Free Marek (Buried Lore Book 1) by Gemma Liviero

his neck. I saw it.’ My aim was perfect. The rage did
not seem to cloud my judgment of distance; in fact, my anger seemed to enhance
it.
    ‘But
are you sure you killed him?’ she asked, her voice low and hypnotic, drawing me
into her. Something was not quite right with the memory. The knife left my hand
cutting through the air before I realised what I was
doing. The man was knocked to the ground, blood oozing from his wound. Could I
have guided the knife with magic?
    Zola
answered. ‘Sometimes in the early stages we need some help with our craft.’
    ‘Are
you telling me that I did not kill him?’
    ‘ Marek , your knife hit him in the neck but it was my skill
to guide the weapon that put an end to his life.’
    I
did not know which shocked me more. The calmness with which she admitted such a
deed, or the fact she knew my name. I was relieved that I had not killed
anyone. I thought to check on Celeste, but I was unable to move with the
feeling that my body was being weighted down with invisible forces. The herbal
concoction had eased my headache and warmed my chest, and tiredness shortly
overwhelmed me.
    ‘Sleep
now,’ whispered Zola, and I do not remember anything else from that night.

 
    *

 
    The next day I felt restored and the gash on my forehead gone. The old woman was still in the
chair in front of cold embers, and her eyes were closed. Both Zola and Celeste
were missing. Celeste’s shawl lay sprawled at the bottom of the cot.
    I
pushed open the shuttered windows, breaking apart the frost that had sealed
them together in the early morning hours. The view was of dense forest and I
wondered how we came upon such a hut the previous night. I walked into the
early morning to greet the sun glinting through a heavy green cloud mass
nestled on the horizon. It would be a dark day.
    There
were footprints in the earth encircling the house. At the back was a garden of
herbs and another with vegetables. An axe rested near the entrance, the blade
covered with a reddish brown stain.  Fresh skins hung over the chopping
block.
    As I
turned back to enter the hut I was confronted. The old woman was pointing her
walking cane close to my face, her faded and filmy eyes boring into my own. You
will be next , I heard, even though her lips were still. This line was
repeated twice before I realised these were her
thoughts. I believe my confused expression at her words was what set her to
begin wailing uncontrollably. I tried to calm her but to no avail. Then she
continued in an even stranger manner waving her arms about her person as if
fighting an invisible presence, her bulging eyes roaming aimlessly around in
their sockets.
    Something
in her step suggested she might strike me with her cane. I took a step back to
find Zola behind me. With several logs under her arm, she looked both rested
and striking in a full lemon skirt and silk blouse. She did not look like
someone who had spent the previous evening fighting barbarians. Zola locked
eyes with the woman and the effect was instantaneous with the elder lowering
her cane.
    The
woman, by then submissive, was guided by the younger back into the hut and
placed gently near the fire. I could see from the woman’s hobble that one leg
was much shorter than the other. I did not get a chance to ask Zola why the
woman had been so hostile towards me.
    ‘ Celestina is gone,’ she said. ‘She ran away in the night.’
    I
retrieved Celeste’s shawl from the bed, thanked Zola for her help, then began in the direction of the footprints.
    ‘You
cannot leave,’ said Zola, the softness of her voice fragmenting, almost
brittle, before a sudden return of composure. ‘I tried to find her, but she has
been gone for many hours. It is probably for the best. She would have slowed us
down.’
    ‘It
doesn’t matter. I must find her. She will freeze to death, or worse,’ as I
remembered the treatment by the villagers.
    Zola
stood in the doorway blocking my path. Her irises were shimmering pools,