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“Of course not, Your Highness!” I lie. “Or would you like to swap the first row for the last?”
He doesn’t have time to retort as there are new creatures rushing out of the woods. Though it’s only one ghoul and three ghosts. The latter are easier to deal with. I guess these are the souls of people the ghouls have dragged into their dens. But what surprises me is Morok’s behavior, he steps forward and puts some distance between himself and the prince so that the spirits see him first and Daniel later. He probably could finish off these four spirits with his bare hands but instead he turns to me and nods, waiting for me to… protect him? Or is he actually helping me by letting me deal with those on my own?
Maybe he has a fraction of sympathy for me, a Mara who has to prove her usefulness to the royal offspring so that he doesn’t think he’s revived her in vain.
My guess proves true when I see that the creatures dash to Morok and he doesn’t even turn to them, just keeps staring at me. If he weren’t that dangerous and terrifying, I would yell at him calling him every single, filthy swear word I know, but I only have time to rush to him to catch the first ghost stretching his long fingers out to Morok. The ghosts are easier to deal with because their bodies are not made of flesh and blood, instead they seem to be created from something soft, like concentrated energy. They don’t leave physical wounds but one touch of their fingers is enough to make you go mad. Their powers are useless against Maras though, so I stick my dagger-holding hand inside the ghost’s body and cut the threads stretched along the spine.
I hold my breath so as not to smell the stink, but the slime on my dagger hand and the revolting sight of it all catches up with me and I start feeling nauseous. The ghost vanishes at the exact moment when the ghoul jumps at Morok and I recklessly throw myself in front of him to protect him with my own body. I don’t allow myself to let out a scream, only a hiss, when the ghoul sinks his fangs into my shoulder and they pierce through it, shattering a bone. I’d hoped I wouldn’t feel the pain, but hell I was wrong. The pain is almost as acute as if I were alive. The ghoul drives his claws into my other shoulder and clings to me like an enormous leech. His repulsiveness sparks a fury deep inside and I tear him off me, widening my own wounds in the process and exacerbating the pain. As soon as he’s on the ground, I kick it hard and thrust the knife into its neck. It takes me far less time to deal with the other two ghosts. I make sure I cut the threads each time. The ghosts vanish right away but the ghouls, or rather the heaps of bones and flesh that are all that remain of them, are left behind spreading their putrid smell.
I come to a halt and try to catch my breath. I suppose that’s it for today. There’s no one else crawling out of the woods. I take stock of the damage: torn clothes, lacerated wounds that expose injured muscles. There’s more blood than on my palm but no real bleeding. However, the pain is still throbbing and my arms start to go numb. Morok is gazing at my wounds with such indifference, that I can’t help shooting him a dirty look.
“That was fabulous! To kill so many, all by yourself!” Prince Daniel is grinning at me, almost ready to applaud.
I have to fight the urge to stick his own dagger into his stupid, hazel eye and wipe that charming smile off his face. But instead, I stretch out my hand, returning his weapon. Captain Dariy comes running with his soldiers in his wake, to check on the prince.
“Burn the corpses,” I give the order to the Captain and he passes it on to his soldiers.
Daniel accepts my red cloak from one of the soldiers and stepping behind me gently throws it over my shoulders, covering my gruesome wounds.
“It hurts,” I almost whisper.
“Can it hurt?” the prince asks Morok with surprise in his voice.
“Yes, but the wounds will heal in a few days.” Morok’s voice is as low and flat as usual, with zero emotion.
“But I’m… dead… my body can’t heal…”
Morok turns back to me and I instantly regret saying anything.
“Our connection. You will be healed with the help of my powers. The same ones that make you walk and babble right now.”
I bite my tongue and wince in pain. I’d love to ask when the wounds will stop hurting but I don’t dare try his patience.
“Are you satisfied with the performance, Your Highness?” I do my best to keep the contempt out of my voice.
“More than satisfied, my dear Agatha!” He gently wraps my hand with both of his. “Now, it’s about time we cleaned you up and introduced you to my father.”
2
220 years ago
“How lucky!”
