The Second Bell

by Gabriela Houston

  Salka obeyed and walked up to Maladia, who stood in the middle of the floor waiting. Salka reached out and gently touched Maladia’s protruding belly. “So…” she said.

  “So.” Maladia smiled. “Yes, a little one’s coming, and soon.”

  “How did you…? And you’re staying here…” Her head spun and she touched her forehead, as her knees buckled under her.

  Maladia grabbed Salka’s shoulders with a grunt. “I think you need rest, dear. There will be time enough for explanations soon.” She led Salka by the hand to the one bed in the corner of the room and, as Salka laid down, Maladia gently put her hand over Salka’s eyes. The sleep came immediately, soothing and smoothing the edges off the pain in Salka’s head. She meant to hold on and stay awake, but consciousness slipped from her like a snuffed candle.

  CHAPTER 32

  “Please, Tolan! Please! Just let me go!”

  The small storeroom was nearly completely dark, the cracks in the door serving as the only source of light. Miriat clung to the door and let the tears fall freely. “Tolan, you know me, you know my daughter! You’ve known her since she was a baby.”

  Outside, Tolan sat with his back to the door, slunk to the ground. “I’m sorry, Miriat,” he said. “It’s the law and by gods, I wish it were otherwise. But if your daughter is a stigoi then she’s a danger to all of us. And what of my daughter? If the folk from down the mountains come for us, do you think they will spare her?”

  A quiet sob answered him.

  “I wish we could avoid this, Miriat. I hold no bad feelings for you two, but I see no other way. It will not be pleasant, for sure, but your daughter will be treated gently.” Tolan scratched his head and shifted uncomfortably. “It doesn’t kill a striga, the burning. It will be hard at first, but your daughter will live. All will be forgiven. We’ll take care of you both.” Tolan looked up as a few heavy droplets of rain fell on his head.

  A sudden activity in the village made him jump up. Lesny was running towards Alma’s house. “Lesny, what news?” Tolan called out.

  “We met Dola on the way. She said Salka’s gone north to the Windry Pass! She’s hoping to cross the stone bridge!” Lesny shouted before disappearing inside Alma’s house. After a moment, Alma emerged.

  “Lesny, you and your team need to head north; join the others. Make sure you spread out, there are at least two paths leading towards the Windry Pass and she might be on either. Here, take this with you.” She put a small pouch inside of Lesny’s hand. “Make sure you don’t breathe in any of it. Put it to her nose and it will knock her out. And Lesny, if there is trouble…”

  Tolan strained to hear the rest of the conversation, but he only saw color drain from Lesny’s face. The young man shot Tolan a look and then turned away and walked off at a brisk pace.

  “Lesny is a good boy,” Tolan said, leaning against the door to the storeroom, though the words provided him with no more comfort than they did Miriat, he suspected. “He won’t hurt her, Miriat.”

  Only silence answered him.

  “Miriat?” Tolan put his eye to one of the cracks in the door but could see nothing. “Can you hear me, lass?” He listened at the door for a moment, but all was quiet. He cast a critical look over the storeroom. It was, in essence, a hole in the ground, with a small door at the front. It was excellent for keeping potatoes from sprouting but was not intended for live things. “Miriat, are you well?”

  Nothing.

  He stood there for a moment, then finally seemed to have arrived at a decision. He took the bolt off the door, and, slowly, opened it up. Miriat lay motionless on the ground, her hair covering her face.

  “Oh, stigoi’s breath…” Tolan rushed inside. He pulled Miriat up and tried fanning her with his big hand. “Come on, lass, suffocation’s a stupid way to die, don’t you do it, come on!” He never saw the jug of mead as it made a wide arc and connected with the side of his head. The jug cracked open, pouring the sweet liquid over both of them, mixing with the blood from the side of Tolan’s head as he crumpled to the ground. Miriat pushed him off her and scrambled to the door. There was nobody outside.

