She did not know how she had gotten there. She remembered nothing of the things that were before. It sank to the back of her mind and solidified itself as the great unknown.

She looked down at her feet, muddy and bare on a patch of grass. She touched her face and felt the rough, thickened skin scratch her cheeks. There was nothing but wheat around her, and she fell to her knees, trying to understand what had happened.

Everything was new and unfamiliar and yet that very idea seemed ridiculous to her mind. How could something that looked so normal frighten her with uncertainty? The world could have changed, it could have spun around and left her stranded to wander alone.

A voice called out from far away. It did not sound much like a call, as if the words had no meaning or she could not understand them. She propped her head over the wheat and saw a group of moving figures coming her way. She heard them speak again and again but in her throat, there was nothing but the dust of a forgotten language.

She looked at the setting sun and it reminded her of a place she could not name. She touched her shoulders and her back finding only the stiffness of labour and the warmth of the sun. What she was missing she could not name. It burned her from the inside and froze her to the spot on which she stood.

When she awoke again, she found herself in a small wooden house, on a bed of straw and a blanket of wool covered with floral patterns. She thought it was beautiful, but the patterns began to move and blend together before her eyes as she tried to rise from the bed.

"You've been gone for some time." said an old woman sitting on a small chair in front of the fire. "You shouldn't work so hard. I've told you that many times. The fields aren't going anywhere."

At first, the old woman did not look at her, her head bowed under a sting of dried flowers hanging from the ceiling. Then she finally caught her gaze, it seemed cold and empty from afar. But when she got up and sat down beside her, she saw that it was not coldness but fear that the old woman was trying to hide.

"Soria?" the woman asked, gently touching her forehead and pressing a white parchment soaked with cold water and herbs. "It' is all right. This will help."

That name, she thought, must have been her name. But it had little meaning. She understood the words now, but she could not speak them yet. Instead, she nodded quietly and continued to look around the room, searching for something that might tell her the truth.

"I prayed all night to Astria for you " the old woman continued. "You were so pale when they brought you here. I could not bear to lose you like your poor mother. You are all I have." she clenched her fist around the woollen flowers and looked at the blank wall beside her. "Your husband did not even come to see how you were. If I weren’t nearly dust, I’d beat that wretched creature into the ground. This is all his fault. My Iorin would never tolerate that man. I knew who he was the moment I saw him. But your father..."

"I am," she finally spoke in a very melodic voice. "It-" the words began to coalesce in her mind, increasing in number and in meaning. She was certainly not well, but she knew that the old woman had to hear her say them. "It's all right."

"Blessed be the white goddess. But you mustn't get up, you must stay in bed until your face is ripe again. I don't want you staggering around the village like that. You stay, I'll bring you something to eat." she got up, hurried to the door and quickly returned with a plate of cheese, bread and smoked meat, only to find that Soria was staring at the small mirror next to the door, the way animals stare at what they see in the reflection of the river. They always think it's another animal looking back.

The face Soria saw was young, and although it wasn't porcelain and the eyes didn't shine like the mountain streams in spring, she didn't find it frightening. It was normal, quite pleasant, perhaps even beautiful, had there been less of a burden weighing it down.

"It will pass," said the old woman, putting the tray on the small table next to the bed. "You'll get better, you'll get stronger, and if you’re lucky you'll live as long as my grandmother, may the gods rest her soul. Come and eat. I beg you. When you're done, I will go to the temple and thank the gods for their help."

"Do you think the gods had something to do with it?" Soria asked, somewhat rigidly.

"Of course they did, child. What has gotten into you? They control our destiny, and we have to show that we care."

"Even the dark ones?"

"Especially the dark ones." said the woman tying another know on her scarf.

"Doesn’t their help have a price?" Soria cut in, lifted the heavy cloth from her eyes and sat back on the bed. She couldn't tell where it came from, what she knew of the world came back to her from a faraway place. It came in small fragments, disparate pieces of something larger. When she tried to think about it, she saw nothing but the endless darkness, but the sudden wave of emotion drove the words over the edge of her mouth. A familiar taste lingered on her tongue as she spoke them.

"You know we don't talk about that in this house " the old woman hissed. "But I forgive you, dear, you need more rest." She took a colourful cloth and left the house, locking the door from the outside.

Soria couldn't help but look around the small house that seemed to stand at the far edge of the village, leaning against a forest and the many hills that lay beyond. It was an old thing, where many generations had lived and where many scars could be seen etched in the wood.

