The backhanded blow struck with such force Cora thought her sister may never open her eyes again. A thin stream of blood trickled from Aggie’s nose, staining the dirt beside the hearth fire. The only sound was the pop and crackle of boiling sap.
“George, you don’ hit her on the face, you promised. The baths won’t take her for a maid wit’ bruises,” their mother said.
“Aggie?” Cora whispered, bending down beside her sister. Aggie let out a breath, her eyes fluttered open. Groaning, she pulled herself up from the floor. Dirt and blood clung to her swelling face.
“See, woman, she be fine enough. If our lord don’ punish her for killin’ us, I’ll be havin’ to do it meself.”
Their father drew himself up to his full height. He winced, putting weight on his leg, lurching forward to loom over Cora. She screamed, grabbing hold of her sister’s tunic, burying her face in it. Her father stumbled, nearly toppling onto them. Aggie leapt from the floor, wrapping her arms around Cora, clutching her so tight it hurt. Cocooned in her sister’s arms, she awaited a blow that never came.
“You think me the devil, girl. But it was you what did this.” He pulled up his trouser leg. Along his leg ran angry, raw webbing. Cora looked away, they were a constant reminder of the fire Aggie had accidently started. The burns he’d received were mere licks in comparison to what it had done to Aggie. The same violent lashes traced themselves over a good portion of her body, all the way to her neck, where blistering red fingers curled tightly around.
When their father had pulled Aggie out of the burning barn, she had lain unmoving for three days. When she woke, some had deemed it a miracle, others assumed more insidious means. It was weeks before she spoke again, and the dry rasp she had to force out had the villagers crossing themselves before walking past her.
Her sister’s grip loosened when their father stepped away; hers grew tighter. She waited until they heard the cry of the chickens before lifting her head up.
“Are you ok, Aggie?” Cora said.
Aggie nodded her head, the burn marks on her throat looked almost tender in the firelight. Her mother disappeared into the larder for handfuls of fresh herbs, leaving the two sisters alone. Cora rested her head on her sister’s chest, listening to the beat of her heart.
“It’s not jus’ ‘is leg, Aggie,” Cora said. “There’s not been rain for weeks now. Even if he could be labourin’.”
Aggie stroked Cora’s hair, sniffing hard to stem the blood flow from her nose. Since the rains had stopped, her father’s rage had become its own storm. Every village hardship had fallen squarely on Aggie’s shoulders. All due to a broken lantern and that summer’s sheep’s wool.
“I…can…make the…rain.” Rasped Aggie.
“You can’t, Aggie,” Cora said. “No one can, please stop speaking like that, I don’t like it.”
In her nightmares, Aggie’s voice was how it had been. Cora would be pulled from sleep by her screams. Aggie would cry for father to save her as she writhed, soaked in sweat. Cora would shake her awake, trembling.
Mother left the larder with a passing glance, heading outside to hang the herbs. Every time father lost his temper, Mother would hang herbs outside the house to ward off the devilry, whispering a Hail Mary as she looked over the remains of the barn.
“I… need... to gather.” Aggie got to her feet, peeling herself free from Cora’s hug.
“Aggie, you can’t. The devil don’t make the rain. Only the Heavenly Father does tha’,” Cora pleaded. Aggie had already left.
She ran after her as Aggie looked out for anyone passing by. When the coast was clear, she ran to the hen house, Cora ran after her. Inside was too still. Even upon Aggie and Cora’s intrusion the hens didn’t stir. They warmed their eggs in the darkness, safe in their nests. Cora slipped a hand under the nearest hen and retrieved an egg. She took it outside, holding it up to the sinking sunlight.
“Aggie please, she’s evil.”
Aggie looked down at her sister, putting the egg carefully inside her apron pocket. She paused, then dashed back inside, snatching handfuls of hot ash from the hearth fire. Cora took hold of her apron as Aggie left the house.
“Please, Cora…” Aggie begged, but Cora wouldn’t let go. She didn’t have the strength to stop Aggie, but she was determined to hold on even if her sister dragged her to hell. After a few feet of pulling Aggie finally slowed her pace, Cora trailed behind her.
She had to skip to keep up with Aggie, who trudged through mud and ox shit as villagers averted their eyes. Cora’s clothes were spattered to the waist. She wondered what father would do when he found out. Aggie followed the river out of the village; the air was cooler beside it. Cora looked down longingly, wanting to wade in with her sister and let themselves drift. A few of the young lads had set up an archery butt on the opposite side. When they spotted Aggie striding alongside the bank, one took aim at her. Cora flinched as he let the arrow loose. It struck, two feet away from Aggie, burying itself in the thick mud with a thrum. Aggie kept walking, paying no mind to the laughing boys.
They left the pastured land behind and disappeared into the forest. Cora had never gone this far out. Her legs were starting to ache; every step forward felt like the packed dirt might give way beneath her. Maybe if she went home and told father, she could make him be gentle with Aggie. If he knew where Aggie was going, she’d never sleep under his roof again. Cora had never seen the woman of the woods, only heard Mother gossip about her whilst laundering clothes. Though most openly reviled her, the womenfolk often went to her for help. Once a month, a half dozen would slip away to seek her out–usually after dark. Her potions were the villages best known secret.
A thin trail of smoke above the dense forest marked where she dwelt. In a clearing a small way inland from the river sat a weathered hut that may once have housed a tree cutter’s family. Now a crooked old woman stood hunched outside, her gnarled fingers grasped herbs she’d dried in the day’s heat. Cora felt her throat tighten as she stared, something told her the woman knew she was being watched.
“Aggie, she’s a witch!” Cora protested.
They stood in silence watching the old woman straighten her back to study the sky. With great effort, she heaved a thick animal hide over and throwing it on top of her log pile.