  Miriat snuck her way to the wall of the herb patch near Alma’s house. She swore under her breath. The wall was too tall for her to scale. She looked around frantically. A crate was propped against the side of Alma’s house. It was not very deep, and barely two elbows’ wide. Miriat picked it up and put it on its side against the wall, ignoring the cold water pouring down her back. If she hopped on the crate, it could serve as a platform to scale the fence.

  She gave herself some space and ran. She jumped and then jumped again, pushing off the crate, which fell with a loud crack. It gave her the lift she needed to grasp the top of the fence with her fingers. She could feel the splinters enter her skin, but she refused to let go. She used her legs to push against the fence, her feet slipping on the wet wood, scraping her knees badly in the process. She finally managed to hoist the top half of her body over the fence. Dizziness overcame her for a moment and she nearly lost balance before carefully putting her legs over to the other side.

  “Miriat’s escaping!” A cry reverberated through the village. Miriat looked up sharply, causing her to lose her balance. She fell heavily atop of holly bush lining the wall. The hard, thorny sides of the leaves scraped her skin and tore her tunic. It took her a moment before she could stand. Nothing was broken, but she would feel the bruises for a long time after.

  Inside the village, she could hear loud yells as all the strigas remaining in the village became alerted to her absence. She didn’t wait to listen. With a grunt, she sprinted off.

  She’d heard that Dola had told Lesny Salka went north. But Miriat couldn’t believe Dola would betray Salka. Not when she went to all that trouble to hide Salka’s powers in the first place.

  Could the strigas have been following the right trail? Miriat didn’t dare stop running, though her feet slipped in the mud more than once. The soaked earth could take no more water, which streamed down the hill. No. Salka wouldn’t go back to the Windry Pass. She wasn’t stupid. She wouldn’t travel north in her state, with the snowmelt pouring down the Sister Mountain. And Miriat didn’t believe she’d chance the west path. The girl wanted to put as much distance as she could between herself and the village. There was only one road she could take.

  Miriat ignored the pain in her side and increased the pace as she imagined she heard a call coming from behind her. She wished she had more to go on than speculation and blind faith in Dola’s loyalty. She looked up, as if the thick canopy could provide her with answers. It seemed her daughter went east.

  And so, after all these years, Miriat would go home.

  CHAPTER 33

  The first thing Salka became aware of was the absence of pain. The relief was overwhelming. She was afraid to move, in case it was a temporary respite only. When she was certain the pain was really gone she stretched out her toes and fingers. A gentle tingling sensation ran through her body. The smell of freshly baked bread filled her nostrils and her stomach at once reasserted itself.

  “You’re awake,” Maladia said. “You slept the whole day right through, you know. You might as well get up and come join us.”

  Salka opened her eyes and rolled out of the bed.

  “How’d you know I wasn’t asleep anymore?” Salka asked. She rubbed her eyes.

  “Look behind you.” Maladia pointed with her chin at the wall behind Salka. Salka turned around. On the bed next to her sat her shadow. It flowed and flickered in response to the dance of the fire in the hearth, but in all other respects, it was a being separate from Salka. It swung its feet off the bed but stopped when Salka looked at it with her mouth hanging open.

  She looked back to Maladia, whose hands were holding two plates, one filled with fresh buns and the other with strips of roasted meats. An unheard-of feast.

  “What you waiting for? Go and fill your stomach. There’ll be plenty of time for introductions,” Dola said, smiling as she came in th
rough the front door, holding a basket with some winter carrots and ash-preserved tomatoes. “Here, let’s put up a feast for our guest,” she said, putting the bounty on the table.

  Salka got up and walked up to her hosts. The shadow girl beside her jumped off the bed and walked next to her. Salka stopped abruptly, but the shadow girl didn’t stop, and sat herself at the table, after touching the chair’s shadow and pulling it up with her fingertips till it was solid enough for her to sit on. The shadow faced Salka expectantly and gestured towards the empty chair. Salka sat next to her and looked to Maladia, who pushed a mug of hot liquid towards her.

  “Here, drink this,” Maladia said.

  Salka picked up the mug. “What is that?”

