It was hard to explain to kids why we should leave the house in the middle of the night. I refreshed the warming runes on my their clothes and activated the strength to cast on my cloth to carry Art.
When we finally left the house, the moon was high overhead, casting a silver glow over the trees. We slipped through the shadows, trying to stay as quiet as possible. Arlene's small steps made our progress slow, but she was keeping quiet, as I asked.
Choosing the path carefully, we headed away from the village enterance. When we passed the wide clearing with a frozen stream for a third time, I fell uneasy. Were we moving in circles?
I shook my head and picked up the pace, looking straight ahead. Never before I was lost in the forest.
"Mom, I'm tired," my daughter whimpered.
Art was sleeping on my shoulders. My feet sunk deeper into the snow as I slowed down. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.
What if there is only one way in and out of this place?
I poured the remaining force into the strengthening frame embedded in my undershirt and picked up Arlene. We had to hurry. I rushed to the arch in desperate hope that it would let us out.
Sweat trailed down my back. Without slowing down, I wiped my forehead.
The squeaky sounds of steps in the fresh snow echoed after us. My heart sunk into my toes. And I dared to look over my shoulder. The flicker of torchlight was dancing in the darkness behind us. Someone must have seen us leave.
The arch was too far, and I wasn't even sure if it would let us out. The magic embedded in it was way too powerful for me to compete.
Villagers were getting closer and closer. Brandishing swords joined the sound of the chase. Were they planning to fight me? Women with two kids?
I released all my magic, forcing every last bit out. As my hands grew weaker, I had to let Arlene down. Pushing her behind my back, I turned on the approaching men.
My eyes caught on the tall figure of my husband. His face was unrecognizable: features twisted with anger. I had never seen him so consumed by rage. Atti stepped closer, his fingers wrapped around my arm.
"How could you, Ari?"
A group of women took my children away. I had no choice but to follow, unable to escape the wrath of my husband and the crowd.
"Look at this shameful woman!" I heard Pastor Dion's voice. "True daughter of night! A woman's place in this world is one of subservience and humility. The Church of the Sun preaches purity, and we cannot allow ourselves to be tarnished by evil."
His tone grew more menacing as they drugged me through the streets. Atti's steel grip was crushing my forearm. Was he strong enough to break my arm? I never expected this question to arise.
"Your behavior is unacceptable, and it is my duty as a servant of the Sun to discipline you and show you the immortality of your ways. Women like you, who refuse to accept their place in the world, are a threat to the community. The Congregation requires obedience and humility, and it is your duty to provide it. You will be punished, and you will learn to submit to the will of the Sun. Your priorities must change, woman, and you must learn to put the needs of the community above your own selfish desires."
They threw me into an empty room in the Pastor's house and locked in for the night. The sound of the lock clicking echoed throughout the room. I could hear Pastor Dion's footsteps as he approached my prison cell. I wrapped my left hand around the growing bruise on my right forearm. Tears blurred my vision.
"Think about your behavior and your priorities," he hissed." You have much to atone for."
***
I had spent three days in Pastor Dion's house 'atoning': fasting and praying. They forced me to make a vow to act up to the churches' standards. It's not like a vow without a ritual would bind me to anything. But it was still hard to promise anything to the person that you would much rather curse. At the end, I swallowed my pride and said the words. I needed to come back to my children.
Despair settled deep into my stomach. My husband now ignored me. My kids caught a nasty cold after our escape attempt. Zaira was gone, and I was drowning in the gray emptiness of women surrounding me every day, everywhere.
Every day I was running in circles with no end. As I went about my daily assignments at the mill house, shop, or stable, a sense of hopelessness pressed on me. The air grew chockful with the scent of musty straw and damp wood. My every step felt like wading through mud.
I was suffocating under the watchful and controlling gaze of Pastor Dion and the sticky care of the merchant, Bruno. His constant attention felt like a dirty grip on my throat: vile, fetid. But I knew that if the villagers found out I was a witch, it would have been worse.
I was kneeling the dough when I heard my husband talking to someone outside. I easily recognized Enoch's cheerful voice and couldn't help but step closer to the door.
Enoch was the pastor's right hand and somehow gained the full trust of my husband. Something that I used to have.
"... wife remembers to lower her gaze."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, take my wife, for example. She never looks up, because she respects me enough and trusts me to show her the way. All she needs to see are my feet. I am saying this with the best intentions. Pastor Dion mentioned that if you won't teach our wife to fit in, he would be forced to show her the way himself."
What a nonsense!
I stepped away from the door and continued to knit the dough. I threw the blob into the bowl with a little too much force and it fell off the table with a dull thump.
Atti stepped inside, chicks red from the winter cold. We exchanged tensed stares for a moment before I went to pick up the bowl and the ruined dough. His gaze was burning the back of my head.
"Are you going to teach our daughter to behave too?"
"If it would help her not to behave like her delirious mother."
