Christabel

by Karin Kallmaker

  “What a tender reunion.” He thrust his torch into the air, waving it three times. “Remember, my wife, that I set her free.”

  The ground rumbled, and Christabel turned in horror. “Oh my God! My God! Run!” She threw herself on the preacher and nearly succeeded in knocking him to the ground before he shoved her into the dirt.

  Rahdonee’s eyes wouldn’t focus on the clusters of stars rushing toward her. Only when they were upon her did she realize they were torches carried by stony-faced Puritans. The ground shook under the tread of their relentless feet.

  It was too late to run, and her weakened body could not have gone more than a few steps before they caught her. She shrank back when a man stepped forward with manacles.

  With a triumphant grin, the preacher said, “It’s for your own good, Christabel. She’s set a spell on you, and we’re all the family you have now.” He gestured at Rahdonee, and when she didn’t turn around, two other men forced her to allow the fastening of heavy irons to her wrists.

  “Don’t you dare to touch me yourself?” Rahdonee drew herself up to her full height so she could look down on him. The chain between her wrists was so short she could not relax her arms. “It is always others who do your evil bidding, and they are the ones whose souls will bear the burden.”

  He only smiled, cool and calm. “You cannot challenge me, witch. You cannot win.”

  She returned his smile even though her heart was breaking at the sound of Christabel’s unchecked sobbing. “You presume we mean the same thing by winning.”

  “I have her.” He gestured at Christabel’s crumpled form. “I think that’s all that matters to you.”

  She would not let him see that he spoke the truth. She opened her mouth to make a scathing reply, but a voice in the crowd broke her concentration.

  “Death to the witch!” The cry was taken up by more and more voices, but the only thing Rahdonee cared about was the sharp gasp Christabel made when the preacher yanked her to her feet.

  They prodded her into the street from behind the auctioneer’s platform, and onward through the town. The moon rose and the crowd grew. When they passed through the town gates, she realized with horror where they were taking her to die.

  Goranson’s arm was bleeding where the roots had attached to him, and Dina did not care that he still had a grip on her hair. An unearthly shriek split the air and the demon—real, not nightmare—was biting at the roots to free him.

  She had nothing with which to fight the demon. She gave up her own hold on the roots to grab Goranson’s other arm in an attempt to bring it into contact with the roots as well. Whatever they were, they hurt him and he deserved the pain.

  The demon raised its bloody mouth and bared its teeth. It lunged into the space she pushed herself from, and then twisted to launch itself on her as she scrabbled on the floor.

  It was almost upon her, and she spun around, holding her mother’s dreamcatcher over her heart like a shield.

  The creature’s impact on the spiderlike web brought another shriek, this time of pain, not fury. The heat burned Dina’s hands, and a brilliant flash of light blinded her. She choked on sulfur fumes, and then, blessedly, the creature’s shrieking ended in a sound like the breaking of a thousand mirrors.

  She dropped the ruined dreamcatcher, unable to believe that the demon was gone, that it had even existed, nor that she was blistered to her elbows. She felt nothing where she was burned, and knew enough to tell that was a bad sign.

  “Help me.”

  She stared numbly at Goranson. The roots had coiled around his chest, and his long leather jacket was growing slippery with his own blood.

  Christa rocked in place, whimpering quietly, her eyes unseeing.

  “If you don’t help me, she’ll never recover,” Goranson gasped. “You’ve killed my companion. I’m going to grow old now. I’ll die just like any mortal when the time comes. You’ve cost me eternity, isn’t it enough?”

  There was no light in Christa’s eyes. They were nearly black with her wretchedness. What would it take to bring them back to life? Dina had been asking herself that question since the day they had met, and she didn’t want to believe the answer had anything to do with him. Her eyes could not ignore, however, that Christa’s shoulders were marked with red lines of distress, matching the pattern of the roots that held Goranson. His pain transferred somehow to Christa.

  “I’ll save her,” Goranson choked. “But only if you save me.”

