Kalina was speechless, but, luckily, Alma didn’t require a response.
“You know our laws better than most, Kalina. I know you understand their value, though they might at times seem hard and pitiless. Your kindness does you credit. To protect our young is an admirable goal, but we cannot protect them by letting a wolf roam freely among them. And that’s what Salka is now. It is a sad thing we must accept, and I’m only sorry that it had to come to this…” she gestured towards Kalina’s arm, “…to teach you that lesson. Thank you, Emila,” Alma nodded towards her, “for doing the right thing. And for recognizing that Salka is Salka no more. A stigoi can never go back to being a striga, any more than I can bleed and birth again.
“And now, we shall have to move quickly to contain her. The stigois are the least powerful when the sun is high, as the darkness flees the light, always. So our traditions dictate. Tonight, we must prepare, swiftly, quietly. For in the morning the entire village must be ready.”
“What’s going to happen to her?” Kalina asked.
“We will save her, child. We will purify her. We will turn her stigoi heart to ash so that the girl within can live on.” Alma stroked Kalina’s cheek. “Don’t fret, my girl. We don’t do this in anger but out of love and out of duty. Our people depend on us to do the right thing. However painful it may be.”
CHAPTER 28
The evening clouds were blotting out the sun’s last rays by the time Salka and Dran walked back into the village. Dran let his fingers run across her arm, as if by accident, just before they entered through the gate. A shiver ran down Salka’s back.
“It’s best we don’t provoke my mother. Sooner or later, she learns of everything that happens inside the village walls.” He smiled.
Salka traced the lines of his face with her eyes, before she turned away, biting her lip.
“You’re thinking of Munu?” Dran asked.
She nodded. “I know most here don’t think much of a bird, but he was so much more to me. He saved my life back there in the Pass, and I need to give him some justice. Will you… Will you speak to your mother for me?” She looked in Dran’s eyes with such earnestness, he couldn’t help but smile.
“For you? Yes, I will speak to her.”
Salka seemed to accept that answer and nodded a goodbye as she led her lamb back through the village towards her mother’s house. She passed Rida, and raised her hand in a greeting, but Rida just walked on, without so much as a glance in her direction.
Salka shrugged her shoulders and walked into her house, where Miriat was feverishly pulling out some old fabrics from their reed-woven chest. Two packs were lying on Miriat’s bed, and she barely gave her daughter a glance as she walked in. Instead, she gestured towards the back of the room where they kept their dry foods.
“Take out anything we can carry. Oh, for gods’ sake, make sure the entrance is sealed!” Miriat stood up and carefully tied the sides of the leather panels to the walls. “Where have you been gone so long?”
“What’s going on?” Salka asked. She sat next to the doe and gently stroked the leg of one of the kids.
“We’re getting banished, that’s what,” Miriat said, and, as if the words themselves were too much to bear she sat on the floor and hid her face in her hands.
Salka opened her mouth and closed it again. She slipped down to the floor and stared blankly at her mother. “So that’s why Rida wouldn’t look at me. But why? And how did you find out? There’s been no trial.”
“No, not yet. But there’s one coming, and we must be prepared.” Miriat nodded towards the entry to the house. “I’m not a fool and strigas are poor secret keepers. The entire village has been abuzz ever since this morning. Not a soul spoke to me the entire time you’ve been gone. No one so much as looked at me. And then your Aunt Trina came to me. They all know we’re close, they wouldn’t tell her a thing either. But she caught a snippet here and there and she’s certain Alma means to banish you.”
“But…” Salka hesitated. “They don’t know about the potion, do they? My shadow hasn’t betrayed me.”
Miriat rubbed her forehead. “No. But I was afraid something like this might happen. Dran was paying you too much attention. I’m sure that put Alma on edge. And then the Kalina business. I don’t know what she must have told Alma, but I will bet you anything she had something to do with it.”