"You really think that this is how it's supposed to be? This is our life? You teaching me and kids to 'behave'? Never look up?"
"Apparently it's too late for you! Look at you, dirt on your clothes, food on the floor, yelling at me. This is how you respect me? And look at our son. He is weak. He can't make a step without your approval! What kind of man are you trying to raise?"
I opened and closed my month unable to answer, not knowing what to say to that.
Tears filled my eyes. There was no way out of this, out of this place, out of this situation. I broke eye contact with my husband, threw the dough into the garbage and walked towards the back to wash my hands. I had no more energy to fight.
***
Today, the village was celebrating. The shortest day of the year was marking the start of longer days to come.
The main plaza was abuzz with activity as the people prepared for the festivities. The smell of roasting meats and freshly baked bread wafted through the air. Occasional knocks of axes on the wood were breaking through the hubbub of voices. Broomsticks were swishing across cobblestone pavement, even though it was already cleaner than a beggar's plate.
Atti left early to help build the stage, carrying off all the tension hanging between us.
My children were finally feeling better and running around all morning. Sparkling Arline's laughter woke me up at a crack of dawn. Watching her and Art play at breakfast somewhat lightens my mood.
After leaving them under the schoolmasters' watchful eye, I went to the communal kitchen. We all received the cooking assignment today.
Zaira was here, too. Every time I caught a glimpse of her, I wanted to shake her hard until she snaps back. But the voice of reason made me doubt that it would help.
She finally started talking in short abrupt phrases: asking to pass something or informing people of the readiness of her task. But it wasn't her. Like the being inside of her body no longer existed.
I looked back at the chopping board, focusing on carrots. It was hard to act natural, carefree, so I looked down. This is what they all wanted of me, wasn't it?
My mind was busy going through the details of the plan that came to me last night. I couldn't shake off the feeling of inevitable disaster. And performing the Rite of Appeal to the Ancestors was my last resort.
After my escape attempt, Atti was ignoring me. He preferred to spend time with his new friends. I tried to see his point, to relate, to understand. But I couldn't. He chose these new people over our family. Over me. He betrayed me.
Children were not invited to the evening portion of the event. And after I put them to bed, it shouldn't be too hard to slip away.
When the night finally downed over the village, I sneaked past the houses. The moonlight cast a pale hue across the empty streets. Everyone was either celebrating or sleeping, but I had to be careful.
My heart raced as I hurried towards the river, away from the village lights. My breathing was shallow and shaky. One wrong step, and I could be discovered. And only Dagda knows what they would do to me this time.
Off the trodden path, the loud creaking of the snow began scraping over my nerves.
The only true cradle of nature around was the river. Everything else here was sapless, drained of any magic.
There was one spot where the cliffs rose high above the water. Few people ever went there. It was a fitting site to make my appeal.
When the thick forest shielded me from the houses, I took in a deep breath of the fresh night air, probing the surrounding magic. The power of the river was just as I remembered it: murky and unfriendly. Performing my appeal would be risky in this hostility, but I was desperate for advice.
I swiftly set up a circle: lit candles, arranged herbs and my offerings. I closed my eyes and turned my focus inward, trying my best to focus on my query and picture my grandmother's face. After grasping some semblance of a balance, I dipped into the river's powers.
An ancient and powerful source was taking its origin somewhere nearby. It was feeding this river with so much energy that even dead land around couldn't suck it dry. Everything was out of balance in this place.
Slowly, my inner vision cleared, and I saw my granny. The way I remember her: long brown hair with a light touch of grey in a tight braid, pristine green dress, heavy brow line, and a soft, loving smile. Her warm and comforting aura enveloped me, bringing the long gone a sense of safety. She smiled gently, and I felt my worries ease.
As the vision continued, I noticed my grandmother gesturing to come closer. I approached her at the edge of a cliff. I knew my astral body could not fall into the water, but I couldn't shake off a fear of falling into the icy depth.
Ancestors couldn't talk. But grandma was a very strong witch. She touched my temples and translated her intentions directly into my mind. She showed me a way to escape - to swim down the river current and leave the village behind.
As I returned to my body, I felt the supportive hand of grandma on my back, but I couldn't stop crying. This was futile. The river current was too strong for my children to survive.
How could she show me something like this? How could she even think that I would ever abandon my children? Was everything this dire? There was no way out?
I got up, legs stiff from sitting on the cold snow crust. Candles were smoking in the moonlight. They died as soon as the vision ended. I stepped closer to the cliff, looking at the spot where grandma's spirit stood a second ago.
Strong push on my back knocked the air out of my lungs. The next moment, I was falling towards the icy gulf.
The world spun around fast. I caught a glimpse of the thing that had pushed me. The mask of pure anger, with eyes filled with blood. The features of the creature were sharp, demonic. And the expression was one of deep loathing.
That was the last thing I saw before I submerged into the icy-cold sludge.