Marek (Buried Lore Book 1) (11 page)

It
was still early and the sky was dark. Sleet was forming on the ground to make
dirty slushy mud. Snow clouds hung ready to fall.

Chapter 5

Marek

Zeke went missing late the
following day. While we were distracted setting up camp and attending to
personal tasks, he had wandered off to explore and search for his mother. Part
of him still believed she was somewhere in the forest. Her sudden departure had
left him confused. I could hear his thoughts, as could Zola, who thought it
would be good for my skill if I tracked him alone and brought him back, and
reassuring me that he was not far.

Celeste
stood close to my side but I suggested it was safer to stay with Zola. She was
upset with this and clutched nervously at her clothes, before sitting sulkily
back near the fire.

Streaks
of light filtered through the trees, as the last moments of daylight dissolved.
The air was fresh on my face and I felt so alert and alive. Every sound, every
falling twig echoed in my head. I could even hear Zeke’s shallow breathing from
ahead. I wondered what inspired the boy to travel this far from our camp and
along such a rugged route.

A
crack of a branch sounded in the distance as I was nearly upon him. I saw him
through the trees but he was not looking at me. Around us the ground was
covered in patches of white, the trees leafless but their trunks dense and
tall. And then I saw it camouflaged among the greyness on the path ahead of
him.

A
wolf crouched nearby, his long nose close to the ground. I surveyed the
area
as it was rare for a wolf to hunt alone. I dared not
move with this beast snarling in readiness for attack, his heartbeat loud in my
ears, his senses delighted with the smell of fresh meat. The wolf took a step
towards Zeke who had now noticed my presence. I held up my hand to tell him not
to run. In just moments I could be by his side protecting him. But the pressure
of the moment was too much for the boy as he
realised
the animal was dangerously close. By instinct he ran.

The
wolf had already foreseen this reaction from the boy. He was on his heels and
in seconds leapt the space between them. I was fast but not fast enough. The
beast landed on the boy’s back smacking him to the ground. There was the sound
of tearing flesh as I threw myself across the top of the animal, grasping at
the hard skin on the back of its neck.

With
my strength I pulled the wolf backwards on top of me and held it in my arms.
Even I amazed myself at this strength, this ability. However, the wolf was also
strong, even against someone with strength born from magic. Freeing itself, it
ran a short distance then turned again to face me, its muzzle drawn back to
reveal thirsty fangs, before crouching for battle. It came for me this time.

Launching
from its thickly muscled hind legs, the animal was on top of me, its teeth
close to the pulsating vein in my neck. I could feel warm breath on my cheek
and its claws digging into my chest, stripping back my clothing. I had to trust
in my skill and focus my thoughts on calming the beast. My body was trembling
with magical forces and my hands on the wolf pulsated with a life of their own.
He sensed the change and for a moment relaxed the fight. With one mighty effort
it was thrust high into the air before landing on its back with a yelp.

The
wolf stood and shook its head, clearly confused. It had sensed something
different about me. It sniffed the air and growled softly before turning to run
deep into the forest.

Once
I was sure it would not return I rushed to examine Zeke. His shoulder was
slashed and blood flowed from his wound. His shirt was blood-soaked and torn.

‘Zeke,’
I shouted. ‘Can you hear me?’

His
eyes opened once and he whispered close to my ear. ‘I saw Mama’s ghost in the forest
and I followed her.’ Then, with his head rolling to one side, he lost
consciousness.

I
picked up the tiny body and ran through the forest. Zola met me on the path.
She had seen everything.

We
returned to our camp and laid him gently near the fire. His heartbeat was slow.
I put my hand over his back, concentrating on his injuries, and felt the warmth
through my hands radiate across his wound. The blood started to bubble and the
flesh began stretching across the deep gash. The healing stopped before the
sides of the wound had joined together. I was close to losing power.

‘Out
of the way,’ said Zola. ‘You have used up much of your strength fighting the
wolf. I must do this. You need the power to heal yourself.’

Zola
put her own hands over the boy. I felt heat emanate from her body. She appeared
to glow. The boy’s heart beat rapidly, magnified in my eardrums. The gash began
to close and seal and Zeke opened his eyes. He was healthier and his face
fuller than I had seen before.

Celeste
stood a short distance away. There was a mixture of amazement and repulsion in
her face, and I could not tell at first whether it was at the extent of the
boy’s injury or the use of Zola’s dark magic. I suspected it was the latter.
But her next act delighted me and told me that beneath the wariness
lay
kindness. Celeste tore some of her skirt and blotted at
my skin. It was all right I told her and gently took her small hand away. She
looked embarrassed as I touched my own wounds – the claw marks on my
cheek and forearms – and sealed them. Not perfectly like Zeke’s wounds
but enough to stop any bleeding or infection.

Zeke
asked me what had happened and I told him the story of the wolf. He looked
alarmed at the blood on his clothes, but he did not remember being wounded or
what he had said to me as he lay near death. I reassured him by lying. ‘It is
the wolf’s blood.’

‘I’m
hungry,’ he said.

I
laughed, wishing to be a child again to quickly forget the wrongs. There was to
be no hunting that day and I pulled out the last remaining strip of hare meat
from my pocket and handed it to the boy.

‘Do
you believe in ghosts?’ I asked Zola, once Celeste had moved away from me, and
Zeke had fallen asleep. I thought it likely that he had imagined his mother’s
apparition.

‘Of
course.’

‘Then
why are they still here? Why are they not in heaven?’

‘Perhaps
they are looking for an opportunity to become flesh again. Perhaps heaven has
rejected them, or perhaps there is no such place.’ She laughed then, which left
me wondering if she’d answered truthfully. Before I fell asleep, I silently
prayed that Zeke’s mother had found peace in heaven.