“The family is blessed!”
“Marked twice!”
The villagers are whispering to each other, huddled together around the house where six Maras, their scarlet cloaks standing out against the snow, are gathered to meet their new sister. And I am among them.
That’s because one of us died of old age last week. And as soon as she let out her last breath, we all felt that a new sister was born, the one who is to take her place. And it is the first time I’m welcoming a new member to the family.
We are already a few days into the first winter month but snow has taken its sweet time this year. The landscape stayed grey and brownish with rotten leaves and sticky mud covering the earth, the legacy of frequent rains, for what seemed like an eternity. But no sooner than we set off on our journey, what does it do? Start snowing – heavily, all day and all night, blanketing the ground and slowing us down.
When we finally arrive at the village, it is after midday. The sky is a dazzling blue, the sun is high and its rays are reflected off the painfully white shroud of snow. The villagers freeze when we brush past them in our scarlet cloaks and the ground is crunching under our boots. I’m thirteen and till now I have been the youngest sister.
I became a Mara three years ago, a week after I turned ten. It happened the same way it does to all of us. Only ten-year-old girls with jet-black hair can discover these powers.
“Are you happy, Agatha?” asks Irina, whose hand I’m clinging to.
Irina is my mentor. It is she who is responsible for my training. She must be around seventy years old but looks no more than thirty. Maras live longer than ordinary people. Up to nineteen, we grow just like everybody else and then our aging process slows down significantly. Or so I was told. That’s why even the oldest of us, who has turned one hundred twenty-three years, looks about fifty.
Irina, like other Maras, has long black hair, a beautiful face and a pleasant smile.
“I’m nervous,” I mumble. “Do you know who she is?”
“No.”
“And when you came to take me, you didn’t know either?”
“We didn’t. You feel that invisible thread… we all feel it as if she’s summoning us,” I nod and she smiles at me. “So, we follow the thread till we find her, our new sister.”
“Why is everyone whispering?” I mutter again, looking around me.
I’ve hated being the center of other people’s attention since I was little, but now thanks to my garments and my powers, everyone notices me, wherever I go.
“Who knows… they might have an idea about who the new sister is,” says my mentor, a mysterious smile playing on her lips.
We arrive last, the other sisters are already gathered in front of the house. We are not going to enter though; everyone knows why we are here. At this very moment the parents of our new sister must be wrapping her in warm clothes and packing some food for her journey… and saying their goodbyes. They must be doing the same things my parents did a few years ago. I’ve never seen them since.
Even if I’d wanted to, I wouldn’t be able to see them because they left our village. That’s another rule. After a girl is taken by Maras, the family must leave. It keeps newly marked Maras from running back to their parents’ home in the first few years of living in the temple, before they get accustomed to their new family.
You can’t run to your parents if you don’t know where to run.
The villagers, too, start gathering around the house. They stand behind us, buzzing with anticipation, casting occasional glances at the closed door. Some people are wondering out loud how beautiful the girl is going to be. Everyone knows she’s going to have a fair complexion and jet-black hair, matching Morana’s. But all Maras have different eye-colors, so there’re no rules here. The Goddess herself is said to have dark-brown eyes, almost black. Irina has hazel eyes and Kira – brilliant green, like dewy grass on a summer morning. My eyes are blue, as cold as ice so my mom used to say. Like beautiful half-transparent ice.
The sisters stand in complete silence, waiting for the family to finish their preparations. I am the only one shifting my weight from one foot to the other, trying to keep warm. I’m looking round a small vegetable patch in front of a simple one-storey house, the lopsided roof of which, like everything else around it, is blanketed in snow, making the walls look almost black. The curtains on the windows are closed, allowing no curious glances inside. White smoke billows from the chimney showing that the family is at home. By the time the door opens, my hands are freezing. I breathe the tiniest cloud of steam onto my cupped hand for the last time and look up.
“Mom…”
Irina gives my left hand a gentle squeeze. She is still holding it in hers but doesn’t resist when I pull it out and take a few steps forward.
“Agatha!” My mom gives a sob.
