The Wolf and the Sorceress

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The Wolf and the Sorceress Page 3

by Brian Pemberton


  Jakob attempted to show her how to set traps for rabbits and birds, to provide meat for their table, but this she steadfastly refused to do. In fact, supposedly unbeknown to him, she would track him through the undergrowth, treading silently among the fallen leaves and keeping to the shadows, whenever he went on a trapping expedition. She would disable the snares as soon as he was out of sight and earshot, and smile secretly to herself when he remarked at the dinner table how the rabbits had suddenly become extremely clever, managing to spring the traps without getting caught. But he never let Nemeila see the knowing winks he directed at Taliena over his daughter’s head. If it meant they had to spend precious hard-earned coins to buy meat at the market these days, it was worth it to have such a gentle and soft hearted child. However, even at nine years old, she understood that her father had to make a living, and when she was unable to save the animals from his traps, she mourned their broken bodies lying on the kitchen floor. But then she dutifully swallowed her sadness to assist Jakob in preparing the pelts for trading, learning the art of curing the skins, which then enabled him to spend more time at home with his family. Although their cottage lay at the far end of their village, Nemeila often ran to join the other children once her chores were finished for the day. Shrieking at the sudden heart-stopping chill, they would plunge into the nearby river for a swim. They would scrape elbows and knees as they swarmed up trees, their sun-bronzed skins giving them the appearance of chattering monkeys. Shouting groups of seekers would crash around in the bushes, searching for their hidden comrades, who were trying to stifle their nervous giggles as they attempted to evade discovery. “Will you teach me how to use a bow and arrow?” Nemi asked her father, one morning over breakfast. “When I come home tonight, I’ll give you your first lesson,” he said. “I have a simple bow you can use, with the string tension about right for you.” Nemi could hardly wait for late afternoon to arrive, and when her father handed her the bow she was thrilled. “Right, first of all, relax your shoulders. Take the bow in your left hand so that the shaft of the bow sits between your thumb and forefinger. Now face me and then turn your head sideways to face the target. Now raise your bow arm in line with the target.”

  She did as she was told so that the bow was in line with her sight.

  “Now using the first three fingers of your right hand hold the string with the crease of the first joints of your fingers. When you are ready draw the string back until your forefinger is tight against your chin. Do not release the string.” Jacob noted her stance. With her bow hand square to the body of the bow, he bent her elbow outwards slightly.

  “If the string catches your arm you will have a bruise that will be very painful,” he said. “Always make sure you have a slight bend at the elbow. Any movement to aim, do with your body, not your head. Bend at the waist to get the target lined up.” Nemi relaxed the tension on the bow string and let the bow down to her side. “It is a lot harder than I imagined,” she said. “How did I do?”

  “OK for a start. Let’s try with an arrow nocked.”

  She held the bow while he placed an arrow in position, then when she was ready she stood looking at her father with her body sideways on to the target. Raising the bow, she drew back the string until her forefinger rested tight against her chin. “Close your left eye, and look at the target along the length of the arrow using your right eye only. When you have the bull’s-eye in sight, release the arrow.”

  She did but when she released the arrow it was way off centre. It struck the black outer ring to the right. “Don’t worry where the arrow landed, try a second shot,” said her father. Her second and third shot all landed close to the first. “Nice grouping, but now you need to come over to your left a bit so that you hit the centre.”

  Nemi practiced for over an hour, but towards the end her arrows were missing the target at times.

  “You must keep your draw hand close to your chin. Your hand drifted away from your face which is why you missed the target. I think we will stop for now, I will teach you again tomorrow.”

  By the time she had finished her evening meal the muscle in her right arm really ached and every time she moved her arm it pained her. The muscle in her left arm was sore, but not as painful.

  “That’s to be expected,” Jacob said, smiling. “You are using muscles that you have not used before and it will take time before you can draw the bow without feeling any pain.”