My
dreams were growing more real and vivid each night and this night was no
exception. I dreamt of a wolf in ghostly form, whose eyes turned human. I
followed the wolf through the forest and into a darkness that I couldn’t escape
from.

*

I woke suddenly from slumber, heart
racing and out of breath, as if I had been running. Daylight was clouded. Steam
rose from my speech. The snow feathered down to further dampen our clothes,
except for Zola’s. Water and snow seemed to bounce off her. She was already up
and boiling leeks and onions that had appeared from nowhere. I wondered how
many hours I had lost to sleep. Zola whispered, so that Zeke didn’t hear,
reminding me that over time I would not need as much rest each time I used the
powers of healing.

Fed
once more we had energy to walk the rest of the day. Zola barely touched her
food, something I had been noticing more and more. She was also walking faster
and it was difficult for all of us to keep up with her. She was like a horse
nearing its post, eager to see her home once again. There was also something
peasant-like in her manner and contradictory: the way she cut tough meat with a
blunt knife, while her voice and clothes suggested someone much finer. She was
difficult to fathom.

We
crossed a stream. Thin sheets of ice had formed at different angles along its
edge. Broken pieces of ice floated down its
centre
. I
lifted Zeke onto my shoulders and crossed the water, which rose to just below
my knees. It was so cold I could not feel my feet for several seconds. Above
me, the branches of tall conifers had caught the snow, draped around their
hardy winter needles like a fur stole. Between the lower half of the trees, where
branches were almost barren, I caught glimpses of Zola’s town ahead. My skill
had allowed me to hear the voices of its occupants long before sighting them
– a strange medley of humming and rustling, which grew steadily louder
and clearer. Once upon a time this was mistaken for the rustling of leaves in
the breeze.

Our
destination was a town called Gus, which stretched neatly upwards from a river
towards gently rolling hills. In the early hours only some of the townspeople
had risen as we headed down the main street paved with round stones. Several
women rubbed their cold faces with gloved hands as they stood by a well
awaiting their turn to fill pails. A man pushed a cart of fur pelts, and Zola
informed us that they were sable obtained from far in the north; the man had
probably been travelling for weeks. He would set up his stall at the river
markets and his pelts would be in demand with the arrival of winter.

The
main street of Gus was straight and narrow. At the end was a monastery, made
from large white stone blocks, with giant columns and high arched windows and
steeples. A large iron gate blocked the entrance formidably like bared teeth.
As we headed towards it, it was like heading towards a giant mouth. Zola told
us that it was a place for those who were touched or damaged in the mind. It
was also a refuge for orphans. Before we reached the mouth of the monastery we
turned another corner and Zola put a key in a small arched wooden door.

Zola’s
terraced house was cream-
coloured
with a terracotta
roof. It looked very fine from the outside, sitting on two levels with a
balcony overlooking the street and across to the hills in the north. Inside
there were pieces of beautifully carved furniture gleaming with dark polish and
seats with thick
colourful
upholstery. Large
tapestries hung at the entrance depicting the darker people of the east and
tall, pillared buildings.

Glass-fronted
cabinets were filled with silver and gold plated bowls. I ran my hand over a
chair with deep engravings of animals,
marvelling
and
appreciating the work. Someone with enviable skill had made this chair,
lovingly planed and perfected over many weeks.

‘Not
bad for a witch?’ asked Zola without expecting a reply. ‘People think we just
hide away in covens but we can live amongst humans undetected. And if we are
spied upon, then we have the power to remove the threat, now that we are
growing in number. Proper order will soon be restored,
Marek
,
for our kind is here to stay.’

I
looked at Celeste who appeared wan, her lips tight and teeth clenched, this
time feeling relief that she could not speak. We would all surely burn from her
accounts of what had happened so far.

‘I
stole everything here.’ I pulled my eyes away from the furniture to see Zola
studying me. ‘Is that what you’re thinking?’ she asked defensively.

‘Not
at all,’ I reassured her, perplexed that she would ask.

Celeste was transfixed by a sketch on the wall
. I walked over to view a family
portrait. Zola pointed out her father and mother. She sat at the front, the
artist drawing her expression sternly shy, in contrast to the vastly confident
smiling Zola who stood beside me. There were other drawings too of relatives
and servants. At some stage this had been a busy household. In another, an
older woman in a housekeeper’s pinafore sat at the rear of Zola and her mother.
This woman looked remarkably familiar. Though of course that could not be, I
told myself. I had never been here before.

‘Where
is the rest of your family?’

‘My sister has married and moved to the west.
Father died when I was young, and
my mother was taken by the flesh eating disease.’ Zola explained the terrible
affliction, which had spread to hundreds, causing parts of the body to blacken,
rot, and, in many cases, had led to death.

She
took us on a tour of the house. I was surprised there
were no
galley staff
there for our arrival. On the island, the wealthy had
housekeepers, as well as people to care for their children. The galley had not
been cleaned for some time. Several vegetables lay rotting in a basket. Zola
followed my gaze explaining that the housekeepers were released when she stayed
with Oleander, or visiting her old friend in the forest. Sometimes she was away
for so long the staff left to find other employment.

As
we headed upstairs to the sleeping chambers, I was disappointed to learn that
Oleander was not in this city, that she lived still miles from here. Zola
informed us she had invited someone to dinner that evening, and that he was
very interested in meeting me. I wondered how the guest would have learned of
me so quickly. I had to presume that her friend was a witch also to whom she
had communicated the invitation with her special skill, since she had not
spoken to anyone when we entered the town. Before I had time to consider this,
Zola grabbed my arm and her hand felt like ice. She led us both upstairs,
Celeste reluctantly, staying close behind me like a faithful dog.