“You heard that, didn’t you?” Aurek’s voice came through the door.
“Yes.” She didn’t know what else to say. Would he be angered by her sympathy?
“Don’t you be getting your hopes up that he’ll come to your rescue now,” Aurek said in a measured voice, his anger suppressed to a low rumble that threatened to escape at any moment.
“I don’t. I didn’t,” she said. She paused. “I’m sorry about Kristin. She was always kind.”
There was a moment of silence. So long that Miriat wondered if Aurek heard her at all.
“So she was,” he said. “She was too good to unleash the monster she bore onto the world. And too gentle to let it die alone.”
“They’re not monsters…”
“I bet you think that. Much like a wolf thinks its fangs kind.” Aurek gave a mirthless chuckle.
“Aurek… We used to be friends once.”
“No,” Aurek said. “I was friends with a decent girl, a dutiful daughter. And she’s gone. Did you even ask after your ma? Did you even care how she died? Alone, leaning on the kindness of strangers.”
Miriat closed her eyes, but that didn’t stop tears from falling.
“See, I was never friends with you. I don’t know you. Don’t act like you know me.” Aurek spat loudly and leaned against the back of the chair until the wood groaned under his weight.
CHAPTER 38
“Salka, wake up!” Maladia shook Salka awake. The rain outside showed no signs of letting up. “It’s time! You must go fetch a midwife. She lives half a mile up north. Hurry, Dola’s not doing well!”
“Wait, who’s not well?” Salka asked, still confused from her sleep.
“Dola. She’s running a temperature and has barely moved since the birthing began. Go!” Maladia ushered Salka to the door, throwing her cloak at her. She periodically stopped and leaned against the wall, panting heavily.
“Are you all right?” Salka asked, confused.
“Of course not, you idiot, I’m about to drop this baby! Go!” Maladia said, screwing up her face with effort. “Half a mile north as the crow flies.” Maladia saw Salka’s conflicted face and pointed. “Go!”
Salka needed no further urging. She pulled on her shoes and ran outside. The rain and the wind battered her face and she looked up fearfully at the pines which swayed with loud cracking noise, threatening to fall and crush her at any moment. She walked as fast as she could but the mud and water pouring down the mountain made it hard to find good footing. All the while her stigoi moved effortlessly beside her, skipping and jumping as if she was running across a summer meadow.
“Good grace and omens, you’re annoying,” Salka said under her breath. The stigoi cocked her head to the side and reached out with her hand. Salka stopped for a moment and eyed it suspiciously. She reached out with her own hand and touched the shadowy fingers.
The world exploded in color. Without as much as a thought, Salka took half a step to the right, narrowly avoiding being hit by a falling branch. She took a deep breath and the water pouring down her face felt warm. She smiled and took another step, guided by the stigoi. She heard the whispers of the forest and felt the soil’s warm surface, felt it give way and soften with the rain. She felt where the ground was firm and where it had become like gruel. Salka smiled and, holding her stigoi’s hand, she ran.
She found the other Dola’s house with little effort, but the smile on her face faded when she saw no smoke coming from the chimney. She came up to the door and knocked loudly, but she knew even then that the house was empty. She pushed the door open and called out.
No answer.
She walked back as quickly as she could and prayed that the midwife had somehow known she was needed.
She heard Dola and Maladia’s screams before she saw their house. Her heart sank and she rushed in.
“Where is she?” Maladia turned to the door, her eyes wide and her stigoi standing beside her, cradling her head against her shadowy chest. Salka was shocked to see it so clearly, though it was not as solid as her own.
“She wasn’t in the house. I’m sorry… It’s just us…” Salka looked at the floor. She never felt so useless.
“Snap out of it, girl! We need you!” Maladia said through gritted teeth before her words turned into a long moan.
Salka stumbled forward. She looked back at her stigoi which had pushed her lightly and now stood with its arms crossed.
“Right.” She picked up the kettle and put it on the fire which she was faintly aware was something one would do at a birthing, though she wasn’t quite sure as to what one might do with the water once it boiled.
