‘Is that true? Was he really such a great wizard?’
‘Yes.’ Marco smiled. ‘This is no story, son, no silly superstition. I saw it with my own eyes. People in the village came secretly to him at all times of the day and night. They brought him their sick children under the cover of dark. He always helped, and the villagers felt safe, just having him there at hand until—’
‘What?’
‘Until he stopped.’
Marco turned back to the fire, and Leo’s rush of questions choked in his throat. He recognised the set of Marco’s face, the full stop of his mouth. Leo waited, watching the fire with his father.
When Marco spoke again, his voice floated quietly over his shoulder. It was hushed with awe, as if the things he was about to tell had only happened yesterday.
‘I remember when my little friend Domenico fell desperately ill with the smallpox.’
‘How old was he, were you?’ asked Leo.
‘Oh, five, I think, or six. Dom’s mother brought him to the house of my grandfather. We were there, my father and I, having lunch. Domenico was so sick, covered with terrible boils—he looked as if he had already died, lying there in his mother’s arms.
‘Illuminato leapt up straight away. He led them in. My father was scared. I saw him clutch at Illuminato’s arm, trying to pull him back. “Don’t let them near us, Papà!” he begged.
‘Illuminato had a voice like thunder. “Manton, you coward, shut your mouth!” he roared in front of everyone.
‘I still remember the grateful look on Dom’s mother’s face, the shame on my father’s. His shame became mine, too.’
‘But he was only trying to protect you,’ protested Leo. ‘It’s so infectious, the pox, isn’t it? I know you’d have been worried about me.’
‘Well, they laid the boy down on a bed. His head lolled back. His forehead burned like fire. Illuminato stood near, his back to the boy. I saw him close his eyes for a moment. The room was so still, as if even the bricks, the table and chairs were waiting until Illuminato took his next breath.
‘Then he swung around and knelt down to the boy. His face was only an inch away. He stared into Domenico’s face and suddenly the air began to crackle between them. Illuminato’s eyes glowed green as a cat’s—sparks flew and the boy’s face was lit by an incandescent gold, silver, oh it was like lightning, Leo, a flash of silver on a dark, hopeless night. The boy moaned and tossed on the bed. His mother watched, rocking, the tears dropping from her chin. But then, it must have only been seconds—and Domenico lay still. He gave a funny little smile and turned on his side, for all the world as if he was just falling asleep after a big dinner and a goodnight kiss.
‘“He’ll be well,” said Illuminato. He went back to the table and poured himself a cup of wine. “Leave him there to sleep, signora. Come now and eat with us.”’
Leo gazed at his father. He’d never heard so much from him—about their family, about the past. He wanted to hear more, he’d sit there forever in that same spot and never move a muscle if Marco would just go on telling him these things, these secrets that mattered.
Marco stared into the fire. Leo sat still, hardly daring to breathe. He watched his father’s profile, the eyes sunk in memory, the glow of the fire bathing his cheeks.
‘Only once,’ Marco said into the silence, his voice still far away, ‘just once, did I get close to my grandfather. Close enough to feel his power on my skin.’
‘When was that?’ Leo whispered gently. Don’t break the spell, gently now . . .
‘It was in the cave, his place of wizardry. You could feel him all around you there, in the rock, in the sandy floor, there was this taste, I don’t know, a special heaviness in the air. He took me with him one day, just the two of us. Oh, Leo, it was so thrilling. Being with him was like standing on top of a cliff face, exhilarating but safe—he’d never let you fall. I stood close to him, I remember that my head came up to his waist. He had a silver girdle and a tinderbox tucked into it and I stood so close that I could breathe him in. I tried to breathe in his energy, the crackle of his power, he smelled of ashes and sparks. I thought if I could just fill my lungs with him, that heavy candle grease smell, I could touch the lights of his soul. But it didn’t work. I saw his power, I watched with wonder, but he never became a part of me.’
Marco wrenched his eyes from the fire and turned to Leo. ‘I couldn’t give you that, son. I couldn’t pass on a power like that because I failed.’
‘But you were only young. You said to me that it takes time, practice—’
‘Yes, yes, but when it really counted, when I was a man, I failed.’
