She had turned down Trina’s offer of company, as she often did these days. She had too much anger bubbling under her skin to enjoy anyone’s presence. She was angry at Alma most of all. And at Dran and Emila for not standing up for Salka. And at Rida and Tolan for believing Alma’s nonsense. And the entire village of whispers and gossip.
Miriat counted all of them in her mind: a litany of rage.
The sudden banishment of Salka caused much surprise in the village, and Miriat was shocked to find out how quickly the strigas jumped to the conclusion that Salka must have done more than just wander to the Heyne town to deserve it. Nobody dared suggest so to Miriat, of course, but the odd looks and the hushed tones of conversations abruptly finished the moment she was in sight spoke volumes.
When pressed, Trina confirmed Miriat’s suspicions.
“They are sure Salka might have… Well… not followed her heart perhaps, but tainted herself in some way, for Alma to throw her out like that. And in the winter months too… I told them it wasn’t true, but after what happened with Maladia and Markus… Their trust in me is strained too, I think.” Trina shrugged. Though she did not trust herself to speak, Miriat squeezed her friend’s arm in appreciation of her loyalty.
Now, with her snowshoe-clad feet moving soundlessly over the fresh powder, Miriat pondered the extent to which the situation had damaged Salka’s standing in the village already. If she would only settle among them better and learn to curb her wild ways, she might find some happiness in the village life. There was no space for defiance anymore.
Miriat gritted her teeth, passing two strigas on the path. The pair were sisters, roughly Alma’s age, ready always to jump at the smallest slight, real or perceived. Miriat thoroughly despised the two gossips.
They noticed Miriat as they walked and started moving towards her. Miriat nodded a hello and hesitated, before stopping and engaging in a conversation she had no appetite for. As much as she would have liked to scowl and move on, Miriat had work to do if she and Salka were to return to a semblance of normalcy again.
CHAPTER 15
A dotterel stretched its wing out and ran its beak through its long feathers, smoothing and separating them. It didn’t hurry, instead slowly inspecting each wing. Some fresh powder fell off the branch, dropping soundlessly to the ground, marking the snow like fingertips on linen sheets. The dotterel, finally satisfied, straightened its wings and then fell to the ground, struck dead with a small stone.
Salka came out from among the trees and hooked her sling over her belt before picking up the bird. She put it inside her pouch and scarcely noticed as a shadow hand moved to fasten the pouch’s strings. Her face impassive, she walked to the hut, Munu circling above her head.
In the three months since he saw her shadow take the life of her captured bird, Munu had kept his distance. But in the last few days, Salka felt he was once more becoming comfortable with her, his intelligent eyes never leaving her shadow when they were in the hut.
Salka stretched out her hand and felt the tendrils of her shadow slither around her arm and pour into the ground like dark ink. She took a sharp breath as the taste of the snow and the smell of the frozen ground beneath it hit her senses. She could feel the trees around her, the slow, steady life flowing through their branches. She could even feel their song, too high-pitched for her ears to hear, yet conveying so much feeling and peace. She pulled herself back with some effort. After immersing herself in the world around her, going back to her own limited senses felt like willingly shutting herself in a cage.
In the end, her shadow would obey her, only occasionally shooting out a thin tendril into the ground, channeling a jolt of enhanced sensation towards Salka. She was getting used to the rebellious nature of her second heart.
She walked towards the hut as the evening stretched her shadow on the snow ahead of her. It had been a good day. In addition to the dotterel, she had three minnows from her funnel trap. She and Munu would sleep with full bellies that night. She looked up towards the cold winter sun and closed her eyes briefly, letting the fleeting warmth soak into her skin. She found that the cold didn’t bother her so much these days. She barely even needed her cloak anymore, though she continued to wear it out of habit.
Munu flew down and settled himself on her bony shoulder and she shifted her weight in response. She gave Munu a scratch on the head. Their hut was already visible in the distance, but she was in no real hurry to go and sit in the half-light of burning pine boughs. That was the real punishment, she thought, the boredom of the long evenings and nights. She slept as much as she could, but a young body will assert its need for adventure and freedom. She had more than once gone out in the moonlight to sit, holding a torch, staring out into the distance, trying to count the lights of the houses she would never visit. On those nights she let her other heart reach out far into the distance, to see and feel the places she herself could not.