She walked over to Dola and Maladia who were both kneeling on either side of the same narrow bed. Maladia held Dola’s hands and stared at her intently. Dola’s face was pale and her breathing shallow.
When Salka approached them, Maladia grabbed her hand. “Listen!” she demanded.
Salka’s stigoi put her shadowy hands on her shoulders. Salka closed her eyes and listened. She heard the sharp breaths of Maladia and Dola, the rain hitting the roof. She heard the creaky complaint of the old wooden walls of Dola’s house and the whistling of the wind as it sought a way through the cracks in the door. Suddenly she opened her eyes wide. “Dola’s heart! The baby’s heart! Something’s wrong, it’s too fast!” she said, color draining from her face.
“Salka?” Dola whispered. Her eyes were unfocused, as if she couldn’t quite recognize the woman in front of her. “Come. Here,” she said with effort.
Salka came to her side and kneeled on the floor next to her. “How can I help? I don’t know what to do…”
Dola’s body went rigid, only to relax after a moment. A groan escaped her lips. “Cut it out,” she said. “It’s why you’re here. Do it.”
Salka recoiled. “I can’t! I don’t know how to! It’ll kill you!”
“I’m dead if you don’t,” Dola said with effort. She reached out, but instead of holding Salka’s hand she reached for her stigoi. And Salka understood what she was meant to do. She watched Dola for a moment, and pursed her lips. She nodded.
She walked up to the kitchen and, with a shaky hand, picked up a knife and a whetstone. With a slow, deliberate movement, she ran the blade alongside it. She took off her leather belt and ran the blade along that too, until it was so sharp it could cut a breath in two. She put the blade in a bowl and poured boiling water over it, breathing a half-forgotten, but earnestly meant prayer. All the while, her stigoi stood by her side, watching. Salka put the knife on a clean folded cloth and brought it onto the bed.
Dola reached out with a shaking finger to point at a small basket in the corner. Inside it, Salka found a needle and thread. She threaded the needle and placed it on the cloth by the knife. She knelt by Dola’s side. Dola’s face was covered in sweat, and the long strands of her brown hair were stuck to her forehead.
“Can you lie down on the bed?” Salka asked.
Dola didn’t respond, but, with effort, she lifted herself up and sat on the sweat-soaked mattress. In that moment, Maladia screamed in pain and grabbed Dola’s hand. They locked eyes, breathing heavily, and so they remained, as Salka put her leather belt between Dola’s teeth to bite down on.
She lifted Dola’s nightshirt and raised the knife.
“Steady now,” Maladia said, without taking her eyes off Dola, and Salka wasn’t sure whether the young striga was talking to her or herself.
Dola lifted her finger and with it drew a line on her stomach where the cut should be. Salka put the knife to the quickly fading line made by Dola’s fingernail and pressed. The sharp blade went in easily, followed by a trickle of blood. Salka’s stigoi hovered over the two of them and descended on Dola, both embracing her and keeping her still. Salka bit her lip so hard her teeth broke the skin, as she forced herself to pull the knife horizontally across Dola’s skin.
Dola’s eyes widened and she groaned, but the stigoi kept her from thrashing about.
A hard ball
rose in Salka’s throat and her eyes watered as she pushed the knife through layers of fat and muscle till the pale whitish pink of the womb was revealed. She glanced at Maladia, but the older striga was now entirely engrossed in her own labor as she shifted to a crouching position and panted. Salka took a deep breath and cut.
The baby boy came out pale and quiet. Salka pulled him out and put him on Dola’s chest. Even though he was tiny, no bigger than Salka’s forearm, the woman was too weak to hold him, and he began sliding down as her arm fell limp to her side. Salka’s stigoi was there in an instant, gently supporting the child, and bringing him back to Dola’s breast.
A loud groan and a crashing sound came from the other side of the bed, where Maladia was on her knees, her face hidden in her folded arms.
Salka’s hands shook as she removed the afterbirth and picked up a needle to sew the wound shut. A gasp from Maladia and a weak cry came from across the bed. Salka looked up to see Maladia holding her child to her chest. Their eyes met and Salka thought a smile, but it had no time to come to her lips. She began sewing up the wound, stitch by stitch.
