by Katie M John
The door opened and I didn’t bother to look up from finishing my bandaging assuming it was Millie returning, which is why I let out a small squeak when I heard the velveteen bass notes of a man’s voice.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said. “I thought you’d be tucked up in bed. Begging your pardon.”
I looked up to see a tall young man a couple of years older than me, his dark hair tied back in a ponytail at the nape of his neck. He was dressed sharply in a three-piece suit that looked both familiar to our time and yet different. My initial thoughts of being held by some history loving serial killing nutter where not silenced, especially as he seemed to be looking at me like it was me who was the crazy one.
“I heard you were in need of a stick?” he said, jiggling a black ebony and silver cane in front of him. “I’m not sure how it will do for size but I can always have one of my men saw some off the bottom if it’s too tall.”
Great, I thought. He’s not just a serial killer but a gangster, too.
“Where am I?” I asked again.
“Wild Wood Manor.”
“Yes, but where is that?”
I hadn’t expected the question to be as complicated as it clearly was. “Why, it’s here of course.”
I huffed, unable to contain my exasperation. “What happened? Why am I here?”
“Don’t you remember?”
“Clearly not or I wouldn’t be asking,” I snipped. This whole place was infuriating beyond measure.
He approached me, placing the stick by my side on the bed. I flinched as he reached out to touch my head.
“You’re bleeding,” he offered by way of explanation.
“Oh,” I said, putting my fingers to my temple and feeling the warm sticky trace of blood.
He turned to the bowl of water on the side and wrung out the cloth before returning his attention to my head, dabbing the wound clean.
“It’s not too deep. Just a graze. It should scab over in a couple of hours.”
“Thank you,” I said, softening.
Despite my initial panic induced theories, I didn’t feel frightened or at risk. In fact, I felt safe, and weirdly at peace. As he tended to my wound, I watched him from under my lashes. He was certainly a very beautiful young man, with cheekbones you could strike a match on. From his dress and the way he referred to ‘my men’ I guessed he was Lord Rime, but he looked far too young to be in charge of a house of this kind.
“So, you own Wild Wood Manor?” I asked.
He laughed lightly. “More a case of Snow Wood Manor owns me.”
“How so?” I asked, curious from this hint of humility.
“It’s just how it is. The house has been in our family for generations. We all know that we are merely its custodian – and she’s hard work; she’s always fighting with the weather. Damp, holes in the roof, leaking pipes – it’s a never ending headache,” he said, smiling affectionately.
“And your parents?”
“Are passed. Last winter. There was an accident with their carriage.”
“Carriage?”
“Yes. Nobody could tell me exactly what happened but it seemed the carriage came lose and it left the path, falling over the cliff side.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I said with genuine sympathy. The parallel of his parents’ death with that of my mother was too close to home.
The clothes, the house, the carriage, something was wrong. “What time is it?” I blurted.
“Just after eight-thirty?”
“No,” I shook my head. “What year is it?”
“Year? Do you mean season?”
“No, year,” I said, adding extra emphasis to the word.
He shrugged his shoulders. “I’m sorry, I don’t know the word.”
“You don’t know the word year! The twelve month cycle. The whole pre and after Christ. The whole orbit around the sun?”
He stared at me as if I was a blathering idiot. “Millie said you weren’t from around here? Where are you from?”
“The village,” I said, defensively, not appreciating the tone of his voice that made me sound like I was some kind of freakish alien.
“I haven’t ever seen you in the village before, and I know almost all of the families, even the refugee families.”
“Refugee families. We don’t have any refugees in our village.”
“I think you should lie down. Clearly the bang to your head was worse than we feared. I’ll have the physician called at once,” he said, as he placed his hands on to my shoulders with the intention of putting me back into bed.
“Get off me,” I growled causing him to snatch back his hands. “I’m fine. There’s nothing wrong with my head.”
“Okay, but rest would be good nevertheless.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, seeing the look of concern on his face. He hadn’t meant to be inappropriate. “It’s just, well all of this is a little strange. I’m not where I aught to be, and to be honest, what with Millie’s weird dress-up and some of the word issues we’re having, I’m a little freaked out.”
“Freaked out?”
“Yes, disturbed, disorientated – spooked?”
“Like I said, that’s the head injury.”
“No, these things have nothing to do with a head injury and everything to do with the fact that you guys don’t seem to know what a phone is, a year is, or even what this is…” I said, reaching for my camera bag and flipping it open.”
“Ah, I did wonder what that was?” he said. “I have to confess to taking a little look when you were sleeping, but –”
“But?”
“Well, I wasn’t sure if it was an enchanted object or not.”
I took the camera out of the bag and clicked it on. “It just takes photos,” I said, holding it out and reading his response. I still wasn’t fully happy to accept the idea that I had somehow travelled through time, but it was fast becoming an option that I had to at least consider. After all, no one, no matter how reclusive would be so ignorant – and hadn’t he said that he knew the village.
