“You can trust me, you know,” Kalina said. She reached out for the goat’s lead to help it across and Salka gave it to her, reluctantly. She wanted nothing more than to turn around and leave, but after Maladia and Markus’ banishment, she knew not to underestimate Kalina.
“I know you might not like me.” Kalina looked up at Salka, her lips pressed tight together. She took a deep breath. “I’m not very likeable. But I care about our village. I care about our rules. They are there to help us lead a good life, a true life, separate from the poison of the striga curse. Now, I think you might have done something you shouldn’t have. And maybe you need a friend, to help bring you back to where you ought to be.” Kalina led the goat safely across the footbridge, with the lamb trotting right after. Then she came back and reached out to Salka with her hand. She waited patiently. Salka hesitated.
“I haven’t broken any rules,” she said finally. “I don’t know why you think I have, but you can see the evidence right here.” She pointed to her own shadow with a sweeping gesture.
“I can see you. Your other heart is so quiet, you could be mistaken for a human. There is no way you had that kind of restraint. That kind of discipline.”
Kalina still stood at the footbridge with her hand reaching out in a friendly gesture. Salka grasped it for fear of offending the woman. She glanced down. Kalina’s shadow lay flat on the ground, a dead thing, suppressed beyond any sign of vitality. Much could be said of Kalina but not that she didn’t follow the rules herself.
Salka took a breath and tried a different tactic. “Have I done something to offend you? I don’t understand what you want from me. I’ve accepted my punishment. I was banished. I went away, I came back. Nothing happened in the Windry Pass. They were three hard, boring months, and I’d rather forget about them if at all possible.” Except that is a lie, Salka thought. The memory of how it felt to be truly connected to the world around her, to feel the power surging through her veins, those memories were all that sustained her in her current half-lived state.
Kalina seemed to sense Salka’s hesitation. She cocked her head to the side and scratched her cheek with her hand. “That’s just the thing. I don’t think it was as boring as you make it out. You see, I think you made things a bit easier on yourself. I think you followed your heart, and broke every rule that keeps us from turning into the monsters the humans think we are.
“Trust me, I understand. They all think they’re different; that they won’t let this curse change them. But it always, always does.” Kalina stepped closer across the ice-covered footbridge. “And there’s a price to be paid. We can see the transgressors straight off. The monster they become is out for all to see. But not with you.”
Salka swallowed. Kalina’s face was now so close to her own that she could see every pore on her skin. She forced herself to look back and meet Kalina’s gaze. The freezing water rushed below them, nearly drowning out the sound of Kalina’s voice. The woman’s hand closed tightly around Salka’s.
“Let me go.” Salka tried to wriggle away.
Kalina gave a mirthless chuckle. All pretense of friendliness melted away. “You’re a child. You have no strength in you. No meat on your bones to sustain you.”
“I don’t need meat for hunting. Not that you know what it takes to be a good trapper. Or a good anything really. Except a snitch maybe,” Salka regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth.
Kalina gasped and hit Salka with the back of her free hand.
Salka called out in shock and flailed her arms, trying to catch her balance. She fell backwards and somersaulted down before landing in the freezing water. Munu shrieked and attacked Kalina, who batted him away. She leaned forward, her face white with horror at what she had just done.
“Grab the root! There! To your left!” Kalina screamed.
Salka flayed wildly, but missed the root, her hand scraping badly against a stone. The current pushed her farther and she tumbled down a small waterfall, crashing through the thin ice.
Kalina swore loudly and hurried off the footbridge and down the stream where she climbed a boulder overhanging the water. She took off her coat and waved it at Salka. “Grab it! I’ll pull you out!”
She leaned as far as she could, and when Salka’s hands closed around the thick fabric of the coat, Kalina heaved, sliding down the boulder. Salka crashed into the rock’s side, but didn’t let go of the coat.
