The door swung back. As I looked behind I stared into the eyes of a demon; Zola’s eyes gleamed in the greyness of the cabin. I reached hopelessly for Marek but was dragged outside, the door closing behind me. Slipping and stumbling on the frosty ground, I ran as fast as I could for miles, and far away from the cabin full of dark magic. I ran until daybreak without rest, always looking behind me. Sometimes it felt like Zola was still following me, that she was watching me from the dark shadows beneath the moon-tipped trees.
That fear gripped me tighter as I once again faced the evil witch in front of me.
Marek put a hand on my shoulder and I flinched.
‘You must stay with me, Celeste,’ he said in his soft voice. I wanted to obey since he was my master, yet I wondered whether he was part of the devil’s plan to win my soul.
Around the fire, when I was a small child and free, I would hear stories about witches and covens, and blood-lusting beasts. They would talk about demons turning themselves into man-like creatures, growing fangs, tearing hapless farmers and travellers to strips, and stealing their hearts. ‘Never look into their eyes,’ one man said, ‘They can take your soul that way.’ Later when my mother put me to bed, she would tell me they were just stories, that most likely the men drank too much and only saw images from within their own minds, placed there for their sins.
There were nights when my mother would sleep with me and other nights that she would sleep in other tents and tell me not to follow her. Those nights were the worst, unable to cling to her when the nightmares came, or when I feared being stolen by Satan himself. One night I ran to Sasha’s tent so that my mother could stroke my head until I fell asleep. Taking my mother’s time from Sasha was another reason he wanted me gone.
Marek explained to me that Zola knew his sister and was taking us there. I knew this was a trap and I shook my head angrily.
‘What is wrong, Celeste?’
Marek and Zola were staring so intently that I had to turn away. I could not look into her eyes lest she put a spell on me. It was too late for Marek.
‘You are frightened of me, yes?’ he asked. ‘Because I healed your leg? I am different, Celeste, but there is no reason to fear me. Look at me!’
Marek held me by both my arms. ‘For a long time I thought I was a freak but I am not. I am not a bad person. I have healing magic. You see, I did not tell you how my mother died. She was killed as a witch but she was a good woman: a healer.’
I stiffened in his arms but he squeezed me tighter as if in some way it might soothe me. My own heart was pounding. I wanted to trust him because he had saved my life, yet he was not like me. He was a witch like Zola.
‘Now I have found Zola who also has the gift and I no longer feel alone. There are others. Please do not run away again. You cannot go through these lands on your own.’
‘We must start walking now,’ Zola commanded. ‘We are wasting time. Perhaps we can leave her at the next town.’
She knew my real name, something no-one but my mother could have known. I suspected then that Zola knew a lot of things about both of us.
‘No,’ said Marek. ‘I cannot leave her. I am all she has and I promised I would help her find her family. Her grandparents may not be too far from where we are heading. I have to find her a safe place first.’
There were no grandparents that I knew of. Marek had confused my description of the troupe as my family. He did not understand that travelling performers had no real home.
‘I know a family who travels the land selling tin,’ said Zola. ‘They are a good family. Perhaps they can take Celeste in their travels to look after their young ones.’
Marek appeared both pleased and hesitant, perhaps the latter for want of a better plan.
I grabbed Marek’s arm, my face pleading, pointing to Zola and shaking my head. I wanted to stay with him, despite what he was. Zola closed her eyes, face in concentration, as I felt icy fingers run up my back to pinch hard behind my neck. When the pressure got too great I buckled to my knees.
Marek rushed to pick me up once more. ‘Celeste! Celeste! Calm now! Please… Zola can help us both.’
I wanted to cry but I had no tears left. I was an empty well. The icy fingers shortly released their grip and I yielded; there was little else to do.
When I looked over Marek’s shoulder, Zola was smiling, not warmly, rather with amusement. Her bright hair was peppered with the first snowflakes of winter. Above, the white sky released butterflies of snow. They brushed past me with their soft wings. But snow to me had never been beautiful. Snow to me meant sickness, cold and, at that moment, fear.
Marek let go of me and spread out his arms twirling slowly and smiling widely, his face tilted towards the sky. He said that from his boat, he had once seen snow on the mountaintops across the sea to the mainland, but this was the first time he had felt it.
Zola watched on, her greedy eyes taking him all in, like he was some sort of trinket that she was about to declare her own.
The early snowfall I believed was a sign. Worse things were yet to happen.
Chapter 4
Celeste
We walked further into the woods. I was relieved that the talk about my future had momentarily ceased, and even more thankful when Marek suggested we rest for the night. Marek and Zola did not seem to tire, but I was suddenly weak without a proper sleep in days.
The wood was damp but Zola made a tall fire without striking any sticks. Marek wrapped his coat around me and, although he seemed trusting of Zola, I remained watchful. I listened carefully for signs that pointed to our fates.
‘I do not understand about my power. I do not know how to use it on command or what I’m meant to do with it.’
‘In time you will, Marek,’ she said her voice soothing to anyone else but me. ‘Once we reach our circle you will see and perform magic that you did not think possible. It is the chance of a lifetime to join us. The human girl will have to go eventually. For there is no room for her kind amongst us.’
