A Darkness Found

by T K White

  A Darkness Found

  TK White

  Copyright © 2018 TK White

  All rights reserved.

  No parts of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.

  This book is free subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. Under no circumstances may any part of this book be photocopied for resale.

  This is a work of fiction. Any similarity between the characters and situations within its pages and places or persons, living or dead, is unintentional and co-incidental.

  Cover Design: Jonas Steger

  To the one who loves me through it all

  TnT

  Contents

  Dedication

  1. Chapter One

  2. Chapter Two

  3. Chapter Three

  4. Chapter Four

  5. Chapter Five

  6. Chapter Six

  7. Chapter Seven

  8. Chapter Eight

  9. Chapter Nine

  10. Chapter Ten

  11. Chapter Eleven

  12. Chapter Twelve

  13. Chapter Thirteen

  14. Chapter Fourteen

  15. Chapter Fifteen

  16. Chapter Sixteen

  17. Chapter Seventeen

  18. Chapter Eighteen

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  Coming Next . . .

  1

  It burned red like the color of metal being forged into a sword. No, it flared like the reddish-orange of the blazing sun. But then, sometimes, when the light hit it just right, it looked as tame as the red of a rose petal. Grishelda ran her fingers through Bastian’s soft, red hair and wondered how one color could hold so many shades.

  Gazing into his bronze eyes, the lovesick girl lost herself in the moment, unwilling to give it up. Bastian snuck his fingers to her side, and she let out a shriek at the tingling sensation. He quickly covered her mouth with his hand.

  “Shhhh . . . are you mad, girl? Are you trying to get me in trouble?”

  Horses neighed and cows mooed, covering the accidental cry Grishelda let out. She and Bastian flattened their bodies against the splintering wall of the wooden barn. One of the other hired help came tromping in, hay crunching beneath his feet. Grishelda sucked in her stomach, as if that would somehow make her disappear into the wooden planks behind her.

  “I’m sorry, but that tickled!” she replied in a hush.

  Bastian released a slow breath. They’d had this conversation, or a variant of it, a million times over. “Grisha, I’m working right now. Y-you can’t surprise me like this. You’ll get me fired.”

  A wicked smile curled her lips and Grishelda kissed Bastian with a force that said just what she thought of that. When she came up for air, Bastian’s eyes were glazed and his smile dopey. “But that kiss would make it all worth it,” he murmured, bending to brush her lips with his own.

  She savored the brief connection before patting his arm. “Don’t worry about my mother. I can handle her, Bastian.”

  “What could you do if she catches me with you? You’d be powerless to stop her. And I don’t want to give any reason to be an enemy of your mother’s.” Bastian shuddered.

  Grishelda rolled her eyes. Her mother wasn’t even here, and she was still somehow ruining her daughter’s life.

  “Aye, Vermil, did you milk the cows?” Grover shouted from outside the barn. His voice came dangerously close to the wall Grishelda and Bastian leaned on.

  “Aye, and stop bugging me about it. I don’t need someone checking in on me,” Vermil yelled back.

  Grishelda wasn’t worried. Every day, she brought the help who worked in the town-owned barn fresh water, sweet pies, and savory tarts to earn their favor. The help liked Grishelda. Far more than they liked her mother. Still, it wouldn’t be ideal to get caught with Bastian. Eyeing their surroundings, Grishelda saw a ladder. She nudged Bastian and nodded toward the ladder.

  “Well, if you’re done milking the cows, we need to brush the horses!”

  Uh oh. As if it knew the humans were talking about it, a horse stuck its head over the half-wall and nudged Grishelda.

  Not wasting any time, she and Bastian made their way to the ladder, climbing while keeping their feet as light as possible.

  “Get started on the horses without me, then!” Vermil was definitely in a mood. When he was in a mood, there was no telling who he might take his anger out on.

  Arching her neck, Grishelda looked to the top of the ladder. Halfway there. She continued the climb, Bastian right on her heels.

  “Can you go any faster?” he pleaded from below her.

  “I’m the one in a dress! You try climbing in this!”

  Just as Grishelda reached the top and launched herself onto the hay-covered platform, Grover yelled below, “Vermil, these horses have already been brushed! Why didn’t you tell me that before I came over here?”

  Bastian landed with an “oomph” on top of Grishelda and laughter danced in his eyes. He had just brushed the horses.

  “How was I supposed to know the horses had already been brushed? Bastian must’ve done it!”

  “Where is that boy, anyway?”

  “Beats me.” Vermil clearly didn’t care.

  Bastian raised his eyebrows in mock accusation at Grishelda. She shrugged innocently. It did Bastian good to sneak away every once in a while. After all, a life full of only work would be incredibly dull.

  The two men’s voices faded away as they left the barn.

  Bastian let out another sigh. This one said he wasn’t sure how much more of this he could take. Grishelda had become an expert at reading Bastian’s sighs.

  “Now, come.” Grishelda grabbed his hand. She had just the thing to calm his nerves. “I have something special planned for us.”

