The Wolf and the Sorceress

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The Wolf and the Sorceress Page 2

by Brian Pemberton


  “There is a mine shaft down below,” said one of the men, “and I suppose the ground here was too weak. One of the kids fell down a fissure that appeared and he is trapped down that hole.”

  “How deep is it?” asked one of the men who had arrived with Jakob.

  “We’re not sure. But if you listen closely, you can hear the boy crying.”

  Jakob looked into the darkness of the crack in the ground and saw that it was far too small for a man to crawl down. “Can’t we make the hole bigger?” he asked.

  “We tried that, but the sides keep crumbling. It’ll bury the boy before we could ever reach him.”

  “We are going to try and dig a new hole then dig horizontally to the shaft and hopefully break into it and get him out that way,” said one of the village miners.

  Two days later and working day and night, they had only managed to dig ten feet into the hard rock-filled ground. Everyone was tired, irritable, and short-tempered that despite all the effort put into the dig, they had not reached the boy.

  “Can’t hear no noise from down there,” said one of the men. “I reckon the poor little mite must be dead. No food or water for nearly three days now, and he must have been injured in the fall. Send for the Parson to say a prayer for his soul.”

  The boy’s mother screamed and burst into tears. “You can’t abandon him, not leave him there. Please get him out so we can at least give him a decent funeral.” The woman’s husband dropped the pickaxe he was holding and went to his wife. Taking her gently into his arms he told her that they would not give up until he had been rescued.

  Nemeila sat quietly at the table, absentmindedly stirring the bowl of porridge before her. “He’s still alive,” she muttered.

  “Who’s still alive?”

  “The boy father went to try and save.”

  “How would you know?” asked Taliena.

  “I just do,” Nemeila said, looking up at her mother. “I think I might be able to save him.”

  Taliena suddenly went cold. Should her daughter be found to have the powers of witchcraft, she might be taken and burnt. There had always been legends of witch-hunts, ever since she was a girl, although she had never actually heard of a burning. “I know you can make things move just by thinking about it,” Taliena said, “but if you show those people what you can do, I will lose you as a daughter and you might be hounded to your death.”

  “He will die, long before they reach him. Trust me mamma, they won’t find out.”

  Taliena had tears in her eyes as she looked at Nemeila. “Come on, we’ll ask old Ma Indigo if we can borrow her horse and buggy, I’m sure she won’t mind.”

  When they arrived at the campsite they saw only panic and frustration. The men were busy digging at the hard ground, but progress was painfully slow. Jakob went over to the buggy wondering why they had come.

  “I can help, father,” Nemeila said, climbing down, and stretching.

  “No you can’t. Just what do you think you can do that’s not already being done?”

  “Lower me down on a rope. If I can reach him, I’ll bring him back.”

  “I don’t think so. That hole is too small for you to climb down, the boy is already dead best we let his parents bury him in peace.”

  Nemeila closed her eyes, for as long as she could remember she had always been able to feel things in other people, to almost second-guess what was about to happen before it actually did. “The boy is still alive,” she said.

  A woman standing close by heard her, turning she called out to the men digging, “This girl says the boy is still alive.”

  Everyone turned to stare at Nemeila and Taliena. “How do you know? You’ve only just arrived here. Go home before you cause more suffering to the boy’s parents.” He made to grab Nemeila but Jakob took his wrist in an iron-like grip. “You touch her, and I’ll break both your arms.”

  Nemeila went to the derrick and looked down the narrow opening in the ground. “I can get down there,” she said, “tie the rope around me and lower me down on that winch.”

  Jakob turned his daughter to face him. “You are not going down that hole, that’s final.”

  “I’m the only one small enough to fit,” she said, confidently. “Besides, what can happen, other than me succeeding?” Her smile was like a beam of sunlight.

  Everybody’s heart melted, and they all gathered around her telling her what to do.

  The hole was too narrow for Nemeila to sit in a belted cradle, so they tied a rope around her chest and under her arms, and then attached another line for her to tie around the boy, should she reach him. One of the men showed her how to tie a secure knot, and told her to tug hard on the line when she was ready for them to lift them out. The hole was tight, and at first she didn’t think she would manage to squeeze through. After a bit of twisting and turning she disappeared from sight, and the rope holding her was let out slowly. It was as dark as coal once her head had passed the fissure opening, and jagged pieces of rock clawed at her legs and arms as the men above continued to lower her. She closed her eyes, clenched her left hand into a fist and willed there to be light. For a moment nothing happened, and then from under the gold amulet on her arm, a glow of light appeared. It was just a dull light so that the people above would not see it. When Nemeila opened her eyes she was able to see down to the bottom of the shaft. She saw the boy curled into a ball, one of his arms all twisted as if it had been broken in the fall. The side of his face was covered in blood, but all that didn’t matter, she could feel his heart beat and knew he was still alive, albeit barely. He had landed on a small ledge barely big enough for him to rest upon. Looking past the ledge the shaft went down beyond sight, she shuddered at the thought of him falling further. There was very little space to place her foot but she managed to put one toe of her boot on the edge of the ledge and then supported herself by leaning against the shaft wall, with her other leg behind her holding her upright. Bending down she looped the rope around the boy’s chest and under his arms, tied the knot, as she had been shown: left over right, and under; then right over left and under, pulling the loops of rope tightly together. When she was sure the knot was secure, she tugged hard on the rope. The rope went taught and slowly the boy’s body began to rise from the ledge. The shaft was too narrow for them to be pulled up together, so when he was clear of her head, she tugged on the rope holding her. As the boy neared the surface, she willed the light from the amulet to go out, and she found herself in total darkness again. Finally she was breathing fresh air, and the dark clouds above, threatening rain looked very welcoming. Jakob took her into his arms and held her so tightly she thought he would crush the life from her. “Nemi, I’m so proud of you,” he said, his eyes filling with tears.

