“Go, son. Be safe.” Niev’s father struggled to smile and put his hand on his son’s shoulder. “I’ll be waiting with your mother, don’t you worry.” Niev nodded and walked behind Alma. Alma’s body was used to hard work and she climbed with as much ease as the muddy path permitted.
“I’ve never been to a Dola house before,” Niev said. He was clearly tired, but too proud to allow an old woman to outpace him. “Do they live much like us?”
“Their houses are richer, though they lack our community,” Alma said. She disliked what she considered to be idle conversation, and pressed on, leaving Niev scrambling to keep up with her.
They reached Dola’s house and Alma knocked on the door. She was welcomed by silence, though there was smoke coming from the chimney. She tried to peer through the windows, but they were dark, as if someone had painted them over with ash.
“It’s Alma. Are you well? I’m here to solicit the help of your tribe.” Alma paused and then added, “Please!” The word tasted odd on her lips.
After a long pause, the door shifted, and Dola’s round face appeared.
“May we come in?” Alma asked, since Dola was blocking the entry.
Dola, her eyes bloodshot, didn’t budge. “What is it you need?”
Alma bristled, and struggled to keep her voice level. “I need the help of your tribe, and your house is the closest to our village. We’ve been flooded, our houses destroyed. We need to cross the Heyne Town to escape the deluge, and we will need a Dola with us to make sure the humans don’t attack us.”
A gasp of horror, and Maladia stood by Dola’s side. “Is my mama all right?” she asked, ignoring the wide-eyed shock from Alma and Niev.
“Maladia?” Alma looked from Dola to Maladia as if trying to understand what just happened.
“Maladia! You’re well! Your ma’s just fine, and she’ll be so glad to know–” Niev caught Alma’s eye and took a step back, shooting Maladia an apologetic look.
“I must say I never expected to see you again, child, much less in a house belonging to one of the Dolas,” Alma said. She looked at Dola. “Do your elders know you’re harboring a banished striga in your own home? Is Markus there as well?” She moved as if to push past them, but Maladia and Dola linked arms and stood in her way.
“Markus is not here,” a weak voice came from inside the house. “But I’m sure you know that already.”
Alma blanched and pushed past Dola. She looked around in shock, noting the room’s scorched walls. Her eyes then fell on the small figure in the rocking chair by the fire, cradling two babies in her arms. Alma stared at her for a moment without recognition. Salka sat very still, her skin pink and puffy, as if she’d slept too long in the sun. She kept her raw hands, palm outwards, on her lap, as if she were offering a gift. Quick as a whip, Alma turned to the door. “Niev! Come in here boy. We seem to have found our runaway.”
Niev didn’t move. “What did she mean? That thing she said of Markus?”
Alma shivered. She didn’t want to hear what they had to say, she didn’t need to hear it. There was work to be done and her village to save. Everything else could wait.
“Fine. The stigoi is a problem for another time. We need your help, woman. For the truce to hold we need the Dolas.”
“What happened to Markus?” Niev asked again. His young face was drawn.
“Yes, Alma, don’t you want to know?” Maladia said, her eyes dark. Dola put her hand on her friend’s shoulder.
Alma straightened herself, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. You two were banished. What happened after was no business of mine or of any other decent striga’s, for that matter.” She sent Niev a look meant to chasten him. “Dola, there is a bond between our people. I ask you now to honor it.” Dola’s unsmiling face remained impassive. She’s really rather plain, after all. Alma thought. How different she seemed when all friendship was gone from Dola’s expression.
“You’re the voice of justice for the strigas, Alma. Don’t you want to hear what Maladia has to say?” Dola said.
No, no I don’t. Alma felt her hands shaking, though the room was warm. She tucked her thumbs behind her belt to steady her hands against her body.
“If a crime has been committed it is my duty to hear it.” The words came, the right words. She wanted to push them back down her own throat.