Her whole life she had been confined by the red-brown pines, her world had shrunken so that she couldn’t feel completely relaxed without the branches domed above her head. Still, there was something in the discomfort of this open space that thrilled her. Here, at last, was something new and different, and strange, after a lifetime of safety and familiarity. She was too smart to attempt crossing the narrow snow-covered pass in winter, and yet, having explored everything within a day’s walk on either side of it, she felt like a string was pulling on her chest, drawing her towards the looming Grim Sister, staring at her across the rock bridge.
Walking up to the pass, she watched the snow on the ground ahead of her. She held her breath for a moment and her shadow elongated. She exhaled and lifted her arm as her shadow stretched farther along the bridge. Salka put her arm down, but the shadow kept crawling even further. She kept her eyes open and slowed her breathing, listening to her heartbeats. Without her noticing, the snow around her feet began to melt.
A loud screech broke her focus, and she turned towards the hut where Munu circled above the roof, making distressed noises. She ran towards him as quickly as her worn-out snowshoes allowed, her knife drawn. Munu dove and a roar filled the air. Salka held her breath, but then she saw Munu rise again, his talons bloody and a chunk of fur in his beak, which he let fall, screeching triumphantly. A skinny grey wolf bounded out from behind the hut, and snapped its jaws, narrowly missing Munu.
The wolf’s sides were sunken in, its fur matted. It looked old: old and ragged enough for the pack to have driven it away. The animal’s desperation drove it to enter Salka’s hut, and it would not hesitate to attack her.
As Munu kept the wolf’s attention away from Salka, she slowly backed away towards the woods. The green of her cloak showed clearly against the snow, and she knew any sudden movement would be enough to alert the wolf to her presence.
The animal jumped into the air, trying to grasp the flying pestilence tearing chunks of fur out of its back. Salka moved steadily, but her makeshift snowshoes were not built for racing and she tripped, falling face-first into the snow.
The movement caught the wolf’s attention. It spotted Salka and turned hungrily towards her. Munu shrieked in fury and swooped down, scratching the wolf’s muzzle. The animal barely noticed the attack, its starving eyes fixed greedily on the lump of warm flesh that was awkwardly scrambling to reach the woods.
Salka looked towards the trees which now seemed as desperately distant as the houses beyond the mountains. One of the straps holding the snowshoes to her feet had loosened when she fell. She was terrified it might slip off her foot at any moment, but she didn’t dare pause to fix it. The wolf was eyeing her with a slow and steady interest as it started circling her, cutting her off from the forest.
Salka shot a look towards the pass; there was little chance of the wolf following her there, but her chances of being able to cross the narrow path without slipping were just as slim. Still, it was the only way that did not lead straight to the wolf’s stomach, and she retraced her steps towards the edge. The wolf, now sure
of the kill, was still moving slowly, but if she made a sudden move it would charge.
With a sinking feeling, she realized it would be impossible to outrun it. She was barely ten yards from the bridge now, her back towards the cliff, and the wolf was quickly closing the distance between them. Its shoulders moved rhythmically, and its eyes shone as the sun moved lower behind the trees. The strap that held Salka’s right snowshoe fixed to her foot slipped off and once again she tumbled into the snow. The wolf broke into a trot.
Salka scrambled to get up and half hobbled, half ran to the bridge. The wolf shifted its weight to its haunches and leapt to where Salka had stood just moments before. She screamed as the animal’s jaws closed inches from her head. She fell backwards onto the bridge, nearly falling off it in the process.
The wind picked up again and sent a gust of powdery snow from the bridge: a wide glittering ribbon in the evening light. The wolf bared its teeth, a looming dark shape against the remains of the day. Salka let out a sob as she backed away from it.
Munu once again swooped down, talons first, but the wolf, with a sort of absent-minded nonchalance, caught the end of Munu’s wing and shook its head, throwing the falcon into the snow. Munu landed to the right of the wolf and remained there motionless.
