“A stigoi!” An old woman screamed from the crowd. “It’s growing! Kill it!” Miriat recognized her as the one who had given Aurek a knife earlier. She made a move as if to approach her, but all of a sudden Torik stood between them. His anger seemed to pulsate just beneath his skin. A live thing, threatening to sweep away any that would dare make an attempt on his daughter’s life. Too late in life, Torik became the man Miriat had hoped for.
Salka gasped and the old woman was instantly forgotten. “Hold me up,” Salka said.
Dola approached them and offered her arm.
Salka squinted at where Pavel still struggled to hold onto the branches, though his grip was weakening.
Salka breathed in and lifted her hand in front of her. She felt for the tendrils of her power and sent them down into where the water battered the ground and what was left of the village. She felt for how the current ploughed the soil, for how it pulled out the rocks and all that stood in its path. She slipped her consciousness into it and reached for its strength. She staggered for a moment, as the power of it almost swept her up. But Miriat and Dola kept her upright. “There,” Salka said. “I feel it.”
She spread her fingers and channeled the water’s strength to lift the ground around the tree so it rose up as the water rushed around the new obstacle. The human boy with the girl in his arms looked down in shock as the water that had moments ago pulled and torn at them, receded, and then trickled away.
The strigas on the path looked on in shock for just a moment before they sprung into action.
“Get the ropes!” Mordat screamed. “I don’t know how long we have. Tie something to the end.”
“Here.” Kalina leaned far over the water and pulled out a plank drifting by. She almost fell in as it hit her hand. Mordat tied one of the ends of the rope to his waist, while Lesny tied the plank to the other.
“Throw it, Lesny.” Mordat nodded.
Lesny bit his lip, judged the distance, and threw the plank with all his strength. It fell into the water with a sad splash.
“No matter,” Mordat said. “Try again, now.”
Lesny took a deep breath and, with a spin, threw the plank a second time. This time it hit the ground by the tree but slipped back into the water before Pavel had the chance to grab it.
“You were so close! Again, boy, do it again!” Karam said as he rose behind Lesny. He slurred the words, but his eyes were bright with hope.
This time, Lesny took a couple steps back up the narrow path and ran up to the edge, letting the momentum push the plank farther. This time it fell right by Pavel, who grabbed it with his free hand, still too scared to let go of the striga girl.
“Hold onto it, boy, we’ll pull you out!”
High above the water, the townsfolk barely dared to breathe as the two children were pulled across the rushing water. Then the crowd erupted in laughter and happy tears as Pavel and his charge were pulled into the safety of their fathers’ arms.
Miriat looked into her daughter’s feverish eyes. “It’s all right, baby. You can let go now.”
Salka didn’t seem to hear her. Her sight stretched far beyond the ground below. She felt the cool rush of water and slithered up its current. The pain of the trees as the water tore at their roots. The unexpected and unwelcome change of the water’s route destroying the burrows and crushing the tunneled dens of the forest animals. She swam past the debris and the fallen trees. She paused for a moment as she encountered the drowned face of a boy she once knew. Salka’s stigoi’s hand moved across his pained face, smoothing its lines and closing the eyes. She turned away from Niev in sadness, once more investigating the river bed, looking for where its direction was changed.
Ah. She almost smiled.
It was there, the boulders and the trees, turned and moved. She gave the water a prod, not working against it, but persuading, coaxing it towards the boulders. Pushing, slowly pushing until they began to roll. Like a child’s toy, they moved smoothly now, going back where they belonged, as the water began to flow into its old bed, the deep furrows it had made in the ground holding no more appeal. Salka thought she could almost feel the sigh of satisfaction as the river turned towards its old familiar path.
The townsfolk looked towards their town as the water began to recede. Some shouted and pointed, while others stood motionless, looking instead towards the young girl standing rigid by the edge of the hill.
Salka fell to her knees. Her stigoi retreated into the familiar shape beside her, spreading itself like a cloak over her bony shoulders. It struggled to bring a bit of warmth back into her rapidly cooling body.
