Morok steps closer and starts unfastening the manacles on my wrists, and then from my neck too. I try not to jerk nervously when his long fingers in black gloves brush my skin. Morok is a head taller than me. I can’t guess at his build as his body is covered in black armor and wrapped in a black well-worn cloak. But the shoulder-straps under the cloak make him look broad-shouldered and intimidating. When he’s standing close to me, I want to crouch down and stay as inconspicuous as possible.

“She’s magically bound to Morok and can’t get too far. And even if she attempts to escape, he will track her down in no time. He will follow her trail like a hound. Is that right?”

Morok nods in response and I sigh with relief when he finally steps away from me. I barely have time to rub my neck, sore from the metal ring, before the prince takes hold of my arm and drags me to the edge of the woods. He’s either mad or just stupid. The others at least have the sense not to touch me.

“Agatha,” he sings out my name with something verging on fondness, “I must admit that a lot of time has passed and people have forgotten about the true powers given to you by Morana, and what is left are silly tales to frighten little children and a bunch of fools.”

“And what do they say about us?”

“Hm, for instance, that in winter, you walk among the houses in the dark and call out names. Whoever answers – dies. And some people say that after you die, you continue roaming the earth but carrying your head under your arm.”

I gape at him wondering if he’s just made it all up or if people have really turned us into spooky fairy-tale characters.

“But I was brought up on ancient legends,” the prince goes on completely unperturbed, “about you, Maras, ridding the world of evil, severing the lifelines of tyrants and bestowing the gift of longevity upon the noble monarchs who were good to their subjects. About your scarlet cloaks standing out against snow-white landscapes, your ivory skin with rosy cheeks and ruby-red lips and flowing jet-black hair.”

I’d say he’s mocking me, if not for that dreamy look in his eyes when he runs his fingers through his fair hair, which only barely covers his ears.

“I heard each of you was young and beautiful, a mirror image of Morana herself.” The prince finally turns his gaze back to me and his awe is replaced by condescension, a shade of pity in his smile.

I can hardly keep myself from cringing when he sympathetically pats me on the wrist and holds on to my hand. I want to pull it away but he keeps it tightly in his grasp.

“It’s such a shame I never had a chance to get to know you and your sisters at the peak of your power. I wish I had lived when all the fairy tales were real. But we’ll have time to chat. I’d love to hear some exciting stories about your life. But now, please get rid of the ghoul.”

Prince Daniel stops somewhere between his guards and the edge of the forest. This time I take the sword out of his hands and stand motionless unsure what to do next. The prince folds his arms on his chest and looks at me expectantly.

“Would His Highness like to step back a little?” the corners of my mouth twitch when I see he understands that what I’m really saying is that he’d better clear off.

“He wouldn’t.” His smile becomes even wider, showing his snow-white teeth. “I prefer watching from the first row.”

“Have you ever seen a ghoul?” I’m trying to put him off his stride.

“I’ve seen colorful pictures in the books,” he retorts, obviously not taking the situation seriously at all.

“Then, would you be so kind as to lend me your dagger, too?”

The prince cocks an eyebrow, realizing that if he does, he will be unarmed. He doesn’t have a sword on him. I’m trying to keep a straight face watching his hesitation. I suppose he didn’t read his fairy tales carefully enough if he thinks his dagger could protect him from me. Though even to attempt to kill him would be a stupid thing to do.

“This dagger is my lucky charm, so I hope you’ll give it back to me soon,” he says offering his weapon to me.

“By all means,” I reply stiffly, taking the dagger and heading to the edge of the woods.

Ghoul.

The prince’s information might be incomplete and partly distorted but most of what he was mumbling is true. It only sounds sinister that we were marked by the Goddess of Death, in reality we often did more good than harm, though maybe in an unexpected form sometimes. We can lay to rest something that has been dead a long time but has been clinging to the past life, reluctant to leave this world. That includes ghouls, demons, ghosts, souls of drowned people and other evil spirits. To kill a ghoul, you have to be fast. You have to know that you must cut off the creature’s head and hands, that you need to keep away from its teeth, and that the first spot where it will try to bite you is your neck. And even if you kill it, you have to burn the remains right away, otherwise all your effort will be futile. And that’s only a ghoul. For different spirits there are different rules, and very few people know how to deal with them. But Maras or Moroks can do it all on our own.

Maras have the power of seeing and touching things people can’t see. I only need to touch the spirit to sever its lifeline and give it another chance to move on. That’s exactly what we used to do with my sisters. We would send lost souls on their way to the next world.

