“She is here, Olga!” the crone said, prodding the cadaverous woman. “Wake! She is here.”
Baba Olga’s mouth worked into a grimace, and her hands flew up in the way Lenka knew they would. Like a bird’s wings, they flapped as if drawing the young girl to her on the air.
“Come closer,” she croaked. “Closer! Let me see.”
Pushed by several pairs of hands, Lenka stumbled onto her knees beside her grandmother, trying not to inhale the fetid breath. “I am sorry you have so much pain,” she said, baulking at the sight of her close up. She had to get out of here really quickly, even if it meant bolting through the forest in pitch darkness.
Blindly Olga scrabbled at the air with claw hands. “Clara! Clara! It is your time. You must take your place. Please, do not let me suffer any longer. Take the gift or they will wait for me on the other side.”
Lenka shook her head, confused. She turned around. “Mutter, she calls for you!”
Her mother had vanished.
Scanning the room, she tried to see beyond the small crowd, and a pang of alarm shot through her. The old crones were closing in. “Mutter! Mutter, she calls for you!”
Where was her mother?
“Clara, is this you?” Olga had clasped Lenka’s hand in her own, pulling her close with surprising strength. “We must prepare at once. I cannot last much longer. You have seen what it has done to me, but you are stronger, you will do better than I. I feel the strength in this young hand.”
Aghast, Lenka realised her grandmother was totally blind and had mistaken her for her mother, but the eyes… there was something about them… Mesmerised, steeling herself against the stench of decay, she leaned forwards to take a better look. Olga’s eyes were tiny black glints hidden deep inside folds of reptilian skin… black glints, black glass… she peered closer and closer… black mirrors…
“Heilige Mutter Gottes, bitt’ für uns…”
She leapt back. Her reflection! It was upside down!
In a flash, Olga’s hand shot out and grabbed her wrist.
Desperately she tried to wrench it free. “No!”
Her grandmother’s grip had locked around her wrist in a handcuff. “If I do not pass the legacy to you, I will take this agony into eternity. They will torture me forever. Clara, it is your duty!”
“But I am not—” She tugged hard to get free, shouting over her shoulder. “Mutter! She calls for you, she is confused. She calls for you, not me. Why? Why does she think I am you?”
But the dying woman had begun to chant in a low voice, “Clara, my daughter, I give to you the servants of our Dark Lord.”
A low humming broke out behind her, the old ones swaying and murmuring in tongues.
She tried desperately to wrench free of the cast-iron grip, turning her head to seek out her mother… she had to be there… somewhere… where was she? But Olga yanked it back with such force it could have broken her jaw.
Then, thrusting a small poppet into Lenka’s hand, she folded her fingers around her granddaughter’s. “Take it. From me. To you.”
The instant the transaction happened, the atmosphere changed – the crowd sank back in a hissing recoil, and Baba Olga’s body began to fit violently. Her eyes rolled back, her neck jerked, her legs kicked, and then just as quickly as it had begun, the convulsions stopped. Her body slumped, and the life force, the breath from the old woman’s lungs, exhaled in a long wolf’s howl that echoed throughout the valley.
Then it was over, and the spent, crumpled body collapsed like a rag doll.
“All hail the Master! Lord of the Dark Sun!”
“All hail the Master!”
“All hail the Master!”
Hands reached down and pulled Lenka away. “We were just in time,” said her mother. “She has gone.”
Lenka turned around, holding out the poppet. “What is this doll? It is for you, I think, she wanted you. Where were you?”
“Ah, that is handed down from the very beginning. You must keep it safe always. There will be a celebration now. It is good. Very good.”
Lenka disengaged her hand. “I must keep it safe? She thought I was you – it is for you, Mutter.”
“No, she passed the legacy to you.”
“But why would you be missed out?”
“I don’t know, sometimes this is so. I explained all this.”
“Take the poppet, Mutter. She called your name. She wanted it to be yours.”
“My dear, it is too late. Whoever takes the gift takes the legacy.”
The colour drained from Lenka’s face. “What? I don’t understand…”
The crone who had been tending Olga shouted, “Where is the girl? Come now, we must prepare you.”
Lenka was still glaring at her mother, uncomprehending, stunned. “You said it had to be me – that the gift had missed you out. But she was blind and thought I was you. This was supposed to be you, wasn’t it?”
Clara stared down at the deathbed. “You are stronger than I.”
Chapter Sixteen
Lenka found herself gripping the poppet so tightly the hemp was cutting into the palms of her hand. Her own mother had tricked her into taking this terrible, horrible legacy.
“Come, child, drink with us,” said one of the crones. The German she spoke was like nothing she’d ever heard before, heavily accented and antiquated. “You are tired, and your grandmother has passed. It is a difficult time for you.”
The proffered drink, a greenish swill of tea, looked repulsive, and she averted her head despite having a throat as dry as parchment.
The woman smiled encouragingly. “It is a simple herbal tea, calming, good.” Over her shoulder she snapped to one of the others, “Fetch food; this child is starving.”
A cushion was brought over. She sat down, and a dish of thick yellow soup quickly followed. “Eat, drink, you will feel better, yes?”
None of it tasted nice, but she had to admit that afterwards, her throat was soothed and her stomach quieted.
“Now take off your cross,” said the woman as another reached to unclasp it from around her neck.
She held on to it. It was just a small silver cross given to her at school for winning a reading competition. “Why?”
“Take off the cross. The time has come.”
We will meet again when the time comes…
The vision of Oskar came as a shock. Standing there in her third eye as clear as the day before – had it really only been twenty-four hours since they’d been together? – his warm eyes beamed love into hers, feathery eyelashes glinting with tiny beads of water as he waded out of the lake fresh from his morning swim. In a dream state she glided towards him… oh, so woozy and dreamy… On reaching his arms, he spun her around, nuzzling the nape of her neck while unhooking the chain.
Take this off, my beauty, my bride.
Smiling, she helped him remove the cross.
“Oskar?”
Now he turned her around to face him, taking her hands, pulling her down into the water.
“Come, come…”
Deeper and deeper they waded into the cool depths of the lake. A golden breeze rippled across the surface beneath swaying trees, dapples of sunlight warm on her face. In up to their necks, he put his arms around her and kissed her forehead.