  Taliena was almost pushed to one side as the villagers crowded around Jakob and Nemeila. “Let’s go home,” she said, placing her hand on Jakob’s arm.

  Jakob helped both his wife and daughter onto the buggy, then climbed aboard and took up the reins.

  “I don’t know how to thank you,” said the boy’s father, “should you or your family ever need a favour, or help of any kind, I’ll be there for you.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” Jakob said, nodding at the man and smiling. With a flick of the reins and a “Gee-up,” the horse began to pull the buggy away from the crowd.

  As Jakob went from sight there was a rumble under their feet. As they turned towards the derrick they saw it disappear from view, then the fissure closed up tight.

  Nemeila found that influencing events just by concentrating her thoughts, was fun, and although she was careful when she practised this gift, one of the girls she played with saw her move her hand so that the flight of an arrow towards a target aimed at by a boy, missed the bulls-eye altogether.

  “How’d you do that?” the girl asked. “That boy never misses his mark.”

  Nemeila turned suddenly, staring at her friend, guilt making her blush. “I didn’t do anything,” she said, “I was just wavin
g a fly away from my face.”

  “Well, that was his third and final arrow in the game they’re playing and his first two were dead centre of the bull. Show me how you did it, or I’ll tell.”

  “I didn’t do anything,” Nemeila said, feeling the lie choke her. “Besides, he always wins, he probably lost his concentration. It’ll do him good to lose once in a while; anyway, I want Josh to win.”

  “I thought you were my friend,” said the girl, “and friends are supposed to share things with each other. I saw you, as he fired, you waved your hand and the arrow flew straight past the tree.”

  Nemeila suddenly felt the urge to tell someone about her secret, and wondered if she could trust her friend. “I don’t know how I did it. But you must promise, if I tell you a secret, you won’t tell anyone else.”

  “OK,” said the girl, linking her arm with Nemeila, and grinning like a Cheshire cat.

  “I had to think really hard to make the arrow miss the tree. If I put all my thoughts to move something, it sometimes happens, like then, as he let fly the arrow. It doesn’t always work, and quite a few times, when I’ve tried to pick an apple from a tree the whole branch has crashed down.”

  “So… you’re a witch,” said the girl. “It’s said that only witches can do magic.”

  “No I’m not,” Nemeila said, indignantly. Thinking that if she could turn this so called friend into a toad, her secret would still be safe. “Carla, are you going to tell on me?”

  “Nah! I don’t like him much neither. If I could just wave my hand and make him do things, I’d make him trip up and fall in that muddy puddle along the path.”

  They both laughed, then, arm in arm, they wandered into the clearing to watch the other boys take aim at their targets.

  Not long after this incident, Nemeila’s village was given warning, about a large rogue bear terrorising neighbouring villages. It had already killed three adults and a child. The village elders were worried that it could easily reach their homes. The last place it had been seen was only a league and a half away; all the children had been warned not to stray from home until it had been captured or killed. Jakob was away from home, doing what he did to earn a living, trapping animals for their pelts. Nemeila’s mother had taken a job cleaning one of the well-to-do houses on the far side of the village. Nemeila was bored, there were no chores to do, because being alone, and not having her mother there to scold her, she had put her gift to good use. A dish mop was cleaning the dishes in the sink magically. The broom was dancing round the room brushing the dust and dirt into a heap ready for the dustpan to collect. A duster was feeling its way across the work surfaces and around the ornaments with far more care and enthusiasm than she herself might have managed, when there was a knock on the door. Panic suddenly kicked in; what if whoever was there saw the things moving on their own accord, it would be the prison for sure, maybe even the stake. She turned towards the broom and raising her hand, said, “Stop!” Instantly the broom fell to the floor, in doing so it knocked down one of her mother’s prized vases. The resounding crash made Nemeila take a deep breath and grit her teeth. The duster also stopped its work and dragged a framed painting from the wall. The frame broke apart as it hit the floor. In absolute horror she looked at the mess then turned and opened the door. “Hi, Nemi, what was all that breaking noise?” asked her friend. “It sounded as though you were having a real smashing time.” Nemeila grimaced, turned her head to look back at the mess scattered across the room. “If I’d known it was you, Carla, I wouldn’t have worried. When you knocked I was watching the broom and the duster dancing round the room, cleaning. But my mother said if the Sheriff ever found out about my gift, I would be classed as a witch and thrown into prison; or worse, she said they burn witches at the stake.” “Come on, I’ll help you clear up the mess,” Carla said, “I was hoping we might take a hike along the ridge, there is an old deserted barn up there; a great place to play games. What d’you reckon?”