They both fell back into the snow. Kalina grunted loudly as she turned on her side. She took one look at Salka and took off her sweater. She helped Salka pull off her freezing wet clothes that stuck to her chilled skin. Salka was so cold she could do nothing but accept the help, though her eyes were flashing angrily.
“Here, put it on,” Kalina said, avoiding Salka’s gaze. The long garment went down to Salka’s knees. After a moment’s thought, Kalina also wrapped her coat around Salka’s frame. “No meat on you at all…” Kalina mumbled. “We need to get a fire going.”
At that Salka jumped up and punched Kalina in the jaw, sending her reeling. “What was that?!”
Kalina seemed dazed for a moment and sat in the snow massaging her jaw. “I didn’t mean to. I just… I thought you’d… But your shadow…”
“What about my shadow? You’re so obsessed with it you tried to kill me? And did it come out? Did you see the big bad stigoi you were after?”
Kalina stood up, watching Salka sullenly. “You knew I’d save you.”
“Did I?” Salka laughed, an angry, ugly sound. “How do you think Alma is going to react once she finds out you attacked another striga? Maybe you’ll be the one banished this time. You can test out your theories firsthand!”
“I wouldn’t do that, if I were you,” Kalina said. She tried to appear calm, though Salka saw how her hands shook. “I don’t know how you did it, but I was watching. Your shadow didn’t even move. It’s like you had your other heart burnt out.”
“Are you worried you would be tempted if it were you?” Salka asked. “Or jealous that I’m better at keeping this under control than you are?” Munu flapped his wings in Kalina’s face and shrieked with glee as she winced and took a step back. For the briefest moment, Salka felt a pang of regret at her words watching the pathetic figure in front of her. But then she remembered Maladia and she pursed her lips into a thin line.
Kalina stood her ground. “This means nothing. I will catch you using your powers. And then you will be out for good,” she said, but her voice lacked conviction. “Here, use this. Or don’t. See if I care.” She took out her flint box and a hot amber fire-starter necklace off her neck and tossed it in Salka’s lap. She turned around and trotted back to the village, shivering in the cold.
By the time Salka returned to the striga village she was blue from the cold. Her shoes were put out to dry by the fire as Miriat sat on a small stool making their evening meal. The nanny goat and Curious were already asleep under Salka’s raised bed, and Munu was sitting on his perch grooming his tail feathers. They all sat in silence for a while. Miriat noticed Salka wearing another’s clothes but she hadn’t asked about it. She just sat opposite her daughter, and waited for an explanation.
Finally, Salka approached her mother. She knelt by Miriat’s side and put her head in her mother’s lap. Miriat, surprised, ran her fingers through her daughter’s tight curls.
“I think they know, Mama,” Salka said in the end.
Miriat’s hand paused for a brief moment. “What do you mean? Who knows?” She could feel her own heart beating hard within her chest and she fancied it made more noise than the two hearts of any strigas she’d ever met.
“Pike. She followed me into the forest. She tried to provoke my striga heart. She pushed me into a stream to see if I would release it.”
Miriat took in a sharp breath “Who? Kalina? Why would she…? I will speak with her!” She tried to stand up but Salka pulled on her hand and shook her head.
“No. Who will believe us? She’ll say I fell down and that she saved me. T
he rest will be seen as me trying to avenge Maladia and Markus. The whole village knew we were close.”
Miriat shook with a quiet fury. Kalina had no right to do what she’d done and Miriat wanted nothing more than to confront her. A sudden thought occurred to her. “And did she?” Miriat asked. “I mean, Kalina. Did she… succeed?”
“No,” Salka said. “That’s dead and gone. But Mama…” She looked up at Miriat, “I don’t think she’s convinced. What will happen now? After all this, will they still burn my other heart out like Trina said?”
Miriat took a deep breath. “No. They can’t see it, so they can’t punish you for it. The burning is the last resort to purge out the stigoi only.” She didn’t add what they both thought. That perhaps that word described Salka now. “We still have enough powder for another week. By then your other heart should be so weakened that nobody will suspect a thing. I will have a word with Kalina. You need not worry. As long as you don’t follow your heart, they can do nothing.” Miriat drew her daughter to her chest.
