The man answered Zola’s queries on their destination. He had lost his fur trade as animal numbers were down that year, and he was travelling to another town hoping to find work. He complained of foreigners who had migrated from areas where pelts were plentiful, as well as those who had plundered across borders, bringing their booty to sell at local town markets. The quality of their furs brought a much higher price than his own.
The man also told us that in his travels they had found several slaughtered animals unaccountably left to rot, the meat too far gone to eat, and the pelts too mottled and unusable. He said that something wasn’t right in the forest. Zola assured him it was just other animals preying on the weaker ones to store fat on their bodies at the beginning of winter.
When there was nothing left in the small pot, the father stood and barked orders for his wife and son to follow. The woman nodded her thanks and the boy, with his small elfin face, stared longingly at us. I watched them disappear into the trees and wondered where they would spend such a cold night and whether they too would warm themselves near a fire. I could sense that the woman was unwell.
I curled up once again nearest to Celeste to keep her warm. She accepted the warmth though I could still feel the tension in her body: apprehension that something bad might happen should she sleep.
Some time during the night I awoke to a noise, like the grunting of an animal in distress. Zola was missing. I could feel her presence, for my senses in this regard had heightened over the week. I was taking more notice of those sounds in my head that I once thought were nothing. Little by little my ability to hear the words of others over longer distances was increasing. I could hear Zola’s voice but I could also hear another. ‘Dead?’ someone whispered.
I followed some tracks in the mushy earth. My skill had also given me better night vision and the tracks were easy to see, leading me to Zola. She was talking in hushed tones to the young boy from dinner. Zola did not look up. She would have heard me coming the moment I stepped away from the camp. The boy was nodding.
There was a pile of clothing on the ground near both of them, and as I stepped towards it I realised with horror that it was the boy’s mother. I rolled her over to see her eyes staring vacantly upwards to the tops of the trees.
‘What happened?’
‘The father has abandoned them, and his mother has died from her illness,’ answered Zola. ‘The boy must come with us.’ Zola’s thoughts were unreadable and there was a sense of calmness about the boy. We stripped the woman’s coat from her and placed it around the boy’s skinny frame. I also took her shoes. The boy did not grieve for his mother’s passing; rather, he was eager to be gone from her body, as if he barely knew her or perhaps did not accept it was really her there dead on the ground.
Back at the fire Celeste had awakened, appearing anxious and agitated. I explained about the boy. For the rest of the night I could not sleep with visions of the dead mother, and, although I did not feel much goodness from the father, I was still concerned about him. Even those with diseased minds are often in need of charity.
Once I heard the boy’s sleeping breaths, and checked that Zola’s eyes were closed too, I crept away from the camp. Only Celeste saw me go and I smiled reassuringly to indicate that I would be back soon. Under a fall of sleet I followed the tracks to the tree where the woman lay. This led to more footprints, one large and one small foot, when suddenly stumbling over what I thought to be a large mound of earth or a dead animal. I rubbed the spot on my leg to make sure nothing was damaged and then reached to feel the lumpy ground. Touching something soft and furry, which I took to be an animal, my hand then felt the leathery hardened face of a man.
My eyes adjusted slowly and I saw that it was the man we had seen earlier that evening. I listened for his breath that wasn’t there and lifted him into a sitting position only to feel that his body was almost skeletal and weightless. I had only seen him hours before, so how could his body have deteriorated so quickly? Then I remembered the body in the village. It too had been shrunken almost beyond recognition.
‘I had to do it.’ Zola stood close by, magically appearing beneath a narrow shaft of moonlight. I had not heard her come and my heart pounded with fear.
‘Do what? You mean you did this…but…’ I stammered. How? I wanted to know but Zola was quick to take the remains from me and throw them far into a thicket.
The thought that Zola could be responsible for this killing was slightly repulsive yet she was not only mesmerising and intriguing, she had another attraction. She was powerful.
‘It is what you do with garbage,’ she said, as she turned to walk back to the camp.
‘And the mother’s death?’ I said, trying to keep up with her.
‘I helped with that a little,’ she said shrugging her shoulders. ‘But I only shortened her life by days. She was ill and would have died a painful death, so bad was the infection in her lungs.’
I turned Zola gently by the arm so that she would look me in the eyes. ‘Tell me. Are you a demon? Are you what those villagers fear most?’
‘I am what I am, just as you are. We cannot change who we are. I am not a monster, Marek. In time you will see that.’
‘But the boy,’ I protested. ‘What about his parents? He is orphaned now.’
‘The man beat his wife and son. He was a tyrant who spent coin in houses of gambling and drinking, instead of food for his family. He got what was coming.’
‘But do you not think we could have helped him? The man was in need of help too.’
Zola laughed harshly. ‘You have a lot to learn about life. It is brutal in the forest. You are not coddled here like you are on your island in your safe little house above the beach, with the sun shining and a constant supply of food from the sea. Out here in my country, people steal, kill and do anything they can to save themselves, and forget anyone else! What did you think that man would do to his son after the mother died? Do you honestly think he would provide for him? No, Marek. You are still too young to see that the boy would eventually have been so starved he would have fallen on the ground, too weak to walk, and then abandoned by the father he should have trusted above all else. And should he have survived the trek to wherever they were aimlessly headed, he would have likely been sold.’