She sat by the window and watched the people walking up and down the narrow road of dust and stone to the village gate. Each of them switched to the other side as soon as they approached her house, and they had cautious look on their faces as if their fortune would sour if they got too close.

Around noon, a small group gathered in front of the house, somewhat hidden under a tree. Soria could clearly make out several voices, most of them trying to whisper. They were all women, two of them young, the others old, with voices as rough as a sea saw.

"She' is sickly like her mother. The gods know everything and punish the insolent." said one as she bent her neck toward the house.

"Did you see her when they brought her? Pale as a ghost, I tell you." said the other.

"Cursed is what she is. A sinner. The old witch will damn us all. I’m sure of it." said the third.

"You're talking nonsense, Rida." said the fourth, "The poor girl is only sickly. There is nothing wrong with that."

"Don't be so naive, Olera, I know a cursed soul when I see one. I’ll bet you she's marked by the dark gods."

"Ever since they came here, they’ve been nothing but trouble. The stories I’ve heard about that house would make you think twice before going in. I bet she even lured that foolish man into marriage. Look at him now, the poor thing is already withering away."

Another voice spoke up and Soria quickly realized it was her grandmother. "I see that you're plotting," she said in a low tone. "You should go home before your lunch burns down the house."

"We're just talking about what beautiful flowers you have, there's nothing wrong with that." said the one whose name was Rida. "Isn't it true Ulia?" she turned to the person next to her.

"True, and dear heaven, Karna, would you let's have some? You are blessed with such a garden."

"Another time," replied Karna, slamming the door behind her.

Without much hesitation they parted, still chatting and throwing spiteful glances behind their backs.

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"What did I tell you about lying down?" Karna said as she burst in.

"I feel better now, much better." Soria replied, "I feel very good, in fact."

"That is good to hear. My prayers have been answered." Karna exclaimed. "I don't want you to get sick again."

"What did they want?"

"Nothing. They're too bored and useless, they have to meddle in the lives of others to pass the time. Scoundrels all of them."

"They said I was cursed. They said the curse would spread to everyone else, too. What did they mean by that?"

"Don't listen to that nonsense, girl. They'll call us witches, seven"headed demons, snakes, whatever makes them feel better.

"They say Mother was cursed, too. Is that true?"

"Enough of that." Karna interrupted her with a wave of her hand and turned to the kitchen. "I'll not let you fall for that gibberish. Your mother had been sick since she was little, and you know that very well. You aren't the same."

"What am I then?" Soria asked in a serious tone. It was not a question she needed Karna to answer, but a question she herself had to unravel. It was a question that had haunted her ever since she had fallen in the fields.

"My granddaughter, that’s what you are."

A man came into the house and staggered toward them, struggling to put one foot in front of the other, dragging himself across the floor.

"Oh, well, that's your husband," Karna said, eyeing the sharp objects in the room.

The door slammed against the wall, making the windows rattle and the small goblet drop to the floor. His hat slipped over his eyes, and the bottle in his hand was almost empty.

Soria didn't flinch, but tilted her head slightly like a dog, trying to see his face. He was about her age, but far more degraded in the clutches of a rotten life. She felt sorry for him, nothing more.

"Look at what you’ve done, witch." he pointed his bottle at Karna, in a motion devoid of grace. "It’s all your fault."

Karna smirked and placed herself between him and Soria, clutching a broomstick in her hands. "You will turn around and leave, Flaed. I do not want to see you like this in my house."

"My mother was right. You are weak, Soria. A whimpering child. There is no value in you. I was tricked." He screamed and slammed the bottle on the floor. It did not break but only spilt what was left in it.

Without delay, Karna hurled the broomstick at him and hit him once, but he managed to retaliate and snatch it back from her.

"I will end this torture you have put me through once and for all," Flaed said trying to stand upright.

Karna turned around trying to keep Soria out of the way, but she noticed that there was nothing of fear on her face. There was only anger, so strong that it bathed her simple brown eyes in pitch black.

"You can try," said Soria in a voice that echoed in the ears, in the walls, in everything that had the power to carry sounds. She moved closer to Flaed with small, precise steps until she could clearly see his eyes. "I see you," she said prophetically. "I see your fear. I see your weakness. I see everything that made you reach for the bottle. You fear your father, you cannot deny him. I see that the path you walk is made of the choices of others, and you stumble. You did not come here to do anything but wallow in your own uncertain, miserable fate, and that is exactly how you will go. If you ever raise your hand to me or my grandmother again, I will make sure you bite your hand off and eat it. Do you understand me?"