  She didn’t believe him. “Christa, let’s get out of here.”

  Christa made no sign of having heard her.

  Moving slowly, not wanting to frighten her, Dina gently touched one shaking shoulder.

  Christa shrank from the contact, her eyes still staring into some place of misery. Dina grasped more firmly and the helpless whimper Christa made cut into Dina’s heart.

  After a steadying breath, Dina made to slip one arm around Christa, planning to pick her up if necessary. She’d get her away from Goranson and that would break his spell. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, but I have to.”

  Christa shrieked and wrested herself from Dina’s grasp. When Dina tried again Christa slapped away her hands before slumping to the ground in a fetal ball.

  “I told you.” Goranson’s voice had taken on a bubbling edge. “Only I can save her.”

  She still didn’t believe him. She didn’t trust him. But she couldn’t get Christa out of here without help and she wasn’t leaving to summon it.

  She had made so many mistakes and she was convinced this was another one, but what choice did she have? She reached out, closing her burned hands on the largest of the bloodstained roots over his chest.

  When Rahdonee fell, someone was there to pick her up. Her eyes would not adapt to the light, and her arms bound behind her were useless for balance. Where she had once run like a deer without a false step, she stumbled, stubbed her toes, bloodied her knees, and fell heavily on her chest and shoulders.

  Christabel’s journey was equally harsh. Rahdonee heard her fall several times, only to be pulled back to her feet. She looked back at her as often as she could, wanting at least to try to say good-bye, but someone always prodded her with the butt of a musket to keep her moving.

  They were halfway to the Sacred Tree when Rahdonee couldn’t find the strength to stay standing. They pulled her to her feet, but she sagged.

  “Get up,” the preacher ordered. “You have no choice.”

  She would not let them march her to her own death so easily. She would make them carry her.

  Christabel yelped, and the sound made Rahdonee’s heart jump as sharply as the musket shot that had thrown her into the river.

  “Get up.” He dropped to the ground beside her and said in her ear, “These people aren’t convinced that she can be saved from your spells.”

  “You call yourself a man of God.” She panted, trying to catch her breath. “And you would subject me to Calvary? I have done you no harm.”

  “What an interesting comparison,” he mocked. “You and Christ? I’ll be happy to inform my followers that the witch compares herself to our Lord. Of course you haven’t harmed me. What would be the pleasure in simple revenge on you? You,” he whispered intently, “are a victim. And she will be mine forever because of you. Now, if you don’t get up, I’ll make sure she can’t either. And the wolf pack might begin to think that we need to rid ourselves of both of you.”

  Rahdonee found the strength somewhere. She managed one foot in front of the other, too dizzy and blinded to travel more than a few steps before falling again. What energy she could spare went to silently pleading with Christabel to forgive her.

  Chapter 18

  At Dina’s touch, the root curled away from Goranson’s body. She looked down at Christa, who had not moved. Was she irrevocably linked to Goranson? If he died, would she? Impossible, but then none of this was possible. She gritted her teeth to stand the growing pain in her scorched hands, and touched another root. It curled away with
a sigh Dina felt rather than heard.

  “Hurry,” he panted. “She’s getting worse.”

  He had no honor. She had no way to force him to do as he promised. She left him, ignoring his gasp of pain. Let him suffer for once, she thought, as she bowed over Christa’s huddled form. Hoping it wouldn’t cause more pain, Dina briefly touched Christa’s shoulder.

  Her fingers came away bloody.

  She gagged, unprepared for the sticky smell of it. Christa’s shoulder was not cut. There was no wound there, only the red lines to match Goranson’s. Dina brushed her fingers over the faint red lines on Christa’s forearm and, again, her hand was coated with blood.

  “Help me,” he grated. “And I will release her. When she looked at the picture, we were joined. If I die, she dies.”

  She should call an ambulance, she should find a cop, call 9-1-1, do something sensible. But her senses were swimming with horror and indecision. Her throbbing hands made it hard to think clearly.

