“They’re coming!”
“You think they’ll walk through here?” a somber looking woman asked as her young daughter clung to her knees.
“There’s no other path open to them,” Tomlin said. “We have to be prepared. Karam?”
A heavy-set man, maybe ten years older than Tomlin stepped out. “What?”
“Help the women and children hide in Torik’s house. There will be tools and knives in the shed and the kitchen. We must defend ourselves if they attack.”
“If?” Karam sneered. He did not appreciate Tomlin assuming the leader’s mantle and he bristled at being ordered around. “They’re strigas. I bet it’s no accident the town has been flooded just as they seek to invade us!”
Tomlin cast a doubtful look at the ragged group making their way up the hill. An invasion seemed like somewhat of an exaggeration.
“And who’s to say we’ll be safe inside the house? You know what they can do,” Annie grabbed his arm. “We all need to do what we can to protect ourselves.” She looked at him expectantly.
They all stood waiting, watching the strigas approach.
When they were less than a stone’s-throw away, the man leading them called out. “I am Mordat, son of Karina and Marek, once of Heyne Town. I ask for a safe passage for me and mine.”
Karam grabbed Tomlin’s arm. “The law is clear, Tomlin. No striga can go through Heyne Town and live. If you let them go, we will never be safe.” Tomlin shook his arm free.
The wind howled above their heads and the rush of the water below scared Tomlin more than the ragged group in front of him. He raised his hands to signal they should wait and walked towards the rest of the townsfolk.
“This is a decision for all of you. What must we do?” He spread out his hands, asking for answers no one had. They all looked towards the haggard group a mere fifty or so steps below them.
“They will bring their curse onto us!” an old woman grumbled, pulling the shawl closer around her shoulders. She watched the strigas carefully, and there was no pity in her eyes. Many of the townsfolk seemed to agree with her, disgust clear in their faces.
One of the men, however, a widower Tomlin’s father’s age, took a step forward and fixed his gaze on a young woman standing a little way to the right of the man calling himself Mordat. She saw the older man looking and jutted her chin out defiantly. If she noticed the older man’s high cheekbones and his wide jaw, so much like her own, she gave no sign of it.
“Maybe we can let them through?” The older man seemed surprised at his own words and looked down quickly.
“And let them drain us all? They’d pull the life out of us as soon as they come close!” the old woman who spoke previously hissed. She waddled over to Tomlin and jabbed her arthritic finger in his belly. “What you gonna do about it? You just gonna let them kill us all? What the water didn’t manage, you will leave to the strigas to finish?” Tomlin was getting tired of her, but he was brought up to respect his elders, so he merely nodded.
“Go towards them,” Annie said to Tomlin. “Block their passage. They can go down, there is still a path standing by the water. They can go that way.”
Tomlin looked at the flood survivors and took his direction from their scared faces.
“Stay there!” he called out. He turned towards Karam and his teenage son, Pavel. “You two come with me. We need to direct them, so they can pass us by safely.”
“Safely?” Karam spat. “Throw them in the water. No striga’s been allowed to set foot in the town in generations and now we’ll just escort them through like they’re the king of Prissan?”
“There are children with them. Women. Some, I don’t doubt, are human. You gonna let them all drown for the sake of your stubbornness?” Tomlin asked.
Karam pursed his lips but said nothing.
“Good,” Tomlin said. “You and your son can help me make sure they don’t come anywhere near our people. You want to make the demons desperate?”
Karam shook his head. He waved at his son, who had been watching the strigas with great interest.
They walked down to where the shivering strigas stood, some still lucky enough to be leading their livestock, some counting themselves lucky in only managing to keep their families whole. Tomlin noted their clothes, their rough-spun woolen tunics and their much-mended cloaks. A little boy, exhausted by the long march, was tied to the back of a large goat, his mother too weary to carry him. The strigas were quiet. Too tired to talk, too resigned to even fight for themselves anymore, he realized. He thought of how many townsfolk would relish this opportunity to rid the mountains of the striga scourge once and for all. He wondered briefly, once the water receded and the sun came out again, whether he would be judged wanting for his mercy.