It was the primary task of all Maras, but then we got dragged into politics. We started severing the lifelines of the rulers who had brought devastation on their land and people, the tyrants who had nearly destroyed their own countries.

There was a rumor that even before I was born, my sisters bestowed longevity upon two kings. This was also one of our powers but no one knew back then that you had to keep this information a secret, otherwise it would become the thing that’d destroy us. And that’s exactly what happened.

We are not immortal and our mission is dangerous, so a lot of sisters died in the process of cleansing the world from evil. And even if a Mara manages to live a full life, it will only be one and a half times that of a regular person’s lifespan. Before, there was a balance, there were always seven Maras. If one Mara died, another ten-year-old girl would be marked by Morana.

But now I’m the only one left and I can’t see any point in doing people good in return for the evil they have caused us. But first things first, I need to free myself from these ties with Morok, which means I’ll have to behave myself for a while. And in the end, I’m also curious why they risked so much to revive me. Somehow, I don’t think they did it just to get rid of a ghoul.

I throw back the hood and sniff the air trying to smell the ghoul. He’s sleeping in the shadow of the fir trees, waiting for dusk, when the sunlight won’t disturb him anymore. The stench of rotting flesh is easy to distinguish from the fresh fragrance of the woods and the smell of damp soil.

Prince Daniel wants a show, so why not.

And I strike up a song, a quiet ritual prayer set to music. My lips break into an involuntary smile when I hear the prince and his soldiers let out a collective sigh of admiration. It’s not only Maras’ faces that are beautiful, our voices, too. We need these to summon the evil spirits, which come running as if hypnotized. It makes hunting easier but there’s also a side effect…

I notice that Morok has got it all. He’s admiring neither the voice nor the tune, instead he unfolds his arms and starts walking towards me with an intensity that wasn’t there before. But I raise my hand and surprisingly, he freezes, probably deciding to give me a chance.

To be honest, I’m taking a huge risk. Maras only used to attempt a summoning song if at least three sisters had their back. But my own death made me somewhat reckless.

I keep singing for another few minutes. The sound vibrates in my chest, my lungs fill with oxygen and sounds are being pieced together in familiar words as if on their own.

I can feel them waking up. Just as I anticipated, the ghoul is not the only spirit that can hear me. I can feel a low hum spreading through the earth and vibrating in my legs. The birds fall silent terrified by the creatures that are hijacking their home. I finish the song and cast away my cloak, which would only constrict my movements. Under the cloak, I’m wearing plain black trousers, a simple shirt and a buttoned-up caftan in a shade of burgundy. None of it is going to protect me from a blade, nor fangs or claws, but at least I can move quickly. I tighten my grasp on the sword and the dagger, my spine prickling with the anticipation of the on-lookers behind me. I breathe out and start counting to myself, sensing each of their steps.

Nineteen…

Twenty…

Twenty-one…

“Dear Agatha…” the prince starts, he’s already tired of waiting.

Twenty-three…

“Are you going into the woods or do you need some help with that?” He’s almost sneering.

Twenty-four…

Twenty-five…

The first one springs out of the woods earlier than I expect. A foul creature, which looks more like a demon than a human being, but of course he’s neither. He has thin arms and legs with long, deadly claws, greyish skin with an obnoxious green tint is wrapped tightly around his bones, and the mouth is filled with razor-sharp fangs. I block his way when he’s trying to dart towards the soldiers. I dodge his claws diving under his outstretched arm and thrust the sword from behind between his neck and his shoulder. The sword enters his body and I hear the revolting sound of his skin being ripped apart and his collarbone being shattered. The creature trips and falls down in a heap. Everything happens so fast that no one lets out so much as a squeak. But I can see the prince’s face turn white when he glimpses the wrinkled skin of the ghoul, now lying prone in the withered grass. It’s an old ghoul who’s been treading the earth for a long time and his shriveled skin and rare patches of shaggy hair look sickening. I lean in to finish the job and to show them some real magic. To thrust a sword into the creature is no big deal, anyone from those standing around me could do that. I touch the ghoul’s neck lightly with the tips of my fingers and grasp them, sparkling, iridescent, pale golden threads stretching along his spine. Threads of life.

This is our special power. We see these threads of life and can either strengthen them or if we want to, sever them. There should be three of them but the spirits have only one or two left, the others already torn. This ghoul still has two whole ones. I straighten up, holding the glittering threads in my fist, like a trophy, and stretch them as far as possible so that common people can see them too. And then, locking eyes with the prince, who doesn’t even try to hide his admiration, I tear them by jerking my hand upward. The ghoul’s body shudders and becomes still, now for good, and the threads disappear.

My palm is sore, there are two deep cuts where the threads cut into