‘How? How did you fail?’
Marco shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I didn’t want to use magic—dio, I couldn’t even save your mother . . . But she lay there in her yellow cloak—’
‘Who, Laura?’
‘Yes, Laura, lying there in the cave in her yellow cloak. She looked at me with such trust . . . what could I do? I put a cushion under her head, she was mumbling, she was far away, but I had the heart of her—I saw her, I did. And I thought, if I gazed long enough, gathered her up in my vision, I could heal her, just like my grandfather did. I could transform all that was diseased, purify her . . .’
‘So what happened? Did you lose concentration?’
Marco rubbed his hands over his eyes. ‘I don’t know, son. I felt the shift start to happen, the slide of her soul towards me, and I had her there, all of her, in my mind. Who knows, maybe my heart was roaring too loud, but suddenly I couldn’t hang onto her any more. I felt her curl away, she slipped like a stone from a peach, and escaped me. She had the energy of a wild one, a mad woman, the fever made her crazy and she leaped up. She was running and running and I couldn’t catch her, I couldn’t. And then the night swallowed her up and I never saw her again, even in my dreams.’
Leo was quiet a moment, imagining. His father’s face was white and grey in the shadow-light.
‘But, Papà, did you see where Laura went? What direction she was headed?’
Marco sunk his head in his hands. ‘She was running towards the lake.’ His voice was low and shuddering. ‘There was a terrible mist that night, it clung to everything. A wind started up, it had a voice—roaring, thundering over the lake. Oh, son, how can I tell you the horror? The voice blocked out any other sound. Waves whipped wild, the spray and the mist . . . The last thing I saw was Laura at the water’s edge. She looked back, it was just for a second, and then the dark reached out and took her.’
Marco lifted his head. His face was ashen. He glanced away from Leo. ‘I won’t ever speak of this again. What I will say is that my magic brought us disgrace and misery. Merilee’s family will never forgive me for what happened—or you, for being my son.’
‘It’s only Aunt Beatrice, Papà, she’s the one full of venom. Merilee’s told me how her mamma loved me like her own, she practically grew me up—’
‘I won’t talk about it any more, Leo. We have to obey their wishes. Stay away from Merilee and the damn lake, do you hear me? Now go to bed and let me get on with my reading.’
Leo hovered behind his father’s chair. His mind was buzzing—thoughts whizzed around like a bunch of bees in a hive. He saw his father’s pale face, the lines between his eyes deeply drawn. He saw the slight tremble of his mouth. But he couldn’t stop. The buzz of questions in his head became one loud insistent voice, shouting over everything else.
‘Papà,’ he began in a rush, ‘I heard it last night. Down at the lake. There was a voice, a ghostly call. It was awful, Papà, it made you want to go there, find it, smash it or save it . . . I felt as if it was calling me. But it scared me so I couldn’t sleep. Don’t you see, the only way we’ll ever know is to go and seek it out ourselves—’
‘Enough!’ Marco cried, slamming down his notebook. ‘There are laws, and you must obey them.’
Leo drew himself up. He lifted his chin and saw that he was almost as tall as Marco. He noticed the slump of hi
s father’s shoulders, the drag of skin hooding his eyes. And all in the same moment Leo felt a piercing sadness and triumph at the strength coursing through his young heart.
‘Papà,’ he said quietly, ‘I am a wizard with the twin signs and I’ve been practising magic for six years now. Why else did you spend all those hours teaching me, if not so that I could use my power?’ With a sudden blaze of courage he took hold of Marco’s hands. ‘If I do see that witch, Papà, you can be sure I’ll destroy her, I swear it on my mother’s grave. And just think, there will be no more disgrace and misery. The Pericolo family will be heroes again, and we will all be set free!’
Leo’s shining eyes stared into his father’s face. But Marco Pericolo only looked at him sadly, as if Leo had just announced, like silly old Signor Butteri, that everything would be all right because he had just bought a whole stack of red furniture, enough to cure all the illness in the world, forever.
Chapter Five
Merilee woke early on Saturday morning. She curled her toes under the blankets and thought, Leo. Then she threw back the bedclothes and tiptoed out into the courtyard.
