The Spell of Rosette (3 page)

She stepped across the threshold. A draught rushed down the hall to meet her, causing wisps of hair to tickle her face. She brushed them away with both hands, flipping her long plait behind her.

No lanterns glowed. No candles burned on their wrought-iron stands. It was like a dream where things were familiar yet not quite right. Feeling her way along with one hand on the wall, she stopped at the first doorway and looked in. It was the library, usually the
brightest place in the house. John’ra insisted the fire be kept going all night, even in the summer. He said it was for inspiration. The library was dark now, abandoned. No fire. No light. No inspiration.

She stumbled into the reading table as she searched for a candle. Finding one, she struck a match, the sound tearing through the air. It flared up for a moment then died out as the wick caught flame.

What was that?
She froze.

It might have been a nightjar in the pine trees, or footsteps on the front verandah. Whatever it was, it stopped short, along with her breath. She swallowed, fighting the dryness in her throat, listening hard for the sound again. When it didn’t return, she crept out of the library to search the rest of the house. Room by room she went, looking for her family and any hint of what had happened; and room by room she found nothing unusual except for the emptiness, and the dark.

By the time she reached the kitchen she was shaking.
What’s that smell?
She held the light high over her head, peering in. The pantry shelves were full of jars—fruits and nuts, pasta and rice—all in their places. The spices sat in little wooden boxes, orderly and undisturbed, and the pots and pans hung in nested ranks above the stove, their copper bottoms glinting in the candlelight. She caught her reflection in one, and saw the others there too.

The blood drained from her face. She’d found her family.

Mama, John’ra, D’ran and two members of the household staff were laid out on the floor like freshly chopped wood. Glazed eyes stared at the ceiling and walls, necks at unusual angles, limbs askew. There were drag marks across the floor, leading out into the hall. Blood splattered their clothes, matting her mother’s hair and obscuring her face.

Kalindi looked away, unable to shut her eyes. They came to rest on the sink as she backed up. The basin was filled with a dark liquid, steam rising from the surface.

‘Mama?’ Tears spilled down her face.

A creaking on the verandah spun her around. It wasn’t a nightjar. Voices rose and fell, arguing in harsh, guttural sounds, like boots kicking gravel.

She dropped the candle and raced blindly down the hall, her footfalls silent on the thick carpets. Pushing through the back screen door, she vaulted over the railing and tore down the path, leaping the garden fence without breaking stride. Staying low, she kept to the grassy edges of the walkways so her boots wouldn’t tap out a signalling
here I am!
Circling wide, she crawled under the paddock fence and into the fields that bordered the estate. She ran, fell down, scrambled up and ran again.

She looked behind once. No light came from the house, its outline a black etch on the horizon, a dark shadow about to be swallowed up by the encroaching fog. The only sound she could hear came from the pigpens: distant grunts and squeals.

She kept running, legs working hard and eyes wide open. Darkness blurred the landscape until she could distinguish only the glistening of the cobblestones in front of her. She followed the driveway, heart pounding.

Kalindi had no plan. She couldn’t think to make one. Her pace slowed as she reached the entrance gate—the wrought-iron pillar cold to the touch. No-one was coming, at least not anyone with a light. Hesitating for only a second, she let her hand slide off the post and dashed out of the estate.

Her pace quickened as the road sloped down to the densely treed valley. She couldn’t see it, but she knew it was there, a dark outline against a deeper darkness—
the forest of Espiro Dell Ray. If she could get to those trees that guarded the borders, she could disappear. She would be safe.

‘Assalo!’

She stopped suddenly, feeling the vibration of hoofbeats pounding up the paddock. They reverberated through the ground and up her legs as the tall black horse appeared. He halted above her, pressing his chest into the fence, soft wickers blowing from his nostrils.

‘It’s all right, Assalo,’ she whispered. ‘I’ll get you out of here, but we have to be quick and we have to be silent.’

The horse pawed the ground, churning up grass and dirt, his four white socks bright in the early night.

Kalindi Rose climbed up the embankment and stroked Assalo’s neck, flipping strands of his long black mane over to the other side of his crest. He lowered his head, pushing it between the rails to smell her boots before nipping at her bare legs. She pressed her cheek against his shoulder and took a deep breath.