Salka screamed as the wolf leapt towards her, the large paws falling heavily on either side of her face, its jaws ready to tear into her throat. She stabbed blindly with her small knife. It nipped the wolf’s thick winter coat harmlessly, and the bulk of the falling animal knocked the knife out of her hand, breaking her wrist with a dull crunch. The animal’s breath was warm on her skin and it stank of the dried fish that it had pilfered from the hut. Salka thought of the time and effort it took her to catch and preserve that food, and a silent fury swelled in her chest.
Her hands pushed at the animal’s neck, even as the wolf’s jaws were closing around her shoulder. Salka shrieked as a white-hot pain shot through her body. A flood of heat hit her, and she kept screaming as the long fangs punctured her flesh. She opened her eyes wide and put her left hand on the side of the wolf’s head. The pain and the fury inside her was released in an instant, and they hit the wolf with cruel precision. A dark arrow shot through the wolf’s head. The animal opened its eyes wide and sat on its haunches, swaying gently in the wind, a look of surprise in its eyes. Then a gust of wind gave the last gentle push and it fell forward, pinning Salka to the bridge.
Salka looked up towards the sky, the blood gushing through the wound on her shoulder and pouring down her chest. A warmth spread through her body as her shadow enveloped her gently, lovingly, stretching itself over her body and the wolf heavy on her chest, enclosing them both in a dark cocoon.
CHAPTER 16
Miriat pinned up her long brown hair and put the strap of her bag across her shoulder. Three months had passed, and she would not let Alma keep her daughter away for one more day.
Trina was already waiting by the entrance to her house. “I’m going with you,” she said, before Miriat had the chance to open her mouth. Trina held out her hand and squeezed Miriat’s arm. “I lost my daughter. Give me the joy of helping return yours to you.” She smiled at Miriat, and one would be forgiven for thinking that there stood the same old good-natured Trina. But Miriat could see that her smile no longer extended to her eyes.
Trina had grown thinner and more secretive since her daughter left, often disappearing for several days at a time, wishing for nobody’s company but her own. Even Dola who, even now, was approaching the two women with a bright smile, no longer found a warm welcome in Trina’s house. Dola stopped at the door, panting from the exertion of the long walk, her hand resting on her pregnant belly. Miriat didn’t know who the father was, and she dared not ask; to pry would be the height of impropriety. Dolas had a rather relaxed attitude to coupling and felt little need to regulate, or indeed pay attention to, the causality between it and parenthood.
“Good winter weather we’re having today!” Dola said. “Oh, don’t let me keep you… too long, that is,” she added, as Miriat tried to take her at her word.
“You’re in a hurry, of course,” Dola continued, “but let me have a word with you both, while Trina makes a pot of tea, perhaps?”
“The fire has died down and the water is cold,” Trina said, her arms crossed. Dola was used to pushing the boundaries of the acceptable, but Trina felt a spark of rebellion light up within her.
“Well, you better get started on the fire then,” Dola replied with narrowed eyes, quashing Trina’s defiance. “It was a long walk through the snow this morning and you would not let an expectant mother back out there without as much as a drop of tea to warm her bones?” Dola pulled one of Miriat’s stools out by her door and beamed at Trina, who shot Miriat an apologetic look.
“I suppose it won’t take too long, Miriat.”
Miriat was itching to go and Dola’s intervention irritated her. She moved to follow Trina to her house, but Dola wagged her finger at her and said, “Not you. I want to speak with you.”
Miriat sighed and sat herself next to Dola. The snow was already melting in places, so wet and sticky it still clung to the shoes and the clothes. Miriat thought of how cold Salka must be and she turned towards Dola with barely disguised annoyance. “What is it?”
“Well, right to the point and no mistake. Aren’t I glad I trekked all this morning to speak with you, with this belly weighing me down, and my feet all swollen and painful.” Dola crossed her arms and jutted her chin out petulantly. She looked like an angry apple.
“I’m sorry, Dola.” Miriat half-smiled. “But I’m anxious for my daughter and want to waste no time in going to her.”
“And what do you think I came to you for – that piss Trina calls tea?” Dola said, leaning her head towards Miriat. “I came to talk to you about Salka. You will lead her into a trap, and you don’t even know it.”
“A trap? What are you talking about?” Miriat looked up.