The air was cool and shiny, dew still sparkling on leaves and grass as if the morning were a bowl of crystal. Merilee hugged her nightgown around her and began to plan her day.
There were her jobs to do first, of course. She’d feed the hens and the pig. She’d sweep the floors and peel the vegetables for lunch. And then, afterwards, when Aunt Beatrice and her mother retired for their siesta, her time would be her own.
Merilee’s heart lifted. A familiar feeling of excitement swept through her like a fresh breeze. But as she went back inside to get dressed, the trickle of anxiety that often came with the thought of Leo now became a steady stream. She remembered the smooth surface of the lake parting, heard that awful, breathy moan, and her heart began to thump.
She pulled on her boots and buttoned her dress. The devil take him, why did he always have to push and pull at things? Why couldn’t he just let the world alone, and accept it as it was? She thought of his fierce face as he made his promise, and sighed. She knew that if she’d accepted things as they were three years ago, when her family forbade her to see Leo again, she wouldn’t be planning her day with him now.
‘And I wouldn’t give him up for anything,’ she said to herself determinedly.
For lunch Merilee and her mother prepared a delicious minestrone. They’d had to do battle with Aunt Beatrice, of course, who’d wanted to make the entire meal herself—with Merilee as kitchen maid, that is. ‘You’ll only tire yourself, amore,’ Beatrice had nagged at Francesca. Still, they ate the soup with the thick crusty bread that Aunt Beatrice had baked that morning, and very good it was too, as they told her several times.
But Aunt Beatrice just waved her hand. ‘Oh, si, I had to get up before dawn this morning to bake that for you.’
Francesca began to protest, murmuring how sorry she was, but Beatrice just charged on.
‘Then it was just rush, rush rush—there were ten aromatic posies to make up for the apothecary—he’s always running short of things for his shop, he’s the chaotic kind, you know, quite disorganised, I don’t know how he runs a business. But he relies on me so I couldn’t disappoint him, could I. And I’d promised Signora Scardino that I’d make a new face salve for her—she’s so particular, with her awful dry skin. Oh, I’m quite worn out. Still, if I didn’t keep going, what would happen to this family, I ask you?’
The family had given up saying that they would be quite all right, thank you, as Aunt Beatrice always seemed to turn quite deaf when they did.
Merilee watched her aunt as she chewed. Large square chin, meaty hands always hovering like a sturdy pair of gloves over her mother’s. Merilee tried not to show her irritation as Beatrice smiled falsely at her mother, offering her a tonic of lavender and myrrh, scolding her slightly, treating her as an invalid as she had done ever since Laura disappeared.
It seemed to Merilee that from the moment Francesca began to shrink with grief, her sister grew and bloomed with power. Merilee saw her studying their faces greedily as they ate, hungry for the praise that she was owed. She was forever busy, clattering cutlery, measuring and labelling herbs, smelling of wild and potent things. A whirlpool of energy surrounded her like a small cloud, powerful and noisy, and you kept far away unless you wanted to be dragged into her universe and enslaved.
Beatrice slept in Laura’s room now, where the floor was strewn with aromatic herbs. Cloves, sage, and rosemary—Beatrice said they helped her remember her dear niece. Ever since Laura was very small Beatrice had taught her about the healing properties of herbs. When she went for a walk in the forest Laura would often bring a bundle of plants back with her and faithfully copy the stems and flowers into a book she kept under her pillow.
Merilee almost never visited the room these days. When she crunched that carpet of herbs underfoot, the pungent smell made her think of her sister’s white face when she was ill. Merilee wanted to remember her as she’d been before that, but lately it was growing harder to recall her laugh, or the secrets they had shared.
After lunch, when the soup was gone and their ‘tonics’ drunk, Aunt Beatrice saw Francesca to her room for the siesta. Before she retired herself, Beatrice turned to Merilee. ‘While we’re resting,’ she told Merilee, ‘you could sort that rosemary and thyme you said you found in the forest. I’m getting a bit short of them both. I trust you at least know one from the other by now. Your sister used to sort and mark them for me when she was still in leading strings. Leave them in two packets on the dining table.’
