Marek (Buried Lore Book 1) (6 page)

Eventually though, Mama recovered, threading silver loops through her
ears again, and wearing her blouses off the shoulder.
She was a lot scrawnier than she
once was, but she was back to singing. The weather got warmer and for a time
Sasha was happier after suddenly coming into some coin.

Then
the arguments between them started. At first they were over another woman who
had joined our troupe. My mother accused Sasha of cheating on her. Then my name
came up in their arguing, which seemed to last for weeks. Sasha would complain
that I took too much food, and that I was always at Mama’s heels – that I
gave them no room to breathe. ‘I will leave you for her if you don’t do
something about your brat,’ shouted Sasha one night before storming from the
tent. I tried to lock out their shouting so many times by covering my ears. So
often I would go down and sit by the creek with the others in our troupe. They
would whisper among themselves whenever I was around, though they were kind
enough. To distract me they would make me sing for them. They said I had a fine
voice like my Mama. This pleased me. The girlfriends of some of the men –
new ones in each town we visited – would paint my lips the
colour
of bright red cherries and fuss about me.

When
we were just days from reaching the coast, we found the farm of Jon and
Esme
, and their four screeching children, around my own
age. Even now I can see that house on the hill and remember those feelings of
dread before I was told what was about to happen to me. I remember looking at
the children curiously and knowing straightaway that we would never be friends.

My
mother told me that Jon and
Esme
were kind people who
would need help running their farm. She told me to be strong but I screamed and
kicked and stamped the floor. I would not be left without a fight. My mother
sat on their front porch patting and rubbing my back until I had calmed down.
Finally, when I had no more tears, I lay my head on Mama’s lap.

Then
she went away and I tried to call out to her but no sound came. My voice had
been taken, most likely stolen by the demons that had locked away Sasha’s
heart. Mama never turned to look at me, just clutched at her scarf pulling it
tightly around her head and running straight into the arms of Sasha. I will
never forget his face. It was the face of a winner.

That
was the last time I saw her. I scratched an image of my mother in a piece of
bark so I would not forget what she looked like. For the first few years I
would pull it from its hiding place when the memory of my mother’s face started
to dim. Then it became just a bitter reminder of a time I would never see
again.

When
Marek
turned up it was a sign from God. It was like
someone put the sun inside him and when he smiled it shone out. Perhaps he was
an angel I thought. His voice was soft and deep. His skin was the
colour
of honey and his light brown eyes had tiny flecks of
gold.

We
slept on the forest floor that first night and ate a small portion of food. He
shared the food equally. The rain was bad and we were forced to sit huddled in
the hollow of a tree waiting for it to stop. At some point I dozed. When I
woke, I found my head was resting on
Marek’s
broad
chest, the steady rhythm of his heart beating loudly. I studied his face while
his eyes were closed, afraid to move in case I woke him. When he caught me
looking up at him I rushed from the hollow. I was thinking that he might be
angry. Sooner or later all masters were angry about something.

We
walked for another two days and nights. Our food from
Esme
was nearly gone. I was hoping that
Marek
approved of
me so I only ate the smallest portion. I knew that in less than a week we would
have left the oak woods for the Black Forest, and other strange lands, and
perhaps he might think of selling me to someone else for food.

That
night we sat by the fire.
Marek
talked about his
island often, the golden sands, the cool waters, the sea birds, and about his
father. I tried to picture myself there on the beaches but it was hard to
imagine since I had never seen the sea. He talked about the girls on the island
and I wondered what it would be like to have their life, dressed in thin cotton
and endless days of sunshine.

Marek
had
his secrets too. He talked more about the other people on his island than
himself. At times he would stop talking mid-sentence and bite his lip. I felt
he was hiding things. It was normal for men to lie and say what they have to,
to keep you quiet. Even beat you when it’s necessary. And there was another
thing that I noticed. When he lit a fire it was almost as if he didn’t need a
flint, so quickly did the wood take to flame even when it was damp. It was like
magic.

Marek
chased down a hare with such speed, it was hard to keep track of him through
the trees. A short time later, he reappeared quietly beside me holding the
bloodied carcass. I jumped with fright at his sudden appearance and he laughed,
but it was not like the mocking laughter of Jon and his brood of brats.

‘That’s
much better. For a moment I wondered whether you had any teeth.’ I felt stupid
then. How hideous I must have looked:
a description often used by the
boys on the farm
.

He
skinned the hare with his big hands and a short knife, and we roasted it with
sticks over the fire. It tasted good. The rich juicy meat dripped down my chin
and fingers. I was unsure why he was staring until he passed me a cloth to
clean my face.

The
next day we came to a stream. It had been a long time since I had bathed in
fresh water.

It
was a sunny day and
Marek
peeled off his clothes
until he was just in undergarments, and I looked in amazement at his chest and
strong arms. He reminded me of the men from the troupe and for the first time I
understood why my mother spent so much time with them. He entered the water and
rubbed at his body with soap, spreading foam over his muscled arms and torso.
His wet body glistened from the sun and his long thick hair clung to his back.
He called to me to share the soap, which he said was made from wood ash and
fat.

When
I started to walk in fully clothed he laughed.

‘Do
you not have any underclothes?’ I hesitantly peeled off the dress to reveal a
grey sheath beneath, which barely covered my knees, but
Marek
failed to notice. If he
was
one of Jon’s sons he would
have mocked my skinny body.
Marek
waded towards me in
the waist-deep water. He pushed me under the water and I panicked.

