The Witch Within (6 page)

The stupid highly emotional part of me took over this time and I fear that I have missed my only chance to get through to this man. I quickly try to save the situation.

“Do you know why I'm to be brought back home and killed?”

The answer is as hard as his expression.

“You killed your brother.”

”I was trying to save my brother’s life.”

Another blazing leer in my direction.

“With the help of a devil?”

“The only devil I have ever encountered was your...”

He ties my mouth again forcefully. I use the power of my eyes to drain at least a drop of empathy from him, but his face is rigid. The fury has clouded his previously kind eyes. He is colder than ever before and I suddenly understand why. He can’t forgive me and probably never will, because I'm the cause of his misery. I'm the reminder of his biggest sin. Sin—how absurd it is that the sin started off as a good deed.

It dawns on me. The sin has sealed the deal. He won’t save me again because he thinks it was wrong to save me in the first place. He probably even trusts the cruel rumours like everybody else. He believes that I really am a witch and so nothing I say or do will change his mind. There really is no hope left for me.

*

The moon swaps places with the sun. Nathaniel makes a fire and looks around for something to eat; at least I suppose so, because I can hear his belly rumbling. I spot dandelions growing tall nearby and get an idea. I pick up a few, at least as many as my painful wrists allow, and offer them to him. He puts on a confused, almost ridiculing face.

I suppose he wouldn’t accept anything from me, not even if it was something he liked. I uncover my mouth and feed myself when he is not looking. But as soon as he looks my direction, I place the chewed up rag into my mouth again. I'm afraid of him, although he hasn’t been harsh with me.

He looks at my hurt wrists and I notice now that they are covered in blood. The rope has finally cut into my flesh. I suppose I’ve become immune to the pain, because I feel nothing, I just numbly watch the blood streaming down. Nathaniel reaches into his sack for something and I become cautious, when a strange sensation of fever overwhelms me. It's similar to the time when Daniel’s spirit left his body. The fever spreads over me and amplifies, until it feels like burning. Burning within. Then the burning sensation abruptly exchanges to one of freezing and it makes me shiver. I try to shake off the discomfort, but the chill comes crawling back like a procession of ants, covering me from head to toe. And then I feel a blunt ache in my stomach as if something invisible has just punched me, but couldn’t really get through to me completely. Is it Daniel? Is he not just a fearful phantom, but a spirit who stayed behind, because of his sick mind? My head hardens under the weight of that thought. I start to feel feeble and nauseous. If Daniel is still here, I will never find peace again; never, until I die; and maybe not even then. He will watch me dying with a pleased smile on his grim face and welcome me into the realm of the cursed.

Involuntarily, I fall to the ground. I recognise Nathaniel’s face over me. He is saying something, but I can’t hear him and can’t bring myself to react. My thoughts become unreliable, it’s as though I have none. All I see are shadows dancing over me. Grey. Lost. I behold bright red eyes sparking through the dark, gleaming cruelly, and then devious grins in the bushes. It’s all him! His furious spirit is getting a hold of me, his burning touch on my neck makes me freeze and I start to tremble again. Freezing. Burning. Freezing. Burning. When is it going to stop?!Unbearable. Too long. Painful. Misery. Fear. Pain. And then the terrible void. God! Where are you? Help me! Silence. Darkness. Grandmother! Where are you? Help me, please!

*

A warm touch awakes me from the horrid delirium. Too soon it's exchanged for something cool. A wet rag on my forehead. Nathaniel’s hand is trying to rouse me; it’s shaking me, slapping me over my face gently. My eyelids still feel too heavy, but I’m feeling better. Oh, how nice it is to not be burning, freezing, to feel no pain!

Nathaniel’s voice breaks the wall between us and I finally become conscious again.

“Talitha?”

Was that just part of the delirium or has he really pronounced my name this time? I blink my eyes, trying to shake off the terrible vision of Daniel’s spirit. Is it even possible that he was here? Why would he haunt me? Hasn’t he had enough of my fear, is he hungry for more?