‘Yes, Aunt,’ Merilee replied stonily, and went to her room.
She kicked the bed post angrily. Oh, why hadn’t she remembered to pick the herbs? Now she’d have to collect them this afternoon, and get back early, before the old beetle woke up. Her time with Leo would be cut short, and there was so little of it, anyway.
‘I should have given her the hemlock,’ she muttered, as she looked in her drawer for her cloth bag. But she felt soothed as she found her beautiful mahogany recorder and put it in the bag with her latest music score. Then she took off her sandals, swinging them from her fingers as she crept soundlessly out of her room, across the cool stone floor and out into the fresh afternoon.
Merilee ran through the fields that bordered the village. Cherry trees pink with blossom embroidered the hills and rows of grape vines wove straight as seams down towards the forest. Run like the wind, she told herself wildly, and suddenly she was filled with such freedom and happiness that she sang it out loud. Her long skirts swished round her ankles and she picked them up, feeling the grass scratch her bare legs and the wind whip against her.
Leo was waiting at their tree, by the path that led to the lake. Here the trees grew as close together as teeth in a comb, and the path was so overgrown with roots and pine needles that you would never have noticed it if you didn’t know it was there.
‘What a miracle!’ Merilee laughed. ‘You, sir, are an early Leo Pericolo. How did this happen? How can there be such huge and monumental changes in the universe? Just a minute and let me examine you—perhaps you are a changeling, a transformation!’
Leo grinned, and bowed deeply. ‘Oh, Miss Merilee, it is me, your Leo that shared your milk when we were babies. Look, I’ve still got the scar from when we spilt our blood.’
Merilee frowned, the image of Aunt Beatrice and her shouting face suddenly looming at the front of her mind.
Leo, who knew her so well, grinned. ‘Ah, don’t worry about old rat-face. Did you bring your recorder?’
Merilee nodded and drew it out of her bag.
‘Let’s have a song then. Have you made up anything new?’
‘Yes, it’s going quite well, I think. But it’s hard to get the whole thing there in your head when you can only play in snatches. Aunt Beatrice hears even when I play under the bedclothes, and comes running in with a face like a beetroot.’
‘You know, I go crazy sometimes
thinking of the stupid rules that woman makes in your house. I’ve never understood how she can lord it over everyone, even your father.’
Merilee shrugged. ‘He says he just wants an easy life. It seems like Aunt Beatrice is the only one with any spark in our family—and she’s got enough for ten. But it’s curious, you know, even though she’s so busy with her own concerns, she always seems to know exactly what other people in the house are doing. It’s a bit scary.’
The gift of the recorder had been the only agreeable event occurring after Laura’s illness. A week after she’d disappeared, the young troubadour who’d danced with her knocked at the door. He held a recorder like the one his friend had played during that evening. ‘I’d like you to have it,’ he said to Merilee, pressing it into her hand. ‘It was the last time you saw her happy. The music will remind you of her dancing. You know, I’ll never forget your sister.’
Aunt Beatrice, who had come to the door at the same moment, smiled widely at the young man and told him how sorry she was that they were all too busy for him to come in. ‘Some other time when you are passing this way,’ she said, and firmly clanged the door shut in his face.
‘I’ll let you keep it,’ she told Merilee, ‘only on the condition that you never play it in this house. It will make your father and mother’s grief worse, and I can’t abide that silly recorder music anyway.’
Leo settled himself on the leafy ground, his back resting comfortably against the tree. ‘Let’s not think about them all for a while. They’re enough to turn milk sour.’ He turned to Merilee. ‘Will you play your new song for me?’
Merilee took out a sheet of music.
The notes she blew were so high and pure, and the rhythm so lively that it shifted Leo’s mood entirely. He suddenly felt like dancing. He tapped his knuckles on his knees, and let the music wind around him. Like a shimmering thread it tied up all his thoughts and feelings, holding them tight, then releasing him, sending him tumbling into some new place that had no walls or fences, just endless fields of happiness. He could have listened to her forever, there in the forest, under the tree.
The Witch in the Lake Page 4