I hesitate. I’m looking at my parents who are standing in the doorway not daring to take a step towards me. They are not sure if it’s allowed. I glance at the house again, not knowing what to believe, if it is even possible. Peering out from behind their backs is my little sister. She is wearing a blue, winter fur-lined jacket. We were never rich; I would even say we were pretty poor, and this simple winter jacket must be the most expensive item of clothing my sister owns. It brings out the color of her eyes, which are also blue, like mine, but a darker, deeper sky-blue. Our mom often told us that we were beautiful, but even back then I knew it wasn’t true. My sister is the real beauty, you just can’t take your eyes off her. Her complexion is fairer and her hair is darker and shinier than mine, and she has enormous eyes. She always looked like a fancy doll and she still does.
Our mom opens her arms, still sobbing, and without any further hesitation I run up to her and fall into her embrace. Then I hug my dad. I also try to pull my sister in but I can’t reach her.
“That’s true then…”
“The second daughter in the same family!”
“What a blessing!” the villagers are whispering louder now, watching us with rapturous attention.
I look back at my sisters, Maras, and I see them smiling. But these smiles are thin and sad for, unlike the villagers, they realize what a tragedy it is for the family. They know people only talk about the blessing till it comes to their own house and forces them to give up their own child.
And my parents have to give up a second one.
I feel a treacherous joy rising up in me, mixing with bitter disappointment. I know this pain of separation, I know the lessons my sister will have to learn the hard way, the destiny that awaits both of us. We are destined to live a lonely life, devoid of love of our parents or a husband. We can’t marry, our lives are dedicated to ridding the world of evil. I don’t want that for my sister. But the warm feeling that I’m no longer alone is already spreading inside my chest.
“Anna,” I reach out for my baby sister again and now, she presses against me like she used to when she was a baby.
My father wipes away the tears before they fall, but my mother is not trying to hide hers. She cries openly, gently stroking my hair. They don’t say anything to the other Maras because they know that no pleas or threats will stop them. Anna will be taken away no matter what, even if she has to be prized away from her parents’ arms.
They say there used to be families that tried to escape and save their daughters from their destiny. But it would always end the same way. The girl would be either given up voluntarily or taken from the arms of already dead parents. So now, no one even tries to resist. No girl who was marked by Morana has ever managed to escape her fate.
But no family has ever been ‘blessed’ with two Maras either. I glance at the Maras again and it hits me. Anna must be special.
Irina steps forward and gives me her hand. I grasp it like a straw and follow my mentor. My other hand is still grasping Anna’s, so I’m dragging her away too, to some new, magical world that she’s only heard of from the fairy tales and legends. The world that will become her new reality, so different from the one we used to dream of, huddled together around the fire on cold, winter evenings.
3
I grit my teeth when Prince Daniel orders his men to find a white steed for me, even if they had to turn the whole village inside out in the process. The more time I have to spend in his company, the more annoyed I become. His childish enthusiasm and the way he talks about the old legends, which for me are (or rather used to be) harsh reality, are really starting to get to me.
“I don’t need a white steed, Your… Highness.” I add the last word under Dariy’s intense and hostile stare. I’m doing the best I can not to snap at him that the dislike is mutual.
Daniel turns to me and his lips break into a ready smile. Either he doesn’t notice the way he sets my teeth on edge or he’s doing it on purpose, just to have a little fun at my expense. And judging by the fact that his smile that doesn’t stretch to his observant eyes, I’m gravitating towards the latter.
“Oh, my dear Agatha, but you do! For two centuries people have thought of Maras as a thing of the past…”
“We are.” I butt in.
“…and here you are, in your scarlet cloak…” he goes on paying no heed to my comment. “…entering the capital on a white steed. A living legend. White is one of your colors, isn’t it?”
“It is, but…”
“Good!” says Prince, turns away from me and shouts to his soldiers to double down on the search.
I feel an overwhelming urge to give him a good kick, but one glimpse of Morok stifles it immediately. He’s standing still like a statue, in his black armor and his black-and-gold mask, half hidden by the hood. If Maras’ colors are red, black and white, Moroks are said to wear only black and gold.
