by gmakalani
He shook his head and stepped back out of her reach.
“Go back for her,” she said, her voice uncharacteristically demanding and forceful.
“I can’t,” he muttered and slipped into his room and closed the door on her. The small space was as constricting as the cage and he pulled the curtains from the wall in his hurry to reach the window and scratched blindly at the latch until it swung open. He leaned out taking in great gulps of the cold air and when he focused on the man beneath staring up at him, he pulled back and leaned against the wall.
He slid down to sit on the floor and put his head in his hands. How could he tell them this? Her father didn’t want them together and now he had lost her. They would never be together now and it was his fault. His selfishness had put her in danger and Robert would be right to blame him.
Iski was shaken awake. The floorboards were cold and hard beneath him and he looked around the small room for Flare before he focused on his mother’s face.
She ran her fingers through his hair as she had when he was a boy. “It is time,” she said.
He shook his head, pushed her hand away and rubbed at his eyes.
“You must tell them,” she said, again the woman usually so aloof and disapproving was firm and strong before him.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“You must be the man I know you to be,” she said crossing her arms. “For Flare.”
He nodded and using the wall as leverage he climbed slowly to his feet.
“You are so weak,” she said and he hung his head. “I mean frail. What happened to you out there?”
He shook his head and staggered towards the door. She was right. He had to be a man. Flare saw him as a man and yet he still considered himself the boy. He had to be the man that she needed him to be. He pulled at his shirt and headed for the door. Yet she would never see him be that man and he struggled to swallow.
“Your coat,” his mother called behind him but he shook his head.
“I should have gone there first,” he muttered. “I should have told them everything.”
“Can you tell them everything?”
“I don’t know that I understand it. She’s gone,” he added as his voice cracked.
She nodded slowly.
He wiped the back of his hand over his face and left as quickly as he could. He walked the short path between their homes without thinking of which way to go. How many times had they walked this together? They had been together every day. Even with Edris they had never been apart and now they would never be together again. He stopped. He could still feel her skin beneath his hands. The warmth of her lips on his. The sound of her voice in his ear.
“You know the right words to say,” she whispered. “And they have always been your family too.”
He looked around but she wasn’t there. And as he squeezed his eyes closed, he saw the dry, brittle legs again.
He shook his head and raised his hand to knock on the door; the moment it touched the wood the door swung open and Flare’s father was pulling him into his arms. Iski cried like the boy he feared he was. The disappointment in not being the man she needed him to be stabbed at his heart.
Sitting at the table sipping from the teacup Iski looked between both her parents and then set down the cup.
“Can you tell us?” Esther asked as large tears rolled unchecked down her cheeks.
“It isn’t clear,” he said, her strange dried legs still flashing before him every time he blinked.
“Did she suffer?” she asked, her voice breaking and she clamped a hand over her mouth as Robert reached out for her, but stopped as though unsure what would happen if he touched her.
Iski shook his head. “It was quick.” He gulped at the tea again and sat the cup too hard into the saucer.
“We didn’t want you to marry,” Robert muttered, clenching his fists and pulling them into his lap.
Iski nodded.
“I’m sorry for that. We knew how much you loved each other.” He stared down into his own cup and blurted, “You have a job if you want it.”
“Thank you,” Iski said, holding out his hand and standing. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t save her.”
Robert nodded slowly as he shook the hand, his eyes on the floor and his face red. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Iski returned to his small room, opened the window wide and lay on the bed. He tried to picture her wrapped in his arms, her skin against his and the soft noises she made.
“Really?” her voice snapped. “That is what you are going to concentrate on?”
He sat up and looked around the empty room. “Are you going to haunt me?” he asked.
Nothing but silence replied. He was doing it to himself. Like the times she would raise her eyebrows when he had gone too far and he only shivered because she made him face what he did. Who was going to do that now? Without Flare he doubted he could be the man he was meant to be. And there was a witch still out there sucking the youth from children as she had from his precious Flare.
The axe bit deep into the tree. The sound of metal on wood echoed around the small clearing. Iski paused to look around at the other men. They hadn’t moved very far into the forest. All the years they had cut wood they only moved along its edge.
He swung the axe again allowing the movement and strain of the work to take his mind away from what lay beyond the trees. Yet with every blink he saw her. Not always dry and brittle. Sometimes laughing and smiling, sometimes the top of her head when she was pressed against his chest. He could feel her hand in his. He tightened his hands around the axe handle and he swung again with everything he had.
“You left me,” her accusing voice whispered in his ear and the axe slipped from his fingers. Yet she wasn’t there. She would never be there and he wiped his arm across his forehead and then his hand across his eyes. No one noticed, they were all busy working their own tree. He bent down and picked up the axe. “Don’t leave me Iski.”
The axe swung and bit into the tree. And then again and again. It creaked and there was a slight whooshing sound as it fell slowly to the ground. In the silence that followed he could hear her calling his name, loud and clear. Maybe there was a chance. Maybe he was mistaken and she was alive and trapped in that little cage waiting for him to return for her.