Miriat searched back to the memory of when she met Kalina. When Miriat first arrived at the village, Kalina was still a small child. Kalina’s mother had died when her daughter was barely three years old and no other family had stepped up to take her place. A solemn child, Kalina had fallen through the cracks and been taken care of by everybody and nobody, absorbed in an absent minded fashion by the structures of the village life, gradually shaped into their strictest defender. Miriat felt with a small pang of guilt that she herself had been so engrossed with her own baby, and the strange new home she’d brought them to, it had not even occurred to her to take an interest in this awkward lone child. But, she supposed, that was a done thing. You can’t unspoil milk.
Salka’s breath slowed down and she fell asleep, her head still in Miriat’s lap, her eyelids flickering as she was swept up in some dream. When Salka was a child, Miriat would have scooped her up in her arms and put her on the bed, but now all she could do was ease her daughter to the ground and put a blanket over her. She looked at Salka’s face and tucked one of the unruly curls behind her ear. She placed her own blanket on the floor next to Salka’s and put her arms around her. Soon she too closed her eyes, and the comfort that mother and daughter drew from each other rose up like a living thing, filling the room and quieting their sleep.
CHAPTER 22
Kalina coughed as a burst of smoke hit her face. She added a branch to the fire and took a step back before sitting down and holding her feet and hands to the flame. Her hut was very dark, but it kept her warm. Whoever had built it had first dug a round hole in the ground and then used the soil mixed with hay to fortify the walls. The resulting structure was unsightly, though comfortable. Kalina knew she was lucky to have it.
Her two goats snored under her bed. Some who remembered a life before joining the village would sometimes complain of the goat smell, but Kalina loved it. It was the smell of warmth and comfort. It was a smell of achievement and wealth. There was no other place in the whole of Prissan she’d rather be when the grey hour fell than on her bed, listening to the breathing of her does underneath her.
She slid off the bed and snuggled between her animals, as she sometimes did, taking in their milky scent and the warmth of their long coats.
She thought of that morning. She could feel the fire’s heat on her face but knew the blush that spread across her cheeks had nothing to do with it. It was a stupid thing she had done. Salka made her angry, but that was no excuse.
Kalina hadn’t meant to push her in, it was an accident. It was Salka’s fault, really. She wouldn’t listen. Kalina had meant to be kind, she wanted to help. She just wanted to know how Salka did it. How she managed to keep her other heart quiet. So easily, so effortlessly. If Salka had only confided in her, it would all have been different. Kalina would have helped her, and maybe then Salka would show her, teach her, how to make this so easy, so very easy.
Kalina felt loneliness rise inside her chest. She knew it was dangerous, of course. Sadness was dangerous; self-pity was dangerous. So she pushed them down, though her human heart felt like it would burst from the strain.
She was right about Salka, she knew she was. There was a pain in her chest which told her eloquently enough: if it’d been her thrown into an icy stream, she would not be able to hold back.
A deep shame made her shrink into herself. Salka couldn’t have that kind of self-control. Not unless she was a stigoi, a true stigoi. She could hide it then, because she had the deep knowing of it. Yes, there was no other explanation.
Kalina dug her fingers into the soft tangles of her goat’s fur. She would flush the stigoi out herself. She would do it for the village. She would do it for her home.
CHAPTER 23
Dran timed his visits with Salka to coincide with Miriat’s visits to her traps. He had a sneaking suspicion that Miriat wasn’t all that keen on him. Which was fine for now – he’d win her over later. Once he was whole, she would see that her daughter truly couldn’t do any better. The thought hit him hard and he sat back down on his bed. He ran his fingers through his hair. Could he truly consider continuing with Salka after she healed him?
No. Of course, no. She would be a stigoi. The healing would require it. Besides, she was a difficult girl. She showed no great partiality to him, not even after he’d spent so many days trying to win her over. He pursed his lips and rubbed his eyebrow in irritation. She tolerated him. But could he blame her? Lame, sickly creature that he was now, why would she show any interest in him if she never had before.
