Free Forest of Demons by Debbie Cassidy Page A

She’d known . . . Miriam had known and had done nothing, but now . . . now she was putting on a show. By throwing Pratip to the dogs, she was protecting her only son.
    “Priya, we should go.” Papa took her arm. “There’s nothing you can do here.”
    “No. You’re right.” She turned away. “I’ve done my worst already.”
     
    Priya stood in the lengthy queue to fetch water. The conversation flowed around her but didn’t register. She was lost in her own troubled thoughts.
    Guru and Pratip were gone. They’d stolen away in the dead of night. Maybe that was best. Wherever they were, they’d be together. They’d be happy. She told herself these things to console her guilty, broken heart.
    She hadn’t spoken to Ma for almost a week now. Papa said she should forgive her, that Ma was a simple woman with simple thoughts, that her actions had been prompted through love for Priya more than anything else. “Guru broke your heart, and your Ma lashed out. She’s a lioness when it comes to protecting her only cub,” Papa had said.
    In truth it wasn’t Ma she was furious with, it was herself. But if she stopped punishing Ma, she’d have to accept that the blame lay solely at her own feet, and she would never forgive herself for her part in the destruction of Guru’s carefully constructed lie.
    In the space of a month, she’d lost both of her closest friends. Her future stretched out before her, a lonely landscape of tedium with only her guilt to keep her company.
    Ma bustled about affecting a cheerful demeanor, which only served to inflame Priya’s anger and prevent her from releasing Ma from blame. If only she’d show a little contrition. Instead she maintained that she’d taken the correct action in informing the pujari of their son’s debauchery.
    Priya went through the motions, working in the stall, helping Papa in the forest, and catching up on her mending and dress commissions. With the harvest in and the grain distributed, everyone was preparing for the festival and the winter season.
    “Priya! Hey, move up.” Nita nudged her in the small of the back. Priya resisted the urge to turn around and smack her. Instead she took a deep breath and stepped forward.
    The well would be useless soon, frozen to ice. They would get their water from the snow, which would fall in abundance. A howl of pain pulled her from her thoughts.
    “What is it? What’s going on?” She craned her neck to see what all the commotion was at the front of the queue.
    Nita had already gone to investigate, leaving her matka behind to mark her place in the queue.
    Another wail followed. Priya dropped her bucket and rushed forward.
    The women were gathered around Chaya, who was curled up on the dusty ground, her face too pale, her eyes too dark.
    “Oh God! Someone get the vithyan!” Nita cried.
    Priya stumbled back, her eyes wide in shock at the blood seeping out from under Chaya. It pooled about her before being sucked into the parched ground.
    One of the women at the front of the queue dropped her matka and ran off.
    Chaya moaned in pain, clutching her abdomen. Collecting herself, Priya stepped forward and knelt by Chaya. She carefully lifted the woman’s head onto her lap, smoothing back damp tendrils of hair.
    “It’s going to be all right. I promise.” The words felt like a lie; there was too much blood for it to be all right. Chaya’s eyes fluttered as she struggled to stay conscious.
    “Tell Prabhu . . . tell him I loved him . . . tell him my truth . . . my truth is in my mattress.” She closed her eyes.
    Priya held her until the vithyan arrived and confirmed what she already knew.
    Chaya was dead.
     
    “Priya? Beti . . . I’m sorry.” Ma stood in the doorway to her bedroom.
    “What for?”
    “Everything.”
    Priya looked up from her clasped hands. She knew Ma’s stubborn nature. This was the best apology she would get, and oh Gods, she needed a hug right now.
    Her face crumpled, and Ma shot across the