Marek (Buried Lore Book 1) by Gemma Liviero Read Free Book Online Page B

started. At first they were over another woman who
had joined our troupe. My mother accused Sasha of cheating on her. Then my name
came up in their arguing, which seemed to last for weeks. Sasha would complain
that I took too much food, and that I was always at Mama’s heels – that I
gave them no room to breathe. ‘I will leave you for her if you don’t do
something about your brat,’ shouted Sasha one night before storming from the
tent. I tried to lock out their shouting so many times by covering my ears. So
often I would go down and sit by the creek with the others in our troupe. They
would whisper among themselves whenever I was around, though they were kind
enough. To distract me they would make me sing for them. They said I had a fine
voice like my Mama. This pleased me. The girlfriends of some of the men –
new ones in each town we visited – would paint my lips the colour of bright red cherries and fuss about me.
    When
we were just days from reaching the coast, we found the farm of Jon and Esme , and their four screeching children, around my own
age. Even now I can see that house on the hill and remember those feelings of
dread before I was told what was about to happen to me. I remember looking at
the children curiously and knowing straightaway that we would never be friends.
    My
mother told me that Jon and Esme were kind people who
would need help running their farm. She told me to be strong but I screamed and
kicked and stamped the floor. I would not be left without a fight. My mother
sat on their front porch patting and rubbing my back until I had calmed down.
Finally, when I had no more tears, I lay my head on Mama’s lap.
    Then
she went away and I tried to call out to her but no sound came. My voice had
been taken, most likely stolen by the demons that had locked away Sasha’s
heart. Mama never turned to look at me, just clutched at her scarf pulling it
tightly around her head and running straight into the arms of Sasha. I will
never forget his face. It was the face of a winner.
    That
was the last time I saw her. I scratched an image of my mother in a piece of
bark so I would not forget what she looked like. For the first few years I
would pull it from its hiding place when the memory of my mother’s face started
to dim. Then it became just a bitter reminder of a time I would never see
again.
    When Marek turned up it was a sign from God. It was like
someone put the sun inside him and when he smiled it shone out. Perhaps he was
an angel I thought. His voice was soft and deep. His skin was the colour of honey and his light brown eyes had tiny flecks of
gold.
    We
slept on the forest floor that first night and ate a small portion of food. He
shared the food equally. The rain was bad and we were forced to sit huddled in
the hollow of a tree waiting for it to stop. At some point I dozed. When I
woke, I found my head was resting on Marek’s broad
chest, the steady rhythm of his heart beating loudly. I studied his face while
his eyes were closed, afraid to move in case I woke him. When he caught me
looking up at him I rushed from the hollow. I was thinking that he might be
angry. Sooner or later all masters were angry about something.
    We
walked for another two days and nights. Our food from Esme was nearly gone. I was hoping that Marek approved of
me so I only ate the smallest portion. I knew that in less than a week we would
have left the oak woods for the Black Forest, and other strange lands, and
perhaps he might think of selling me to someone else for food.
    That
night we sat by the fire. Marek talked about his
island often, the golden sands, the cool waters, the sea birds, and about his
father. I tried to picture myself there on the beaches but it was hard to
imagine since I had never seen the sea. He talked about the girls on the island
and I wondered what it would be like to have their life, dressed in thin cotton
and endless days of sunshine.
    Marek had
his secrets too. He talked more about the other