I notice that my wrists are free and Nathaniel has been tying them with clean pieces of cloth. He actually seems worried, probably not as much about me as about his soul. I can feel his guilt growing to an uncontrollable size and it hovers above us like a cloud of darkness. I know though that it's just waiting to be saved by a wind of change.

Thank God I'm feeling better now! Thank you, Grandmother! I have never been so aware of your presence as I am now. In my despair, God did not answer, but you did. However, if it was God, then I'm truly sorry. I just don’t know how to perceive him, her, it.

I close my eyes and indulge in this moment of peace. I'm comfortably warm now, not burning nor freezing. Then I realise that an itchy textile has been spread over me. It smells familiar. Nathaniel’s cape. I curl up in it and inhale the smell. I feel safe, although I shouldn’t. In fact, I should shake it off and kick it back to him. But I know that I won’t.

Nathaniel pulls a small pot out of his sack and hangs it on the branches over a fire that he has prepared. He reaches for the generous pile of acorns next to him, picks up a handful and throws it into the pot. I sit up. The vision of food makes me extremely hungry. He is startled by me and almost knocks over the pot. He fixes it again and turns back to me, almost shy. We gaze at each other for a while, too used to just looking, not speaking.

“Keep resting please. As soon as you feel better, we can continue walking.”

The familiar stinging pain comes crawling back to me. It blocks my throat. I can’t say anything anymore, I have lost interest. I simply lie down and bluntly gaze upon the clear sky. For the first time this autumn, I appreciate how exceptionally nice the weather has been.

*

Later, he opens the acorns and serves me a generous portion. He still tries to keep the same old chasm between us, not comprehending that we are already intertwined. I suppose it's easier for him to ignore it, not having to deal with his conscience, but the survivor in me keeps trying to build a bridge over that imaginary chasm of his.

“We have met before, back home, do you remember?”

He hesitates and then shakes his head. It's obvious that he is lying.

“You come from the blacksmith family, don’t you?”

He does not agree but neither does he object and so I continue speaking.

“I remember your mother. She used to sell flowers and herbs on the market every Sunday.”

“Until last winter. She passed away a day before Christmas Eve.”

“I'm sorry. I didn’t know that.”

He faces me and for a while it makes me think that we have finally established some connection. But he tramples all over it again.

“Do you think that I’m stupid?”

I show him an honestly confused expression.

“I know what you're doing, that you're trying to get to me, manipulate me to let you go. Don’t even bother, I'm more stubborn than you might think.”

“No. You’ve got it all wrong. I just...”

He interrupts me.

“My mother gave me one piece of advice before she passed away – you can’t trust anyone but yourself. And she spoke from her own experience. My father used to go to brothels any time he could. He even brought those loose women home from time to time, when he got really drunk and threw away his mask of false virtue. One day he even brought back a baby boy. Whether or not he really was the father, God only knows...”

He lets out a dry laugh and I retreat inward for a while. This would explain a lot—these two were so different, it was hard to believe they were brothers.

“Therefore I never let people fool me, Talitha. I know I can only rely on myself.”

He knows my name. So he had pronounced it before?! Had he known it even before he was sent to hunt me down? I don't care. It was a friendly gesture to call me by my name and so I instantly act on it.

“I don’t like it when people play games with me either. But what is far worse is when they blame you for something you haven't done and even trump it up with ridiculously odious details.”

He goes speechless. Is he so taken aback by my honesty or does he contemplate whether he can trust me or not? I have to keep talking, I urge myself again, I can’t afford to lose this rare opportunity to get through to him.

“Who paid you to bring me back?”

He answers curtly this time.

“The city.”

That’s not a good sign, if it was my family, I would still have a chance to survive.

“Have they promised you a high reward?”

“Not really.”

“How could it save your father then?”

He turns to me and this time his gaze lingers on my face. I dive into his penetrating blue eyes and nervousness overwhelms me when I comprehend that they are focused entirely on mine.

“My father got into some trouble in one of the brothels. It seems that he offended some authority, or someone of great importance, he did not remember exactly who it was, because the booze blinded his mind. However, they came to get him the next day and put him straight into prison. His health has been deteriorating since. He is dying of hunger as we speak. It’s your life for his, Talitha. We made a deal with the judge.”

