The Second Bell

by Gabriela Houston

  Salka got up from her chair and walked up to the window, to give them a moment alone. There are some moments that are private.

  The rain seemed to be letting up, so she opened the window slightly, and let her stigoi loose. Its tendrils ran across the windowsill and deep into the soft soil. She closed her eyes and let herself feel the sweet smell of the thawed ground and the plants releasing their aromas into the air. The stigoi snaked and danced among the fallen branches and dug into the ground, disturbing the moles and the earthworms. It went up the wind-snapped trees and tasted the fresh sap. It twirled around the raindrops as they fell, only to bounce up in their last brief dance before going back into the earth. She felt the tremors of the trees and the branches falling down, the distant roar of an overflowing spring, a roar that was suddenly less distant than before. She opened her eyes.

  “Dola! Maladia!” she screamed. “We must go! Now!” She ignored their puzzled looks. She could feel the groan of the trees as water washed around them, pulling at their roots, as it searched for a path. It was too close, too fast.

  “To the roof!” She picked up a couple of blankets from the bed, and looked exasperated for a moment before screaming at the motionless women, “Now!”

  They listened, more because of Salka’s stigoi’s suddenly threatening presence, than because of her scream.

  No sooner did they reach the top of the stairs than the water hit the house. It burst the door to splinters and lay waste to what only moments before had been a comfortable room. Dola unhooked the latch on the hatch door leading into the attic and they tumbled inside. The entire house groaned, like a large man struggling to stay upright.

  “What do we do?” Dola screamed. “There are no windows here! We’ll drown!”

  “More likely we’ll get washed away first,” Maladia said. Her face was ashen, as she looked through the hatch to see the water level rising quickly.

  “Not if you help me,” Salka said. She walked up to the eaves and reached out to Maladia with her hand. Maladia nodded and gave her baby to Dola.

  Salka and Maladia put a hand each on the roof between the support beams. “I haven’t used it like this before.” Maladia hesitated. “I could burn us.”

  “Not burn.” Salka smiled. “You use what’s on hand.” She pointed at the hatch with her chin. “Listen to it. Feel the water’s strength.”

  Maladia nodded and closed her eyes. Her stigoi reached down through the hatch with Salka’s and at the same time pushed with a shadowy hand at the roof. The sudden burst of energy pierced a hole in the roof’s planks, showering them in fine dust.

  Maladia stared at it for a moment, her expression elated. She turned towards Dola and laughed, the sound of her voice merging with the thundering sounds of the water below. Salka and Maladia climbed through first so that Dola could pass them the babies. Then it took both of the stigois to pull Dola upwards, making her shoot up through the hole in the roof before she landed with a loud grunt.

  “What now?” Dola asked massaging her bruised bottom. She looked below and her eyes widened. In the evening light, they saw the torrential water pour down the mountainside, washing away everything in its path. The house’s strong walls were the only thing that kept it standing, though it was impossible to say for how long.

  “It will wash away at the foundations and pretty soon the whole thing will collapse,” Maladia said.

  The house was now an island in the middle of a river. The water was battering its walls, washing away pieces of wood. There was no trace of the small orchard and the henhouse.

  “My chickens!” Dola covered her mouth with her hands.

  “We’re next if we don’t find a way off this roof,” Salka said.

  “If we could find a way to cross over to those trees, we’d be safe.” Maladia nodded towards the large pine growing just outside of the water’s reach.

  “Is there a ladder here? Or something long enough to make into a bridge?” Salka asked.

  Dola shook her head. “Of course not. Can you imagine me on a ladder?” And the image was so ridiculous, their situation so hopeless that all of them suddenly burst out laughing. Maladia sat down, cradling her baby as her laughter turned into a sob.

  The silence that followed was interrupted by Salka, who screamed, “Look!” pointing at something in the dark.

  Dola squinted. “A tree.”

  “It’s floating down, it will be here in a moment. We can use it!” Salka shook Maladia’s shoulder. “Give Dola your baby.”

  “What?” Maladia looked confused.

  “Now! We don’t have time!”