‘I have lived with my father and others on my island for years without trouble. No-one saw anything special in me. This makes no sense.’
‘You were lucky. Had they seen your powers you would have been persecuted. You would have joined your poor dead mother.’
Marek hung his head. He could see the truth of it.
‘And my sister, how did you meet her?’
‘Your sister saved my life. I owe her for everything I have now. She is most revered amongst our kind. She has taken many of us in. When she found me it was nearly too late …’ Zola’s voice trailed off.
‘Please go on,’ said Marek.
‘Let’s just say that I am here because of Oleander. I must tell you, Marek, that once you reach our circle you should turn your back on the life you once knew. It is important.’
‘Why should I? I want Oleander to come home to our father. Papa thinks she is dead.’
‘It is best he believes that. It is best you understand you are one of the chosen.’
‘Chosen? I do not understand, Zola. You make everything sound so complicated and secretive.’
Zola turned her back and in seconds she was concentrating. ‘There is a raven about to fly above us. I want you to concentrate on it and never waver. You must think only of the bird.’
The blue-black raven appeared out of the smoke above the fire. It hovered above us, its wings spread widely. I sat up cautiously, intrigued by its beauty, the sleekness of its feathers, and the way it was suspended in air. I wished to be that bird.
Marek frowned and looked at Zola whispering angrily under her breath. ‘Concentrate! Never waver!’
Marek did as he was told. I watched his profile, his long nose and full lips and strong chin. He looked so large sitting next to Zola yet I knew which one carried the power. He squinted to study the raven.
‘Now draw the bird towards you Marek.’
Marek hesitated, his feet shuffling, and the raven rose higher, suddenly uncertain. Then slowly
it sank towards him. It was so close that Marek could touch its jagged hooked beak, and I saw its beady black eye scanning us curiously.
‘Now imagine you are strangling it with invisible hands around its neck.’
This last command forced Marek to turn, the trance broken, while the raven swooped low over our heads. I felt the flutter of its wings. It was telling us to stay away and then rose to leave again.
Then the bird stopped mid-air to twist onto its back. The wings beat forward and backwards furiously yet it was unable to move its body, pinned by an unseen hand to an invisible floor. Seconds later, I heard the snapping sounds of its tiny bones breaking and then it fell hard onto the ground, the limp body only feet from where we sat.
Marek walked over to it, his mouth agape. He looked angry or concerned; it was hard to tell which. There now was the proof that Zola was indeed cruel!
‘I thought my skills were for healing not killing. I am capable of doing this too?’ he asked. Though there was no revulsion in the question; it was more about the possibilities.
‘You have a long way to go, but yes you are capable of this and much much more.’ Zola looked at me with satisfaction. Did she think perhaps that this was just a game as to who had more control?
Marek bent down to rest his hands on the bird. Just for a moment its wings fluttered with life then it was still.
‘No!’ commanded Zola. ‘Conserve your strength. Besides, it is too late. If you cured it now you may bring back a tortured soul and not the life that just ceased.’
‘It wasn’t its time to go,’ he said, regretful.
For a moment I thought that Marek would follow his own instinct, and his heart. Instead, he checked for further signs of life then picked up the broken lifeless bird and tossed it into the fire. Its feathers turned to flames shooting sparks high into the space of air where the bird first appeared.
I was unable to watch any more. I huddled deep into Marek’s loaned coat that smelled of pine and wood smoke. I took in the scent with reassurance and remembrance of the day he saved me, before he weakened to Zola’s evil charms.
‘You can never again be like your father, Marek,’ said Zola.
Zola
Celeste looked at me with her bovine eyes. I would give the girl to Oleander. Soon she would be a woman and perhaps an attractive one at that with her sultry, exotic looks. But to my benefit she would never be striking.
I did not have to see Celeste’s fear of me, I could smell it. Humans give off a revolting odour when they are scared. Though it was not only the smell that offended me, it was her pathetic suffering look that seemed to dissolve Marek’s sensibility. She thought she was the only one who had seen pain yet she knew nothing compared to my lifetime of misery. No-one truly knew what I had once endured.
At twelve I came into my gift but it would be some time before I could control it. After my parents died I lived as a beggar, scavenging in towns. Later, to live my life as a servant, taking daily beatings with a cane if my tasks weren’t completed on time. If it wasn’t for Oleander who taught me to use my skills, my end would now be near.
Many humans died over the centuries for our kind to survive. The chosen ones like Marek who preferred to use his skills for good; such glorious gifts were perhaps wasted on him. If he was anything like Oleander then he would indeed be powerful. If it was up to Jean he would kill Marek before his induction into our circle. With such potential, the boy was going to be a rival, and Jean hated change, especially if it was not in his favour.
Marek
It had been days since we set out. Celeste was unwell, making our journey slow. She coughed from the cold and all I could think about was getting her to safety. My blood was not freezing as there was a current running through me, pumping warmth. I could feel every blood vessel, every muscle throbbing with life. Sometimes it ached like growing pains.