  With her father’s patience and guidance, she learned how to draw a bow and shoot an arrow with astonishing accuracy that left her friends open-mouthed with amazement and envy. Whatever competitive games they decided to play, Nemeila’s friends always fought over her, knowing that with her on their team, the victory was undoubtedly theirs. Whenever she returned home dripping wet or smeared with mud from head to toe, the result of play or a fight when disagreements reared up amongst the children, Taliena would tut and fuss and scold at the state of her clothes and the scratches and bruises marring her tender young skin. But her anxiety and anger never lasted long once her beloved girl was safe home again. She was a natural leader and it made Taliena very proud of her.

  Nemeila was especially fond of one of her playmates; a dark-haired boy called Josh. His laughing face was covered in sun-baked freckles, and he was forever backhanding the thick unruly mop of curls from his eyes as he chased the shrieking girls around the fields. He was fourteen summers in age, although tall enough for a boy much older, and well-muscled from helping his father on their land. Unfortunately for Nemeila, Josh seemed far more interested in one of the other girls in their group. He would play happily enough with Nemeila and welcome her into all their games, but as soon as Medow appeared, it was as though Nemeila ceased to exist. Josh and Medow would stroll hand in hand along the river bank, and when the games were over as twilight fell, he would place a tanned arm around Medow’s shoulder and she would lean against him, tired after the day’s exhausting work and play, as they wandered home together, deep in conversation.

  Nemeila often choked back scalding tears, the painful lump in her throat leaving her unable to join in with her companions’ jokes and laughter as she trailed behind the pair, separated from the rest of the gang by their closeness to each other. Nemeila had never known what it was like to dislike someone, so she did not understand that the black cloud of unhappiness and loathing she felt whenever Medow appeared was pure jealousy. The feeling ate her like acid, and she came to dread the sight of the slender red-haired girl skipping along the path to join them.

  “Hey, what’s up with you?” asked Taliena, when Nemeila returned home with a face as long as the path outside her door.

  “Nothing,” Nemeila said, “I don’t want to talk about it.” She shrugged past her mother and went to the room her father had added to the back of the house after he’d found her. She sat heavily onto her bed and, raising her arms in the air, twisted them above her head. Everything but the bed suddenly rose into the air and began spinning round the room, making it look like a mini tornado had struck the room.

  Opening the door, Taliena looked at her daughter, and knew, without being told what was wrong. “Come here and give me a cuddle,” she said, holding out her arms towards her daughter.

  As Nemeila turned to face her mother, all the things in the air fell to the floor with a crash.

  Once in her mother’s arms, the tears, followed by heart-rending sobs, brought a lump to Taliena’s throat. “I know what you are going through,” Taliena said, “but for now Medow holds his feelings. You wouldn’t want to hurt either of them, would you?”

  “I could make him want me more,” Nemeila said in a tone full of hurt.

  Taliena looked seriously at her daughter. “Maybe you could, but that wouldn’t be nice, would it? I’m sure he likes you or he wouldn’t laugh and joke with you and chase you around when you play your games.”

  “That was before Medow came along. I hate her!”

  “Hate is a very strong word and an even stronger emotion,” Taliena said,
cupping Nemi’s face in her hands. “I don’t think you hate her, maybe just don’t like her very much.”

  “I wish I was older,” Nemi said, “then maybe he would want me and not her.”

  “It’s no compensation now, but one of these days a nice young man will fall head over heels in love with you, and if you love him in return your life will be fulfilled.”

  Nemi looked up and wiped her face. “I suppose, but I still like Josh very much.” Then a dark thought crossed her mind where Medow suddenly tripped and fell into that muddy puddle.