  Dola reached out and picked up Maladia’s daughter, who was wailing now.

  “What do I do?” Maladia asked.

  “Hold my hand. I will steer you.” Salka reached out her hand.

  The moment their skin touched, Maladia felt a sharp pull, like someone trying to yank out her hair and teeth all at once.

  “Relax!” Salka snapped. “Let the strength of the water run through you! Don’t block it or it will kill you!”

  Maladia closed her eyes and tried to relax, but the pulling sensation didn’t stop.

  “Let it pour through you. You’re a vehicle for it, not the destination.” Salka gritted her teeth. “It’s like unclenching your fists.”

  And suddenly, Maladia saw it. There was no stopping it. The power of the water rushing below them, the force of it moving through her. She could see its strength, but as if from a distance. If she tried to hold it, it would carry her with it.

  Maladia’s eyes went blank as her stigoi merged with Salka’s. The two of them stood still and rigid as a shadow shot out of Salka’s chest and flew down to where a large pine floated down the river. The combined stigois wrapped themselves around the trunk of the tree, shapeless, and lifted it up. There was a moment of resistance as the tree fought against the current. And then it rose up. Held by the two stigois, it landed heavily, bridging the gap between the roof and the bank.

  Salka opened her eyes and smiled.

  “Maladia!” Dola screamed as Maladia crumpled down.

  Salka rushed to her side and lifted the striga’s head.

  “Wake up!”

  “It was too much,” Dola said. “She’s just given birth. She has no strength for this.”

  “You need to cross.” Salka stood up and picked up one of the blankets she picked up at the house. She tore at it with her teeth and ripped thick long strips. “Tie this around you. I intended that we’d each carry one, but you must hold them both.”

  “I’m not going to leave her!” Dola cried as Salka tied the long strip of fabric around her to provide support for the two newborns.

  “I will take care of her. You will have to support them with one arm, and use the other for balance. It won’t be easy, but you have to make it.” Salka looked at her creation critically. The two infants were strapped tight to Dola’s chest.

  “Nothing has been easy so far. Why should this be different?” Dola said. She looked at the unconscious Maladia. “Bring her to me safely.”

  Salka nodded. She helped Dola climb on top of their makeshift bridge and watched her as she shuffled backward down the trunk. Salka’s stigoi snaked down the tree, shielding Dola from any sudden gusts of wind until she was safely on the ground.

  “What am I going to do?” Salka said out loud, watching Maladia. Her words were carried by the wind. She suddenly felt very tired, and longed to lie down beside the older woman to rest, just for a moment.

  The house groaned and the glass in the windows burst, the shards glistening in the moonlight as they were carried by the current. Salka turned Maladia onto her back, crouched between her legs, and then pulled on her arms till the unconscious woman was sitting up, leaning against Salka’s back. She then snuck what remained of the blanket underneath Maladia’s backside and pulled the ends under her arms to tie them behind her neck just as if she were carrying a goat on her back. Getting up proved to be more difficult, but Salka’s stigoi pushed wh
ere she pulled, and she managed to stand upright. She didn’t dare let her stigoi reach out to the water for strength again for fear it would wash them both away. Instead, she let it draw on her own reserves in slow miserly drips.

  As the first of Salka’s strength poured into her stigoi, Maladia’s stigoi woke up, suddenly enveloping Salka. Climbing onto the fallen pine tree, Salka felt Maladia’s stigoi search and prod, craving the strength that she needed in order to carry them both to safety. Salka’s stigoi responded with outrage, rising like a lynx, growling and biting at the parasitic reach of Maladia’s shadow. It took everything Salka had not to topple over into the water. Her cheeks sunk in, as the two battling shadows drained her body of what little fat she had left. The tree between the house and the bank seemed to stretch forever. Salka peered into the torrential water beneath her and the thought of how easy it would be to shed her burden rose, unbidden. As if sensing her thoughts, Maladia’s shadow entwined itself closer around her, feeding her strength into Maladia’s weakened body. Salka looked to the shore in despair and saw Dola standing there in the rain, cradling the two children in her arms. Salka bit her lip hard, letting a small trickle of blood drip down her chin. Her stigoi moved a soft tendril across her face and took even that. Nothing was to be wasted.