Salka didn’t reply. Thinking about the ragged wound her teeth left in Kalina’s flesh made her stomach drop. Attacking another striga was against the laws of the village, even if the second heart wasn’t involved. And there would be few who’d think the loss of Munu a sufficient provocation.
Miriat slapped her thigh with an open hand. “They want us gone? Fine! But I will not let anybody throw me out of my own house without so much as warm clothes or food. I have worked for this! All of this!” She gestured around the room. “And it might not be much, but I’ll take what I can. We’ll have to throw it over the wall today. I won’t run the risk of them not letting us come back to pack.”
Salka was too stunned to speak for a moment. “It’s not ‘us’, Mama…” she finally said. Miriat shot her a warning look, but Salka shook her head. “You don’t have to do this for me. Not again.” Her eyes filled with tears. “It’s my fault, I don’t want you to lose everything again, just because of me. I’m grown, mama, I can manage.”
Miriat stared ahead for a moment then stood up and grabbed Salka’s shoulders, bringing their faces close. “There is no me without you, daughter, do you understand? I wouldn’t wish to stay in a place that doesn’t want you. I couldn’t.”
A sob shook Salka’s chest and she collapsed in her mother’s arms. “I can’t do this to you again, Mama! How can I do this to you…”
Miriat stroked her daughter’s hair and pulled her closer to her chest. “I make the decisions for me. And I choose you, sweetling. I will always choose you.”
When Salka finished crying, Miriat said, “Here, take these packs. Throw them over the western side of the fence. The eastern side is always guarded, and it won’t add much to the journey to go around the village. There’s a cart there. You can push against it to climb up. I have some preparations to do here.”
Salka nodded and set out to do as she was told.
While Salka was gone, Miriat cleaned up the house and swept the floor for the final time. Even if she had to leave her house, she’d be damned if she left it in a mess. She gave the last of the winter carrots to the goat and stroked the head of one of the kids. “I’m sorry I won’t be here to see your babies grow. Trina will take good care of you, though, you’ll see,” she said. The goat nuzzled its face under Miriat’s armpit and chewed on her tunic, more out of affection than hunger.
“It’s done, Mama,” Salka said softly as she entered the house again.
“Good.” Miriat wiped the tears hastily with her sleeve. “Here, I laid out the best clothes for you. You won’t leave the village looking like a beggar. I will not give them the satisfaction.”
Salka ran her fingers across the new woven tunic and the old, but lovingly patched-up leggings. “They’re lovely, Mama.”
“Well, yes. I made it when you were gone. At least I can give it to you now.” Miriat sighed. “Put them all on. When they come for you, you must be ready.”
Salka nodded and slipped into the prepared clothes. They fit her taller frame well. She was so used to having things too short and tight that she couldn’t help smiling at how unconstricted she now felt.
“It might all turn out for the best,” Miriat said finally. She looked at her daughter affectionately and kissed her forehead. “We will be together, and thanks to Dola, your shadow won’t betray you now. We don’t need to fear anymore, Salka. We don’t need to hide. Nobody will know you’re a striga when we leave the mountains.” She smiled, stroking Salka’s cheek with her thumb. “Now, let’s sleep. We’ll have to walk very far tomorrow.” She lay on her narrow bed and stared at the low ceiling for a moment.
S
alka’s heart sank. Her mother didn’t know. Well, of course she didn’t. Salka hadn’t told her about Dola’s lie. That there would be no escaping from the striga heart. There would be no safety for them, no adventure. All she had to offer her mother was more of the same. More poverty, more hunger. Endless, endless fear.
“Where will we go?” Salka asked, willing her voice not to break. She wrapped herself in her warm blanket. She would indulge the fantasy a while longer. Just a moment more to imagine this golden new life for the two of them. It couldn’t be, but she would at least have the memory of sharing in her mother’s hope.
“The west road down the mountain is steep, far too steep, and water logged at this time of year to risk it with your headaches. But then your shadow doesn’t look like a striga’s,” Miriat said. She made the effort to sound cheerful, though Salka noticed how her mother plucked at the loose ends of the blanket with her fingers. “So, the safest way for us might well be through the Heyne Town. After all, after nearly twenty years, who will know me there?” She turned to the wall and pulled her blanket right up to her neck. “Sleep now, if you can.”