The Shadow’s servants are just as real as Maras or evil spirits, but back when I was still alive, they were somewhat of a legend or a cautionary tale for Maras. They have a similar job to ours, they lay lost souls to rest. But if Maras were always easy to reach and anyone could come to the temple and ask for our help, Moroks are hard to come by. Rumor has it that there are only three to five Moroks out there at any one time and only a few people know for sure where their temple is or if they have one at all. Moreover, not many people would have the guts to reach out to them even if they knew how to. Maras are merciful, even when we sever the life threads tying you to earth, we offer a chance of reincarnation, of life after death. The soul finds its peace and flies to the Goddess, who will determine its next life form. Death at Morok’s hand is… the end. There’s no rebirth, no second chances. Some say that Moroks can also send a soul to the Shadow forever. No one and nothing is there, there are no smells or sounds, it’s neither hot nor cold in the Shadow. Just an eternal excruciating emptiness that you can’t escape. The mere thought of that place, impossible even to imagine, makes me shudder.
Kings used to take interest in Maras for our ability to prolong a life. But a Morok has a different power, to raise the dead from their graves by tying them to him. One Morok can only raise one person. However, I still haven’t figured out how they managed to raise me from the dead. It’s been two hundred years since I died. Why hasn’t Morana taken my soul? Why hasn’t my body completely decomposed? However, now is not the time to pester my convoy with questions. For now, I’m just watching the prince and Morok as carefully as possible. And that’s another mystery: why is a Morok helping a prince in the first place?
Apart from this one, I’ve only seen a Morok once. It was when I was seventeen. That Morok was wearing a raven mask. I know each Morok has his own mask, it’s magically tailor-made to suit each particular servant of the Shadow and is given some additional powers. But neither when I was seventeen nor now can I seem to muster enough courage to pry further.
I am back in my room at an inn. It’s our last stop on our way to the capital. We’ve already been on the road for about a week. The rumors about a live Mara who has been raised from the dead and showed her powers by vanquishing a few ghouls have spread quicker than we expected. I hear people ooh and aah whenever they see our procession. But as soon as they glimpse Morok, they huddle in small groups, apprehensively watching us pass by.
As it has turned out that manacles are excessive and Morok could hunt me down easily without them, Prince Daniel has decided to discard them. But barely a minute passes without me wondering if I can ask him to put them back on, if it means I don’t have to travel on Morok’s mount together with the Shadow’s servant himself. The first time, he lifted me up like a sack of potatoes and sat me down right in front of him, pressing hard against his chest. But he relented when the pain in my shoulders made me hiss. Since then, Morok has been gentler while helping me on his horse, but for the first couple of days every time he put his arms around me from behind, I shuddered with fear. On the third day, the fear didn’t subside, but I learnt how to relax my muscles while sitting so close to this monster.
Back in the room, I’m packing my few possessions. Prince Daniel treats me now a bit less like a puppet he has taken hostage, and more like a welcome guest. How ironic. These cute gifts he’s been showering me with, like a hair comb with an exquisite bone handle from one village, a piece of fragrant lavender soap from another, a brand-new dress to replace the caftan, ruined by the ghoul, from a third village, just make me want to roll my eyes. But beggars can’t be choosers, so I gratefully receive all the presents with a smile, albeit condescending. It’s all I can manage, considering that the prince can be showering me with gifts one day, and tossing me back into the grave the other.
The wounds have already healed, just as Morok promised, and even my skin has turned a shade pinker. In one of the villages, I finally found a full-length mirror. I wanted to see how bad a walking corpse could look like. On the whole, it was better than expected.
I smell like lavender because of the soap, my skin doesn’t peel off anymore, and my body is not falling apart. On the contrary, with each passing day, I’m starting to look more and more like a living person. At the beginning, my skin did have this blueish tint to it, but now it’s just a bit paler than normal. I have lost a lot of weight and my jawline is sharper than I’m used to, which makes me look older than nineteen. But Morok has reassured me that it will get even better and the more time passes, the more I will resemble myself. Apart from my hair and eyes. My once jet-black hair has remained grey and my eyes have become lighter and foggier, which makes me look eerie.