In the early hours before the girls awoke, I followed a deer for less than a mile. It was unaware I was there until I stood directly behind it. It turned to look at me, its moist brown eyes full of trust and knowing. Just like the bird, this deer was drawn towards me.
Hanging its head shyly, it offered itself to me and before I could feel sympathy for this fine creature with its shiny red-brown coat, I grabbed its antlers and began to twist its neck. Breaking its bones would have been effortless but I could go no further. The heat of its body put a sudden chill through my own, and quite suddenly I felt remorse for what would have been a senseless kill, simply to prove my newfound knowledge of bewitchment and strength. I released the animal, which took the opportunity to bound deeper into the forest. Some might have called my act weak, but any creature offering its own life to a hunter is not so easy to accept. Zola may have been used to that but I was not a natural killer. Not yet.
Instead, I chased down two hares without magic – close to human as I could be – and brought them back to camp. Zola and Celeste helped skin them. Celeste was not as dexterous with the blade as Zola who used her dagger to scrape the fur and flesh from their bodies in quick even strokes. I asked her to preserve the skin, so that I could make shoes for Celeste.
‘Is it necessary?’ she asked.
‘Of course,’ I said, confused at her lack of concern.
‘As you wish,’ Zola said, and I wondered what Celeste had done to offend her so.
Celeste no longer retreated at the sight of blood and the cutting of animals. Her hunger had seen her through the worst of her squeamishness.
We ate until our bellies were full and drank handfuls of snow, though I noticed that Zola only nibbled at her food. We dried some hare meat over the fire to eat on our travels. What I wouldn’t have given for some fish stew, and the sweetened doughy bread that my father often treated me to.
Zola announced that her town was still days from here as humans walk. I could not help but see her look at Celeste to apply blame for our delay. My shirt and vest were damp, and although I did not feel the cold like Celeste, my face and ears were still chilled. The fabric of Zola’s blouse was too fine for this weather and I asked her if she was cold. ‘Eventually,’ she said. ‘The snow and cold will no longer be your enemy.’ It is only that I felt well despite the conditions, that I thought I understood.
During the journey I had held Celeste’s arm in support but she did not respond. Since I had healed her she had not been the same. The wariness and distrust she had for her masters back at the farm had transferred to me and no amount of reassurance seemed to bring back our earlier bond.
The pathways were not well travelled. Ours were the only footsteps in the snow and fallen rotting bracken. When it grew dark we stopped to camp. Zola put wet sticks on the ground to make a pyre, waved her hand over it and fire burst into life.
Zola and I did not engage in conversation that evening as I was suddenly very weary and those aches in my body were relentless. She had already explained that with more and more use of the craft, the body begins to crave things it did not before. I was too tired to ask any more questions and my thoughts turned to Celeste. I was anxious to get to the town and for her to trust me again. Perhaps this family that Zola spoke of was her best option, though I had some unexplainable doubts.
Over her blazing fire, Zola melted some snow in a small pan and threw in pieces of hare entrails. From her pocket she poured in herbs and some roots that she had brought from the hut. Celeste did not take any of this food but chose to eat the remaining portions of dried meat.
There were voices in the distance getting closer to us. I had already heard snippets of conversation before human ears could detect them and Zola seemed most eager that they should find us. Her expression had been one of alertness long before I detected their sounds.
A man with his wife and young son appeared through the trees. The man looked like a hunter, with an unruly beard and large patched fur coat. His family was dressed similarly and their faces grimy. The woman looked exhausted and shivering, and her cough was harsh and raspy.
Zola asked if th
ey would share some of our meal. The younger male was so hungry he walked towards Zola to see the meat bubbling in the fire. His father put a firm hand on the boy’s shoulder to stop him. It had an instant effect for the boy took a step back and wrapped his arms around his mother’s middle, his curious, hungry eyes never leaving the cooking pot.
Having had a chance to look them over carefully, I could ascertain that they carried all their possessions with them. And I could almost hear their thoughts. They were waiting to see whether we really would give them food – that we were not thieves and murderers. I say almost because the ability allowed me to catch only patches of thought, sometimes just a word.
Like moths to a flame the family edged closer to the warmth and the man pushed his son forward roughly to finally accept some food. I thought at the time this was a parental gesture for the boy to be served first, but I was wrong.
Celeste passed the boy some food but the father grabbed it out of his son’s hand and shoved it into his own mouth, chomping the food in his few remaining teeth. The woman did not look at her husband. She seemed detached from the rest of us. Perhaps it was her weariness. The boy watched his father eat. He had done this before, waiting patiently for his father to pass him his share, but the older did not look to sharing. Instead he had the guarded look of a dog waiting for another dog to take his bone away.
I decided not to put up with such vulgarity so I passed both the woman and the boy some food and instructed them to eat. The father, his brows knitted and jaw clamped, stared at me. I felt a tingle at the back of my neck as if I had just encountered a fierce beast. There was something wrong with this man and I detected a mind diseased. The mother passed her portion to the son who picked at his food nervously, one eye on his father. I wondered whether I might have done the wrong thing and the mother and son would pay for this action later.
Marek (Buried Lore Book 1) Page 7