Salka waited for a long time, until she was certain of the steadiness of her mother’s breathing. She slipped from under the covers, and rolled her blanket beneath them, should her mother wake in the night and glance towards her bed. She stood over her sleeping mother and reached out her hand. She let it hover above Miriat’s shoulder, and then turned away. She wouldn’t risk waking her to satisfy the childish desire for that last touch. She would not be so selfish.
Salka tiptoed to the door. She looked back for just a moment, and tried to take it all in. Tried to imprint on her memory the shape of the small hut she grew up in, the dirt floor and the mud walls, the animals sleeping warm in the corner, and of the outline of her sleeping mother’s back.
She wouldn’t cry. Salka balled her hands into fists, digging her nails into the flesh of her palm. Out of habit she reached out towards Munu’s perch. She caught her breath when she remembered.
It wouldn’t be wise to delay any longer. She walked out of the house and headed for the unguarded western side of the village, slipping quiet and unnoticed between the houses. She came up to the side of the fence and deftly climbed the cart she had previously pushed against it. On the second try, she managed to jump high enough to grasp the top of the fence and then pull herself up. She looked down the fence. It was too dark to tell where the tree roots and stones were, so she just had to hope she wouldn’t break her leg coming down. She hung off the outside of the fence, took a deep breath, and let go.
The packs she had thrown over earlier thankfully cushioned her fall. She picked up one of them and headed out, taking the long route around the village eastward towards Dola’s house, never once looking back.
CHAPTER 29
“Pike’s lying!” Dran threw his arms up in exasperation.
“It wasn’t Kalina who told me, though her wounds spoke eloquently enough,” Alma said. She was trying, and failing, to keep her voice level. “It was Emila who saw the whole thing. I heard the truth from Salka’s closest friend. What do you say to that?”
“I say she’s a liar also! A jealous liar. I was there, remember? I saw no stigoi! All I saw was a girl with a drowned bird.” Dran was pacing up and down the house.
“Yes, you were there. Why didn’t you come to me with this? Why are you protecting her? Have I taught you nothing?”
“I was going to tell you! I was going to tell you that Pike attacked Salka for no reason and paid for it!”
“Yes, so you tell me. And yes, Kalina has her faults. She’s eager to find fault in others, gods know. But she lives and breathes to protect our village. She has proven this over years of loyalty and service. You, however, you have protected Salka once already, and nearly paid for it with your life! Tell me, what charms does this scrawny child possess to inspire such loyalty in you?”
Dran scoffed. “It’s not about her! I want justice for her, as I would for any striga.”
Alma cocked her head to the side. Dran blushed under his mother’s skeptical gaze.
“Fine!” Dran raised his arms. “Fine, banish her! But don’t burn her. She doesn’t deserve that.”
“That’s true,” Alma said, her shadow flowing behind her. “She doesn’t deserve the mercy of a purification. She’s betrayed us all by opening herself up to the filth and the poison of her other heart. She hasn’t earned the right to have this curse lifted from her. But we must do it, nonetheless. No!” She raised her hand. “No more talk from you!” She took a couple breaths to steady herself. “I bear her no ill will, though I am angry at her deception. No, we must heal her. We must do it, for her sake, and for ours. Do you want to bring death to our doors? We exist only because we’re allowed to exist. Because we keep each other in check. Can you imagine what would happen if a fully-transformed stigoi came down the mountains, and plagued the humans with her powers? Do you think they would allow us to continue as we are? Or would they come and murder us all for this confirmation of their worst fears?”
“You let Markus go.”
“Markus was on the wrong path. A path which, if he lives, will eventually bring him ruin and death. But he’ll be far away from us by then, and his shame will be his alone.”
Dran hit the wall with his fist. “I won’t allow it!”