  One evening, as the sky was shot with red silk at the end of a particularly hot day, the children were playing a game of tag amongst the lush green reeds lining the riverbank. Nemeila had seen Medow arrive and make her way immediately to Josh’s side, so she turned away and, yelling loudly, darted after one of the girls, whose corn-coloured hair was poking up above the reeds like a golden periscope. The children were also in fine voice tonight and were scattered all over the fields, trying to evade Nemeila who was attempting to tag them. Consequently, none of them heard Medow’s screams of terror as she slipped on a patch of slime and tumbled into the fast flowing river. Josh tore down the bank, tripping and sliding, grabbing at reeds to prevent him from falling in after her. Just as he got to within reach of her outstretched hand, his feet flew out from under him and his forehead connected with a gnarled old tree trunk. By the time he had shaken the stars out of his head and clambered back to his feet, Medow had been carried a long way downstream. Only Nemeila was aware of the unfortunate girl’s plight. She halted in her tracks as the girl’s terrified cries echoed in her head, allowing the bellowing boy she was chasing to escape. She saw Josh staggering along the riverbank, clutching his head, a trickle of blood dripping through his fingers. Her eyes followed the direction of Josh’s frantic gaze and she spotted the struggling screaming girl rounding the bend in the river, which would eventually lead to the weir. She urged herself after her, willing her legs to run faster than they ever had at play. As she closed on the bobbing head, its long tresses streaming out like fiery seaweed, Nemeila could hear the roar of the weir long before she saw it, raging like a caged, furious animal. The frothing waters steamed and spat as they boiled over the step-like rocks leading to the river’s lower levels. There was no way to reach the wildly tumbling, spluttering girl before the weir’s angry waters claimed her. Nemeila darted a hurried glance over her shoulder, quickly taking stock of her playmates’ game, ensuring that no one was paying her any unwanted attention. Satisfied that everyone was too occupied with their play to notice her, she raised her arms straight out in front of her. As she began to concentrate her mind, a breeze caught her hair, flicking stray wisps across her determined face. Every thought in her head was directed at holding on to Medow, in exactly the same way as she had mentally grasped a plate before sending it across her kitchen. For a moment, nothing happened and Medow continued to be tossed on her way towards certain death. Then Nemeila felt heat from the amulet travel up her arm, quickening the blood in her veins. A pale glow surrounded the golden band, which became a brilliant effervescence. A spear of molten light shot from her fingertips and struck the girl, whose struggles were weakening as she surrendered herself to the strong current. The aura enveloped Medow’s whole body, buoying her up. Nemeila concentrated harder, slowly drawing her towards the bank. When she was finally out of danger in shallow water, gasping like a stranded fish Nemeila ran to her side and dragged her onto dry land. Medow gave several wrenching heaves before coughing up the muddy river water, and collapsing into Nemeila’s arms. “Are you OK?” asked Nemeila, helping her rival for Josh’s affection to sit up. “Thanks to you, I am,” Medow choked out in gratitude. “I don’t know how you reached me out there, but you saved my life. I saw a sheep go over the weir once, it was horrible, poor thing. Its body was all broken and bleeding when it settled downstream, that would have happened to me too if you hadn’t been here.” The two girls sat for the first time in close companionship, Nemeila’s arm draped across Medow’s trembling shoulders as she lay against her, sobbing quietly. The other children had finally noticed their friend’s plight and had joined Josh in his rush to help. He squatted down, wrapped Medow in his linen shirt and gathered her into his arms. Nemeila realised she was no longer needed and prepared to let Josh provide comfort, while she made her way home.

  “Wait, Nemi. Where are you going?” Josh called out, when he realised she was leaving. He left Medow in the other children’s care and walked to where Nemeila had halted under a spreading beech tree. He put his arms around her and held her to him. “Thank you, Nemi, for saving her life,” he breathed into her ear, before planting a light kiss on her cheek. She blinked back the hot tears that prickled her eyelids, not wanting to betray her feelings to this boy. She no longer hated the pretty russet-haired girl, and she would always have the touch of Josh’s sweet kiss to remember. “It’s lucky that I can run faster than that lot,” Nemeila said, indicating her friends with her thumb over her shoulder, “and that the current pushed her into the bank.” Josh eyed the foaming whitecaps dubiously. He knew the river was wicked enough to take lives, and that once it had a victim in its grasp, would not deliver it up again. He searched Nemeila’s golden-brown eyes for a sign of the lie she had told, but could read nothing but friendship in her smiling face, and decided to let the matter rest. Most of the children she rough and tumbled with were her friends, but a few of the boys were jealous of her ability with a bow and arrow. They also resented her for invariably managing to disarm them when they play-fought with sticks wielded as swords. These lads conspired to find a way to physically injure and humiliate her. One evening, while she was alone, humming absentmindedly as she plaited daisies on the edge of the wood, they crept up on her and pounced before she could stand and defend herself. With their greater physical strength, the bullies wrestled Nemeila to the ground, two of the boys pinioning her legs, while two others knelt on her wrists. The fifth boy, the largest of the group and with the blackest heart, stood over her, gloating at the fear on her face.