She saw Maladia’s lips move. They moved for what seemed a long time, though she couldn’t hear a word. Her ears were ringing, and her two hearts were beating too loud in her chest. She knew, of course. She knew ever since Dran came back with the burn on his leg. She knew every day since, as he sickened, poisoned by his second heart. She knew from how his hands shook and by his furtive, guilty look. She knew it all, and now everyone else would know as well. She could tell by Niev’s expression, how it would go. She thought of Dran’s smile, his dark eyes. So quiet, ever since he was a baby. He came to her late, her body near past the hope of a child. His dimpled hands closing around her finger, his satisfied little grunts as he fed.
She turned to Salka. “And you believe it?” The girl wouldn’t believe that of her friend, and if she trusted in Dran then perhaps Alma was wrong herself. Perhaps Salka’s faith and love could carry them both.
Salka’s silent stare was answer enough.
“Niev. We will get no help here,” she said. Alma was so weary. But her village was waiting. Her people trusted in her. She turned around and left Dola’s house.
Dola nodded to Niev: “The West Stream Dola lives with her daughter not far from here. They are both known and respected in Heyne Town. They will help the strigas if they can. Go up the hill and then cross the stream at the two boulders. Good luck.” And then she shut the door in Niev’s face.
He nodded slightly, as if coming to a decision, and with barely a look at his leader he began north.
Alma followed him in silence for a while. She needed her breath to scale the steep hill in any case. They had no time to look for an easier ascent, they both knew it. But the truth hung heavily between them.
The path to the elder’s house was washed away by the storm, and they had to rely on tree roots and trunks to pull themselves upwards each step of the way. Alma was tough, but her age was catching up with her. She leaned against a pine and closed her eyes for a moment, trying to catch her breath. The rain showed no signs of letting up, and the wind swayed the pines dangerously above their heads. If a tree or a branch were to fall on their heads, there would be no warning, only a quick death. She took a breath and once more pulled herself upwards as Niev stayed a little above her, watching her intently. He was always a chatty boy, with a story and a smile for everyone. Now he looked at her sullenly, as if she hadn’t been present at his birth, as if she wasn’t his leader, the only leader he had ever known.
She leaned against a tree again to steady herself. She caught Niev’s eye. “They lied!” she said abruptly through gritted teeth, though the words rang false, even to her own ears.
“I suppose we will find out during the trial,” he said, then turned away from her and continued up the hill.
Alma clutched her chest, suddenly colder than the rain pouring down her back. Dran would be tried. She would have to try him. And she would have to admit to the village that he had left the house on the night of Markus’ banishment. That the burn on his leg appeared the same night. Her face twisted in despair. She followed Niev, until they came to the top of the cliff. To their left, where a traveler would normally find a welcome brook, torrential water poured down the mountainside.
“Be careful!” Niev said, reaching out to steady Alma, who tripped and almost fell.
She took a deep breath. “The house we need to go to is on the other side of this. There are ropes tied to the trees on either side, with an elevated bridge, but it will not be an easy pass.” She pointed at what was little more than long tree planks, roughly planed, thrown across the water and resting on two large boulders. Above the makeshift bridge a rope was stretched taut at waist
height for added security.
“Madness!” Niev said. “If we fall in the water, we’re done for.”
Alma looked at him steadily. “And if we fail, so are our people. Move.”
Niev climbed on top of the boulder. He reached down and pulled Alma up.
“I will go first,” Alma said, looking into the water swirling below them. “I am still your leader. I will lead while I can.” Niev had the decency to look embarrassed, she noticed with some satisfaction. She then stepped onto the planks, holding tight onto the rope. It was far more difficult than she reckoned, and a couple of times she slipped and nearly fell into the water. She inched forward, barely daring to take a breath, as the wind pushed and pulled at her.
She finally reached the other side, climbing onto the boulder on her knees. She looked up with relief and then signaled for Niev to cross.
He walked slowly, holding on to the support rope with both arms, relying on it too much, swinging dangerously from side to side.