“Your daughter, a sheltered young woman with few skills and little enough common sense, was sent alone to spend the Heyne winter in a rotting hut. Why do you think Alma did that?” Dola looked towards the village. “I will speak plainly. Your daughter must have used her other heart quite a bit to survive, no question about that. And Alma knew it.”
“Salka wouldn’t. She’s not stupid.”
“She’s not. Which is why she would have done whatever it took to survive.”
A loud curse came from Trina’s house, announcing the precariously stacked pans and cups in her hut had performed their usual tumble onto one of her feet. Trina never quite managed to keep things in working order in her house.
Dola leaned towards Miriat and pressed a small pouch into her hand. “Alma is a good woman, by and large, but a vindictive one. And where her son is concerned, she’s as blind as a bat. You know what happens when a striga begins to use her other heart’s powers. Salka’s shadow will betray her. And she will be banished for good.”
Miriat took a slow breath to steady herself. She looked Dola in the eyes. “Maybe that won’t be such a bad thing then. The village is less of a haven than I used to think, and I’m starting to wonder if it’s less than my daughter deserves.”
Dola pursed her lips, annoyed. “You think it’s a joke? If you could just go anywhere with her, we wouldn’t be sitting here outside of your ramshackle excuse for a house, surrounded by the stench of goats. Where will you take her? Where will she be safe? No. You have to stay here. Bide your time at least, till you can figure out what else you can do. Now this–” She pointed at the pouch in Miriat’s hand, “–this is what made me freeze off my backside walking this morning. When you see Salka, give it to her in a drink. A pinch at a time, once a day. It will slow her other heart and deaden her shadow.” Dola leaned in so close to Miriat, she could feel the warm cloud of her breath hit her face. “Make sure nobody finds out about her following her other heart. Not even Trina, if you can help it.”
“Trina is a good, loyal frie
nd and she loves Salka,” Miriat said, looking blankly at the small pouch in her hand.
“Oh, of course she is. But she lost her daughter. It would not be a kindness to allow Trina to watch Salka get away with the very thing that cost Markus and Maladia their lives here,” Dola said. “Now, hide the pouch, and let us speak no more of it. You need only give it to Salka for a month or so. It will make the other heart small and weak, like a leg after a bed rest, and she will be back to normal.” Dola looked down to the ground and stroked her belly thoughtfully. “Yes, no more than a month, I’d say.”
“How is it you have this?” Miriat held the pouch in her hand, weighing it. She eyed Dola thoughtfully. “How is it the Dolas have such power that we’ve never heard of? Alma is well known for her potions and powders. I’ve never heard her utter a word of anything which could still the other heart. If she did, what need would there be to banish Markus? What need would there be to punish anyone for the use of their striga heart?” She shook her head. “You’ve always been a true friend to us, Dola, but what is this gift you offer me, truly?”
Dola leaned back and tapped at her knee with her fingers. Miriat could see Dola’s rising irritation but she’d be damned if she poisoned her daughter as some kind of experiment for the Dolas.
“I got this herb from the North,” Dola said finally. “In the northernmost end of Prissan, there are no more strigas. At least, not the kind you can tell apart from the humans. This pouch contains a root they grow there. After Maladia…” Dola took a deep breath. “I couldn’t help her. But when Salka was sent away… Well, I had it sent for. It will poison the striga heart. And it will hurt.” She paused, making sure Miriat understood.
“Hurt?” Miriat looked up sharply. “Hurt how exactly?”
Dola shrugged her shoulders. “Nothing lethal.” Seeing Miriat still hesitated she slapped her thigh with exasperation. “Not like the burning would anyway! Is that what you want to risk?” Dola laughed. “Do you want Salka left wasting away, her second heart burned out of her chest? Or else that she’s left a drooling idiot, until she slowly starves to death? One month, Miriat! That’s all I ask, that’s all that’s needed! And if a little of Salka’s discomfort is all that is stopping you now, believe me, you’d crawl through fire and crushed glass to save her from the purification ceremony! She must continue with it. It will keep her hidden and safe.” Dola spread out her palms as if to show there was nothing more she could hide.
The Second Bell Page 10