  “So, little girl, you think you are better than us, do you? Better at hiding, more skilled with the bow, cleverer at swordplay? When we’ve finished with you, you won’t be so pretty with a swollen bruised face, your teeth knocked out and your hair hacked off. I’d like to see how many fights you win with a broken arm.”

  They all sniggered nastily, as she began to squirm under their combined weights.

  Nemeila opened her mouth to scream for her father, but one of the lads kneeling on her arm gagged her with a filthy paw slapped over her face. The boy, who had so far remained standing, dropped heavily onto her stomach, sending the wind rushing out of her in a choked-off gasp. As he drew back his fist, to slam it into her nose, the amulet glowed into life. A sparkling luminosity radiated outwards, engulfing them all within seconds.

  It was the boys’ turn now to know fear. They released Nemeila to clutch at their burning eyes, which felt as though they were sizzling in their heads. Blinded and terrified, the boys staggered drunkenly around the clearing, caroming off trees and each other. Nemeila clambered to her feet and examined the amulet with a puzzled frown, because this time she had not called upon its power. The glow had faded and she wondered whether it had been a natural phenomenon, nothing to do with her ability to summon the unearthly light. Perhaps the sun’s rays slanting through the trees had struck the golden band. It made no sense that she could see while the others were apparently blind, but she took advantage of the mystery and fled towards the safety of her home.

  She made no mention of the assault to her parents, mainly because she had begun to believe it was her fault after all. Possibly they were right to be jealous of her abilities, a mere girl who could best strapping lads at their games. The entire incident would have passed, had not a group of angry fathers knocked on the woodsman’s cottage door that evening. “Your girl tried to kill our sons,” accused one of the men, stabbing a broken-nailed forefinger into Jakob
’s chest, his tatty salt and pepper beard bristling with wrath. “Used some sort of witchcraft, nearly blinded them.” Jakob stepped away from the man’s foul breath, and calling Nemeila to the door, quietly asked for her version of events. “I didn’t use magic, honestly. I didn’t do anything,” she stammered, thinking, ‘not this time anyway.’ She was flustered that her secret, which her mother considered so shameful and dangerous, may inadvertently have been revealed to the world. “A bright light suddenly appeared, the boys started running around screaming they couldn’t see and I ran away.” “Why weren’t you affected then? A burly, red-faced man with a huge stomach demanded belligerently. “How do I know?” Nemeila said, beginning to feel the first stirrings of anger. “Those boys attacked me, four of them held me down. And your son,” she stuck her chin out at the man with the beetroot complexion, “was about to punch me when the light appeared. They were going to beat me, break my arm and cut off my hair, just because I’m better than them at swordplay and archery.” “That’s not the story they told. They said you lay in wait for them and attacked them for absolutely no reason.” “I have never lied to my father,” protested Nemeila, her voice rising in indignation, “you can ask him. Besides how could a girl my size beat up five great lads like them, and if I had, I’m sure they would be too ashamed and embarrassed to admit it. Had you not come here, I wouldn’t have ratted on them to my father, for fear that he would do as you are doing, and come to your house seeking redress for their bullying.” Her tirade over, she panted to a stop, and stood, chest heaving, under her father’s sheltering arm.

  Jakob, at six feet two inches tall, towered over most of the men before him. He clamped his daughter protectively against his side. “As my daughter says one girl against five brawny lads twice her size? I think not. Now be off, gentlemen, before I start a fight of my own.” Closing the door firmly in their startled faces, before they could remonstrate further, he led Nemeila into the kitchen that smelled sweetly of fresh baked bread.

 

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