I am weeping, but do not dare make a sound. Huddled over the cup of water with my sister, I am frozen by the fear coursing through my blood. I can smell flesh burning and hear my mother’s cries.
Tears staining her face, Ágota says, “Erjy, we need to leave now.”
“But Mama,” I whimper.
Raising her hand, Ágota rotates her wrist. The roof peels back, revealing a darkening sky. It is dusk and we must flee in the growing gloom.
My mother’s shrieks of agony intensify as Ágota throws the cup away. Seizing my hand, she crawls through the opening and onto the roof of the cottage. I see why we must flee. Fire is spreading rapidly along the walls and creeping toward the roof. My sister pulls me to the edge and we jump down into the garden. Sweeping her hand over the dirt near the well, a bag is disgorged from the ground. She slings it over her shoulder and drags me forward once again.
Our little cottage burns brightly, the flames destroying the life we had shared with our mother. The horrific shrieks of her burning alive are unbearable. I try to turn back desperate to somehow save her, but Ágota does not release my hand. She relentlessly pulls me along behind her toward the forest.
The alp leaps from the shadows of the oak tree and blocks our way. Its thick claws burrow into the soft earth of our garden. Red eyes glinting with malice, it hisses at us.
“Nowhere to run, little girls,” it wheezes through its gnarled teeth.
Ágota does not reply. She lifts her hand, fingers flexing, and the creature squeals as it is flung over our heads and onto the roof of the burning cottage. I gape at my sister, surprised at her power.
Tugging me forward, my sister hurries us toward the forest.
“We need to get Mama!” I wail.
“Mama told me to escape with you no matter what happened,” Ágota answers through gritted teeth. Tears glitter on her cheeks and the pain in her voice echoes the pain in my heart.
“He is burning her!”
“Yes, he is! He is trying to burn away the spell so he can escape and find us!”
In the sky above, the first stars begin to appear just as we reach the edge of the forest and plunge into the murk.
“The poppets...” I sob, feeling foolish for mourning them.
“They did their job. They tried to distract him while Mama sprung the trap. But he was standing in the wrong spot and she could not escape. We knew it might happen. She told me that if she was trapped with him that I must take you and run. And that is what I am doing.” Ágota speaks in a rush of words. I comprehend she is convincing herself not to turn back. “I will make you more poppets later. When we are safe.”
“But Mama...” I am inconsolable. My legs feel weak and my feet leaden. I trip over every root in my path.
Ágota whirls about, her fingers clutching mine so tight it hurts. “Erjy, listen to...”
The air sizzles with powerful magic, distracting us. A moment later my sister is struck in the chest by a ball of white light with silver crackling over its surface. Ágota is thrown away from me and lifted high into the air. The orb of magic bursts apart, encapsulating her in silver threads that snap sizzle over her skin like lightning. Suspended above me with her head thrown back, Ágota shimmers in the throes of power. I can only gape at her in wonder before I realize what it means.
Distraught and overwhelmed with grief, I race toward the cottage. “Mama!”
I trip over a root, sprawling onto the ground. Lifting m
y head, I see a wall of blue mist flowing toward me from the direction of our little home. I cannot see past the trees to the clearing as the thick fog billows through trunks.
“Mama!”
I blink and Ágota stands before me. Without a word, she takes my arm and heaves me upward, but my feet do not settle on the ground. Instead, I am lifted up and forward at a great speed. The trees stream past us and when I look back over my shoulder to see the mist following.
Is it the devil pursuing us?
We come to a halt at a circle of trees. It is a place that my mother forbade me from ever visiting, so I cling to my sister in fear.
“We have come to fulfill our agreement,” Ágota announces.
From behind a tree, a tiny woman dressed in flower petals appears. Her honey-colored hair flows around her shoulders as though caught in a perpetual breeze and her large lavender eyes peer up at us from her delicate face.
“Payment, please, witch” she says, her voice filled with sweet laughter.