The blunt reality crushes me. He would not prefer me, a stranger charged for a murder, over his own father.

“You see now? I couldn’t help you even if I believed that you were innocent, even if I wanted to help you, even if… I’m simply bound by something stronger than mercy.”

I turn away from him and curl up into his cape again. There is nothing I could say that could surpass what he has just admitted. Am I really on my death march, God?

*

I do feel better since he took care of my wounds and fed me, yet I pretend to feel weak still. Just to spare time. Time is all that I have left. I'm certain now that Nathaniel will take me back and although he is a good man, he does not hold me dear and probably never would, even if we met under different circumstances. Time is all I have left. But what should I do with it? I can’t just idly lie here forever. Each time I ponder over the horrid uncertainty that awaits me, everything inside me tightens. I used to put others before me, often carried blame on my shoulders instead of letting them deal with it, but now, for the first time in my life I feel sorry for myself. Myself. Me. I'm also a person, a soul that deserves to live.

Who is to say that it’s a virtue to be selfless? Who is to say that it's not a sin to disregard one’s self? Who could help me better? Who should care more? I ask my soul an honest question - what do you really want? The answer is simple - to live. But my body has to die; there is no option any longer. I still have the chance to decide how to die though. The plan of how to die overwhelms me. I know I must perish before the judges destroy my body and soul in their morbid ways. I want my body to remain here, buried beneath the beautiful autumn leaves, eaten by worms and raptors. That is how it’s supposed to be, not being torn apart and damaged by some vile executioners. But how do I proceed once I decide?

A scary thought awakens in me. A thought that I can’t believe I'm even capable of thinking. Could I provoke Nathaniel to kill me? I could try to run away from him again and be as aggressive as possible this time. Either I win or die. But could I make him become a true sinner after all? Let him experience even more guilt? Make him kill two people in a week? Well, most probably even three, for his father will be lost if he loses me. I suppose I could. I must put myself first this time, although there might be another way to fight...

An impetuous rage gushes over me. I feel its heat pumping through my veins. Soon I get that tingling sensation in my feet - the desire to run away, to be untamed, wild, spontaneous, free, free! I'm done thinking straight. I give in to my passion completely. I use the fact that my hands have been freed, dig them into the mud, rise and speed off as fast as I can. Nathaniel is so taken aback that he trips before he gets up to follow me. I keep turning to him in a hectic rage. He is fast, but I have to be faster. So far I’m managing. The madness has given me more power than I would have thought, but soon my chest starts aching as the chilly wind reaches it. My frantic mind is scheming what to do next. I need some weapon, protection, in case he catches me. And so I pick up a solid rock. I'm ready to fight if I must. I'm aware that I'm not entirely myself now, this is the wild me taking over and it can’t be controlled any more. I’m too afraid to check how far ahead I am, for I sense that he is getting near. I hastily suppress the excruciating pain in my chest and decide I’d rather stop breathing, when suddenly his hands grope me. I start kicking, beating, biting, screaming, but he holds on too tight and squeezes my hand so that I release my poor weapon. I utter a raging cry and let go of the rock. His grasp becomes tighter as I desperately try to free myself. I must run! I must fight! I must run! If only that man wasn’t so strong, if only I could possess his strength instead. If only... I can feel his breath on my neck as he says in a shaky apologetic tone:

“I’m sorry, Talitha, I really am, but I must do this.”

He grabs my wrists and uses the end of the rope to tie my hands to my body. The sharp pain of the rope cutting again into my open wounds causes me to let out an even more tortured cry. He loosens the rope at my wrists and ties me tighter above the injury.

I can’t fight him anymore. My dignity has been flushed down by the stream of tears. Unstoppable helplessness makes me weep as he leads me back to our camp. I’ve tried it twice already, how many times do I have to burn myself to finally realise that I just won’t be able to escape him? And now I'm bound to my destiny even stronger. All my chances have been swallowed by a monstrous urge for freedom.