“Well, have you decided yet if you’re going to kill us? Because if not, I need to find my people shelter,” Mordat said, barely suppressing a growl that sat deep in his throat. His wife put her hand on his shoulder, and he relaxed. A young girl sat on his shoulders, her small hands folded on top of her father’s head. She watched Tomlin with unsettling eyes.
“You can go past, but not through the hill,” Tomlin said.
“Are we meant to fly over then? Or swim, perhaps?” Rida stepped forward. Her anger had long passed any barriers of self-restraint and she looked as if she’d jump to Tomlin’s throat. Mordat put his arm out in front of her and shot her a warning look.
“There’s a path downhill that still looks secure. My two friends and I will escort you so there can be no suspicion of foul play.”
“We need water and food,” Mordat barked. “Or all your guiding will not save us.”
“Ha!” Karam spat. He looked to Tomlin. “You hear that? What else do they want? Should I call my wife to bake them a cake perhaps? Some molasses for the little stigois?” He crossed his arms on his chest.
His son looked somewhat less certain. “Father, there’s children there.”
“Shut your mouth, boy! There’re children up on the hill too, and they need feeding! You’d give our food to the demons?” He smacked Pavel over the head. The boy stood in silence after that.
Tomlin looked uncertain for a moment. Then he seemed to arrive at a decision. “It’s true we have little enough supplies to share. But we can still trade. For a goat, we will fill your skins with clean water from the rainwater tank on the house. And I’ll throw in some food for the little ones. Not much, mind, just enough to take the edge off for this evening.”
Mordat’s face reddened. His young daughter, exhausted by the long march, sat limply on his shoulders. “Fine. Malia, give them Aleena.” His wife’s face fell, but she untied the goat from the others and pulled on the rope to make it go up to Tomlin. The man took the rope and then nodded to Pavel, who ran downhill and collected the waterskins.
While Pavel ran up to collect the water, they all stood silent. Tomlin noted the rough clothing of the strigas, the primitive stone daggers they kept tied to their drenched tunics. His interest was replaced with shame as he looked at the ragged group. He suppressed the feeling. It would not serve him well that night.
Soon enough, Pavel made his way down, burdened with over a dozen skins, which he threw over his shoulders. Under his arm, he held a large bread loaf pilfered from Torik’s stores. He beamed at the strigas with all the innocence of youth. He was met with stony expressions.
“We better make our way down then.” Tomlin nodded. The walk down the small hill took longer than it took to climb it. The soil was drenched and slippery, and they all took great care, for a single mistake could land them in the rushing waters below.
Once on the path, Tomlin raised his hand to make sure the strigas were listening. “I will go first. Karam and his son will walk last to make sure none of you fall. We have to stay in single file, as you can see. Walk where I walk, and you will be fine.” He coughed and glanced at Karam. “Once on the other side you may take shelter by the mines. As long as the river didn’t wash them away, there will be smal
l huts there. You may stay there till the water subsides.
Karam opened his mouth to object but Tomlin interrupted him “You going digging anytime soon, Karam? No? Then shut your mouth.” Pavel glanced at his father. His face went bright red, making its color nearly indistinguishable from his hair. Tomlin wondered briefly if the blush was from anger or shame.
Mordat nodded gravely and signaled to the other strigas that they should get going.
The path was barely wide enough for a grown man to walk through and merely two feet or so below it the water and the mud that had ravaged the town was rushing by. Here and there large pieces of debris were floating. Tomlin tried not to look in the water for fear he might see more than old walls or pieces of smashed furniture. The river cut into the town, pouring over the main street, the force of the current tearing down the houses on either side. Not everyone had been accounted for yet. The hope was another hill on the western side of the river might have sheltered more of the Heyne folk. Tomlin prayed that once the waters receded there would be more happy reunions than tears over lost loved ones. But it would do him no good to think on it now, when the mud of the path squelched beneath his feet and the ground felt no more solid than jelly.