‘Come on,’ she said, pushing off from him and sliding down the embankment. She hit the road running. ‘To the gate. Follow.’

He trotted along the fenceline above her until a whizzing sound cut through the air. They were firing at Assalo! She dropped to the ground when she heard the thud of an arrow finding its mark. She scrambled up and ran, choking on the bile in her throat.

Assalo screamed so loudly, she couldn’t hear her boots crunching on the gravel, or the involuntary gasps coming out as she sucked in the air between cries. His agony reverberated into the night, drowning out every other noise, drowning out her thoughts.

She reached the edge of Espiro Dell Ray, her lungs burning and her face streaked with tears. She didn’t stop. She plunged into the forest, keeping to the edge of
the main road. By the time it had dwindled into a narrow track, she couldn’t hear Assalo any more. She couldn’t see anything through her tears.

After an hour of feeling her way in the dark tangle of branches, vines and dead wood, she stumbled into a hollowed-out redwood trunk. With her hand on the mossy bark, she steadied her breath, checking for the presence of other creatures. It felt vacant. She crawled through the opening, pressing herself against the back wall and bringing her knees up to her chin. She sat there staring into the night, listening.

Crickets hummed and wings flapped. A nighthawk called from far away, answered by an even more distant cry. No one followed.

After another hour of listening, she dug into the leaf mould and curled up, sobbing herself to sleep.

‘You made a right mess of this,’ Archer growled, bending to grab the dead man’s hands. He started to drag the body out of the kitchen. ‘Get his legs.’

Rogg gripped the ankles, hoisting the other half of the corpse. ‘I didn’t start it, Arch.’ He nodded to the body. ‘This bugger did.’

‘
She
said to get the vial and not hurt ’em—any of ’em.’

Rogg laughed. ‘He ain’t hurting now. Besides, that other witch didn’t care.’

‘Idiot.’ Archer glared as he backed down the hallway. ‘That other one had her own purpose. It’s the High Priestess who’s got the gold. What if she won’t pay us now?’

‘Didn’t think of that.’ Rogg stared blankly at Archer as he manoeuvred the body through the front door frame. He frowned. ‘What if she curses us?’

‘She won’t.’

‘She’s a witch.’

‘I can handle her.’

‘And our pay?’

‘We’ll get it.’ Archer winked as he lifted the body higher to keep the head from bumping down the front steps.

‘How?’

‘We’ll trick her.’

Rogg didn’t respond immediately. He dropped one of the booted feet to scratch his matted hair. ‘Can you trick a witch?’

‘She’s only a woman, Rogg.’

‘I don’t know about that.’

Archer ignored him, his face twisting into a smile. ‘She said, “
I need the blood of the witch-child”.
’

‘What’s that mean?’

‘Shut up. I’m thinking.’

Archer stopped in front of the pigsty. The animals were grunting, pressing their snouts against the low wooden fence.

‘
She
wants the blood. Said so right to me face.’ He started swinging the corpse, nodding to Rogg to do the same. ‘We’ll bleed the lad before it sets. He must be the witch-child.’

‘But we can’t carry it.’

‘Get one of those kegs.’ Archer pointed at the barn. ‘They’re small enough to strap on your back.’

Rogg didn’t answer. He was watching an enormous boar standing with his front feet on the top rail of the sty. His mouth opened as he squealed, saliva dripping from his lower jaw in long, translucent loops.

‘We’ll make it look like a blood-vengeance,’ Archer went on, the body gaining momentum as he spoke.

On the third swing, they heaved it over the top rail and into the pigsty.

‘We sack the place? Turn it over real good?’ Rogg asked, his eyes brightening.

‘And take the blood of the witch-child.’

‘Then we get paid?’

‘Yeah. Then we get paid.’

‘And that other one? With the strange questions?’

‘She wanted them all dead anyway. We’re good.’ Archer spat before heading back to the house, the pig squeals turning into chomps.