  If she freed him, he would not help Christa. But if she didn’t free him, Christa might die, too. Either way he would win.

  From deep inside came the bitter question: why does he always get to win?

  There were no choices. Nothing made sense. The world was upside down. None of this could be real, but here she was, caught between a desire for vengeance for crimes she didn’t even understand and an abiding love that gave her glimpses of heaven.

  She touched the roots one by one, wincing when her fingers bent even slightly. She left the largest for last. When he was free she scrambled away, putting herself between him and Christa.

  He lurched to the floor with a groan.

  She was shaking like a leaf, exhausted and frightened. She did not know what he would do next.

  What he did surprised her, as always. Instead of attacking them, he simply ran for it. He bolted for the stairs and grimaced in amusement when she made no effort to follow him. At the top of the stairs he reached out one hand. “Good-bye, my dear wife. As for you, you were always a nuisance.”

  Dina felt the wave of his attack, and she put up her hands. The dreamcatcher was ruined and she had no shield or weapon now. She felt the tingle of something sour against her palms. There was a sizzle of green light. Then nothing.

  “Damn you both,” he cursed. He reached for the door.

  His fingertips couldn’t touch it. He tried to grasp the knob and kick the door. He seemed to come within an inch of it and no closer.

  He turned amazed eyes on her. “She was a witch. And you are, too.”

  Unbidden words came to her lips. “Call it what you like. We will oppose you.”

  He snarled, “Well, then, let us finish now!” He vaulted the banister.

  Heart pounding with terror, Dina grabbed for her purse on the floor. She had one last weapon, as fragile as an eggshell, but as strong as life.

  Not even a second before he grabbed her hair to yank her back, she joined the thickest curl of pale root dangling from the wall with the leaf that had rooted in the moonlight and sprouted at the touch of her hand.

  The cracks around the roots surged with green lightning. Energy danced across Dina’s body. She gasped for air, heard Christa scream, and then everything went black.

  Only when they unbound her hands did she realize they were at the Sacred Tree. She thought she might have sensed its warmth, but she felt nothing but her own pain. Two men bore her up rough stairs. A gallows? There were worse ways to die. Hanging was at least quick.

  When they bound her with her back to the tree, she was so glad that she missed the significance. Its loving sustenance welled up in her, and she lifted her face to the wind to make her last prayer to the Great Mother. The sky was low, heavy with clouds. She was puzzled and then she realized she had expected to see branches.

  With a moan of despair she saw that the tree had been cut off just above her head. It lived still, its eternal serenity unchanged. Its spirit nourished her.

  “I have tried to purify this witch, but walking in the path of our Lord has not wrenched the evil from her soul,” the preacher shouted. “God has spoken! This is our answer to the evil in the heavens and our promise to any of her people who may ever dare to return to our lands. Let it begin!”

  The mob roared. Christabel screamed, and her terror brought Rahdonee back to what was about to happen. This was not a gallows, not a whipping post.

  Her unbelieving eyes watched them drag bundles of kindling from the underbrush. They packed it under the platform she stood on and all around the tree.

  Great Mother, no. Spare me this, give me your mercy.

  The preacher lifted his torch, and the crowd fell silent. Their mindless hunger was already devouring her spirit.

  Mercy, Mother of us all. Give me your gentle care, take me from this place now, before—

  Just as she thought her plea for oblivion would be answered, Christabel shrieked again. The preacher had wrapped her hand around the torch and carried her bodily toward the kindling. She twisted, kicked, bucked, but he thrust the torch into the first bundle while her hand still grasped it. Then others darted forward with their torches. In moments the tree was circled with crackling flame.

  Christabel was sobbing as if her heart and mind had forever broken. He tossed her on the ground like a used rag and grinned up at Rahdonee, his victory complete.

  The first of the flames licked at the platform and smoke filled her lungs. Rain hissed into the rising inferno, but not enough to quench it.

  Looking like the picture of concern, he lifted the unconscious Christabel into his arms. Only Rahdonee could see that the fire turned his eyes red. In a shattering flash of lightning, she saw his hand stroking Christabel’s breast.