  “Some tea and honey to help settle your stomach.”

  “No, I mean… That.” Salka pointed at the shadow girl.

  “Why, it’s you, my dear young stigoi,” Dola said with a wry smile as she sat heavily in her chair.

  “Don’t call me that!”

  Maladia cocked her head to the side. “Well, that’s what everyone else will be calling you. Best get used to it.”

  “It’s so strange…” Salka reached out with her hand and touched the shadow girl’s arm. It rippled gently, but the shape held. “It’s so soft… Like a baby chick.” Salka looked down and exclaimed in shock. “Look! It has its own shadow!” She pointed with a shaking finger.

  “Well, yes,” Dola sighed. “The laws of nature cannot be altered, not even for a striga. Look here, maybe you are not a stigoi, but she certainly is.” She pointed at the shadow girl. “She’s just freed from living in your shadow is all. But she is you, in a manner of speaking.”

  “What do you mean? Isn’t that the same thing?” Salka reached out to touch the shadow girl’s hand, but hesitated. The shadow just watched her silently, wisps of darkness flowing above her head. The sight fascinated and repulsed Salka at the same time.

  “Well, to some folk it’s the same thing or so close to the same as to make no difference. It’s just a word really. But the power is real, as you well know by now,” Maladia smiled, her hand stroking her belly.

  Salka reached out again and this time her stigoi brushed her fingers against her, sending a gentle current of warmth through Salka’s body. Salka gasped in surprise then immediately looked at her hand as if expecting there to be some mark to show where the stigoi had touched her.

  “That was… strange,” she said. “I never expected… I know it’s wrong, but all I feel is warmth and…”

  “Relief?” Maladia asked. “Like having a meal after years of starvation? Yes. And, Alma be damned, I don’t feel shame for it anymore. And neither should you.” Maladia’s face darkened. She leaned back in her chair and tore off a piece of the bread roll.

  Salka watched her for a moment. A thought occurred to her, “Is Markus’ stigoi like mine now? I have a lot to learn, I imagine. Would he teach me? Where is he?” The words had no sooner left her mouth than she regretted them. Maladia’s shoulders sagged and Salka knew the truth before she said a word.

  “He’s gone,” Maladia said without looking up. Her eyes filled with tears.

  “There will be time to talk of it, Salka. But that time is not now. You are both welcome to stay here as long as you wish,” Dola said, putting a comforting hand on Maladia’s shoulder. Maladia bit her lip and put her own hand on Dola’s.

  “But… Aren’t you scared I will hurt you?” Salka shot her stigoi a nervous look. “That the stigoi will hurt you? I mean, if Alma saw this…”

  “Well, Alma isn’t here. No striga would dare accuse a Dola or invade her home. Do you wish me harm, dear?” Dola asked. She looked Salka straight in the eyes and, after a moment, Salka realized Dola was waiting for an answer. Salka shook her head.

  “Good. Because it won’t be long till I need your help.” Dola smiled and shifted in her seat.

  “Help with what?” Salka asked.

  A few drops of rain hit the window. Dola furrowed her eyebrows and walked to the window.

  “The first thunderstorm of the season, it would seem. A powerful one at that,” Dola said, to no one in particular. Maladia walked up to her and put her arm around Dola’s shoulders. They watched together as the wind picked up and behind the window the trees began to sway.

  CHAPTER 34

  The evening cold was biting and, not for the first time, Miriat wished she had her warm cloak with her.

  The Hope Tree with its gnarled branches loomed before her. The wind had picked up and the markers on the tree’s branches clacked against each in a dissonant symphony that made Miriat’s skin crawl. She wondered briefly if her own marker was still up there. She smiled mirthlessly as she walked past the tree. She had never expected to come back.

  Clever Salka, Miriat thought. The strigas wouldn’t expect it. Nobody would expect it. But with the potion still in her veins, Salka would be no different than any human her age. Not even the suspicious Heyne folk would know.

  But would they know her?