I shoot a glance at a small mirror on the table and wrinkle my nose in distaste as soon as I find the reflection of my eyes. I was never as beautiful as my sister but nor was I bad-looking or spooky.
Since the start of our journey, I’ve found out that not only do I feel pain, but I can also become tired. That’s why I have to spend my nights sleeping. I breathe too, though I’m still not entirely convinced that it is necessary, I do it by force of habit. My body is functioning from force of habit too, it is just doing what it is used to. My breath can quicken or slow down depending on my emotional and physical state. I don’t have to eat because I don’t feel hungry, but sometimes when I see or think about food, my mouth starts watering. Morok has told me that I can taste some dishes I crave if I want to refresh my memory about their taste, but my body does not really need food. The most unusual feeling, however, is the sense of stillness in my chest, where my heart should be beating. But to that Morok said that it would re-start when I am stronger, and then I will be almost indistinguishable from normal people, because it will start pumping blood through my veins and my skin will turn the right shade again.
I take some stibnite from my purse and line my eyes with it. I also cover my lips with a special paint. Those, too, are Daniel’s presents. I used to use stibnite when I was still alive, but instead of lip-paint we would use juice from different berries. Progress can’t be halted; people have come up with new ways to make themselves more beautiful. Well, the make-up is an improvement, but my outlandish eyes are now even more pronounced than before.
“I wonder what my Goddess would say if she knew that I too am a spirit now”, I say aloud, unable to keep the bitterness out of my voice.
“She won’t say anything. Your Goddess couldn’t care less, just like everyone else.”
The sound of his voice makes me start. I didn’t see him enter the room.
“What do you mean?”
He doesn’t answer, just shrugs his massive shoulders and gestures me out of the room. It is time for us to leave. I toss the rest of my things into a small bag and follow my guard.
“Yarat is only a day’s ride away now, my dear Agatha,” the prince reminds me, while Morok helps me onto a white steed.
The prince found one after all. And I catch myself thinking that my scarlet cloak does look nobler against the white of the horse’s back. I smile, patting the white of the horse’s neck. The steed is beautiful indeed, with its long mane and silky tale. It’s a pity its magnificent body will be stained as soon as we start on this muddy road. Though fortunately, it didn’t rain much yesterday.
“So, you can smile,” the prince says with a grin when Morok has stepped away.
My smile vanishes. But I continue stroking the horse’s mane and meet the prince’s gaze.
“I do not allow myself to smile for the fear you might fall in love with me, Your Highness.”
He only grins wider.
“And what if I already have?”
His question catches me off guard. Daniel runs his fingers through his golden locks with a look of satisfaction on his young face. He must be waiting for an answer but I keep silent, ashamed at my loss for words. My life has consisted of worshipping my Goddess and training and killing evil spirits. Maras can fall in love but what’s the point? If you have been chosen by Morana, you can never get married, your fate is to serve the Goddess. Most sisters, me included, preferred to banish these feelings knowing that there is no future there. So, my experience of flirting is almost non-existent, which is more than can be said about the prince. I have a hunch he will defeat me in these verbal duels more than once. The only thing Daniel fails to take into account while playing his little game of seduction with me is that I hate princes. But now I can think of nothing better than straightening myself in my saddle and ignoring the question completely.
“I will take it as a yes,” grins Daniel and mounts his horse.
“A yes to what?” is all I have time to say before he trots away.
I let out a scoff of frustration and brush my hair back to put on my hood.
4
Winter has always been our favorite season. Not only because my sister and I have been marked by Morana, the Goddess of Winter and Death, but also because it is the time of year when magic seems to envelop the whole world. I especially love a night after a snowy evening, with a full moon makes the snow shimmer and twinkle like stars. And the frost in the air bites your cheeks and tickles your nose.
I breathe out a small cloud of steam, wrap myself tighter into my fur-lined scarlet cloak and take a few apprehensive steps towards the woods. My legs in high, winter boots sink into the snow up to the middle of my shin.