  Salka continued the painstaking journey down. She wouldn’t let them fall. Not even as the muscle under her skin melted away and she struggled for each breath.

  When her feet finally touched the ground, she had no strength to pull herself upward. She fell sideways, tumbling with Maladia to the wet ground.

  Dola’s face loomed over her. “You’ve done well, Salka. You’ve done very well.” Dola’s hand stroked her cheek. Salka merely nodded and closed her eyes.

  CHAPTER 41

  Dran moved slowly, his hand holding together the sides of his cloak, as each gust of wind threatened to pull them apart. He had no words for any of his companions and they were happy to leave him be, each striga wrapped up in their own grief.

  Dran thought of his mother’s house, of the village he grew up in. He didn’t share the other strigas’ sense of loss.

  Let it all wash away.

  There was nothing left, no hope, no pride.

  The escape had exposed him, had exposed his weakness, his sickness to all. And in the end, it didn’t matter. He didn’t manage to keep Salka, and there could be no more hope, no more schemes. He’d likely be dead soon, whether or not they were granted passage by the Heyne folk. His mother wouldn’t see it, at least. That was something.

  They left as the evening light dimmed, just as Alma had instructed.

  Dran observed the people who walked alongside him. None of them knew what he’d done, none of them would have even suspected. If he told them all now, they would probably shrug their shoulders and simply feel a bit less guilty about leaving him behind. He accidentally killed a banished stigoi. His darkest secret, and they wouldn’t even care.

  But she would care. He thought of her dark curls, and how she’d brush them aside when she was irritated. He pictured her face if he told her. She’d look at him with her dark eyes wide-open. Would she recoil from him? He liked to think she’d be compassionate. He’d tell her it was an accident. How it hurt him, how he paid for it every day since, as his other heart seeped poison into his body. Markus made him pay, and Dran’s striga heart would consume him in the end. Salka would see it.

  She’d be angry at first, of course she would be. But then she’d see he was just like her, only wanting to be free of weakness, free of the constraints of his own body. She’d forgive him.

  A gust of wind nearly toppled him over. He leaned heavily on a tree, struggling for breath. Emila saw it and turned away, her face impassive. Mordat paused for a moment and offered him his hand.

  What’s the point? Dran thought, and almost didn’t take it.

  Almost.

  CHAPTER 42

  The first person to see the flood water that rushed towards Heyne Town had no time to raise a cry. His body, carried by a branch that impaled him, was a message for the others. The warning rang from the bell tower towards the houses. The first rush of water in the distance looked like a shimmer until the rumbling current tore through the meadow, levelling the terraces, and tumbling towards the town.

  Torik ran out of his house upon hearing the bell, and stood still for a moment, as he saw the first wave in the distance. The water and the mud combined, in a tsunami that ripped trees from the ground.

  He ran down towards the shop, where Aurek stood, mouth open, in the doorway.

  “Out of my way!” Torik screamed, pushing Aurek aside. Aurek looked at him strangely but didn’t resist.

  He ran to the back of the shop, flinging open the door to the cellar. For a moment he stood still, as Miriat’s face stared back at him.

  “Everyone, run!” Aurek yelled as water poured down the street. The flow of the water had slowed somewhat once it hit the first buildings, but the houses were not built to withstand a flood. Torik grabbed Miriat by the hand and pulled her out of the cellar.

  “Shit! The bell tower’s washed away!” Aurek screamed. Miriat looked into his face. Their eyes met, briefly, and then Aurek looked away. “Take her,” he said, his voice breaking.

  Torik turned to Miriat. “Our house is on the hill. You can make it. Go!” She nodded and ran away at speed. She was chilled to the bone, but one glance at the water made her dig into the reserves she didn’t know she had. The town had changed since she’d left it, but she could find the route to her old house blindfolded. The townsfolk had by now all heard the alarm, and rushed out of their homes, searching for a safe haven. The water in the street was now more than knee-high, and pieces of debris floated quickly, hitting those too slow to move out of the way. When Miriat reached the house, there was already a fair number of people gathered there. Few paid her any attention, as she slunk by the side of the house, not daring to cross the threshold of what once was a happy home.