“It’s done,” Salka said. She opened her eyes and smiled at her mother.
“No. No, it’s bloody not,” Miriat said through gritted teeth. “Maladia!”
“Yes.” Maladia stepped forward, an uncertain look on her face.
“Save her,” Miriat said. “With your shadow. With your other heart.” She waved vaguely at Maladia’s stigoi. “Save her.” She looked fiercely at Maladia, daring her to refuse.
“I– I don’t know how…” Maladia said. “And there’s nothing for me to draw on. I could kill someone if I just tried to draw on the surroundings. I wouldn’t know when to stop.” She drew closer the two infants tied to her chest. “I can’t risk hurting them.”
“You have me,” Miriat said. She rolled her shoulders and pulled Salka up towards her chest. “Take what you need from me. There’s strength in me. Make your stigoi give it to my daughter.”
“I could kill you,” Maladia said.
“Then you better take care,” Miriat said. She looked almost wild, as she stared at her daughter’s fading eyes.
Maladia passed the two infants to Dola and knelt by Miriat. She hesitated, but one look from Miriat steeled her to the task. She exhaled, and as she did so, her stigoi grew and became more tangible, in some ways more solid than Maladia herself. It put one hand on Miriat’s shoulder and one on Salka’s diminishing shadow.
Maladia’s stigoi lifted both its index fingers and then brought them down quickly. The little tap was felt as an earthquake by those gathered around them, as the shadowy tendrils enveloped Miriat’s arm. The strength seemed to pour from her and into Salka’s body.
Miriat felt her daughter’s hearts, their slowing pulse, and urged her own body to fill them with strength. Torik exclaimed in horror as Miriat’s body began losing its reserves, her fat and muscle burning away.
“You’re killing her!” he screamed. “Here. Me too! Use me too!” He knelt by Miriat and plunged his right hand into the darkness of Maladia’s stigoi, while holding Miriat with the other.
He felt a jolt of pleasure from the stigoi as it began to draw on him also. He fought revulsion as he looked at the pulsating surface of the stigoi’s arm. Less like an arm now and more like a huge leech, with his and Miriat’s lifeblood running down its black body.
He clasped Miriat closer to his chest as he felt his muscles weaken, and skin slacken.
“She saved my son.” Karam’s wife stepped forward. “Take what you need from me also.”
“Alana! You can’t let them touch you!” The old woman looked at her in disgust. “The shadow will pollute you!”
“Shut your mouth!” Alana said.
The old woman stepped back, an appalled look on her face.
“Here.” Alana knelt by Torik and Miriat. “Let me help.” She grasped Torik’s wrist and let the black tendrils wrap themselves around her arm too.
CHAPTER 47
Down below, the strigas all looked up. They all felt the pull of the power that separated the waters and could now see Salka’s stigoi as it moved past them to correct the river’s course.
“What’s happening?” Emila asked.
Dran looked up from the spot where he had sat through the ordeal and gasped as he saw Salka’s face, shining in the moonlight like a death mask. It was almost unrecognizable, except for the two women who held her up.
“Salka…” he said.
/> At hearing the name Mordat looked up sharply. He had taken his shirt and cloak off and wrapped up his daughter warm. “It was her then?”
A whisper ran through the crowd. They had all watched in awe as Salka’s stigoi’s outstretched arms reached into the water and, taut as bowstrings, moved gently till the river gradually ran dry. Salka’s stigoi had now moved up to return to her as slow as spilt molasses while the strigas watched.
“I didn’t know we could do that,” Emila was the first to break the silence.
“Nobody should be able to…” Mordat said. Still, he looked at his daughter in his arms and the words stuck in his throat.
“Hey! Where are you going?” Lesny called out, as he watched Dran scrambling up the hill.
Dran ignored him.
“Hey! You’re going to fall! You’re too weak!” Lesny tried to go after him, but was stopped by Mordat’s hand.
“Look there!” Mordat said.