  Bastian groaned but let Grishelda lead him away. There would be no denying her what she wanted.

  It played out like one of the fairytales Grishelda had spent so much of her childhood reading by candlelight in her bed. Beside the sparkling stream lay a blanket upon which were spread some of Bastian’s favorite foods. Goat milk cheese, soft bread, dried meats.

  Grishelda wasn’t a seer, but if the fairytales told her anything, it was that she and Bastian would have a happy ending. They were in love. And when you loved someone, anything was possible. Grishelda knew they would be frowned upon by, well, everyone. Bastian was just some stable boy and Grishelda, at sixteen, was primed to be the wife of some lord who had influence and power. Sometimes, she thought that was all her mother cared about.

  All thoughts of her mother fled as Grishelda watched Bastian’s face light up at the picnic before him. The wide smile transformed his weary face into how Grishelda imagined a boy in love should look.

  “Grisha, when did you do this?”

  She flounced to the blanket and sat herself down, arranging her purple dress around her like a proper lady. Her mother would at least appreciate that. “I finished my studies and told my mother I was practicing my—” but Grishelda never finished her sentence. Bastian’s soft lips clumsily reached for hers. When their mouths finally met, it was soft and sweet.

  Far too soon, he pulled away. “I can’t believe you did this for me.”

  “Of course I did, silly.” Grishelda cut pieces of bread and handed them to Bastian.

  “Grisha
,” his tone was ominous, “you shouldn’t be planning picnics like this for me. You should be out learning how to prepare feasts for a lord’s hall or how to run a household.” Bastian stood, the bread falling from his hands to the ground. The scattered pieces lay in the dirt, ruined. “You shouldn’t be wasting your time with a serving boy who can’t provide any kind of future for you.”

  Unbidden, tears sprung forth from Grishelda’s eyes. “Bastian, how can you say that to me? We can be together. We will be together. It’s just like what happened to Cinderella. She was a maid, and she married a prince. Everyone heard about it! It’s even a book now.”

  Bastian couldn’t read, of course, but Grishelda knew he had heard the famous tale of Cinderella who bested her stepmother and stepsisters.

  “Yeah, of course I heard about it. But that—that’s not normal.”

  Standing, Grishelda took Bastian’s hands in hers. “You have to believe in us because no one else will. We make our destiny. And I have a plan.”

  Now was as good a time as any to tell him what she had really been doing during all of her studies.

  “We’re running away. In a fortnight.”

  “What?” Bastian stepped back, jerking his hands from her grasp. “No, I won’t even consider it.”

  “Cinderella’s kingdom. I’ve heard rumors there are no classes of people there. No one is better than anyone else. And you can marry whoever you want.”

  The flitting arch of Bastian’s eyebrows told Grishelda she was onto something. She pressed on. “I’ve mapped out our route. I’ve been saving the allowance I get every week. I’ve got it all planned. And when we get to Cinderella’s kingdom, we can finally be together.”

  Hesitation splayed over Bastian’s face, but Grishelda forced him to meet her gaze. Her unyielding gaze with purple eyes far too similar to her mother’s.

  He drummed his fingers against his cheeks. Freckles dotted his pale, creamy skin—a map Grishelda knew as well as her own village. She kissed each freckle and he closed his eyes. Each brush of her lips softened his bunched brows.

  Finally, he released the breath he’d been holding. “Okay. Okay then. Let’s do it. Let’s run away together.”

  2

  There are some things in life that just aren’t recommended. Like running away from home. And then, there are things that are just plain stupid. Such as running away from home when you have a mother like Grishelda’s. But none of that deterred the young woman. She was determined to write her own happily ever after.

  After an agonizing two weeks, the night had finally come. Grishelda tiptoed through the barn, the snores of Vermil and Grover swallowing any noise she might have made as she tiptoed over the hay.

  “Not over there! I’m up here.” Grishelda looked up to see the familiar face that made her heart thump. Bastian mimed for her to go toward the ladder. He climbed down with impressive speed and planted a swift peck on her cheek before he grabbed her hand and, hay crunching be damned, dragged Grishelda behind as he raced out the barn.

  “Bastian! What if we wake them?” Grishelda scolded as they burst free of the building.

  “I couldn’t stay in that place one moment longer. Not when it meant being one moment further away from our dream. From your dream.”

  Despite her sternness, Grishelda’s heart swelled at his words. She squeezed his hand. “It’s our dream.”

  Grishelda had spent months planning this escape. A cart would pick them up at the end of the dusty road that led to her little village. All the huts and houses crowded together behind them, shrinking in the distance as Bastian and Grishelda made their way forward, covered by the ink of night. Since the barn and its servants belonged to the entire village, almost everyone would mourn the loss of Bastian’s valuable help. Her mother, on the other hand, would care more for Grishelda’s disappearance. Oh, how her mother would suffer. Grishelda’s lips widened to a smile in the dark.

