Marek (Buried Lore Book 1) (9 page)

‘You
are frightened of me, yes?’ he asked.
‘Because I healed your
leg?
I am different, Celeste, but there is no reason to fear me. Look at
me!’

Marek
held me by both my arms. ‘For a long time I thought I was a freak but I am not.
I am not a bad person. I have healing magic. You see, I did not tell you how my
mother died. She was killed as a witch but she was a good woman: a healer.’

I
stiffened in his arms but he squeezed me tighter as if in some way it might
soothe me. My own heart was pounding. I wanted to trust him because he had
saved my life, yet he was not like me. He was a witch like Zola.

‘Now I have found Zola who also has the gift and I no longer feel alone.
There are others. Please do not run
away again. You cannot go through these lands on your own.’

‘We
must start walking now,’ Zola commanded. ‘We are wasting time. Perhaps we can
leave her at the next town.’

She
knew my real name, something
no-one
but my mother
could have known. I suspected then that Zola knew a lot of things about both of
us.

‘No,’
said
Marek
. ‘I cannot leave her. I am all she has and
I promised I would help her find her family. Her grandparents may not be too
far from where we are heading. I have to find her a safe place first.’

There
were no grandparents that I knew of.
Marek
had
confused my description of the troupe as my family. He did not understand that
travelling performers had no real home.

‘I
know a family who travels the land selling tin,’ said Zola. ‘They are a good
family. Perhaps they can take Celeste in their travels to look after their
young ones.’

Marek
appeared both pleased and hesitant, perhaps the latter for want of a better
plan.

I
grabbed
Marek’s
arm, my face pleading, pointing to
Zola and shaking my head. I wanted to stay with him, despite what he was. Zola
closed her eyes, face in concentration, as I felt icy fingers run up my back to
pinch hard behind my neck. When the pressure got too great I buckled to my
knees.

Marek
rushed to pick me up once more. ‘Celeste! Celeste! Calm now! Please… Zola can
help us both.’

I
wanted to cry but I had no tears left. I was an empty well. The icy fingers
shortly released their grip and I yielded; there was little else to do.

When
I looked over
Marek’s
shoulder, Zola was smiling, not
warmly, rather with amusement. Her bright hair was peppered with the first
snowflakes of winter. Above, the white sky released butterflies of snow. They
brushed past me with their soft wings. But snow to me had never been beautiful.
Snow to me meant sickness, cold and, at that moment, fear.

Marek
let
go of me and spread out his arms twirling slowly and smiling widely, his face
tilted towards the sky. He said that from his boat, he had once seen snow on
the mountaintops across the sea to the mainland, but this was the first time he
had felt it.

Zola
watched on, her greedy eyes taking him all in, like he was some sort of trinket
that she was about to declare her own.

The
early snowfall I believed was a sign. Worse things were yet to happen.

Chapter 4

Celeste

We walked further into the woods. I
was relieved that the talk about my future had momentarily ceased, and even
more thankful when
Marek
suggested we rest for the
night.
Marek
and Zola did not seem to tire, but I was
suddenly weak without a proper sleep in days.

The
wood was damp but Zola made a tall fire without striking any sticks.
Marek
wrapped his coat around me and, although he seemed
trusting of Zola, I remained watchful. I listened carefully for signs that
pointed to our fates.

‘I
do not understand about my power. I do not know how to use it on command or
what I’m meant to do with it.’

‘In
time you will,
Marek
,’ she said her voice soothing to
anyone else but me. ‘Once we reach our circle you will see and perform magic
that you did not think possible. It is the chance of a lifetime to join us. The
human girl will have to go eventually. For there is no room for her kind
amongst us.’

‘I
have lived with my father and others on my island for years without trouble.
No-one
saw anything special in me. This makes no sense.’

‘You
were lucky. Had they seen your powers you would have been persecuted. You would
have joined your poor dead mother.’

Marek
hung his head. He could see the truth of it.

‘And
my sister, how did you meet her?’

‘Your
sister saved my life. I owe her for everything I have now. She is most revered
amongst our kind. She has taken many of us in. When she found me it was nearly
too late …’ Zola’s voice trailed off.

‘Please
go on,’ said
Marek
.

‘Let’s
just say that I am here because of Oleander. I must tell you,
Marek
, that once you reach our circle you should turn your
back on the life you once knew. It is important.’

‘Why
should I? I want Oleander to come home to our father. Papa thinks she is dead.’

‘It
is best he believes that. It is best you understand you are one of the chosen.’