I thought about her words and I was suddenly overcome with guilt. Her description made me sound privileged and she was right. I had come from paradise with a caring father who had raised me well. Food and warmth had been plentiful, and kindness nearby.
‘And the boy?’ I asked. ‘Does he know his father is dead too?’
‘He saw me kill his mother but he will not remember. I have made sure that he forgets the image. I have told him his father left and his mother died of her illness. He is accepting of this for he has seen tragedy before. He will come with us and he will learn and be useful. I will find him some work to do.’
I wondered if perhaps this was her aim all along and tried to erase the thought from my head; after all, she had done so much for us. If not for her, both Celeste and I might have died back at the village, our bodies burned and remains thrown to the wolves.
Though I was still both mystified and horrified at the death of the man, I could not bring myself to ask her by what terrifying black magic he had been executed.
We returned to our camp to find the fire still blazing, again from Zola’s magic. I found Celeste and the boy sitting across from one another. No longer did the boy’s face wear his worry, replaced by a wide-eyed look of expectation and curiosity.
‘Are we leaving today?’ he asked. ‘Are we going to the town as you said?’
‘Of course, Zeke,’ said Zola. She perched down beside the boy like a bear with its cub.
I ruffled the child’s head with his mass of soft brown locks, and looked to Zola who, it seemed, had saved us all.
Celeste
Marek was fooled. Zola had won another of her own games. If only he could have seen her then – really seen her – like I
could. They told me that the boy’s parents had abandoned him but I knew the truth. I could see that Marek lied when he told me this as he could not meet my eyes. He did not know the real truth and in some way I was glad to be without a voice. What I had seen was so horrific it was almost unmentionable. He did not know that it was I who woke him up when I returned to the fire running, my heart thumping loudly in my ears, and collapsing at my camp bed. I had clutched my ears and closed my eyes to try and shut out the images of Zola taking the life from the man in the crudest of ways. I had followed Zola through the forest and stood hidden behind trees.
I wondered how long I would have to put up with their lies and how long it would be before we were all killed.
Later, that morning, when our eyes met I could tell that she knew I had been there. She wanted me to see, perhaps to instill more fear. I watched as she had killed the boy’s parents. I also saw her kill the man first with a poisonous kiss. He did not move, rooted to the ground as if under a spell. She pressed her lips against his neck and then his mouth. At first he did not seem to mind, then his arms went up to grab Zola’s neck to stop her but by then he had weakened and collapsed.
Zola warned the woman she would die without pain. But pain was not the mother’s concern. She wanted to live long enough to see her boy to the next town to find her brother. She said she only had days to live but wanted to make sure the boy was looked after. I watched as the boy pleaded for his mother’s life. Zola’s feeble reassurances of the boy’s safety weren’t enough to allow the woman to die peacefully. After that I ran back to camp.
Marek gave me the dead woman’s shoes to replace the strips of leather on my feet. I chose to wear them, not to keep out the wet, but to not upset the boy, nor offend the memory of his mother.
The boy’s head rested against Zola’s knee. It might have seemed a tender moment to some yet I wanted to be sucked into the ground, to disappear and be free from the demon that had captured Marek’s heart. I felt terror, yes. But more than that, I felt hatred. She had bewitched him also to believe the parents had abandoned their son. The child witnessed it all, yet when he first came back with Zola from his mother’s execution he had the dazed look of someone who had just woken from a long sleep.
By Zola, he was given the new name of Zeke, and whatever she had done had cured him of many bad memories. He did not remember his name or the village he had come from. He talked about other things he remembered doing like hunting and his mother’s cooking. Zola described her house and said that he could work for her and eat as much as he wanted.
‘Do you like pony rides, Zeke?’ she asked. He nodded. ‘I know a woman who owns a big house with lots of horses. I will take you there. My special friend, Jean, and I will teach you to ride.’
‘Who’s Jean?’ asked Marek.
‘Jean is someone I have known a long time He is one of us, Marek.’ They exchanged a look and Zeke didn’t miss it either. He too knew there was a secret between them, yet he was young enough to accept charity from anywhere. Zola was making his new life sound very exciting, yet I saw some doubt in his head. There were pieces of this puzzle missing, which he could not explain. I would somehow find a way for us to escape this devil.
‘I wish Mama could come too,’ he said. ‘She likes ponies.’
The four of us now travelled along the pathway that would likely lead us all to hell. The tracks here looked familiar. I had a memory of this. I had been here before.
It was still early and the sky was dark. Sleet was forming on the ground to make dirty slushy mud. Snow clouds hung ready to fall.
Chapter 5
Marek
Zeke went missing late the following day. While we were distracted setting up camp and attending to personal tasks, he had wandered off to explore and search for his mother. Part of him still believed she was somewhere in the forest. Her sudden departure had left him confused. I could hear his thoughts, as could Zola, who thought it would be good for my skill if I tracked him alone and brought him back, and reassuring me that he was not far.
Celeste stood close to my side but I suggested it was safer to stay with Zola. She was upset with this and clutched nervously at her clothes, before sitting sulkily back near the fire.