  The cart driver, Tiller, came to their village once a month to drop off goods people paid for. He traveled from realm to realm, taking orders for trinkets and herbs and goods people couldn’t get in their own kingdoms. Along the way, Tiller collected goods and delivered other orders. Grishelda had approached him last month, confidence oozing from her. All it took was a batting of her lashes and a puckering of her lips, and he agreed to take Bastian and her with him. She also paid a handsome price, but that she had expected.

  Just as promised, the dark outline of the cart waited for the young lovers under the cover of a tall knot tree. The tree was nothing special. Its bark was twisted and turned into a series of knots that could make a person’s eyes spin. These were the only trees that grew in her village. Grishelda always thought they were suffering from some sort of curse. Just like her. But tonight, she would break her own curse.

  “Well, come on, then! I’ve wasted a good hour waiting for you two!” Tiller snapped, rising from his seat by the tree.

  Grishelda and Bastian picked up their pace and swung themselves up into the cart.

  “Why are we stalling?” Bastian asked, a slight quiver in his voice.

  Fumbling to open her pack, Grishelda finally produced a heavy bag of gold coins. “The other half you were promised.”

  Tiller felt the bag and nodded, then sat himself up front and snapped his driving whip in the air. The cart lurched forward as the horses reacted to the crack of the whip.

  Grishelda could barely believe this was happening. Her dreams were finally coming to fruition. Despite the darkness, she could see Bastian’s shifting eyes and could tell he was nervous. She squeezed his hand, trying to comfort him. “We’re free, my love, we’re finally free.”

  At sixteen, Grishelda still had so much to learn.

  The noise that roared from the earth sounded like a mountain itself was crumbling before them. But a mountain crumbling would have been a sweet melody compared to the truth. The twisted tree unknotted before their eyes. Lines of bark burst forth from the knots. The tree strands convulsed and turned and wriggled until they had formed a solid wall, surrounding the trembling occupants of the cart.

  “What in the fairy godmother’s name . . .?” Tiller trailed off.

  From the wall, tendrils snaked out toward their victims. Grishelda wrapped her arms around Bastian. But for the first time since this plan of escape had formed, she felt truly terrified.

  A woman floated from the wall. No, she wasn’t floating; she didn’t possess that kind of magic. Rather, a filament of the tree wall lifted her in the air. She was a woman who shared many of Grishelda’s features. She had thick, dark hair that hung well down her back. Her eyes were like twilight. Her skin was pale and smooth. And her mouth, when curled into a smile, was the most petrifying thing a person could witness.

  “Hello, Daughter.”

  Bastian could barely squeeze any words out between his chattering teeth. “Your mother has magic? Wait, do you have magic?”

  This wasn’t how Grishelda wanted him to find out about her mother . . . or about her. Before she could answer, a part of the tree wrapped itself around Tiller and pulled him toward the hungry wall. Leaves and twigs made up its snapping teeth. Brown sap dripped like drool.

  “No, Mother, please!” Grishelda begged. “He didn’t have anything to do with this!”

  “Anyone who aids and abets my daughter in leaving me will get the appropriate punishment.”

  Screams erupted from Tiller’s throat, echoing in the still night air. A sickening crunch came from the tree as it unformed its wall to devour the innocent man. Bastian looked away, but Grishelda couldn’t tear her gaze from the beastly sight of bone, blood, and skin being ripped to shreds. She wouldn’t give her mother the satisfaction of thinking she scared her daughter.

  Bastian sobbed. Grishelda tightened her arms around him and glared at her mother. Touch him. I dare you, her stare said.

  Eva laughed, the sound tinkling through the air. She shrugged, like she accepted Grishelda’s fierce protection of this boy. Besides, Grishelda knew
her mother wouldn’t be able to explain the mysterious disappearance of Bastian.

  Eva snapped her fingers and the tree rearranged itself back into its ugly form. All evidence of the murder that had just taken place was gone from the world.

  “Well, good night then, dear. I trust you’ll see he makes his way back to the barn and you make your way back into your bed.” Eva walked past the cart, patted Grishelda on the head, then disappeared into the darkness.

  3

  Grishelda had withheld the truth about her mother’s magic from Bastian, for fear of how he might react. But she didn’t have magic. It was something her mother reminded her of every single day.

  “Have you been trying to practice?” Eva asked Grishelda one foggy morning, two weeks after the failed escape attempt. “We need more tomatoes, so make a plant grow.”

  Grishelda’s father sat in the corner of their meager hut, meek as always. “Dear, perhaps you should be gentle—”

  “Quiet,” Eva snapped, making Grishelda wonder for the thousandth time how her parents conceived their only daughter. Her mother only ever showed complete revulsion for Grishelda’s father, Jeremiah. Years of verbal abuse had taken its toll on the old man. His back was hunched like a camel’s and the folds of his face sagged with the toll of his wife’s harsh words. But his eyes were kind and he always managed to give Grishelda a wink or a steady gaze when her mother was being cruel.

  “I didn’t ask for your opinion on magic,” Eva continued, glaring at her husband, daring him to keep pushing her. “You have no magic. So what could you possibly contribute to this conversation?”