“Oh, I wouldn’t say that, my love,” Miriat said, forcing a smile onto her lips and pulling her daughter closer. “It is hard to watch you leave your childhood behind. But that part of growing up I can understand. The other part of it though… Following your other heart will change you in ways I understand to be wrong and frightful.”
“Are they wrong and frightful because you don’t understand them then?” Salka said, her finger tracing an invisible pattern on her knee. “The village keeps us safe, but it feels like we see ourselves like the humans do sometimes. I’m not stupid, I know the other heart can do terrifying things… But Mama, it saved me. I can’t explain it, but it killed a wolf for me. I felt the wolf’s teeth tearing my shoulder, and I should be dead, but I’m not. I’m healed. Not even healed. Whole. As if nothing had happened at all. And I didn’t know I could do it. I could have gone on forever not knowing it. But now I do. It frightens me I will never be able to do it again.”
Miriat didn’t answer. She just held her daughter closer as they stood up and walked back to the fire where Trina was waiting. Munu was hopping on the ground by the fire, trying to gain access to Trina’s pack. She shooed him away. When she saw them, Trina gestured for Salka to sit down. She poured a bit of hot water into a cup and passed it to Salka. Then she watched as Salka put a pinch of Dola’s herb into the drink and brought it to her lips.
Miriat felt a pang of guilt and she raised her hand, as if to take the cup away from her daughter’s lips, but then put it down again.
Salka drank the liquid. They all sat in silence for a moment. A flicker of pain went across Salka’s face, but she didn’t move. Miriat reached out and held her daughter’s hand. Trina wasn’t watching Salka’s face; her eyes were fixed on the girl’s shadow as it twisted and writhed on the ground next to her. Then it shrank and collapsed, till it was no different from Miriat’s shadow, no different from Munu’s. Until it was no more than an absence of light.
Salka’s breathing slowed, and she looked up at her mother. “Mama? I’m cold.”
Miriat quickly pulled out a blanket from her pack and wrapped it tightly around her daughter’s shoulders.
“What does it feel like?” Trina asked after a moment.
“It feels like nothing,” Salka said. “It feels like nothing at all.”
CHAPTER 19
Dran stared at the wall of his mother’s hut, slowly stretching his legs on the floor rug, as he listened to the sounds outside. He would spend hours like that, inside, hiding from the villagers. He despised both his feeble body and his mother for witnessing his struggle. He had a lifetime of practice at hiding his weakness, and he felt certain that nobody in the village knew of the slow progression of the sickness that consumed his strength, but he would take no chances.
Since he’d attempted a healing using Markus’ shadow, Dran felt sicker by the day. A sudden flash of memory made Dran turn towards the wall, as if he could hide from the image. The burn on his foot had seemed to heal for a while, but then Dran’s horror grew as the darkness of the wound spread farther up his leg. The medicine he stole from Heyne Town proved no more effective than his mother’s concoctions. In desperation, he had tried to repair the damage himself using his other heart, but the pain it caused him seemed only to speed up the illness that made his hands shake and his chest seize whenever he attempted to walk for more than an hour. He dared not try a healing again.
But today was a day of hope. Salka was to come back, and Salka was going to help him.
Dran hadn’t yet forgiven Emila, whose stupid lie had caused Salka’s banishment. To her own parents, she had imparted some of the truth. And yet, when faced with the owlish gaze of his own mother, she saw fit to concoct a lie that elevated him to the role of rescuer of idiots and planted the seeds of hatred inside of Alma. Emila now followed him around the village like a beaten dog, trying to soothe and coax him into reciprocating her insipid affection.
Dran got up from the floor with effort and slipped his feet into the neatly placed fur-lined shoes. He enjoyed the ease with which he could reach them, while at the same time resented his mother’s wearisome efforts to organize and sort everything around him to assure his comfort. Even the way she folded his clothes he had discarded carelessly the previous night, served to remind him of his own weakness. He could feel no gratitude for it.
He rolled his shoulders. Salka would no doubt feel some resentment towards him, and he would have plenty of work to do if he wanted to earn back her trust. He thought back to the lamb she stole from Heyne Town and the first smile of the morning stretched his lips. He had been watching the animal over the previous three months as it defied everyone’s expectations and grew in strength. There was no sign of injury, no blight of the kind he had been taught to anticipate as the inevitable result of a striga healing. The lamb grew in strength every day, only bleating loudly and running to hide behind its adoptive goat mother whenever it saw Dran.
That was no good. He wanted there to be nothing that could serve as a reminder to Salka of anything he might have done that was less than charming. This, of course, would prove difficult, as Salka was just returning from her banishment, for which she had every cause to blame him.
He gritted his teeth as he thought of the three long months of pain he’d had to endure because of Emila’s desire to flatter. After his mother had decided to punish Salka, all his protestations were considered to be yet more proof of his noble nature. Dran could see his mother’s unease at the hasty decision to send Salka away, and he had tried to reason with her. But Alma, who usually accommodated her son’s requests, had put her foot down.
Dran stretched his neck and hobbled to the carefully polished piece of tin that served as his mirror. He combed his black hair, using a dab of goose grease to make it shine. He smiled at his reflection. He was still good looking enough to break a girl’s heart. Or at the very least to bend her to his wishes.