Behind him followed a somber procession, with Mordat at the end. Tomlin felt a tinge of admiration for the man, who, carrying his daughter, watched over his entire tribe as it made its perilous journey. When Mordat had announced his intention to follow at the back, Tomlin said, “If one of them slips and falls you won’t be able to do anything to help them.”
Mordat looked at him with anger burning in his dark eyes. He struggled for control for a moment and then said, “Then at least I will bear witness to their end. I owe them all that much.”
The rain had stopped but the wind was bitterly cold. Nobody talked, conserving their energy. Emila walked on, barely putting one leg in front of the other. She looked back, casting her eyes one last time at the Green Sister. “Look!” she called out in shock.
Up on the hill, Annie squinted as she looked towards the forest. She gasped. “There’s more coming!” All those gathered were now pointing at the two shapes making their way up the hill. Miriat and Torik approached the edge quietly and strained their eyes in the dark. “That’s Dola!” Miriat said.
“Which one?” Torik looked at her confused.
“Ours! And she looks like she’s… Gods!” She ran, stumbling back down the path, Torik close behind her. She didn’t need to say a word, as the horror on her face spoke volumes. Dola and Maladia called out to Miriat as she ran up to them.
“Wait, before you…” Dola tried to hide Salka behind her back, but Miriat was not to be deterred.
“Salka! She’s alive! What’s happen–” Miriat stopped abruptly as her hands touched her daughter’s emaciated body.
Dola looked down, too ashamed to look Miriat in the eye. “She’s alive. But she needs help. She needs rest and food, though gods know if she’ll be able to keep it down.”
Miriat barely listened. She put her arms around Salka and lifted her off Dola’s shoulders.
“It’s like holding a twig.” Tears filled Miriat’s eyes. “And her hands… What’s happened to her hands?” She held Salka close to her chest. She felt a small shiver as something touched her shoulder.
“Miriat!” Torik said, in shock. He pointed, with a shaking finger, at the stigoi sitting next to Miriat.
“It’s all right.” Dola raised her hands. “It’s Salka. It’s still her, Miriat. She will do you no harm.”
“I know that. Don’t you think I know that?” Miriat said, and in that moment, she knew it to be true. She looked at Salka’s stigoi, her daughter’s shadow, which at that moment looked more like the daughter she’d known than the slight body in her arms, teetering on the brink of life.
“Mama?” Salka’s eyelids fluttered. She saw her mother and tried to smile. “I’m sorry I left you.”
“I know, baby, I know. Don’t worry about that. I’m here. I’m with you now,” Miriat said. She smiled, though she couldn’t stop the tears falling down her cheeks.
Salka raised her hand and wiped a tear off Miriat’s face. “I’m all right, Mama, really. Help me sit up.”
Torik moved to help but Miriat warned him off with a look.
“Let me carry her,” he said. “I have some food at the house. Water. Let me help. Please.”
“I’ll carry her.” Miriat stood up, Salka in her arms. She staggered but gave Torik a look that kept him silent. She made her way up the hill, Dola and Maladia close after. The townsfolk moved aside so she could pass, more out of fear than respect, Miriat thought.
“I can hear the river, Mama,” Salka said. “Show me the river.” Miriat closed her eyes and nodded. She didn’t trust herself to speak.
They moved to the edge, and Salka gestured for her mother to set her down. Miriat kneeled behind her daughter, so Salka could lean on her. Dola and Maladia stood behind them. The townsfolk watched in silence. They all felt they were witnessing something deserving of it.
“What’s going on there?” Pavel looked up at the folk gathered on the hill. His father put a heavy hand on his shoulder and squinted. The moon shone bright, but even so, he had a difficulty discerning the shapes above them.
Suddenly his eyes widened in horror. Right above their heads, a dark shape loomed. In the night it could be almost mistaken for a human, but the shape itself flowed like the river.
“Treachery!” Karam screamed. “They sent their demons up the hill! They mean to kill us all!” He lunged at Mordat and started punching indiscriminately. Mordat turned away just in time to shield his child from the blows, trying to block Karam’s punches with his forearm
“Father, no!” Pavel tried to pull his father away.