“Wonderin’ when you’d be back. Still hopin’ for the rains to fall?” the old woman cackled.
“Give me…what I need.” Aggie said. The old woman bared her few remaining teeth and spat a brown glob into the sun-baked dirt. Cora felt sick watching it dry out.
“What does she mean?” Cora asked, yanking on Aggie’s apron.
“Can’t do it yerself? the little one take yer place?” The herb woman asked with a vile gurgle. “Suppose you’d best be coming in then.” She turned and hobbled into her tiny home, each step arduous. Cora took Aggie’s hand and realised it was shaking. She looked up, Aggie’s eyes burned into the woman’s crooked back.
“Let’s go.” Aggie said.
They walked past the dust-caked hides into the hut. A wave of foreign smells forced its way up Cora’s nose and down her throat. She began to cough and splutter, using her free hand to waft away the smoke of the burning herbs. The herb woman was sat on the only chair, loudly chewing a piece of willow bark.
“Helps wit’ me achin’ joints.” She explained. At her feet lay a small bundle. She gave it a kick. Cora flinched.
“Everthin’ you need is there. Did yer bring the egg?” Aggie let go of Cora’s hand, dug in her apron, and pulled out the egg.
“Good. You know wha’ you need do tonight?”
Aggie nodded. She bent down and unwrapped the bundle. Inside was a small jar filled with something red. A plant with bell-shaped purple flowers, glossy black berries, and a small knife. Aggie picked up the blade, Cora’s heart dropped. Seeing her flinch, Aggie stowed the knife away and kissed her hard on the forehead. Cora felt hot tears land in her hair.
“Know what that sister of yours is plannin’, girl?” The old woman croaked.
“Shut up,” Aggie strained out.
She gave a malicious smile and wet her lips. “She’s speakin’ wit’ devils!”
Tears flowed freely from Aggie’s eyes as she stormed out of the hut. Devils. The word rang in Cora’s ears. A fear even greater than she had for father coiled inside her. The malicious laughter of the old woman followed Cora as she fled. She ran after her sister, until she couldn’t run anymore. She tried to call out, but her heaving chest strangled her voice. When she got her breath back, she found Aggie lying against a tree. She held the bundle tightly as she sobbed.
“Tell me she’s lyin’, Aggie. You ‘ave to go to hell to speak wit’ devils,” Cora said.
Aggie shook her head. Her eyes ringed in red, she drew her knees up to her face. Cora tried to push her head up, but Aggie wouldn’t move. Instead, she watched helplessly as her sister cried.
“You go on…home now.” Aggie said.
“I’m going to hell with you.” Cora crossed her arms and sat on the bed of dry leaves. Aggie’s tears began to flow again at her words. Cora sat defiant whilst her insides twisted and tightened. Aggie brandished the knife, using it to shoo her away.
“Gooo!”
Cora ducked under her, grabbing Aggie’s waist and hugging her tight. When Aggie tried to push her back, she dug her hand into her apron and snatched the egg. Her heart thundered, and she could hear Father’s voice in her head, telling her how wicked she was. Aggie’s eyes went wide when she saw what Cora had done. She stood with the egg held above her head. A look of venom filled Aggie’s face.
“Put it down, you little bitch!” Aggie screamed.
Cora was stunned, shaking so hard she almost dropped it. It wasn’t Aggie’s foul language, but the way she’d spoke. The harsh, rasping breathlessness she’d spoken with ever since the barn had burned down had gone. Aggie clasped her hands around her mouth, her eyes shining with regret. In a strange mix of shock and pride, Cora lowered her arms as tears streamed down her face. Aggie caught her just as she felt her legs give out, pulling her in for a tight embrace. The pair stayed like that for a while. The wind cut through the trees and their threadbare clothes.
“Nobody makes the rains come, Aggie.” Cora whispered.
The sky darkened; the vibrant lushness of the forest turned into something unknowable. Cora stared over Aggie’s shoulder into the swallowing blackness.
“Please, Aggie, let’s go home. It’ll rain tomorrah. I know it.”
A scuttling across the forest floor sent dry leaves whispering over the ground. Aggie loosened her hold on Cora, just enough to look her in the eye. She stared at her for a long while, taking in each detail as if she was cut from cathedral glass.
“I want you to go home. Everything ‘ill be good,” Aggie promised.
“But who’ll protect me?”
Aggie opened her mouth but didn’t answer. Instead, she put Cora down and gathered up the ritual tools. She tried to usher her away, but Cora wouldn’t move.
“I’m going with you!” Cora screamed. A flock of birds took flight at the noise, their furious flapping wings breaking the cool silence of the dusk. Aggie took off her apron and wrapped it around Cora’s shivering body.
“Alright then, let’s rest awhile.” She said.
They nestled together under the towering tree, its hollow easily big enough to shelter the pair of them from the biting winds. Aggie hummed a song Cora hadn’t heard before, its soothing rhythm and the safety of being in Aggie’s arms had her struggling to keep her eyes open. Night closed in as she finally surrendered to sleep, a lock of Aggie’s hair wound tightly around her fingers.
Cora awoke to a crack of thunder, the air smelled damp and earthy. In her hand the lock of Aggie’s hair had been cut. She reached out into the darkness of the tree’s hollow.
“Aggie?” She cried.
She was met with an enraged roar from the sky. She sank down inside the cavernous hollow, thunder struck and lighting tore through the dark, billowing clouds. Its sudden flash lit up a creeping fox. Rain hammered down in an infinite cascade, drumming against the parched earth. Cora squeezed her eyes shut.
“Nobody makes the rain come.” She whispered.
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Great pacing, this really transported me to that world.
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