  “I reckon my mum will kill me when she gets home,” Nemeila said, as she tried to straighten the picture frame. “That broken vase was one of her favourites.” She managed to almost straighten the wooden frame, but the joints were none too secure. The picture was only a little bit crooked when she hung it back on the wall; she hoped her mother wouldn’t spot it. The vase, though, was irreparable, no amount of magic, at least the amount that she knew, could put it back together again. She swept the broken pieces into a heap in the corner ready to tell her mother what had happened. Although she did think it might be better to say she knocked it down as she passed, knowing how her mother hated it when she practised her gift.

  “I know, let’s call on some of the other kids,” Carla said, grabbing Nemeila’s arm, “we could play hide and seek.” “OK, sounds like fun,” Nemeila said, “at least it will take my mind off these broken things, until my mum gets home.” They rounded up another three girls and four boys, and then laughing and joking, and chasing each other about, they made their way along the ridge towards the deserted farm with all its derelict outbuildings. The day wore on, and as the sun started to go down, they all decided to make their way home. With the buildings a little way behind them they started to make their way towards a small stand of trees, as they got closer a huge brown bear ambled out into the open. Everyone screamed and scattered. Carla stood wide-eyed with fear. Nemeila watched in horror as the bear stared directly at her and began loping towards them. “Quick,” she said, grabbing Carla’s arm and pulling her back towards the barn. She glanced behind and to her horror saw the bear chasing after them; it would only be a matter of moments before it caught them. Almost falling inside the barn, they quickly slammed the doors shut. But the wood was old, and the bar to hold them closed would not be strong enough to withstand the force of at least eight hundred pounds of solid muscle if the bear threw itself against them. Carla was shaking with fright, and Nemeila couldn’t think of a worse time than now. The two girls pressed themselves against the rear wall of the building as the bear tested the strength of the doors stopping him getting at the fresh meat – Nemeila and Carla. Once inside, both knew the bear would kill them. Nemeila looked around her, then she saw a large storage bin with a lift-up lid, used to keep corn or oats in. “Give me a hand to push this against the door,” she said, pulling Carla’s arm. The two girls tried as hard as they could to move the bin, but it was too heavy. The bear slammed against the door and they saw the stay-bar bend to its limit. Both girls knew if the bear hit the doors as hard the next time, it would break.

  Nemeila looked at her friend, then round at the bin, holding her arms out before her she willed the bin to move. At first nothing happened, and again the doors creaked and partly splintered as the bear threw its weight against them. “Help me, Carla, hold onto my arm,” said Nemi. Carla screamed and held on to Nemeila for comfort and strength. Nemeila closed her eyes and with every ounce of her will, called upon the amulet and her powers to help her. A white fog crept from under the gold band on her arm, gathering in size as it drifted towards the large storage bin. Nemeila opened her eyes and willed the box to slide across the floor to cover the doorway. As though a superhuman being was behind it, the box slid with ease across the floor of the barn, coming to rest across the two doors just as the stay-bar finally snapped. Nemeila and Carla stood wide-eyed as the clawed paw of the bear broke away the rotting timber, but the bin held firm.

  Outside they heard the shouts of their friends and the deeper, gruff voices of the men from their village. Then for a moment all was quiet; they saw the claws withdraw from the door and as the bear let out a loud growl several arrows found their mark. Carla’s father was amongst the first of the adults to peer through the hole in the woodwork, but was unable to push open the doors. “How did you both get in there?” he asked.

  Nemeila was suddenly afraid, more afraid of her secret being found out than of the bear they’d just faced.

  “We climbed in through a window,” said Carla, “it was lucky that box had been put wh
ere it was or the bear would have got us.” She linked her arm through Nemeila’s and smiled. “I won’t tell. If you hadn’t done that,” and she indicated towards the grain bin, “we would be dead.”

  All the kids were scolded by their parents, but none of them were punished for straying away from their homes to play, everyone was just happy that the threat from bear had ended without anyone being hurt.

  Over the months as Nemeila grew older, Taliena tried to teach her daughter all she knew about surviving on a small budget: how to cook, and how to sew to make their few clothes last longer, which plants were edible and which contained deadly poisons.

 

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