“Salka!” Maladia called out. “Look!” Her eyes went wide with horror.
Dola’s body convulsed, her eyes rolling back in her head. Salka’s stigoi caught the baby before it rolled on the floor and placed it gently in Maladia’s arms.
“Help her!” Maladia screamed, holding both the babies. She suddenly looked at Dola’s child’s face and her face twisted in horror. “Salka, it’s not moving! Dola’s baby’s barely breathing! Help it!”
“I don’t know how!” Salka struggled to keep Dola down. “You can do it. Markus must have showed you.”
“I can’t, Salka, I’d kill them if I tried it. My stigoi’s not as strong as yours, and I’m spent after the birth. Why do you think you’re here in the first place–” Maladia suddenly stopped, her face white.
Salka looked from Maladia to Dola and was struck by a sudden realization. “You knew about the Windry Pass… The potion…” Her expression hardened. “It’s no matter. There will be time to explain later. Which you will do.”
Salka placed her hand on Dola’s chest. Her stigoi followed suit. Her eyes glistened wet in the half-light of the room. The blazing fire in the chimney went out like a blown-out candle and Dola’s seizures stopped, her body soothed under the stigoi’s dark hands.
“Put the baby on her chest,” Salka ordered. She then placed her other hand on the baby’s bluish skin. The stigoi behind her grew until the entire room was darkness. The air cooled rapidly. Maladia scrambled for a quilt, which she wrapped around herself and her newborn. Frost patterns formed on the windows, flowery forests climbed up the glass and spread to the walls as the rain kept battering the house.
“I can’t…” Salka stood rigid, icicles forming on her lashes as her tears fell down. “The stigoi wants more… I’m scared it will take you to save Dola. I have nothing else I can take; I need to balance it.”
Salka’s hands grew cold and claw-like, while the bodies of her patients glowed in the darkness. A loud crack and a rumble shook the house as a lightning struck a pine somewhere close.
Yes! Salka beamed and looked up, her sight moving past the darkness of the room, past the roof and the canopy of the trees. Soft tendrils erupted from her stigoi and travelled high until at last, they found what they needed.
A hot red light filled the room, the electricity filling the air. Salka’s curly hair escaped from under her scarf and surrounded her head like a lion’s mane, each dark curl incandescent. Her skin began to glow, as the energy flowed through her. It was fast, much too fast. She had to redirect and shape it, rebuilding and mending.
Salka screamed.
And then it was over. Darkness once more filled the room. Not the darkness of a stigoi, but of a night in the Heyne Mountains. A once more familiar darkness that now enveloped them in comfort.
“Dola? Are you well? Speak to me!” Maladia crawled to the bed and grappled for her friend’s hand in the darkness.
“I suppose I am,” Dola said, as she reached out and squeezed Maladia’s hand in turn. “And so is he,” she said with a smile, even though tears were falling down her cheeks. Maladia put a finger inside the boy’s hand and was rewarded with a little squeeze.
“And your little one?” Dola asked, her arm already outstretched to welcome Maladia’s child.
“She’s well. Strong.” Maladia looked thoughtful, as she stroked the hair on her baby’s head. Suddenly she straightened up. “Salka! Salka, where are you?” She crawled towards the dark shape, laying motionless on the floor. “Oh gods, Salka, what happened to you? Child, I’m so sorry!”
Maladia scooped up Salka in her arms as she slowly opened her eyes. Salka’s lips felt parched and a searing pain ran through her back. Her clothes were gone, reduced to ashes. She winced as feeling returned to her hands. The skin on her palms was red and raw, layers of it burnt off by the lightning she wielded just moments ago. Raised welts snaked up her arms, like branches devoid of their leaves.
“Did you see it? Did you see what I did?” Salka asked, her voice sounding strange and raspy to her ears.
Maladia smiled through tears. “I did. You were magnificent, Salka. You were everything you were meant to be.”
Salka smiled in return before her eyes rolled back and she passed out.