‘Chosen?
I do not understand, Zola. You make everything sound so complicated and
secretive.’

Zola
turned her back and in seconds she was concentrating. ‘There is a raven about
to fly above us. I want you to concentrate on it and never waver. You must
think only of the bird.’

The
blue-black raven appeared out of the smoke above the fire. It hovered above us,
its wings spread widely. I sat up
cautiously,
intrigued by its beauty, the sleekness of its feathers, and the way it was
suspended in air. I wished to be that bird.

Marek
frowned and looked at Zola whispering angrily under her breath. ‘Concentrate!
Never waver!’

Marek
did
as he was told. I watched his profile, his long nose and full lips and strong
chin. He looked so large sitting next to Zola yet I knew which one carried the
power. He squinted to study the raven.

‘Now
draw the bird towards you
Marek
.’

Marek
hesitated, his feet shuffling, and the raven rose higher, suddenly uncertain.
Then slowly it sank towards him. It was so close that
Marek
could touch its jagged hooked beak, and I saw its beady black eye scanning us
curiously.

‘Now
imagine you are strangling it with invisible hands around its neck.’

This
last command forced
Marek
to turn, the trance broken,
while the raven swooped low over our heads. I felt the flutter of its wings. It
was telling us to stay away and then rose to leave again.

Then
the bird stopped mid-air to twist onto its back. The wings beat forward and
backwards furiously yet it was unable to move its body, pinned by an unseen
hand to an invisible floor. Seconds later, I heard the snapping sounds of its
tiny bones breaking and then it fell hard onto the ground, the limp body only
feet from where we sat.

Marek
walked over to it, his mouth agape. He looked angry or concerned; it was hard
to tell which. There now was the proof that Zola was indeed cruel!

‘I
thought my skills were for healing not killing. I am capable of doing this
too?’ he asked. Though there was no revulsion in the question; it was more
about the possibilities.

‘You
have a long way to go, but yes you are capable of this and much
much
more.’ Zola looked at me with satisfaction. Did she
think perhaps that this was just a game as to who had more control?

Marek
bent down to rest his hands on the bird. Just for a moment its wings fluttered
with life then it was still.

‘No!’
commanded Zola. ‘Conserve your strength. Besides, it is too late. If you cured
it now you may bring back a tortured soul and not the life that just ceased.’

‘It
wasn’t its time to go,’ he said, regretful.

For
a moment I thought that
Marek
would follow his own
instinct, and his heart. Instead, he checked for further signs of life then
picked up the broken lifeless bird and tossed it into the fire.
Its feathers turned to flames shooting sparks
high into the
space of air where the bird first appeared.

I
was unable to watch any more. I huddled deep into
Marek’s
loaned coat that smelled of pine and wood smoke. I took in the scent with
reassurance and remembrance of the day he saved me, before he weakened to
Zola’s evil charms.

‘You
can never again be like your father,
Marek
,’ said
Zola.

Zola

Celeste looked at me with her
bovine eyes. I would give the girl to Oleander. Soon she would be a woman and
perhaps an attractive one at that with her sultry, exotic looks. But to my
benefit she would never be striking.

I did not have to see Celeste’s fear of me
,
I could smell it
.
Humans give off a revolting
odour
when they are
scared. Though it was not only the smell that offended me, it was her pathetic
suffering look that seemed to dissolve
Marek’s
sensibility. She thought she was the only one who had seen pain yet she knew
nothing compared to my lifetime of misery.
No-one
truly knew what I had once endured.

At
twelve I came into my gift but it would be some time before I could control it.
After my parents died I lived as a beggar, scavenging in towns. Later, to live
my life as a servant, taking daily beatings with a cane if my tasks weren’t
completed on time. If it
wasn’t
for Oleander who
taught me to use my skills, my end would now be near.

Many
humans died over the centuries for our kind to survive. The chosen ones like
Marek
who preferred to use his skills for good; such
glorious gifts were perhaps wasted on him. If he
was
anything like Oleander then he would indeed be powerful. If it
was
up to Jean he would kill
Marek
before his induction into our circle. With such potential, the boy was going to
be a rival, and Jean hated change, especially if it was not in his
favour
.

Marek

It had been days since we set out.
Celeste was unwell, making our journey slow. She coughed from the cold and all
I could think about was getting her to safety. My blood was not freezing as
there was a current running through me, pumping warmth. I could feel every
blood vessel, every muscle throbbing with life. Sometimes it ached like growing
pains.

