Under a strange sky "We buried a strega?" Andrew's voice was thin and uncertain and he reached into the coffin, touching the hole at the foot-end where the wood was smashed through and a dark tunnel into the soil, barely big enough for a child to wriggle through, stretched away. "No, burying a strega is pointless," said Giuseppe. "Which is not to say it doesn't happen, just that it doesn't normally happen twice in any one village. The strega digs itself out eventually, and it is angry after that. Things are always messy when there's a strega involved, but when there's an angry one... well, that's when you need an expert. Two experts, ideally. But no, this was always planned to be a strega; someone wanted one for a purpose." He started patting the sides of the coffin, which were covered by an off-white cloth pinned in place at regular intervals. "Aha," he said, finding a rip in the side and pushing his mud-encrusted fingers inside. "Here we go." He pulled out a velvet bag twice the size of his palm. A black drawstring was run around its neck to hold it closed and Andrew could see little streaks of silver here and there in the fabric. "Silver wire," said Giuseppe, pointing at the streaks. "The strega mustn't be allowed to open the bag, you see." He pulled the neck wide, the black cord disappearing inside it as he did so, and tipped the contents out into the coffin. He pointed at the strange objects: "that's part of a child's skull," he said. "It has to be fairly fresh, so if we can find a child that was killed somewhere close to the burial date we'll have a clue." He pointed at something that looked like a stubby red-black crayon. "That's a candle made from wax and blood," he said. "Usually they use crow's blood, but it can be any of a number of psychopomps. Those there are coins, that's payment to Death to leave the soul unattended for a while. And that last thing," he pointed at some shards of reflective glass, "used to be a mirror." "Why's it broken?" "When the strega leaves the coffin it breaks," said Giuseppe. "If you could put the mirror back together again you'd free the strega from their torment, but the mirror never breaks so cleanly that you can. And most times you never even find the bag of tricks that makes all this happen." "Is there always a bag?" "When someone's making stregas, yes. If they're naturally occurring, no. And those are much, much harder to deal with, because they're back for revenge." Andrew's back was hurting, from the digging and leaning over the coffin, so he leaned backwards, stretching out tired muscles and tight tendons, and looked up. The sky above them was mottled over; the normal pink and red of dawn was spotted with green and black. Giuseppe noticed him tense and looked up as well. "A strange sky," he said. "Not a good sign, if you ask me." "Anything to do with the strega?" Andrew didn't sound like he wanted to ask the question. "Not directly," said Giuseppe, but at the moment it would be madness to think that anything strange was too far separate from it. Come, let's go get the dogs. We need to know where that tunnel goes."
Greg - ah, well, I see you didn't need that feedback anyway :P
And I am not disappointed that you did. More great work here, such a vivid scene. I like Giuseppe a lot as well. Trying not to get too attached, given the situation he's in, but there you go.
2 comments:
Carrying on from yesterday again :)
Under a strange sky
"We buried a strega?" Andrew's voice was thin and uncertain and he reached into the coffin, touching the hole at the foot-end where the wood was smashed through and a dark tunnel into the soil, barely big enough for a child to wriggle through, stretched away.
"No, burying a strega is pointless," said Giuseppe. "Which is not to say it doesn't happen, just that it doesn't normally happen twice in any one village. The strega digs itself out eventually, and it is angry after that. Things are always messy when there's a strega involved, but when there's an angry one... well, that's when you need an expert. Two experts, ideally. But no, this was always planned to be a strega; someone wanted one for a purpose." He started patting the sides of the coffin, which were covered by an off-white cloth pinned in place at regular intervals. "Aha," he said, finding a rip in the side and pushing his mud-encrusted fingers inside. "Here we go."
He pulled out a velvet bag twice the size of his palm. A black drawstring was run around its neck to hold it closed and Andrew could see little streaks of silver here and there in the fabric.
"Silver wire," said Giuseppe, pointing at the streaks. "The strega mustn't be allowed to open the bag, you see." He pulled the neck wide, the black cord disappearing inside it as he did so, and tipped the contents out into the coffin. He pointed at the strange objects: "that's part of a child's skull," he said. "It has to be fairly fresh, so if we can find a child that was killed somewhere close to the burial date we'll have a clue." He pointed at something that looked like a stubby red-black crayon. "That's a candle made from wax and blood," he said. "Usually they use crow's blood, but it can be any of a number of psychopomps. Those there are coins, that's payment to Death to leave the soul unattended for a while. And that last thing," he pointed at some shards of reflective glass, "used to be a mirror."
"Why's it broken?"
"When the strega leaves the coffin it breaks," said Giuseppe. "If you could put the mirror back together again you'd free the strega from their torment, but the mirror never breaks so cleanly that you can. And most times you never even find the bag of tricks that makes all this happen."
"Is there always a bag?"
"When someone's making stregas, yes. If they're naturally occurring, no. And those are much, much harder to deal with, because they're back for revenge."
Andrew's back was hurting, from the digging and leaning over the coffin, so he leaned backwards, stretching out tired muscles and tight tendons, and looked up. The sky above them was mottled over; the normal pink and red of dawn was spotted with green and black. Giuseppe noticed him tense and looked up as well.
"A strange sky," he said. "Not a good sign, if you ask me."
"Anything to do with the strega?" Andrew didn't sound like he wanted to ask the question.
"Not directly," said Giuseppe, but at the moment it would be madness to think that anything strange was too far separate from it. Come, let's go get the dogs. We need to know where that tunnel goes."
Greg - ah, well, I see you didn't need that feedback anyway :P
And I am not disappointed that you did. More great work here, such a vivid scene. I like Giuseppe a lot as well. Trying not to get too attached, given the situation he's in, but there you go.
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