He staggered back, dropping the broom on the ground and clutching his fallen hat. His eyes were wide and fixed on something he had never seen before. Whether it was real or a horrible projection, he did not want to find out.

"Do not come back" Soria added as he ran out of the house and down the street.

"Soria, stop!" Karna shouted. "What is that? What is that on your back?"

"What do you mean?"

Black blood ran from the thin lines that formed on Soria's back. They soaked through the white fabric faster than a wound could bleed, until everything was as though drenched in tar. At first, she felt nothing, but the pain caught up with her within moments.

Karna tore at her back bare and wiped it with a cloth until it stopped and she could see the letters clearly.

"What is this?" Soria whispered. "Why does it hurt?"

Karna remained silent. She hesitated to touch the black words that formed a perfect pattern on the skin. They looked as if they had been etched with a sharp blade, and as soon as they dried, a glow emanated from them, connecting them together. Karna tried to suppress the rising storm in her eyes, but it came out anyway.

Soria tore herself away from her and ran to the small mirror by the door. Struggling to see everything, she reached out to touch the ones she could. The pain was replaced by numbness.

"What is the meaning of this? Why are you crying?" Cried Soria.

The old woman returned to her place by the fire and wept as if the world had ended.

"I’m sorry, child. I thought it would not be like this. I thought there would be time. Much more time."

"For what?"

"You are hers now."

"Whose?"

"The witch from the woods." Karna stoked the fire with a long metal rod. "I should have done something. I should have been there. I..."

Soria was silent. She now felt the signs holding her firmly upright, giving her a strength she never thought possible. A fire burned through her veins, from her eyelids to her fingertips. It was all there now, the memories of a life she' had lived and another that was much older.

"This can’t be. You gave me to her?" she said in a voice that was barely her own.

Karna covered her face with her trembling hands. She was smaller than an ember, burdened with the knowledge of what was to come.

"I had to save you. You were just a child. I had to do something. To make you strong. It was the only thing I could do." Karna raised her head and took one last look at the young woman, who seemed to conjure up the darkness around her, suffocating the room with it. Her skin was pale, almost white, her eyes shimmered like stars in the morning, and the image of a young peasant girl was suddenly replaced by that of an ancient power.

"The witch in the forest was a servant of darkness." Soria's voice was even deeper. "The beautiful darkness was her home, her sanctuary, her every thought. She took nothing unless it was offered to her, and she gave nothing unless she needed it. They came to her when they needed help when all else failed, and she did what the laws of the world demanded. But that was never enough to appease those who wanted her dead. So they set her ablaze until only the dark embers remained. The darkness took her in, nurtured her, and held her in its shadow, and now she will rise again. Return my name to me, servant."

Karna wiped her tears and stoked the fire again. "Lerefel" she whispered.

When she next looked at Soria, she was no longer there. Only a trail of black footsteps remained.

A wave of screams swept through the village. Lerefel went from door to door tearing the people to pieces, all who had malice in their hearts, all who had no regard for mercy or decency, all who hurt her in her and all who would if they had a chance.

The innocent she dragged aside, made them close their eyes and ears while the river of blood flowed past their feet. There was nothing in the world that could stop her, no pitchforks and no guns. Her flesh could not be torn, and her footsteps dissolved the stone beneath her.

When she returned home, she knocked three times on the door and disappeared into the woods.

The debt was paid.

Karna still sat by the fire, struggling to keep what was left of it alive, dreading what would happen if it went out and she had to go outside for more wood. She knew what she had done since the day her daughter had been killed, through hatred and prejudice. She made sure that no one would dare harm her family again.

She sacrificed a chicken, a goat and a calf on the old stone in the forest. She carved the words of her agreement into the stone and soaked it in blood every day for a week. She would endure the hatred and humiliating words of the righteous believers for as long as it took, for then at least Soria would live a long life and not waste away like a ragged doll.

She knew the time would come when the witch would take what she was due, but she hoped it would never come to that, so she tried to forget about it and prayed fearlessly to the gods of light.

When she saw the marks on Soria's back, she knew them well. They were the words she had carved in limestone in the forest. They were a contract that would come into force only after Soria’s death.