  Miriat hugged herself and squinted, as she looked across the jagged field to where the Heyne Town houses stood as they ever did. At the edge of the forest she paused and took a deep breath. The rain had now started to fall, great big gusts of wind carrying the raindrops in waves which broke over Miriat’s body as she walked.

  The homecoming I deserve, Miriat thought, hugging herself. She bit her lip.

  She wasn’t able to protect her daughter, and now she was running, once more with nothing, in the hope of catching up with Salka. If her daughter was even going this way.

  She had no idea what she’d do once she came to the town. Her best bet was to pass through it unnoticed. She picked up the pace and ran, as thunder rumbled across the sky. The storm was coming and it would not be wise to get caught in it in the middle of a field.

  Her long brown hair created rivers across her face and neck, with the rain following its coils and pouring down her chest and back in cold streams. She had to find shelter. The one good thing about the storm was that all the Heyne folk would be inside their homes, grateful for the warmth of their fires and the roofs over their heads. Even as she thought it, she felt a moment’s regret for her small hut in the striga village. It was not much, gods knew it was barely anything, but it was hers. It was the home she’d fixed up and made her own, as the infant Salka cooed in the folds of her cloak, watching her mother work.

  It was getting late now and the first step she’d taken in her home town in nineteen years was taken in the dark. She moved swiftly through the main street, hoping nobody would care to look out the windows, and if they did, that the security of their homes would override any curiosity they might feel about a lone woman out of place. The main road was a river of mud by now and she had to watch her step. She walked till she passed all the houses and then she took the winding road towards the mines. There would be shelter there, in one of the huts made for the storage of tools and for shelter during meal times. How often she had gone there, bringing warm lunch for her father and then her husband. Her big strong husband with his steady gaze and his warm arms, who turned out to be not quite as strong as she had imagined. There were no tears at that thought. There was no sadness, not anymore. Just an old echo of an ache in her chest.

  Though much had changed and grown around it, she could follow this road with her eyes closed. Her teeth were now chattering in the cold. A gust of wind hit her from the side, enough to lose her footing. She slid and fell face-first into the mud. She sat up with a grunt and made an attempt at wiping it off with the edge of her drenched tunic.

  “Are you well? What are you doing here, hen?” a kind voice asked her. She looked up and saw a man she didn’t recognize. He was wearing an oiled leather coat against the rain and he looked at her like she was mad.

  “I’m well, I thank you, I must be on my way,” she managed to say through her chattering teeth.

  “If you wish to die, that would be the quickest way to do it, for sure. The path down is not
passable, with all the snow-melt water and the rain and the mud. And you with nothing on but a bit of homespun!” The stranger looked at Miriat with true concern. He was a good thirty years older than her and had a pleasant, friendly face. He smiled. “You can look at me all you like, child, once you’re safe and dry inside my walls. My wife would never forgive me if I let you leave! Come now, you’re quite safe, I assure you!”

  Miriat looked down the path which looked more treacherous with each passing moment. She turned to the stranger and nodded. Better he think her slow than ungrateful.

  “I thank you, yes,” she said.

  He led her to a small house on the edge of town, only a short distance from where she used to live. The well-tended garden in the front of the house and the good state of the barn next to it was the very image of domestic bliss to Miriat. She swallowed down her jealousy at seeing the smoke coming out from the chimney.

  The door swung open and a broad face peeked out. “Abrik, I was deathly worried! I was about to call on the neighbor to go look for you!” Abrik smiled and nodded and ushered Miriat in. “My wife, Estancia. Estancia, here you see a stranger I picked up on the way home. I thought you might not find it amiss.” He gave his astonished wife a kiss.

  Like Abrik, she was a stranger to Miriat, but she was clearly no stranger to the Heyne ways, as she clutched her husband’s arm. “Have you listened to her chest, husband? Who are you bringing to my house?”

  Abrik looked at her with a smile. “I think a lady, even one as miserable and wet as this one, might object if a stranger chose to put his face to her chest uninvited. Still, her shadow looks to me fairly unremarkable, if that puts your mind at ease.”