But as he looked out into the woods a strong hand rested on his shoulder and as he closed his eyes her strange dried legs were clear before him. “Come for dinner,” Robert said and Iski remembered why he loved them like he loved her. They were family. He nodded and collected his axe.
That night he lay on his bed staring at the ceiling; afraid of what he might see of Flare when he closed his eyes. The door squeaked open and his mother sat slowly on the end of the bed.
“I knew you were the one to defeat her.”
He sat up and studied her.
“The coals have never lied.”
He sighed and shook his head. “We weren’t twins, Mother,” he muttered. “We were never going to defeat a witch no matter whether she was real or not.”
“She was real. She is real,” she said taking his hand. “I know you found her for a reason.”
“For her to take Flare,” he snapped. “To watch children be fed to her, to keep her living all these years and Muteguard frozen.”
She stared at him for a moment and squeezed his hand. “All that was done was to protect us.”
“From yourselves. She called us heartless, the whole village, and we have only shown her how true that is. Muteguard is never going to be what it was. It will always reflect the hearts of those in it. Those that left knew this would never end and no coals rolling from a fireplace would ever change that.”
“You could,” she whispered. “You know how to defeat her.”
“No,” he said. “I don’t. She is too strong, and we have made her stronger.” He shivered thinking of Flare, that her life would have been absorbed to make the witch younger
and stronger.
His mother reached out and took his hand again. “I love you,” she whispered. “Flare loved you. You are stronger than you know.” She stood quickly and left him.
He lay back and stared up at the ceiling. He wasn’t going to survive without her. His hand felt empty; his whole soul was empty. It was the warmth of her, even in the cold cottage before they relit the fire, he was always warm by her. Both inside and out.
The fire and warm cottage had been so comfortable when they first arrived. But Edris was always uncomfortable. Wouldn’t get too close, would only allow two logs in the cottage. Why would a woman not afraid of anything be so wary of the fire? She had screamed and squealed at the sparks Flare had created.
“Iski come for me,” Flare whispered in his ear.
He squeezed his eyes closed despite the image of her dried legs coming to him. She wasn’t calling to him, she wasn’t alive. As painful as it was, he hoped she haunted him for the rest of his days, however many of those were left.
Iski strode towards the clearing where the other men were already at work, his axe over his shoulder and he took a deep breath. In the days he had been back he had settled into the routine life that Flare had hoped for them. But he hadn’t really settled, he hoped the more he pretended the easier it would happen. Between his mother’s mutterings and Flare’s whispered pleas he was finding it harder and harder to maintain the lie.
He looked into the forest. The sound of metal biting into wood filled the space around him. Without hesitation he walked beyond the tree line.
The sound continued unwavering. No one called out, no one raced after him. He picked up his pace through the trees. He wasn’t sure if he was headed in the right direction. He just moved deeper into the forest. Deeper and deeper until he found the blanket of leaves covering the ground where he expected snow.
“Iski,” Flare’s voice called from every tree and he covered his ears for a moment. “Please,” she begged.
He straightened his shoulders, tightened his grip around the axe handle and stepped out of the snow. He tried to move forward with confidence but there was no sign of a path and nothing looked familiar. It was just forest.
He closed his eyes for a moment and pictured Flare, with her warm smile and sparkling eyes. When he opened his eyes, she pulled at him and a little hope that he had been mistaken burned faintly in his chest.
How many days had he been gone? How long could she have survived on her own? And then he saw the little cottage, stark and white amongst the trees, the red door a strange beacon calling to him. Unsure if Edris, or Flare, could see him, he held tight to the branch of a tree and stayed in the shadows.
The well appeared larger but had he really taken the time to look at it before? The weathered pitched roof housed a pail which hung from a rusted wheel. On the far side of the well from the cottage was the wood. Who cut those logs for her? He couldn’t imagine her out there with an axe. What other things did the villagers do for her?
What if Edris had already left the cottage? What if Flare was with her? The new fear grabbed at his chest. He tried to breath, tried to imagine Flare’s hand in his. They could do this together, even if she wasn’t there to help him.
A bright butterfly flittered close to his face and he swatted at it and then watched as it flew across to the wood pile and touched down gently and then was gone again. Would he ever get use to a world so different from his frozen town?
He sighed; he just had to wait until it was dark enough to hide what he was doing.
As the sun dropped below the trees the world around him darkened quickly; the only real light was the orange glow of candle light from the single window. What was she doing in there, all alone and plotting? Or was he mistaken about Flare and she was hidden away in there with Edris?
As he thought of her, she appeared at the doorway. She still looked old and bent but then the boy had worn off after a few days. He gulped down the lump in his throat at the idea that the last essence of Flare had gone so quickly. Edris looked out over the trees and Iski pressed himself into the trunk he leant against and hoped he couldn’t be seen.