There was fear in the young man’s eyes, and he bit his lip in concentration. Alma watched his excruciatingly slow progress, half hoping he would slip into the water.
He would tell the others about her son. She was sure he would. Chances were the strigas wouldn’t even wait for a trial. They’d kill Dran there and then or leave him in the flooded woods, which would amount to the same thing. They wouldn’t care about his guilt or innocence. They would not bother with justice. He would be punished, not just for what he might have done, but for their pain and fear of losing the only home most of them had ever known.
Niev slipped and Alma found herself holding her breath, willing him to fall. He lurched forward and found his footing again. Alma looked up and thought of Dran. Her beautiful son would never have been able to cross such a bridge. The life they led was hard, yet he never complained. She admired his courage and his strength, just as she loved him for his fragility. She closed her eyes. She understood how deep his desire for a healthy body ran. How could she blame him for trying to fight for it?
And yet, he strove to obey their laws, by not polluting himself with his powers. If he’d turned himself into a stigoi, he could have healed his flesh. But her son would never have debased himself in such a way.
And in the end what did he actually do? He asked Markus for help. Barely a thought’s work for one already on the dark path, as Markus was. And what did the stigoi do? Maladia said herself, he turned Dran down. For spite, he would not heal her boy, not out of principle.
His death was an accident, Alma had no doubt of that. But the strigas would not care. They’d burn Dran from the inside, erasing all that made him whole.
She looked at Niev, and her hearts beat faster. The young man was now halfway across the bridge.
Evening was fast approaching, and the strigas would soon be on the move. There was little chance of them reaching another Dola homestead in time. She looked at the sky and pulled the hood off her head. The rain fell on her face and every drop strengthened her resolve. She exhaled and relaxed her shoulders. It felt so easy. Like shedding a weight you didn’t know you were carrying. Creeping in from underneath her, her shadow rose up.
Its tendrils travelled down the bridge, beneath the planks, twisting and curving around the knots and the bits of rough wood. She felt every splinter, every crevice, as if she were running her fingers along it. A smile came upon her face. At the same time, a piercing shriek echoed across the mountains. Niev, pulled by Alma’s stigoi, tumbled into the water.
She watched him impassively as he tried to swim to the bank, pieces of rock and floating branches cutting his arms as he sought for a handhold. The rush of the water pulled him under, again and again, until he was out of sight.
Alma stood there, watching for a while, luxuriating in the warmth and the comfort of her stigoi enveloping her shoulders. She felt no regret. Why should she, when Niev would have condemned Dran without a second thought? But there was more work to be done.
At the moment, the course of the river ran safely around the house where Dola harbored Maladia and Salka.
But was that entirely fair?
Was it fair for the traitors and the fugitives to warm their bones by the fire, while the law-abiding strigas faced danger and death in the town below? For Maladia to be safe, while she plotted Dran’s downfall? Alma’s face twisted with anger. Her eyes darkened as the years of resentment and pain and self-restraint were released in the dark wave beneath her. It grew and swelled until it enveloped the trees and the boulders around her, tearing and pulling. She closed her eyes, the release after so many years of denying herself was almost too much to bear.
She heard the tree roots groan as they were ripped from the ground and the splash of water, as one by one they fell in, and the boulders rolled. She reached out with her stigoi, and felt the water, its cold, slick surface, running, racing, finding the pathways through the forest as the river’s course changed. It turned and twisted and jumped and rolled, as it found the way she meant for it.
Only one more boulder, that’s all that was needed. Only one more and the river would go where she willed it to. Only one more, and Dran would be safe. She looked up and smiled, when the boulder she stood on shifted and rolled into the cold water.