By the time Dran left his mother’s house, most of the strigas were already assembled close to the village well, which afforded some decent seating and an unparalleled view of the gate. There was a hum of excitement in the air. Alma’s choice of punishment for Salka had been an unpopular one with everyone but Emila’s mother, who now stood sullenly by her husband and gave curt replies to anyone foolish enough to accost her.
Emila stood close to her mother, her cheeks flushed. Dran’s admirer had taken her friend’s punishment hard, and Dran’s subsequent indifference to her even harder. Dran noticed a plethora of food baskets carried by the villagers, with still-steaming buns wrapped in cloths: an overabundance of bounty meant to appease the group’s common sense of guilt at having participated in banishing a young woman during winter.
Dran nodded at all he saw in a restrained, dignified way. He stood apart from everyone, avoiding all conversation. His hands shook more than usual this morning and he would not betray himself. The whole village had waited for the best part of the morning. It couldn’t be helped, of course. No striga would miss Salka’s homecoming or risk being the last to welcome her.
It was a crisp morning, but the spring could already be felt in the air and the sun’s rays warmed the bones a bit better. Still, there was little chatter. Nobody would say what everyone feared: that Salka might not return, or that she’d return so changed she could not be welcomed back. It was always a risk that, when outside of the watchful eyes of the community, a young striga might do the easy thing. The stupid thing.
So they all waited.
Finally, a happy ululation reached them from the top of the stairs by the gate.
“They’re coming! The three of them!”
The whole village held its breath as the gate opened, painfully slowly. A collective sigh was released as Miriat and Trina entered, their hands placed protectively on Salka’s shoulders as she walked between them. The silence broke suddenly, and a wave of happy calls and laughter broke over the girl’s head as the strigas saw her shadow, which followed her limply, as if it had never been animat
ed by Salka’s second heart.
Dran, away from the crowd, pursed his lips. It made no sense. You can’t unspoil milk. The evidence of the lamb spoke for itself. He’d broken that animal’s neck, he was certain of it. He could still hear the sickening cracking of the bone. He shivered slightly. Salka must have affected a healing of some kind. Her obvious guilt and the way her shadow moved when she met them in the forest, all showed she had followed her heart. He couldn’t be wrong.
“There’s something odd about this whole business,” a querulous voice said close to him, mirroring his thoughts in a most unwelcome way. Kalina stood close to Dran, her arms crossed over her chest.
“You always think there is something odd, Pike. Just mind your business, will you?” he said.
Kalina reddened, “It’s everyone’s business to make sure the law is obeyed. I, for one, don’t for one second believe she didn’t follow her second heart in the last three months. Not even once?” Kalina waved dismissively in the direction of Salka and straightened herself up a bit, jutting her chest out. “How would she have survived Heyne winter on her own, without at least some assistance?”
“We would know if something had happened,” Dran replied, but the conviction was melting away from his voice.
Kalina jutted out her chin. “I know I’m right. We all expected to see her a bit changed, within the acceptable limits, of course. But this…” Kalina shook her head. “She could be human! Something strange is going on.”
Dran watched Kalina from under his lashes. It was no good to have the village busybody going around spreading rumors. Not before he got the chance to speak with Salka himself.
“The only strange thing I’ve noticed is your willingness to see the worst in others, Pike. Are you saying the only thing keeping you from following your heart is our presence?” he said to Kalina, startling her. Her eyes popped wide open and she reddened at his rebuke.
He turned away from her, letting the full force of his disapproval wash over her.
He walked towards Salka, forcing the others to make space. The last thing he wanted was to be simply one of a crowd.
“Welcome back,” he said, smiling. “I’m so glad you’re well.”
“Are you?” Salka asked with a stony expression. Her blunt reply surprised him and he was left with his mouth hanging as she and her mother walked towards their house.
“Nothing’s changed,” Salka said when she entered her mother’s hut.
“I thought you’d be glad of that!” Miriat laughed. “And here, look who’s been waiting for you!” The lamb bleated in the corner of the room and came out to investigate. Upon seeing Salka, it gave a small jump and ran straight into her.
“Here you are!” Salka chuckled as it nearly threw her off her feet. “Did you miss me? I’ve been thinking, we’ll have to give you a name.” She smiled, petting the lamb’s head. “How’s ‘Curious’? Sound good?” She was rewarded with a loud “mee” as Curious began investigating the contents of Salka’s sack.
“Did it just go ‘mee’?” Salka laughed, gently pushing the lamb’s head away.
“The company you keep, I suppose,” Miriat said. “Though I’m sure surprised it remembers you so well. You only had it for a couple of days before you left…” She trailed off and suddenly crumpled to the floor.
“Mama?” Salka touched her mother’s arm, alarmed. Miriat responded by wrapping her arms around her daughter and squeezing her with force.
A sob rose from deep inside Miriat’s chest. “I’m so sorry, sweetling. I couldn’t stop it. I didn’t protect you… I should have gone with you, no matter the consequences! And now this… This thing…” She left the sentence unfinished. She shook her head. “If I were there with you it never would have happened.”