  She bit her lip as she looked down the hill and towards the town. Water ravaged the small wooden houses, adding the timber of their walls to its deadly cargo. Miriat could swear she saw some bodies floating there as well and she closed her eyes. Best not to see, not to notice a familiar face in the cold water.

  “My house!” somebody wailed, “My beautiful house! It’s gone!” Kind hands on shoulders, a soft word of encouragement, arms supporting in grief. Miriat watched this all, unseen, and felt her eyes brim over with tears. She shrunk into herself, and watched the dark waters tear away pieces of what she once knew.

  “A fantastic bit of living, isn’t it?” a voice near her chuckled. She looked up into Abrik’s eyes. Her own widened as he rubbed his hands together in glee, staring down as the town was ravaged. Estancia stood next to him, a small huddled figure. The woman looked briefly at Miriat and then turned away. She had the decency to look embarrassed at least, Miriat thought. She suddenly felt sorry for her, forced to watch her life float away while her husband looked on with a smile on his face.

  “What’s that over there?” A young girl pointed towards the line of the forest. To the east of the raging water, a column of lights appeared. Like fireflies reflected in a lake. The lights grew closer, in an orderly line.

  “There’s folk out there! They’re coming towards the town.”

  “They’ll get washed away in the mud.”

  Miriat squinted at where the forest met the fields. The torches lit up the night. Her eyes widened in horror. “Oh no…”

  “Marvelous bit of living.” Abrik chuckled, nodding to himself.

  The town loomed in the distance. Mordat raised his hand to signal the strigas to stop. They were all drenched to the bone and tired, the humans among them faring the worst. Had they waited any longer for Alma they would have been washed away by the roaring river. As it was, they teetered on the edge of the narrow eastern ridge hanging above the terraced fields leading towards the town.

  “The water has ripped through the town. We hav
e to keep to the hill or risk being swept away,” Trina said. She was panting heavily as she pulled on the rope in her hand. She was followed by an orderly line of goats and a lamb, trailing in the back.

  Mordat nodded. He was not a natural leader and now felt out of his depth. Rida ceased her complaining a while back, which he felt was a bad sign. She struggled to move one leg in front of the other, leaning heavily on Emila. Niev’s father looked stricken. He meant to stay back and wait for his son once the decision had been made to move the tribe forward, but the choice had been taken out of his hands by the surging waters.

  Dran looked close to death and so everyone had looked to Mordat for leadership. Rest was impossible and moving forward was getting harder. He looked up to where Trina was pointing towards the small houses on the hill and chewed on his lip.

  “We’re likely to meet the entire town up there. We might be better served to find a dry spot in the field and try to set up camp,” Tolan said to Mordat. In spite of his injury, he was carrying a kid goat on his shoulders. He didn’t look like he could hold out much longer.

  Rida scoffed behind him. “Dry? Where?” She made a broad gesture. “I’d rather face down the entire damned town than freeze here out of cowardice.” Tolan looked down at his feet. They all knew she was right. But looking up at the lights on the hill, none of them was sure if the welcome they would receive would not be worse than the rushing water. Tolan looked at his daughter and sighed. Mordat put a hand on his shoulder to show he understood. He himself was carrying his youngest daughter on his shoulders and he shared Tolan’s worries.

  “Keep moving,” Mordat said, quietly.

  CHAPTER 43

  “Wake up, Salka, wake up.” Dola patted Salka’s cheeks. Salka grunted and opened her eyes.

  “She’s awake? Is she all right?” Maladia’s high voice grated on Salka. Her mouth felt dry while the rest of her body was drenched.

  “She’s awake,” Dola said. Her brown eyes were filled with affection and concern. Salka thought nobody, aside from her mother, had ever looked at her like that before.