  Thunder rumbled across the sky, and the rain turned into a torrent. The mob was driven back by the fury of the storm and Rahdonee’s pulse matched the hammering of the rain.

  The heat was building in spite of the downpour. The roar of the flames filled her ears. She licked the Sky God’s tears from her parched lips, and lifted her face to let it cool her stinging cheeks.

  I will survive this, even if it takes me eternity, and he shall find me in his nightmares. Great Mother, give me grace from this evil. Let me abide to see it quenched.

  The tree felt warm at her back now. It, too, would not survive the inferno. She imagined she felt the sap, the tree’s life blood, retreating into the roots, away from the heat, just as she longed to retreat.

  All at once, it seemed very simple. She blinked. The world was green. One last look, nearly her last conscious thought, was for Christabel’s lost spirit.

  I shall find her again, she vowed.

  I shall leave this shell. He has not won.

  She was not there when the first flames touched her. Coolness surrounded her, and she followed the tree’s retreat, sinking down into roots buried deep and wide. They tickled the River God, who welcomed her and offered a place to rest until the time came to awaken.

  Christabel.

  She rested.

  Green green green green green greengreengreengreen...

  The exultant cry echoed from the walls. Dina struggled to regain consciousness, but a joy so fierce and a rage so implacable throbbed all around her, leaving her limp in the face of it.

  The presence, the source of the calling, wasn’t even paying attention to her. Goranson was choking, gasping for air, clawing at his throat. A sound like a helicopter beat inside Dina’s head...and then calm.

  Peace descended on her in a welcome wave. Oh, no wonder. She was in a small corner of her mind now, sheltered.

  She surged to her feet and leaned over the choking man. Her voice rang like a thousand bells on the wind.

  “More than death awaits you, preacher. More than pain. In my first life I would have been merciful, but I am no longer the daughter of the Great Mother. I am vengeance incarnate, and I will show you the mercy you showed us.”

  Dina saw it all then. He had stolen a thing of beauty, a product of a new and wil
d land. He’d satisfied his human lusts on her over and over again, throughout the centuries, while his demon companion feasted on her suffering.

  Goranson was writhing on the floor, his body in spasms as if electrified.

  Dina tried to form a warning to the new presence. Christa was showing signs of Goranson’s distress, as if he pushed his pain onto her.

  Green eyes bored into her own, they were her eyes, staring back at her, like a mirror. They tilted; there were a thousand eyes, and she knew everything and they knew everything.

  The frenetic pounding eased and all the eyes blinked slowly. A different sound rose, laden with love. Christabel…

  I heard a voice in my head. It was like a lullaby I’d forgotten I knew combined with the gentle tinkling of bells.

  Christabel...come to me.

  It wasn’t Dina. It wasn’t Leo. I answered, or part of me did. And then it was as if the part of me that was wounded, that he had hurt, rose out of me. I looked up at the shimmering white light, amazed that something so beautiful could have been inside me.

  Come to me, beloved.

  The voice seemed to be coming from Dina, even though her mouth didn’t move. But then I saw the glowing emerald that rose out of her body, and it twined around my wounded self, green and white swirling.

  They were dancing. They were laughing and crying. I heard it all in my head. I raised my arms, and my legs obeyed me. I rose to meet Dina’s embrace. All that mattered was the kiss we shared, that they shared through us.

  I was wrapped in green. It was no longer sanctuary. It was life itself. And I knew everything. I didn’t want to leave the welcome warmth of Dina’s arms, but...I knew everything.

  Freedom wasn’t something Leo could give me. I had to take it.

  He was a wreck, but still his elemental force was unbroken. I could feel him trying to work his way back into my mind as I leaned over him.

  I saw him clearly for the first time.

  I saw all of his faces. An abusive john, a bumbling abortionist, a pharmacist giving poison instead of antibiotics. I went back in time until I stared into the red eyes of a preacher who had used an inferno to crush my spirit utterly.