“You couldn’t do anything…” Salka said. She could smell the herb oil in her mother’s hair. She closed her eyes. “We’d have no place to go. You knew it then, and I know it now.”
Miriat sniffed. “Well, never again.” She put her forehead to her daughter’s. “I will never again let you be separated from me.”
CHAPTER 20
Salka slept till well after midday. When she finally opened her eyes, it took her a moment to realize she was back in the village and no longer in the Windry Pass. Her bed covers felt luxuriously warm, and the familiar peat smell coming from the fire made her smile. Curious lay its head on the side of her bed and she stroked it, luxuriating the silkiness of its coat under her fingers.
Miriat came in with water. “You’re up, good. There’s food for you. I thought I’d let you sleep. Here.” She picked up a bowl of cooked grains along with a steaming cup and brought them over to Salka. She put a pinch of Dola’s powder in the liquid and stirred it well.
Miriat watched Salka drink it. Watched a bit too closely, Salka thought. Still, she supposed trust was in short supply these days. Her own fault. The warmth of the liquid spread over her body, and she would have been glad to go back under the covers, as a groggy, sleepy feeling reached her head and she could feel a slight throbbing in the back of her skull.
“You had visitors this morning, but I sent them away,” Miriat said. “Emila and Dran made an appearance.”
“Is everything settled between them then?” Salka asked, more for conversation’s sake than out of any real interest. It seemed like something Emila would do – making a show of bringing her lover around.
“They came separately, actually.” Miriat took the cup from Salka and cast a furtive glance inside it to check the entirety of the liquid was gone. “Dran was very insistent. Although that boy’s insistent on everything he wants, to be sure, from the exact moment he thinks of it.”
“Oh?” Salka raised her eyebrows. She blew on the spoonful of grains. It had a spot of honey in it, and she would relish every last drop.
“I didn’t know you two were this close,” Miriat said. She poured some water into the cup and swirled it around before pouring it outside.
“We’re not.” Salka bristled at her mother’s implied meaning. But then, because the grains were delicious, she added, “Maybe he feels bad his mother banished me for his sake.”
Miriat nodded. “Perhaps. Still, be wary of him. Alma’s mad about that boy and I’d rather she didn’t watch you too closely for the time being.”
“You’ve nothing to worry about there.” Salka rubbed her temples. “I think I might have breathed in too much smoke, my head’s throbbing. I should probably get some air.” She stood up and moved towards the door.
“Not too far!” Miriat said and reddened as Salka looked at her with one raised eyebrow. “What I meant was, we don’t know how you might feel with the powder doing its work. It’s safer if you stay close to the house for now. Think of the questions it would raise if you collapsed in full view of the village. No, sit outside if you like, but I have plenty for you to do right here.” She pulled out a large bag from the corner. “This is all the wool we have left from last year. With you gone I had no time to prepare it. You can brush it and spin it. I have plenty of teasels for the carding.” She dug into her stores with enthusiasm and pulled out several heads of dried teasel flowers with their hardened, spiky heads.
Salka groaned. She weighed the bag in her hands. “You want me to do it all? Now? But it will take an age…”
Miriat nodded, satisfied. “And by the time you’re done, hopefully you won’t have to take the powder anymore. No.” She raised her hands to stop Salka’s complaint. “I won’t hear another word. Spring will be upon us soon enough and there will be more wool to prepare then.” She took out a stool and a wool comb for Salka and slung her own pack over her shoulders.
“And where are you going?” Salka asked. “I’m to stay behind while you go for a wander?” She knew how petty she sounded, but the pain behind her eyes was making her testy.
Miriat skewed her head to the side. “I have snares and traps to check. Unless you’d rather have the wolves eat our supper?” She stroked her daughter’s head with affection.
“I will be back before evening. I’m so glad you’re back.”
Salka sat down heavily in front of their house. She saw Trina walking with a basket of peat for the fire and waved to her. Trina propped the heavy basket against her hip and smiled back before disappearing into her house. Salka sighed and pulled a large handful of tangled wool from the bag. It had already been cleaned with the grease carefully collected into a small clay pot Miriat kept for that purpose, but its knotted strands required plenty of work. Salka put a sheet of leather over her trousers and began teasing out the tangles from the wool. It was a tedious task, but one she was used to. She saw several strigas walk past her as the pale sun made its way across the sky, barely visible above the tall pines. Watching their shadows, she could see their constant struggle to grow and move, just as she could see their owners’ small gestures of irritation and twitches of effort as their other hearts were once more beaten into submission. The outward signs of struggle were so small, so subtle. Only one yearning for them would notice.
“I see you’ve been put to work already.”
She lifted her head and squinted against the sun. Dran stood next to her with a small basket of rose hips.
“You startled me,” she said, looking down at the wool in her lap. Lost in her thoughts she had let the teasel head fall from her hand. She bent down to lift it up but Dran was faster. He handed it to her with a smile.
“Thank you,” she said. If I say nothing, he might go. She watched him out of the corner of her eye, hoping he would get the message. Instead, he pulled up another stool and sat next to her, uninvited.
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