CHAPTER 39
Alma stood in the rain, knee-deep in water, directing the panic-stricken strigas, as the rivers of mud flowed through their village. Her oiled leather coat gave some protection from the water, though the wind had blown the hood off her head. Her grey hair lashed around her face: a nest of snakes, biting and writhing.
They were evacuating, scrambling to gather their most treasured possessions. The snowmelt came fast, with the torrential storms hurrying on the flood that now threatened to carry away the entire village. Ropes were used to tie the livestock together to stop them being washed away.
“Lesny, what news?” Alma called out across the square. Lesny, drenched to the bone, waded through the ice-cold water until he stood face to face with his leader.
“The western path is flooded. The water was so fast it nearly took me with it. There is no way north either. I don’t know the state of the Windry Pass, but the path towards it is blocked. An avalanche must have fallen once the caps shifted. It won’t melt fast enough for us to go through.”
“Don’t wish for that, foolish boy!” Alma snapped at him. “If it melts too quickly, it will carry all of our homes with it. Never mind that. We’d never manage to get all across the bridge, not in this weather. The south is a cliff, the ways north and west are blocked. That leaves us with one route only.” She strode off towards the center of the village and put an old horn to her lips. Its note rang over the caving roofs of the striga homes, mostly lost among the noise of the storm. “Strigas! We must march east! Gather your belongings! Keep your livestock close and your children closer. I will speak to the Dola elders. They will intercede on our behalf to beg a safe passage through Heyne Town.” She held onto the pole for support, as a wooden crate floated past her. The water was now up to her waist. Her shadow enveloped her like a cloak. She shrugged it off impatiently the moment she felt its warmth.
“Lead the way, Alma!” Tolan called back, leaning on Rida. His head was wrapped in a dirty bandage, now threatening to slip down his face. Rida had a determined expression on her face as she pushed Emila forward. Like many villagers, the family had tied a long rope around each other’s waists, binding them together. If one fell, they’d either be saved or their families would perish with them. It was the striga way. Alma nodded her approval.
She waded through to her house, where Dran stood shivering, his face drained of color, carrying a small pack on his back. Alma tied a rope to his waist and tied the other end under her arms. She had little hope to hold her son back, were he to be swept away, but wanted no hope for herself at all, were he to be lost.
She put her hand gently to Dran’s che
ek. “It’s time, my love. You must make an effort.” He nodded. The same determination she had always been so proud of shone through his dark eyes. “Here,” she said. “Put this blanket over you. Wool will help keep you warm, even when wet.” She held out her arm, and was half-surprised Dran took it. The old woman led her son through the gates of their home.
The strigas walked through the open gate. Most of the houses had been destroyed by the quick-flowing water, with pieces of wooden debris floating dangerously around the villagers. The terrified livestock added to the noise of the storm and the collapsing houses. The way through the forest was muddy, but it had been spared the worst of the flooding. Still, the path was treacherous, with some parts of the route washed away by the torrential rain.
A young child in her father’s arms cried from the cold, and her shadow rose up to envelop her shoulders. Kalina looked up at it and opened her mouth as if to say something, but then just drew her coat closer over her own hunched shoulders. Alma noticed and narrowed her eyes. She walked up to the father carrying his child and exchanged a few tense words. The child turned her face away, but the shadow once more lifted itself from her back, exposing it to the elements.
They had been walking for three hours by the time they arrived at the clearing with the boulders marking the path towards the Dola houses, scattered as they were. The meadow was now only ankle-deep in water, making it the driest spot the strigas had seen since the day before.
The exhausted villagers did what they could to find a comfortable spot to await their leader’s return, as Alma began the trek up the hill.
“No, Dran, you must stay,” she said. She was mindful of Dran wanting to keep his feebleness a secret, but she was also exhausted from the long walk.
Dran objected weakly. She felt a lump in her throat as his eyes gleamed feverishly.
“I’ll be back soon,” she said, pushing a strand of wet hair off his face. He was too tired to bat her hand away. “Find shelter if you can.” She turned towards the strigas. “If I’m not back before sundown, you must head towards the village on your own. Niev, you come with me,” she said to a young striga with red curly hair.
The Second Bell Page 21