Читать книгу Dark of the Moon - Siobhan Curham - Страница 7

Hortense lights the final candle and steps away from the altar. Tendrils of incense smoke twist through the darkness like ghostly snakes, filling the air with the scent of sage. She takes a small wooden doll from her pocket and places it in the centre of the altar. A sudden breeze rushes through the trees like a nervous gasp, as if the island itself knows what’s about to happen.

As Hortense stares at the doll, an unfamiliar brew of tension and anxiety begins bubbling inside her. She looks up at the crescent moon glowing hazily in the sky. In a few days, it will have disappeared completely. In a few days, the dark of the moon will have arrived, and she can finally finish what she began all those years ago.

Hortense turns and walks over to a wicker basket in the middle of the clearing. She slowly lifts the lid and a serpent’s head appears, its burnished skin gleaming in the candlelight. She takes the serpent from the basket and holds it high above her. It hisses as it arches up to the sky.

‘Papa Labas, bring me your strength!’ Hortense cries. Lowering her arms, she brings the serpent down around her neck. She shivers as its cold skin glides against hers. Then she starts to dance, slowly bending and swaying, until it feels as if she and the snake are one. As she closes her eyes she feels strength rushing into her, hot and urgent like a forest fire.

She places the serpent back into the basket and strides over to the altar. She takes a small, curved knife from her belt and holds it up to the moonlight. Then she picks up the doll – and carefully gouges out its eyes.