She shook her head and closed the door. Taking a deep breath, he pushed off from the tree and crept towards the wood pile. He took three logs and tiptoed around the side of the cottage. As he circled the cottage it appeared even smaller than it did on the inside. He placed the logs along the wall and moved back to the pile to collect more.
As he placed the last of them against the whitewashed shingles, he realised they were not going to be enough. He moved as quietly as he could back into the trees to collect handfuls of brown leaves and dried grass. Then he pushed them down between the logs surrounding the house. He paused often, working slowly to make as little noise as possible. He wanted to cut up some of the logs into smaller kindling to ensure the fire burned but the noise would alert Edris. Instead he collected twigs and sticks from the forest floor and spent the remainder of the night building up the base of a good fire around the cottage.
As the sky started to lighten, he retrieved his axe and cut the rope for the pail, cringing as it splashed loudly into the water beneath. All he needed was a way to start the fire and for Edris to stay inside the cottage.
And then the panic that Flare might be in there grabbed his chest again. He had to be sure.
Iski moved slowly around to the little window and squatted beneath it. With his heart hammering in his chest, his every wish being that Edris was asleep, he slowly raised himself to the window with his eyes squeezed shut. And then he opened them.
The room inside was just as it had been. The table was bare, the chairs pushed in beneath it. There was a faint glow through the grate of the stove and a kettle hissed on top of it. The curtain hid the bed beyond the table and the cupboard that had been his cage was open. There were no bars. There was no Flare.
And then the curtain moved and despite the risk he stayed where he was. The witch hobbled towards the stove. She reached out slowly with a cloth to lift the kettle and carried it to the table.
She was muttering something and Iski pressed himself closer to the glass to hear her but he couldn’t make out the words. There was no sign of Flare, no hint of the dried body she had become and he just caught himself before he smacked his fist against the cottage wall.
Edris was muttering louder and then she turned, not quite looking at the window and Iski froze.
“One is better than none,” she said.
Iski stepped back from the light. She was gone. He tripped over a rock and fell back onto the ground. He pulled himself together and picked up the rock. Then his hand closed around the axe handle. He hit the axe against the rock to make the spark. It was louder than he hoped but it worked and the dry leaves and kindling caught quickly. He stood back to watch the flames lick up the walls of the cottage. They moved faster and he stepped back from the heat.
At the sound of screaming he ran around to the red door to find Edris looking out through the flames that consumed the cottage walls. She slammed the door against them but they had already moved to the roof. The flames roared and the woman inside screamed. Iski sunk to his knees, and then retched on the grass.
The flames devoured the building in minutes. He sat in the damp grass and watched it crumble in on itself until there was nothing but ash left.
As the sun began to shine through the trees he stood slowly and stepped into the ruin that was the cottage they believed would be their haven. The stove sat strong and alone, the chimney that had stood over it crumpled and spread out as an indistinguishable pile of bricks across the little yard. So near to where he had watched her through the window.
The cupboards and table and even the little bed were nothing but ash. There was a hint of the curtain that had hung between the rooms and when he lifted the edge of it, he found the burnt remains of the old woman. Her blackened brittle hand looked as though it curled around something but there was only ash; if there had been anythi
ng it was gone.
There was no sign of the cage. No sign of Flare. He tied the little strip of curtain to a branch of the tree he had hidden behind. He remembered Flare’s hand pushing it back and her worried face when they realised they had slept for so long.
“You can sleep in peace now,” he whispered and ran his hand along the floral material and watched it flutter in the wind.
He heaved his axe over his shoulder and with the ash of the witch’s cottage through his hair, and covering his clothes, he headed home.
Iski didn’t stop until he reached the fields that surrounded the village. He looked around in surprise, the long stems of the crop tickling his fingers, where had he wandered to? The heavy heads of grain nodded in the breeze. At the realisation of what he was standing amidst he stopped to appreciate how the crop shimmered in the sunlight. He strolled towards the village taking his time to run his fingers through the stems.
The people of Muteguard were congregated in the village square. It was far more decayed than he realised now the snow had melted and the worn village was exposed in the sunlight. He stopped before the remains of the church. The three crumbling walls, weathered and thin, how could they still stand?
His mother pulled him into her arms, sobbing into his chest. Others patted him on the back and cheered and he didn’t know which way to look. And then Esther had her arms around him too.
Iski sat with Robert in the tavern and sipped his ale. Men joined them and talked and then moved on as others joined them. Every one of them patted Iski on the back and muttered “Well done” or “Good job”.
There was talk of what was to be done next. That the crops could be harvested and the town would grow again. That there was a chance that the people who had left would return.
Iski sipped his ale and nodded. Not all of the children would be able to return and would the parents of those given to the witch ever forgive themselves? His own heart was heavy with guilt and he couldn’t imagine it disappearing. He watched the men move in and out but he didn’t focus on the conversation that occurred around him.