Salka had fallen into her mother’s arms. Above her stood Maladia, her hair flying wild above her head. Her stigoi loomed above them all, spreading out like a net to collect any strength offered.
“They’re healing her,” Trina was the first to understand. Through it all, she had stayed silent. Pride rang loud in her voice.
“So, Maladia’s a stigoi after all!” somebody shouted from the crowd.
“I suppose she is,” Trina laughed wildly. “By gods, it suits her.”
“Not for long,” Tolan said. “Look! She’s drawing on Miriat’s strength to heal that child. She will kill her. And die too, most like.”
“No, she won’t.” Rida stepped forward. She took a couple deep breaths and stretched out her arms. Nothing happened. She closed her eyes and bit her lip. Her shadow shivered and spun, like floss on a spinning wheel, releasing the thinnest tendril, weak and pale, which slid and slithered up the hill, moving swiftly between the rocks and the roots.
Trina hesitated for just a moment. She looked up at her daughter and ran her fingers through her hair. And from where her hair ended, between her fingers flowed strands of darkness, racing to the ground and up the hill.
Emila stared at her mother with her mouth ajar. Tolan looked at his wife and smiled. He stood next to her and, his hand on her shoulder, he took a breath.
Lesny saw what they meant to do and looked to Mordat for direction. The older man had little to give. He watched the tiny face snuggled to his chest and nodded.
The remaining strigas stood in a line, each one taking a deep breath to free their stigois, which ran up the hill towards Maladia.
Kalina was the last one to join them. She looked at her calloused hands and bit her lip. She searched for her stigoi, but nothing happened. She stilled her breathing and listened to her other heart, weak and starved. If there was a door she could just push open inside her, she couldn’t find it. She looked at the other strigas and, hesitantly, approached the dark stream of their stigois as they made their way up the hill. She knelt by it and reached out with her hand. As her fingertips touched the dark surface, she felt a current surge through her. She gasped. She leaned into it, and for the first time in her life, Kalina let go.
Dran gasped for breath as he saw the stigois flow past him. He looked up at Maladia’s stigoi and smiled. He half ran, half crawled up the hill, hope gleaming in his eyes.
Up on the hill, Maladia opened her eyes and gasped in shock as she watched the faces of Miriat, Torik, and Alana shrink and shrivel. She tried to stop the flow but couldn’t. Her eyes filled with tears as Alana sank to the ground, still holding fast to the stigoi’s arm, her eyes fixed on Salka’s face.
Then what felt like a wave hit Maladia, with her body and mind filling with the strength and love freely offered. Voices in her head struggled to be heard, their fragmented words like prayers.
May she be all right…
Gods, I’m so sorry…
Will it hurt?
So sorry…
Take…
The strength offered poured through her, overflowing. She felt for Salka’s body, and painstakingly rebuilt the muscle and tissue, recreated the fat layers to fill out the sagging skin, ravaging the bodies of others to heal the young woman in Miriat’s arms. And then, gradually, more hands touched the stream, reaching inside it. Maladia turned her head and opened her eyes wide, as one by one, the town folk knelt beside her and touched their fingers to the spreading pool of her stigoi.
Maladia laughed out loud and looked towards Salka. Carefully, lovingly, she gave back what was lost. Salka’s skin closed over the open wounds of her palms. The branch-like scars on her arms pulled together, browned and lightened in turn, till they were no more than silver webs on her skin.
Maladia turned towards Miriat and felt the depth of the love offered. She poured some of it back towards Salka’s mother and returned what she had plundered moments before.
Torik and Alana shivered, as their strength returned and blood once more flowed steadily through the ruin of their veins.
“That’s enough…” Maladia said as the offered strength battered at her walls. “That’s enough!” she screamed. The pain was now hard to bear. But what came in had to come out and she frantically searched for an outlet. Her stigoi smoothed the cracks and fixed what was broken, but still, the river or power flowed through her.
Then she felt a sharp tug as another’s voice whispered in her mind. Not enough. Not done. Not yet. Please…
Something pulled at and redirected the healing flow, drawing it in, greedily tearing at it.
