes to Dran, his expression carefully blank. “What do you want, Dran? We’re yet to hear your mother’s offer.”
Dran tensed under Markus’ steady gaze. The words he had practiced on the way now stuck in his throat. He knew there was no helping it, but looking at Markus’ honest face made this painful. Dran steeled himself. “My mother would be willing to let you come back, to live in a hut on the edges of the village so your child can grow up in the safety of our community–” Maladia’s eyes brightened, “–but at a price. Your new skill, Markus…” Dran took a slow breath and placed his hands on his knees to steady them before speaking. “You must do again, what you did before. If you heal my leg, Markus, untwist it, make it whole, I swear to you, you will have your place in the village. And, as you’d be performing the healing while not technically a member of the village, it’ll carry no punishment under our laws.”
Maladia smiled broadly. “But that’s wonderful! He can do it. Markus can do it.” She moved towards Markus, who kept sitting there stone-faced. “You can do it safely, and one more healing won’t change anything. Then we can go back. Our baby will be safe among our people. It’s a good offer.” There was a moment of silence, while Markus peered into the flames. But Dran wasn’t watching Markus. He was staring at the shadow looming above their heads. He could swear that, for a moment, he could see the shadow’s glowing eyes, staring at him, before it merged with the darkness of the forest.
“Well?” Dran asked.
“And how will your mother explain it to the other strigas?” Markus asked, his expression stony. “How our unbreakable laws can be set aside for the sake of her son?” He looked at Dran, and his face changed with a slow anger, burning steady and hot, which always comes as a surprise in a gentle man. He took Maladia’s hand, and said quietly, as if to soften the blow. “This is no offer from Alma. The old lady won’t have us back, not even for her precious son. She’d never break our laws. This is Dran’s idea, and it is not for our sake, not for the sake of our child, but his own.” Markus rose to his feet. “And I won’t plunge deeper into the darkness for a liar and a cheat.”
For his part, Dran remained seated, his expression frozen.
“Oh…” Maladia looked at Dran with hope already dying in her eyes. “I thought better of you, Dran…”
“Did you?” Dran said with a snarl, surprising even himself. “You thought so well of me and yet you didn’t think to offer help? You could have made me whole at any time, Markus, but you hoarded your powers. Selfish. A true stigoi to the core. If I lied to you it was no more than you deserve.” Dran felt the threat of tears sting his eyes and he struggled to calm himself. “Good Markus, kind Markus, and all the while you could have helped, but you didn’t. I could have helped you keep this hidden, helped protect you.”
“There’s nothing wrong with you except that you’re a spoiled brat and always have been!” Markus towered over the still seated Dran. “You have the position, the looks, half the girls in the village throwing themselves at you – but you always want more, more! And how would you have disguised the healing? Every step would have betrayed you!” Markus shook his head as if shaking off the last strands of sympathy.
“Leave. Now,” Markus said. “If I see you again, I’ll kill you for this.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way,” Dran said. He stood up, dusted his trousers in a casual way, and, with a quick movement, threw a small handful of powder into the flames. The fire leapt up and stinging fumes enveloped Markus and Maladia.
Dran remained still, safely upwind of the smoke as the couple coughed and spluttered.
“I didn’t want to do this. If you’d been kinder, I wouldn’t have had to.”
Markus tried to step towards Dran, who avoided him easily. “Don’t worry Markus, it’s not poison. Just tanner’s bark. The smoke, mixed with the sorrow root tea I gave you, can knock a man off his feet, as I understand.”
Markus fell heavily, and his breath steadied to a raspy pace.
Dran smiled and caught Maladia, just as she was about to fall to the ground. “Shh, sleep now. It won’t hurt you. You know I’d never hurt you.”
He eased Maladia to the ground, and, just for a moment, felt the grasp of shadowy arms around his neck, before they too fell away.
Dran sat himself next to Markus and looked into the face of the shadow hanging over him.
“Hello,” he said. He felt a strange thrill as he saw a shape of a face staring back at him. Here he was, talking to a creature that should not be.
