Read Online Bull Running For Girlsl by Allyson Bird - Free Book Online
Authors: Allyson Bird
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here is hurt. We’ll have to get her some help too.”
Jago appeared then in the doorway.
Jane got up from the caravan floor and stood directly in front of Jago.
“Why, you half-breed animal, if you touch my granddaughter again I’ll slit you from throat to prick and feed your insides to that dog over there.”
“He can’t see you Grandma, you know that. Only Sue and me can see you.”
Jago gave the girl a funny look. “Get to bed, child.”
Bethany reluctantly left the caravan with him.
The desperation within Susan began to rise until her breathing became ragged and her heartbeat could almost be heard. She looked up at Jane towering above her. “If you can be seen by me can’t you go and get some help from someone else?”
“I tried. Somethin’ to do with Bethany—she has some sort of special connection to you and so you can see me. The only other person, well animal, that can see me is that dog Roux. We don’t have much time, Sue. It’s the Hunter’s Moon tomorrow night. I think that they have a sort of weird ceremony cooked up for it and Bethany—”
“Oh God,” Susan thought about the word that had been cut into Bethany’s back.
As day broke Susan could smell the foul cooking pot again and she wondered what had been added this time. It reminded her of the sickening, goose-grease that her own grandmother had made her swallow when she had a sore throat. Her other grandmother had placed camphor crystals in a little cloth bag on red ribbon and tied it around Susan’s neck. She had preferred the latter.
All that day she remained tied up, although she felt the binding loosen when she fought to get free. Jago had placed a filthy, black and white chequered rag across her mouth, and when he left her alone she’d lost control of her bladder more than once out of desperation and fear.
It was well into the evening when Jago reappeared in the caravan doorway. He had cleaned himself up a bit; his brown hair had been washed, and it hung loose in waves down to his shoulders. He reminded Susan of an artist’s self portrait she had seen once. He had the same long face and nose, with beard and moustache surrounding a full mouth. Jago was also wearing a fur trimmed, brown robe, as if about to go to a grand ceremony—the crowning ceremony for the Queen of the Hunter’s Moon. Over his shoulder the blood-moon had already risen, a warning to the innocent and vulnerable.
By his side was Bethany, dressed in white with all the red, gold, and orange of the harvest flowers bound into a circlet on her head. Tiny ears of barley and corn stuck out like a crown of thorns and her bouquet of faded, autumn flowers was threaded with purple berries. Her lips had been smudged with the ripe juice of purple berries too, and she smiled up at Jago, expectant, waiting for her reward. Jago smiled at her in return and put a protective arm around her shoulder—just above his scrawled handiwork.
The dog, Roux, squeezed past them, and sat down close to Susan. He began to whine a little, occasionally glancing up at her to see if she would give him some comfort, and then at Jane in the corner who was constantly trying to get the dog to do something. Bethany walked further into the caravan and Jago seated her on the small bed. He moved the lantern and placed it on a hook next to Susan. She could feel the heat of it on her face, whilst he untied the rope around her feet.
The woman in red came into view in the doorway, wearing a long, gypsy skirt. Her hair was black and she wore a necklace that looked as if it had been made of a dozen dried snakes, oiled to bring a little of their golden colour back. Susan thought of the serpent-fire of her absinthe dream in the French farmhouse, and frantically pulled at the rope that bound her hands. Billy was just behind the gypsy woman and they both backed down the steps a little and then leant over them to get a better look.
With a sudden movement the dog leapt to its feet and started to lick
Jago appeared then in the doorway.
Jane got up from the caravan floor and stood directly in front of Jago.
“Why, you half-breed animal, if you touch my granddaughter again I’ll slit you from throat to prick and feed your insides to that dog over there.”
“He can’t see you Grandma, you know that. Only Sue and me can see you.”
Jago gave the girl a funny look. “Get to bed, child.”
Bethany reluctantly left the caravan with him.
The desperation within Susan began to rise until her breathing became ragged and her heartbeat could almost be heard. She looked up at Jane towering above her. “If you can be seen by me can’t you go and get some help from someone else?”
“I tried. Somethin’ to do with Bethany—she has some sort of special connection to you and so you can see me. The only other person, well animal, that can see me is that dog Roux. We don’t have much time, Sue. It’s the Hunter’s Moon tomorrow night. I think that they have a sort of weird ceremony cooked up for it and Bethany—”
“Oh God,” Susan thought about the word that had been cut into Bethany’s back.
As day broke Susan could smell the foul cooking pot again and she wondered what had been added this time. It reminded her of the sickening, goose-grease that her own grandmother had made her swallow when she had a sore throat. Her other grandmother had placed camphor crystals in a little cloth bag on red ribbon and tied it around Susan’s neck. She had preferred the latter.
All that day she remained tied up, although she felt the binding loosen when she fought to get free. Jago had placed a filthy, black and white chequered rag across her mouth, and when he left her alone she’d lost control of her bladder more than once out of desperation and fear.
It was well into the evening when Jago reappeared in the caravan doorway. He had cleaned himself up a bit; his brown hair had been washed, and it hung loose in waves down to his shoulders. He reminded Susan of an artist’s self portrait she had seen once. He had the same long face and nose, with beard and moustache surrounding a full mouth. Jago was also wearing a fur trimmed, brown robe, as if about to go to a grand ceremony—the crowning ceremony for the Queen of the Hunter’s Moon. Over his shoulder the blood-moon had already risen, a warning to the innocent and vulnerable.
By his side was Bethany, dressed in white with all the red, gold, and orange of the harvest flowers bound into a circlet on her head. Tiny ears of barley and corn stuck out like a crown of thorns and her bouquet of faded, autumn flowers was threaded with purple berries. Her lips had been smudged with the ripe juice of purple berries too, and she smiled up at Jago, expectant, waiting for her reward. Jago smiled at her in return and put a protective arm around her shoulder—just above his scrawled handiwork.
The dog, Roux, squeezed past them, and sat down close to Susan. He began to whine a little, occasionally glancing up at her to see if she would give him some comfort, and then at Jane in the corner who was constantly trying to get the dog to do something. Bethany walked further into the caravan and Jago seated her on the small bed. He moved the lantern and placed it on a hook next to Susan. She could feel the heat of it on her face, whilst he untied the rope around her feet.
The woman in red came into view in the doorway, wearing a long, gypsy skirt. Her hair was black and she wore a necklace that looked as if it had been made of a dozen dried snakes, oiled to bring a little of their golden colour back. Susan thought of the serpent-fire of her absinthe dream in the French farmhouse, and frantically pulled at the rope that bound her hands. Billy was just behind the gypsy woman and they both backed down the steps a little and then leant over them to get a better look.
With a sudden movement the dog leapt to its feet and started to lick