Maladia opened her eyes wide and looked down. She locked eyes with Dran, who watched her with a dreamy smile on his lips.
“Have it then,” Maladia said. She lifted her arms and let it all out.
A piercing scream filled the air, startling the strigas and the humans alike into withdrawing.
Maladia fell to her knees, panting. She didn’t take her eyes off Dran, who lay on the wet ground, writhing in pain. She watched him coldly, as those around her stirred back to life.
Miriat stroked her daughter’s dark curls. Torik hovered over them uncertain, not daring to speak. Salka’s chest rose and fell rhythmically, but her eyes stayed closed.
“Is she well? Did it work?” he asked finally.
Miriat didn’t reply. She held Salka’s immobile body close to her chest and stifled back a sob. She ran the tip of her finger across her daughter’s cheek.
“Salka? Sweetling?” she whispered.
Salka opened her eyes and smiled.
EPILOGUE
“This should keep,” Torik said, trying out the new door he had installed on Miriat’s hut. Miriat gave a curt nod, but there was a hint of a smile in the corners of her lips. Torik beamed at Salka. “I had some blue paint left in my shed. Maybe you and I can paint it later?”
“Salka has her own hut to worry about now, and other things besides. I’ll do it,” Miriat replied before Salka had the chance to. Torik seemed happy with that answer as well.
“There is plenty I still need help with if you can spare the time,” Salka said, dropping the rabbit she’d retrieved from a trap that morning. “The post you reset the last time has shifted and I fear the next storm will tear a great big hole in the roof.” Torik nodded and grinned. Though the last few months had been filled with little but hard work, as he spent every moment he could in the village, his face looked less tired and younger than when Salka first met him.
“Who’s the other rabbit for?” Miriat asked in clipped tones, throwing a bunch of wood sorrel into the pot.
“You know who it’s for, Mama,” Salka sighed.
The air smelled of sweet sap as Salka walked towards a small hut a little way away from the other striga houses. A lot of new timber had been hauled to the village to rebuild what had been destroyed. The Heyne townsfolk helped too, in payment for the strigas’ help saving and rebuilding the town.
Salka noticed with some pleasure that the ground was once more hard beneath her feet, as the summer sun had dried the
winter melt. The strigas she passed smiled and some stopped to ask for advice, though she suspected it was more to make her feel like a true leader than because they needed it.
Salka knocked on the wall of Emila’s hut and waited until the tired face of her once-friend appeared from behind the curtain.
“May I come in?”
Emila looked away, as she always did now whenever Salka addressed her. “Yes, of course, Salka, it’s kind of you to visit us.” She accepted the rabbit Salka brought her with extravagant thanks, until Salka silenced her with a raised hand.
“How is he?” Salka looked towards the raised bench in the corner where Dran sat rocking back and forth. Salka walked forward and brushed a curl off his face. He looked at her for a moment, without recognition. Then he turned back to his feet and continued his unintelligible muttering. The same stolen energy which healed Dran’s foot, seemed to have burned out the essence from him. There were many in the village who wanted him gone after that, and Emila too, once her treachery had come to light.
Salka used her newly gained authority to let them stay. It was the right thing to do. And what did the before matter anyway. They had the now to take care of.
“He’s much the same,” Emila said. “His mind’s still gone.”
“Take care of him. Maybe in time he’ll come back.”
Salka emerged from the hut and smiled broadly at Pavel, who was hauling grain for trade on the back of a tired-looking donkey. He and the other young humans became a not uncommon sight in the village once the passage from town had cleared up a bit. He came up to her with some new piece of gossip from the town as he often did now. She smiled as he chattered away, barely registering his words. She noticed his eyes would often wander to her shadow, guiltily, like she would be offended by it, though it pleased her beyond words to see nothing but eager interest reflected in them. Even though the older humans were still wary of the strigas, and were ever watchful for the signs of the monsters they were brought up to fear, Salka noticed that for the younger generation the striga shadows drew only awe and fascination.
The Second Bell Page 26