“You mentioned refugees earlier? Where are they from? What are they fleeing?”
“Why, they’re from the Dark Lands, of course. They’re fleeing King Stormlon.”
“The Dark Lands? King Stormlon? They sound like something out of a fairytale.”
“You know of the fae?” he said, still pressing the replay button with fascination. “Is this fae magic?”
“No,” I said, taking my camera back. “That’s a camera. It uses light to capture a digital image. It’s not magic, just science.”
“Alchemy?”
I sighed heavily. “No, not quite.”
Grabbing hold of the stick, I put it to floor and stood. It was a ridiculous idea. The room span and the blood rushed to each of my wounds causing them to explode in pain, forcing me to sit back on the bed.
“Are you alright?” Lord Rime asked, full of concern.
“Just stood up too soon.”
“Like I said, you need to rest. I’ll have Millie bring up some supper and then perhaps you can try again in the morning?”
“Okay,” I said, admitting defeat. “But before you go, will you tell me what happened today? I can’t remember how I got here.”
His face flickered with apprehension. “You don’t remember any of it?” he asked, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. “Perhaps it’s better that way.”
I shook my head firmly. “No, I’d rather know. There’s enough here to confuse me already. I’d like to know exactly how I came to be here.”
“It was the Ghoulatine.”
“Ghoulatine?”
“Yes. We were hunting her down in the woods, when she must have come across you. She’s a shape shifter, taking on the appearance of whatever your imagination conjures in that moment, often something innocent and trustworthy.”
I snorted in recognition. “Yes, I remember know, but I thought I had dreamt that. She came to me as Little Red Riding Hood. A sweet child with a red clo
ak and a basket over her arm.”
“Was it a character from a story?”
“Yes.”
He nodded sagely. “We have heard many report that is what happens. When you got to the cave, did she reveal herself to you?”
“Sort of,” I said, knitting my brows together. “It was so dark that it was difficult to know what was going on. She seemed to shift and grow, but I couldn’t tell you what into. All I can remember are the teeth,” I said, suddenly erupting with goosebumps.
“Yes, if we had not got to you when we did, she would have eaten you alive. There would be nothing but bones left.”
“What the hell is she?”
“She’s fear and shadows, and dark. She’s a nightmare made true.”
“Did you kill her?”
“She can’t be killed.”
“Then why were you hunting her?”
“To try and capture her. If we can contain her, at least then she won’t hurt anyone else – and there’s an idea that if she doesn’t have access to a food source, then maybe she’ll wither and die.”
“Are there other creatures like that in the woods.”
He nodded, patting my sheet covered leg. “There are many dangers in the wood. The world is full of darkness and pain. It has been ever since the curse.”
“The curse?”
“Yes, the one that will end our world. It’s already started. King Stormlon is tearing up the lands, polluting the streams, killing the children of his enemies, declaring war on every nation, and we don’t have the powers to fight back. Our King lost his wife and child during childbirth and has been grieving ever since. You don’t need to be buried to be dead. As his emotions control the seasons, we have been trapped in an unending winter for cycle after cycle. The land is dead and the food is running out. Without a Queen, the King cannot be happy, and summer, and harvest will never come.
“That’s terrible,” I said. “Grief is a hard and lonely state.”
Lord Rime noticed something in my voice and questioned me with his eyes.
“My mother died exactly a year ago tomorrow,” I replied.
“I’m sorry.”
“It feels like the pain will never go away, like you’ll never be truly happy again – even though you know that the very last thing they would want for you is to be sad, that by not living fully, by not seeking happiness and love, you’re betraying them somehow.”
“Yes, exactly that – but you know, life is precious, we of all people know that.” He smiled and stood. “I’m going to leave you to rest now. It would be lovely if you felt strong enough to join me for breakfast.”
Before he could make it out of the door, my eyes had closed and I was fast asleep.
CHAPTER FOUR
MORNING
I had thought the next morning would see me feeling a little better, but I was wrong. The bruising had come out over night and the fluid around my injuries had gathered, making the pain worse and movement even more difficult. I groaned with disappointment and pain – and part of that disappointment was over not being able to spring from my bed and join Lord Rime for breakfast. All night, the the pain and fever from the shock had me riding strange and wild dreams. Many of them included the presence of the mysterious and handsome Lord Rime.
Although dreams of Tom had been increasingly frequent in the last few weeks, and some hot enough to make me blush when I saw him in real life, they were nothing compared to the dreams I found myself living that night. I smiled and put it down to the strange medicinal mixture of herbs I had found on my nightstand, which I assumed Millie had administered to me in the night. I made a note to myself to ask her exactly what was in it, and its effects.
I threw off the cover and tried to move, but it wasn’t going to happen. For today at least, I was going to be confined to my bed, which caused multiple frustrations, not just in that I wouldn’t get to see Lord Rime, but that I wouldn’t get to go and explore this strange new land I had found myself in.