‘You’re
safe! It’s just shallow water.’

He
turned me around so my back was to him. I could hardly refuse. He was, after
all, my master. While he washed my hair I could see my reflection in the water
and for a moment I was looking at my mama, her hair and her chin. But I was not
my mother. I was not beautiful at all.

Marek’s
hands were gentle as he massaged my scalp then combed through my long hair. I
felt tears prick at my eyes. This was the second time his hands had touched me
with tenderness. He dipped my head under the water playfully.

When
we left the water I noticed he was looking at me strangely. I followed his gaze
to my body where my wet undergarment clung, and I prayed that he was not
thinking of hurting me.

Marek

Until that moment I had regarded
Celeste as someone a lot younger than myself. But with her face clean and the
clinging fabric outlining her body, I could see how wrong I was.

I
only
realised
that I had been staring when she
covered herself with her hands, her cheeks reddening. What an idiot I was!
Sure, I had seen the girls from the island bathing, and yes, I admit to
thinking about them a lot when I lay down to sleep, and even admit to meeting
one or two of them on occasion at the beach. I was not completely without
knowledge of the female kind. I just wasn’t expecting to be this close to a
girl, sleeping beside her at night, bathing, eating. Celeste had been just a
child until that moment.

She
eyed me suspiciously and I made a feeble apology and explanation. She ignored
it and quickly dressed.

‘Can
you write?’ I asked her, to distract her from her embarrassment, and mine.

She
shook her head.

‘Is
there any way you can communicate?’

She
didn’t respond. Her face was stony and unresponsive.

‘I
can teach you your name.’

She
followed my hand as I spelt out her name with a stick in the hard earth. It
took several minutes of encouragement to get her to copy me. She did so and
when she was finished she surveyed her work. The effect was uneven and
illegible but I could tell that she was pleased with herself.

She
pointed to me and I wrote my name, which again she copied.

‘Do
you have any family?’

From
her sack, Celeste handed me a piece of bark etched with a woman’s face. The
eyes were almond shaped, the lips full, though there were deep frown lines.

‘Is
this your mother?’

She
nodded.

‘Do
you want to try and find her?’

She
nodded again but it was with a little less enthusiasm. With further questioning
I found that she once lived on a farm with others, perhaps her grandparents,
far north from here. She drew a small map of the woods. She indicated that we
would shortly be on the other side then pointed to an area much further east. I
despaired that it was not in the direction we were heading. Perhaps later, when
I had finished my quest, I could help her find her family.

Continuing
our journey the next day, clusters of oak started to thin, and meadows and
wider skies lay just ahead. The sound of wood chopping brought relief, as I had
begun to fear that this lonely woodland would never end.

A
recently used trail led to the crest of a valley, and from
there
the path continued downward towards a small village. Behind the village was a
tall guard of trees, and the endless stretch of darkness beyond this point
– as indicated at the edge of my map – was the Black Forest.

In
the village, clouds of thick wood smoke hovered over crudely thatched roofs,
and the smell of salty bacon cooking reminded us that we hadn’t eaten. Ravens
picked at bloodied animal skins thrown in a heap on the ground, vegetable
gardens were untended, and live animals were tethered on short ropes that
allowed them barely enough room to walk.  These folk survived on little,
and did little to survive.

Strange
crosses were scratched above hut doorways. Some had the remains of animal
carcasses at the foot of the door. We passed a man who ignored our greeting. He
stood with shoulders braced and fists clenched to warn off our intrusion. These
people were not welcoming.

Celeste
grabbed my arm and shook her head. She had a bad feeling about the place or
maybe a memory. I assured her that I would not leave her side.

Several
children had cornered a chicken and laughed at its bursts of failed flight in
an attempt to be free. They stopped their game when they saw us.

‘Are
you the children stealers?’ A small child had bravely broken from the safety of
his group to speak with us. His face and hands smeared with days of no washing,
and the hem of his long nightgown was heavily soiled from brown earth.

I
felt slight nausea and then it passed. Perhaps it was the lack of food. I
patted the child on the head and assured him I was no child stealer. I asked
where his father was and he pointed to a house.

‘The
bad fairies suck out your blood and use your intestines to make their boot
laces,’ he continued, before racing off, presumably to warn his father that the
children stealers were coming.

I
looked beside me at Celeste whose olive skin had gone ashen. She looked back at
me as if I was a
spectre
.

We
passed two women with bare feet and grey pinafores over coarsely woven dresses.
They ran from us dropping their pails. After spying our approach, another woman
called to her children to come to her side.

The
brave boy, who was watched with awe by the litter of children, led us into a
house that was slightly bigger than the others. A group of men sat around a
table and as Celeste and I entered they stopped their dice game to give us an
unwelcome stare.

The
children did not step into the room but peered in through a small window. They
were nervous but I wondered that it
may
not be from
the bad fairies, rather the men. One of the men told them to ‘scat’ and they
bobbed out of sight like sparrows.

One
man addressed me but, while experiencing another dizzy spell, I did not catch
what he was saying. There seemed an invisible wall around me that bent and
contracted, and just for a moment their faces were out of focus.

The
man repeated his question: ‘
Why
are you here?
Strangers are not welcome.’ The men were sun-weathered and strong and some wore
daggers on their belts. One of them stood and moved to the door behind us.
Something about this was menacing and Celeste took a step closer to me.