“What’s going on?!” Tomlin screamed from ahead of them. The path was narrow, and he could not go around “Karam, stop it!”
“Stop this madness!” Tolan called out in alarm. “Nobody means your people any harm!”
“Liars!” Karam screamed. He punched Mordat again in the face. The striga stumbled backwards, dazed, and let go of his daughter. A moment swept by and she slipped into the dark water with a shriek.
“No!” Pavel didn’t stop to think. He jumped straight in.
“Pavel!” Karam looked on in shock, suddenly sobered. “No! Son, come back!”
As the water rushed past them, the two children’s heads disappeared underwater, only to appear moments later. Pavel was holding onto the little girl’s body, but the rush of the water made it impossible for him to swim to the shore.
“What’s happening there?” Maladia approached the edge of the hill. She looked down and gasped. “Someone’s in the water!”
The townsfolk all rushed to see. A small woman made a strangled cry as she looked down. “My boy!”
“I’m sure it’s not him, Alana,” an old man comforted her. “It’s too dark to see. I bet it’s just a stigoi.” He checked himself and glanced at Maladia fearfully to see if she’d heard him. Maladia stared back at him blankly.
“No, it’s him! I see his red hair! Look! He’s holding somebody… A child.”
Down below the strigas attempted to throw a rope towards the boy, but each attempt failed. They watched helplessly as the children’s heads disappeared and reappeared further down.
“The tree!” Mordat screamed. “If he can only get to it! Swim, boy! Swim!”
Pavel seemed to hear the cry, and he thrashed in the water, aiming for the lone tree some fifty yards down the river. The wide branches hung just above the water, skimming its surface. With a grunt, the boy managed to grasp one of them with his hand, but the effort of holding the striga girl’s head above the water meant he couldn’t lift himself up onto the tree.
“Let go of her!” Karam called out. “For gods’ sake, boy. Just let her go!”
Mordat spun around and with a growl hurled himself at Karam, his fist connecting with the man’s jaw. A loud crack and a yelp of pain and the bi
g man was on the ground. Mordat pulled his elbow back, preparing for another strike, when a hand on his shoulder made him hesitate. “Our daughter is out there, dying. I need you now, husband.”
Mordat turned around and looked into his wife’s eyes. With an effort, he clasped her to his chest. He looked down at Karam, trying to control his voice.
“If she dies, so do you,” Mordat said through gritted teeth. He stood up and looked to the water. “We have to do something.” He looked around.
“We have some ropes. If we can make a raft and throw it towards them…” Tolan said.
“It’ll be too late.” Mordat pulled at his hair. “Tie a rope around me. I will grab some driftwood and you can pull us out.”
“And how will you swim back with the two of them? You will all drown!” Rida piped in. Her words were hard but her blanched face showed she was as affected as the rest of them. Emila stood next to her mother and held her hand as they all looked towards the water and counted the seconds until the boy would lose his strength and let go.
Dran watched on from the edge. He had immediately sat down once they stopped walking. His face was bright red as he struggled to breathe. Kalina stood next to him, unseen, watching as his chest rose up in halting breaths. Her face was blank as she turned away.
Above, the noise and the shouting reached Salka’s ears. Her eyes fluttered open. “Let me see.” Her voice was no more than a whisper now and her chest rose and fell rapidly.
“Don’t worry, my girl. There is nothing there to see. Just rest now.” Miriat whispered, her hand resting on Salka’s cheek.
“No. Let me see,” Salka said. Her eyes flashed angrily. Miriat looked at Maladia and Dola, who approached her in silence and helped her bring Salka closer to the edge.
“They’ll drown,” Salka said. Beads of perspiration fell from her forehead as she struggled to lean forward to see better.
“Yes,” Miriat said. There was no point in lying.
Salka shook her head. Her stigoi sat next to her, her face turned towards where the boy fought for two lives. Salka raised her hand and the stigoi clasped it in hers. As it did so, they both seemed to grow a little, or perhaps it only appeared so to Miriat as she watched her daughter through tear-filled eyes.
The Second Bell Page 25