“I think you can help me,” he said. “And then you’ll be free. That’s what you want, isn’t it? To break free of his control?” He reached out with his hand and waited. After a moment the shadow’s hand met his and Dran stifled a cry. The flames of the fire leapt up, pulled on by Markus’ stigoi, and poured through Dran like molten gold.
“Where have you been?” Alma asked without turning. Her hand went up and down as she stitched a patch onto an old pair of trousers. “I can smell the rain on you. You should change.”
“I went for a walk, mother. There’s little enough to do here otherwise, wouldn’t you say?” Dran said. He pulled off his sodden boots with some effort and began to take his shirt off as the rain battered the roof of their house.
“No, I wouldn’t. There are plenty enough chores for those willing to be useful,” Alma said, biting the end off the thread.
“Well, let them do their chores then. I would hardly want to stand in the way of the obliging.” He sat down on his bed and groaned.
“What’s the matter? Is it your foot?” Alma pushed herself up from her seat by the fire. It’d been a long day and she was tired down to her soul. But the thought of her son’s discomfort roused her. “I have a fresh batch of nettle ointment. It will warm the muscles and ease the pain,” she said, reaching for a clay pot on the table. She moved towards Dran and touched his foot gently. She gasped as she saw the charred flesh on the side of his ankle. He hastily moved his leg away and covered it with a blanket.
“What’s happened, Dran? Who did this?!”
“It’s nothing, mother. I stepped into some embers by accident. Now I need to sleep, and you do too. Please, just leave me be.” He lay on his bed and turned towards the wall. A small sob escaped him, but Alma knew better than to acknowledge it. Dran would not thank her for recognizing his pain. Alma sat by the fire for a long while, a pot of ointment still in her hand. She listened to her son breathing, the sound of it soothing her as it always had. The flames lit up her face, as she stared at the wall above her son’s head, her eyes fixed not on him, but on the shadows dancing above.
CHAPTER 5
A drop of water fell on Salka’s eyelid. She opened her eyes and looked toward the ceiling. The roof, battered by the night’s storm, gave a soggy cry for help. Instead of turning over and going back to sleep, she got up and pulled on her second dirtiest trousers and tunic, followed by her old cloak. At this point the cloak was little more than a collection of darned spots held together by the faintest hint of the original woolen thread, but her mother wouldn’t dream of getting rid of the damned thing. Miriat had a sentimental streak which so far hadn’t manifested in her daughter. Salka looked longi
ngly at the new cloth dripping in the corner.
She glanced over at her mother’s sleeping face and briefly considered planting a kiss on the uncharacteristically unfurrowed eyebrows, but thought better of it. A morning adventure had a much better chance of starting if the chores didn’t get in the way. She rubbed her palm, still a little swollen and sore after she’d pulled out the rose thorns embedded in it.
Salka stroked Munu’s head, but quickly withdrew her hand as the falcon snapped at her fingers. “Shhh…” She put her finger to her lips to signal that, firstly, her fingers served a function other than that of a chewing toy, and, secondly, a shriek would end their escapade prematurely. He stretched out his wings and hopped off his perch above Salka’s bed. He flew out of the house as Salka held the leather curtain opened for him.
She snuck out of the house and crept between the striga huts until she arrived at the west gate. Her companions were already waiting, so engrossed in a whispered conversation that they barely noticed Salka’s arrival.
“A change of plans!” her friend Emila announced, pulling Salka aside. She spoke in feverish whispers. “We’re going to Heyne Town.” Emila could barely contain her excitement and the last was said in a voice so high-pitched she covered her mouth in embarrassment. Dran only chuckled and nodded.
“I thought you wanted to go to the Narrow Pass…” Salka said, shifting her weight. Not wanting to lose face, she added, “You told me it’d be crazy to venture there.”
Emila shook her head, which she knew made her hair fly rather attractively about her face. “I think you were the one saying that. In any case, I want to go now.”
“Come on, Salka, it’ll be good for you. Adventures usually are,” Dran added, with a broad smile.
The Second Bell Page 4