In
the early hours before the girls awoke, I followed a deer for less than a mile.
It was unaware I was there until I stood directly behind it. It turned to look
at me, its moist brown eyes full of trust and knowing. Just like the bird, this
deer was drawn towards me.

Hanging
its head shyly, it offered itself to me and before I could feel sympathy for
this fine creature with its shiny red-brown coat, I grabbed its antlers and
began to twist its neck. Breaking its bones would have been effortless but I
could go no further. The heat of its body put a sudden chill through my own,
and quite suddenly I felt remorse for what would have been a senseless kill,
simply to prove my newfound knowledge of bewitchment and strength. I released
the animal, which took the opportunity to
bound
deeper
into the forest. Some might have called my act weak, but any creature offering
its own life to a hunter is not so easy to accept. Zola may have been used to
that but I was not a natural killer. Not yet.

Instead,
I chased down two hares without magic – close to human as I could be
– and brought them back to camp. Zola and Celeste helped skin them.
Celeste was not as dexterous with the blade as Zola who used her dagger to
scrape the fur and flesh from their bodies in quick even strokes. I asked her
to preserve the skin, so that I could make shoes for Celeste.

‘Is
it necessary?’ she asked.

‘Of
course,’ I said, confused at her lack of concern.

‘As
you wish,’ Zola said, and I wondered what Celeste had done to offend her so.

Celeste
no longer retreated at the sight of blood and the cutting of animals. Her
hunger had seen her through the worst of her squeamishness.

We
ate until our bellies were full and drank handfuls of snow, though I noticed
that Zola only nibbled at her food. We dried some hare meat over the fire to
eat on our travels. What I wouldn’t have given for some fish stew, and the
sweetened doughy bread that my father often treated me to.

Zola
announced that her town was still days from here as humans walk. I could not
help but see her look at Celeste to apply blame for our delay. My shirt and
vest were damp, and although I did not feel the cold like Celeste, my face and
ears were still chilled. The fabric of Zola’s blouse was too fine for this
weather and I asked her if she was cold. ‘Eventually,’ she said. ‘The snow and
cold will no longer be your enemy.’ It is only that I felt well despite the
conditions, that I thought I understood.

During
the journey I had held Celeste’s arm in support but she did not respond. Since
I had healed her she had not been the same. The wariness and distrust she had
for her masters back at the farm had transferred to me and no amount of
reassurance seemed to bring back our earlier bond.

The
pathways were not well travelled. Ours were the only footsteps in the snow and
fallen rotting bracken. When it grew dark we stopped to camp. Zola put wet
sticks on the ground to make a pyre, waved her hand over it and fire burst into
life.

Zola
and I did not engage in conversation that evening as I was suddenly very weary
and those aches in my body were relentless. She had already explained that with
more and more use of the craft, the body begins to crave things it did not
before. I was too tired to ask any more questions and my thoughts turned to
Celeste. I was anxious to get to the town and for her to trust me again.
Perhaps this family that Zola spoke of was her best option, though I had some
unexplainable doubts.

Over
her blazing fire, Zola melted some snow in a small pan and threw in pieces of
hare entrails. From her pocket she poured in herbs and some roots that she had
brought from the hut. Celeste did not take any of this food but chose to eat
the remaining portions of dried meat.

There
were voices in the distance getting closer to us. I had already heard snippets
of conversation before human ears could detect them and Zola seemed most eager
that they should find us. Her expression had been one of alertness long before
I detected their sounds.

A
man with his wife and young son appeared through the trees. The man looked like
a hunter, with an unruly beard and large patched fur coat. His family was
dressed similarly and their faces grimy. The woman looked exhausted and
shivering, and her cough was harsh and raspy.

Zola
asked if they would share some of our meal. The younger male was so hungry he
walked towards Zola to see the meat bubbling in the fire. His father put a firm
hand on the boy’s shoulder to stop him. It had an instant effect for the boy
took a step back and wrapped his arms around his mother’s middle, his curious,
hungry eyes never leaving the cooking pot.

Having
had a chance to look them over carefully, I could ascertain that they carried
all their possessions with them. And I could almost hear their thoughts. They
were waiting to see whether we really would give them food – that we were
not thieves and murderers. I say almost because the ability allowed me to catch
only patches of thought, sometimes just a word.

Like
moths to a flame the family edged closer to the warmth and the man pushed his
son forward roughly to finally accept some food. I thought at the time this was
a parental gesture for the boy to be served first, but I was wrong.