“You won’t allow it?” Alma said. Her eyes darkened with anger. “I give you license in most things. You are my son and heir, though you seem to forget now what you owe this village, what you owe me. When the morning comes and she is dragged out in front of the village and tied to a pole, you will do nothing.” Alma’s shadow pulsated with her anger. As she raised her voice it grew behind her, stifling out the fire. She raised her finger. “And when the purifying causes her to writhe in pain and call on you for help, you will do nothing. You will do your duty, even if I have to tie you alongside her. And you will not leave this house tonight.” She snapped her fingers and two solemn-faced striga men entered through the door. “Just in case you thought to warn her.” She smoothed her dress with her hands and strode out. “I will spend the night in meditation. If you find it difficult to rest, I suggest you do the same.”
The heavy doors slammed shut behind her, leaving Dran in the darkness.
CHAPTER 30
The skins covering the door were pulled aside so violently they tore. The morning light poured into the house, startling Miriat awake.
“Salka, you are called before Alma to receive her judgement,” the man at the door said. Miriat looked up at him. His kind, heavily lined face was contorted with worry and puffy from a sleepless night. Mordat had always doted on Salka. The smell of some liquid courage on his breath suggested he did not relish his duty that morning.
How cruel of Alma to send him for this task, Miriat thought as she slid out from under her covers. She gave Mordat a small nod. He ignored her and looked away.
“Salka, it is time,” she said softly, and walked up to her daughter’s bed. She put her hand gently on the rolled-up covers. She knew before her hand touched the blanket that Salka was gone.
“Where is she?” Mordat sounded weary. “Miriat, you can’t hide her.”
“I didn’t.” All blood left Miriat’s face. “She’s gone.”
“What’s the holdup?” A young striga came in through the entrance. He stopped suddenly. “Where is she?”
Mordat sighed and rubbed his wide forehead with his hand. “A nasty business,” he said and looked sadly at Miriat. “I’m sorry, lass,” he said before turning to the young man in the door. “Dorni, sound the alarm. The stigoi’s escaped. She can’t have gone far. We’ll get her.”
“Wait, what?” Miriat stood up with a start. “What do you mean? She’s not a stigoi. What are you talking about? You wanted to banish her, and she’s gone, what more do you want?”
Mordat looked strangely at Miriat and said, “Follow me.”
They walked together to the village square. All the strigas
were gathered there, with the youngest fearfully holding on to their parents. In the middle of the square, right next to the well, stood a freshly erected pole, with a thick hemp rope lying in a coil next to it.
“No…” Miriat said. She stopped, but was nudged forward by Mordat. He held her arm and brought her in front of Alma, who sat like a queen in her high-backed chair. On her greying hair, she wore the judgement crown of woven reeds. Over her shoulders, she wore a dark cloak. It was long enough to hide her shadow within its folds. Behind her, with one arm resting on the back of his mother’s chair stood Dran. Miriat looked at his face but he turned away rather than face her gaze.
“Where is the stigoi?” Alma asked. Her sharp eyes looked Miriat over. A mirthless smile twisted her lips. “I see you slept in your travel clothes. And yet your daughter is not with us. I take it she ran.” She looked to Mordat for confirmation. He simply nodded.
“I suppose we must recover her. I will need volunteers. Three for each of the four paths leading out of the village. She can’t be too far.”
“I volunteer!” A voice rang through the village. Emila stepped forward.
Miriat looked at her, disbelief twisting her features. “Emila? Why? They want to burn her other heart out! And for what? She’s your friend! She’s always been kind to you!”
Emila’s cheeks flushed. She had the decency to look ashamed, though the resentment in her eyes burned still. Rida put her hand on her daughter’s shoulder and fixed her with a stony stare. Alma answered for her. “There are no more secrets, Miriat. We all know now how you sought to deceive us, though I admit I don’t yet know how Salka managed to hide the truth from us. You have both deceived us, and Kalina paid the price for your arrogance and treachery.”
The Second Bell Page 17