She kept her eyes open, as the freezing waters closed above her head. She gasped at the cold and the water filled her mouth, pushing out bubbles of air. Her lungs hurt and she kicked at the water, even as her heavy cloak weighed her down. Her other heart beat hard in her chest, and she reached with her shadow out of the water, giving it the remaining energy of her lean body. The black tendrils shot out, her striga heart fighting for life, even as her human one had given up. But for years she had starved her other heart, kept it quiet, kept it small, kept it hungry. She had used the what strength she had to wreak her destruction and now there was none left to pull her out. The shadow thrashed and swirled in the water for a while longer, but soon it too faded and was gone under the current.
CHAPTER 40
Salka rocked in the chair. She wore only a thin nightgown, too big and too long for her, making her look like a small child within its folds. But she didn’t feel the cold. Maladia and Dola were both sitting on the bed, nursing their babies. Maladia, not having benefitted from Salka’s healing, was trying to rest her eyes, with her daughter cradled in her arms.
“So,” Dola said. “I expect you have questions.”
“Do I?” Salka asked. She stared ahead with her back as straight as a bow-string.
“You saved me and my child, Salka. And I know it cost you.” Dola looked down at her baby’s face. She wrapped the blanket closer around him.
“Did you know?” Salka asked. Her hands rested in her lap. Her stigoi lay curled at her feet like a dog.
“Yes,” Dola said. “I knew I would need you.”
“One of your visions, I suppose?” Salka smiled bitterly.
“I didn’t need a vision to know this pregnancy was going to kill me unless I sought help.” Dola looked to the wall. Maladia reached out and squeezed Dola’s hand.
“There isn’t much money in visions, Salka. We’re all midwives first.” Dola looked weary. “But no midwife alive could help what ailed me.”
“When did you decide it had to be me?” Salka asked.
“When you came back from the town. A blind man could see the change in you. And, well, I’m no man, and no Dola can afford to be blind.” Dola sighed. “I’m sorry I used you.”
“I understand,” Salka said. “I would have done the same.” They sat still for a while.
“And Dran?” Salka began, but the words choked her. She thought of his smiling face. She put her fingertips to her lips. When Maladia told her what he’d done, she couldn’t speak for a moment. Dran was so gentle with her, so considerate. She knew there was another side to him, she’d seen it. But she willed that knowledge away for the sake of friendly conversation and the feeling it gave her to be listened to, attended to. To be desired, she thought with shame.
>
Dola watched her carefully. “Did he approach you? For a healing?”
Salka started to shake her head and stopped as her eyes widened in realization. Yes, he had. She nodded, then hung her head low. “I’m sorry, Maladia. I didn’t know, I didn’t realize…”
The house was silent for a moment. “Nothing you could have done,” Maladia waved away Salka’s apology. “But there is still something we haven’t discussed,” she said from the bed, without opening her eyes. “Salka, want to do the honors?”
Dola stared at Salka.
“Your boy,” Salka said. “He’s a striga.”
Dola’s face fell. “No, that can’t be!” She brought her ear to her son’s chest and all was still for a moment. She lifted her head from his chest and watched his face.
“I didn’t know,” she said, her eyes filling with tears. “It’s my job to know, and I didn’t know.”
“You don’t live in Heyne Town, Dola. You’ll be fine.” Maladia placed a comforting hand on Dola’s shoulder. “I’m here.”
“You don’t understand,” Dola said, tracing the outline of her baby’s cheek. “I can no longer be a Dola! Nobody will seek my skills after this. A Dola is not allowed to have a striga child, any more than a Heyne Town woman is. I will be banished.”
“But…” Salka looked surprised. She rubbed her singed eyebrows. “As long as I remember, you’ve been hanging around the striga village.”
“Oh, that.” Dola chuckled mirthlessly. “We go where we please, but the elders will cast me out, as soon as they discover him. As a Dola, I should have foreseen this. And dealt with it… Who will hire a midwife that birthed a striga?”
“So what will you do?” Maladia asked.
“What can I do?” Dola looked at the baby in her arms. “I will have to find myself another tribe, I suppose.”
They sat in silence for a while, Maladia’s arm wrapped around her friend.
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