Streaks of light filtered through the trees, as the last moments of daylight dissolved. The air was fresh on my face and I felt so alert and alive. Every sound, every falling twig echoed in my head. I could even hear Zeke’s shallow breathing from ahead. I wondered what inspired the boy to travel this far from our camp and along such a rugged route.
A crack of a branch sounded in the distance as I was nearly upon him. I saw him through the trees but he was not looking at me. Around us the ground was covered in patches of white, the trees leafless but their trunks dense and tall. And then I saw it camouflaged among the greyness on the path ahead of him.
A wolf crouched nearby, his long nose close to the ground. I surveyed the area as it was rare for a wolf to hunt alone. I dared not move with this beast snarling in readiness for attack, his heartbeat loud in my ears, his senses delighted with the smell of fresh meat. The wolf took a step towards Zeke who had now noticed my presence. I held up my hand to tell him not to run. In just moments I could be by his side protecting him. But the pressure of the moment was too much for the boy as he realised the animal was dangerously close. By instinct he ran.
The wolf had already foreseen this reaction from the boy. He was on his heels and in seconds leapt the space between them. I was fast but not fast enough. The beast landed on the boy’s back smacking him to the ground. There was the sound of tearing flesh as I threw myself across the top of the animal, grasping at the hard skin on the back of its neck.
With my strength I pulled the wolf backwards on top of me and held it in my arms. Even I amazed myself at this strength, this ability. However, the wolf was also strong, even against someone with strength born from magic. Freeing itself, it ran a short distance then turned again to face me, its muzzle drawn back to reveal thirsty fangs, before crouching for battle. It came for me this time.
Launching from its thickly muscled hind legs, the animal was on top of me, its teeth close to the pulsating vein in my neck. I could feel warm breath on my cheek and its claws digging into my chest, stripping back my clothing. I had to trust in my skill and focus my thoughts on calming the beast. My body was trembling with magical forces and my hands on the wolf pulsated with a life of their own. He sensed the change and for a moment relaxed the fight. With one mighty effort it was thrust high into the air before landing on its back with a yelp.
The wolf stood and shook its head, clearly confused. It had sensed something different about me. It sniffed the air and growled softly before turning to run deep into the forest.
Once I was sure it would not return I rushed to examine Zeke. His shoulder was slashed and blood flowed from his wound. His shirt was blood-soaked and torn.
‘Zeke,’ I shouted. ‘Can you hear me?’
His eyes opened once and he whispered close to my ear. ‘I saw Mama’s ghost in the forest and I followed her.’ Then, with his head rolling to one side, he lost consciousness.
I picked up the tiny body and ran through the forest. Zola met me on the path. She had seen everything.
We returned to our camp and laid him gently near the fire. His heartbeat was slow. I put my hand over his back, concentrating on his injuries, and felt the warmth through my hands radiate across his wound. The blood started to bubble and the flesh began stretching across the deep gash. The healing stopped before the sides of the wound had joined together. I was close to losing power.
‘Out of the way,’ said Zola. ‘You have used up much of your strength fighting the wolf. I must do this. You need the power to heal yourself.’
Zola put her own hands over the boy. I felt heat emanate from her body. She appeared to glow. The boy’s heart beat rapidly, magnified in my eardrums. The gash began to close and seal and Zeke opened his eyes. He was healthier and his face fuller than I ha
d seen before.
Celeste stood a short distance away. There was a mixture of amazement and repulsion in her face, and I could not tell at first whether it was at the extent of the boy’s injury or the use of Zola’s dark magic. I suspected it was the latter. But her next act delighted me and told me that beneath the wariness lay kindness. Celeste tore some of her skirt and blotted at my skin. It was all right I told her and gently took her small hand away. She looked embarrassed as I touched my own wounds – the claw marks on my cheek and forearms – and sealed them. Not perfectly like Zeke’s wounds but enough to stop any bleeding or infection.
Zeke asked me what had happened and I told him the story of the wolf. He looked alarmed at the blood on his clothes, but he did not remember being wounded or what he had said to me as he lay near death. I reassured him by lying. ‘It is the wolf’s blood.’
‘I’m hungry,’ he said.
I laughed, wishing to be a child again to quickly forget the wrongs. There was to be no hunting that day and I pulled out the last remaining strip of hare meat from my pocket and handed it to the boy.
‘Do you believe in ghosts?’ I asked Zola, once Celeste had moved away from me, and Zeke had fallen asleep. I thought it likely that he had imagined his mother’s apparition.
‘Of course.’
‘Then why are they still here? Why are they not in heaven?’
‘Perhaps they are looking for an opportunity to become flesh again. Perhaps heaven has rejected them, or perhaps there is no such place.’ She laughed then, which left me wondering if she’d answered truthfully. Before I fell asleep, I silently prayed that Zeke’s mother had found peace in heaven.
My dreams were growing more real and vivid each night and this night was no exception. I dreamt of a wolf in ghostly form, whose eyes turned human. I followed the wolf through the forest and into a darkness that I couldn’t escape from.
Marek (Buried Lore Book 1) Page 8