She smiled sometimes when he made a joke and she looked at him warmly when he helped her at one of the endlessly tedious tasks Miriat set her. But she hadn’t once offered up her lips for a kiss or reached out for his hand.
His face darkened. Maybe today I won’t go. Maybe she will miss me if I don’t go. But the pain in his foot travelled along the dark tendrils of his spreading illness to remind him he had no time for coyness. He walked towards Salka’s house with a frown. He heard a couple of old women giggle as they saw him pass, as they cooked and gossiped outside their homes.
“A lovers’ quarrel…” he heard one of them whisper and he shot her a contemptuous look meant to chide her. But she only laughed in an open-hearted way and turned back to her friend.
This did nothing to improve his mood. He strode ahead, passing Trina’s house. Salka was sitting outside, as she did most mornings, spinning wool. The drop spindle twirled fast, as she twisted the yarn into long even threads. She seemed tired, with her hair unbrushed and dark circles under her eyes. Dran’s hearts dropped as he looked at her. Was she ill? He looked at her shadow, a dead thing at her feet. Was it possible she was pushing it down, making herself sick? Her constant headaches, which she tried to hide from him, caused him much worry. He told himself it was because she was no good to him sick and weak. But in truth, it moved him, this commonality between them, the weakness and the pride required to hide it.
She looked up as he approached and smiled. She moved as if to get up and accidentally dropped the spindle.
“Rats and fleas!” she swore under her breath.
He leaned down to pick up her spindle. “You seem less attentive to your work these days.”
She rolled her eyes. “You try spending morning after morning watching a piece of wood spin. I swear, much more of this and I will turn stupider than a rabbit.” She took the spindle from his hand with thanks. He smiled and felt a small pain inside his chest as his other heart tried to reassert itself. He pushed it down. Salka waited respectfully as he did so, a small courtesy all strigas gave one another, one he usually resented. He had enough weakness of his own to conceal without others patronizing his struggle. But he didn’t mind so much with Salka somehow.
“You seem tired,” he said.
“Thanks.” Salka pulled out a bit of wool from the small cloud she kept in her left hand and attached it to the broken thread, sending the spindle twirling once more.
“No, I
mean, are you well?”
She looked at him in silence for a moment, and while he respected it, it rankled him she should still be so cautious with him.
“I’m not, actually. Kalina seems determined to prove I’m a stigoi.” She looked up at him, as if gauging his reaction.
This surprised him more than it should have. He had heard the woman that first day on Salka’s return. He should have thought she might do more than voice her suspicions. “What did she do?” he asked.
“Oh, just tried to drown me,” Salka said. She laughed at his shock. “Well, she threw me into a stream, hoping my shadow would leap to my defense. It didn’t. So she pulled me out again.”
“Pike did that?” Dran rubbed his forehead.
“Yes, she did.” The voice behind him startled him. He stood up and faced the cold-eyed Miriat. “But perhaps you already knew it.”
“Mama!” Salka turned bright red. “Dran had nothing to do with it, you know that!”
“Do I?” Miriat kept her expression blank. “All I know is this young man has paid you an unusual amount of attention since you came back. And Kalina would not have the gall to risk another striga’s life if she wasn’t given certain assurances…”
“You’d think any attention paid to me unusual.” Salka shook with anger, throwing the spindle down angrily into the bag of wool. “You’d suspect anyone I spent time with who wasn’t you.”
Miriat’s jaw tightened and she turned to Dran. “I think this is for me and my daughter to discuss. Please leave us.”
Dran narrowed his eyes. “I don’t know why you think so badly of me, Miriat. I have never given you cause to, I’m sure.” He turned to Salka. “Let me know if I can do anything to help. I’m sure my mother had nothing to do with it, but I’ll talk to her if you want me to. She won’t lie to me.”
The Second Bell Page 14