Kalindi awoke with a start, the events of the night flooding back to her before she opened her eyes. After taking a few deep breaths, she peeked out through the entrance of her sanctuary. Shafts of early-morning light illuminated the woods, turning everything gold.

I’m still alive…thank you!

She crawled out through the opening and stretched, scanning the dense terrain.

Has anyone seen Jarrod?

Her thoughts radiated out from her mind, filling the forest with her question along with her gratitude. She got a comforting response, an energy that made her feel safe. Jarrod must be in the area. He hunted here most mornings and she planned to find him quickly, before he went looking for her at the estate. He would help her figure out what to do next, and he would probably have news and something to eat. He might even be looking for her already. She let out several long whistles like the high-pitched cry of a red-tailed kite.

After waiting, her head tilted to the side, she went in search of a drink. The creek was nearby, down a long descent just past the boulder grove. She could glimpse the pines that surrounded the huge rocks from where she stood. They weren’t far off.

Leaves fell from her arms and back as she bent to take off her boots and tie them together by the laces. Hoisting them over her shoulder, she squatted down and relieved herself before heading towards the rocks. She had spent her childhood exploring these woods, even though the forest was considered uncanny, taboo. Almost no-one
came here and her family had forbidden her to. She ignored their warnings. The woods called to her, always had, and today she felt especially glad she’d listened.

She reached the boulder grove and smiled. She and Jarrod had named it years ago for no other reason than its massive rocks. They used to pretend that in ancient times giant children played games here, the monoliths mere pebbles to them. They towered over Kalindi’s head, warm to the touch. She slid her hand down the smooth stone in greeting, her eyes welling up. Pressing her lips against the surface, she whispered to the granite stone,
I’m scared.

A light breeze touched her face, cooling her cheeks and drying her tears. She walked to the centre of the grove, dropped to her knees and buried her hands in the soil.

‘Goddess of the woods, please help me.’

When she rose, she felt lighter, though thirst dried her throat and her stomach growled. ‘I’m going for a drink and a wash,’ she said to the grove. ‘If you see Jarrod, please send him my way.’

She stopped a few times to navigate the steep descent, occasionally mimicking the sound of a kite.

No answer.

What if something had happened to Jarrod too? What if the entire township of Lividica had been attacked? Could another war have started?

She slipped a few feet before catching herself on a willow root.
Steady. It’s a long way down.

She reached the bottom of the gorge and jumped the last few feet to the white-pebbled beach where the creek danced over rock and stone, jabbering like an exuberant child. She dropped her boots, hurrying to reach the water’s edge. She sank her hands into the flow, washing them with white sand before drinking deeply.

Water dripped down her chin as she stood pulling her sweater over her head. Her undershirt followed. She tossed both by her boots and stepped out of her long skirt and leggings.

Gingerly, she walked into the stream, goose bumps rising up her arms and legs.
You’re freezing today!

At thigh depth she bent over and splashed her face and breasts and underarms, washing away the dried sweat and fear of the night before. Leaning back on her elbows, she submerged her whole body before jumping up, spluttering.

Kalindi hopped around on the little beach, getting the colour back into her fingers and toes. Her breath came in gasps as she unbraided her hair, letting it fall in front of her face, where it hung past her belly in a sheet of black ripples. Combing out the leaves and twigs with her hands she gathered it together, twisting it into a long rope and knotting it on top of her head. She stood in a shaft of sunlight, dressing before whistling the kite call again, shrill and high.

This time, she heard the rapid-chatter reply of a goshawk, ‘Ki ki ki’.

‘Jarrod!’ She grabbed her boots and scrabbled up the gorge, making her way towards the sound. Vines scratched her legs and branches swept her face before she finally heard the crunch of footfalls ahead.

A smile lifted her face, crinkling her eyes when she spotted him. ‘Jarrod!’

He came towards her with his familiar stride, a compound bow in one hand and a quiver of arrows at his back. He walked like a warrior, his eyes gleaming through a mass of dark brown curls that had escaped the tie at the back of his neck. His shoulders were broad, his body strong and his eyes a deep sea blue. He reached her, rising up on his toes to kiss her lips. He wasn’t a tall youth, but damn, he had presence. Kalindi melted into his arms.