I still wasn’t yet convinced that all of this wasn’t the result of some serious head injury and that one day, I would find myself waking in a hospital bed with the most incredible of stories to write. But for now, I could either continue fighting the strangeness of it all, telling myself repeatedly I was either mad or dreaming, or I could embrace the wanderlust and have a good time whilst I was here. People had holiday romances all the time, why couldn’t a girl have a coma romance? I laughed at my dark humour. I wasn’t going to apologise because if I didn’t approach it with humour, I was going to spend my time in complete and sheer panic.
I couldn’t even entertain questions like how was I going to get home? How was Dad coping? Was Tom going to miss me? Would I ever see my old life again? No, I shook all those thoughts away as soon as they reared their ugly little head. I needed to survive, and getting bogged down in self-pity wasn’t going to help.
Millie came in without knocking and startled me with her ridiculous amount of ‘jolly.’
“Morning, my lady. What a fine morning it is. The birds are singing, the snow has stopped falling, the new stash of firewood has arrived, and finally, the grocer managed to get through to the house. It’s a happy day.”
“It’s Christmas Eve,” I suddenly whispered. “Oh, my goodness, it’s Christmas Eve!” A glimmer of excitement sparked before a wave of sadness washed over me. For a second, it was almost as if I had forgotten I was meant to be sad. Today was a year to the day that my mother died.
“Christmas Eve?” Mille asked, taking on her increasingly usual look of confusion.
“Oh, for goodness sake, please tell me that you know what Christmas is?”
She shook her head slowly.
“You know – the day they celebrate the birth of Christ, son of God blah blah blah.”
“You’re talking of your own things again, my lady. I don’t know what you’re talking about. Our gods are the gods of the land, sea, and sky, of the stars, of the sun and the moon. Their daughters and sons are us, my lady.”
I threw my head back onto my pillow. Yes, of course they’d all be pagans, just to add that extra bit of mysticism to my already fantastical manifestation.
“Okay,” I said resignedly, “How about Yule? Do you guys celebrate Yule?”
Millie’s face lit up. “Yes! Yes, you’ve heard of that?”
“Yes, I’ve heard of Yule,” I said, unable to stop the roll of my eyes.
“We have a feast tomorrow night to celebrate – that’s if the snow keeps away. We have one every year. The master likes to keep the tradition in honour of his parents; they always used to throw a Yule Ball. It’s not quite so lavish or as big, but it’s still a really lovely night. There’s feasting and dancing, and so many pretty fairy lights. All the staff are allowed to go, too,” she said, flushing with excitement.
“Sounds lovely,” I said, not quite so excited. “Only, I can’t even move at the minute, my face looks like I’ve crashed into a rock, and I need to get home – preferably before Christmas Day, tomorrow.”
Millie cast me a sympathetic glance. “Yes, I see what you mean. But don’t worry, the physician will be here later this morning, Lord Rime called for him personally, and he’ll have you up and dancing in no time at all. He’s quite a wizard when it comes to healing people.”
Having learned what little I had about Snow Wood Manor, I wasn’t entirely sure whether Millie was speaking figuratively or not.
“Do you know of a way I can contact home?” I asked, not holding out much hope.
Millie shrugged. “It might help if we knew where your home is?”
“The village of Brayton. Sussex.”
Millie thought for a moment. “No, not ringing a bell. Is Sussex a kingdom or a principality?”
I sighed and pressed my lips together. It was useless. I may have well have been from outer space.
“Lord Rime invited me for breakfast this morning,” I said, changing tact. “Can you please send him my apologies and tell him I’m not well enough.
”
“I’ll have some breakfast sent up to you, if you’d like?”
“Please, that would be amazing.” I wasn’t lying. I was starving. It felt like days since I had last eaten.
Millie left but not before pushing back the heavy tapestry curtains and letting in the weak winter light. I could tell from the colour of the sky that the world was covered in snow. It had that flat quality, which promised more snow to come. I thought back on Lord Rime’s conversation and how the seasons had been affected by the King’s emotional state.
Yes, grief was like winter – but surely there was hope of spring? If only the king could find someone to love again then the seasons would kick back into their natural cycles. My mind drifted to Tom and how he had always been there, steady, sure, full of understanding – how my affection for him had grown and changed over the last few months. There were times when I had been with him that I had forgotten I was meant to be sad for a few hours.
But he wasn’t here. He had left me. If he hadn’t insisted on messing about, if we had just gone to the pond like we’d planned, then none of this ridiculousness would have happened. I wouldn’t have ended up injured and in some crazy in-between place. And if I didn’t even know where I was, how was Tom ever going find me and rescue me.
He wasn’t. That was the truth of it. The only person who could get me out of this mess, was me. And battered and injured as I was, that might take some time. I could feel the sorrys for myself creeping up on me. They were familiar by now, and they weren’t helpful. I resolved to speak with the physician, take whatever magical potion he offered me, and be on my way.
And on that thought, I realised I had forgotten to ask Millie about the herbal potion that had sent such wild dreams.