Her father had come in as she had asked the question and responded when her mother remained silent. “They do not have to clean out chicken coops and horse stalls or milk the goat. It’s a curse having long hair, child. This keeps it from getting in your way while you work.”
“I don’t see what husband would want me with a prickly head,” muttered Ararinda resentfully as she looked down so the blade could cut the hair near the base of her skull.
To keep her modest, her parents kept her away from anything that could show her reflection. Ara’s mother had hidden the one mirror she had possessed in a small cupboard beside her bed, which was turned so the drawer faced the wall, making it hard for Ararinda to open and sneak a peek at herself.
She had tried getting into the drawer once, when her curiosity had gotten the better of her, but her father had caught her. He had reaffirmed the rule of not looking with the lash of his belt, and she had never tried again. Anything else shiny enough to show the girl her reflection was quickly scuffed or tarnished when it came into the inn.
Even the traders knew better than to show her anything metallic. One time, when she had been no taller than an ax handle, a crooked-tooth trader had given her a silver bauble. For a few breaths, she had gazed into her own distorted blue eyes. The leader of the caravan, seeing this, had slapped the object from her hands. It had rolled beneath the hooves of one of the horses, where it was crushed to a thousand slivers and disappeared into the mud.
That night had been the first in which the voice stole into her dreams. “Come to me, Ararinda,” the whisper had compelled.
She had awakened, shivering, and had closed the shutters, despite the warmth of the summer night. She had rested her head against the dry, paint-flaking wood and had waited for her heart to slow. When the pounding had stopped flooding her ears, she heard a scrape against the floor behind her. She had turned quickly. Her eyes had been slow to adjust to the waking world, but a faint, golden glow seemed to come from the far corner of the room.
Ararinda blinked, and the light had disappeared. She had realized the sound must have come from her parents’ room next door, where she could hear the familiar sound of their coupling.
She had returned to her bed, convincing herself it had been some outside light that had filtered through the shutter. Burying her head under her husk filled pillow, Ara had slowed her breathing and soon slept once more. By morning, thoughts of the voice had fallen deep in her memory as her daily tasks took over.
Seasons passed faster than the travelers did, and Ararinda soon found herself longing to see where the roads could take her. She listened intently to every story the travelers told, imagining the grand cities and towns that were beyond the trees. Even those brief moments of escape were taken away when her mother set her to chores to keep her busy and away from any guests. Ara began to wonder if all her days would be wasted in the tiny place, secluded from the world. Her parents continued to keep the boundaries between the road and the creek firm, despite her every protest.
“How will I find a husband of my own?” she whined to her mother once after a bride and groom had come through on their way to one of the grand cities. Ararinda realized that her parents would have to let her go if a man were to claim her for his bride. The problem was, those travelers that came, knew her, and even the younger traders knew better than to try for her attentions.
Her tired mother shook her head and kept kneading the bread dough. “He’ll come for you soon enough. Trust in that, child, just don’t wish for it.”
Ararinda rolled her eyes and took up the slop bucket. A traveler had given them a pig for payment, and the innkeeper had decided to fatten it on table scraps, in hopes of feasting on it when the next wealthy customer graced them with his or her presence. That had been nearly three seasons before, and the poor creature could barely roll over, much less stand. Still, Ara made sure it was well tended.
As she was going to the makeshift pen, the hog snorted and grumbled. Its snout wiggling impatiently as it caught the scent of food, it became more anxious and more active than it had been at any point since it had come to the inn. It began to push against the wood, and Ara cringed at the sound of the splintering, dropped the bucket and tried to push the beast back. It forced itself against the fence until the dried wood gave up beneath the weight and toppled over, covering Ararinda in a disgusting mixture of mud and filth.
Her father was quick to her side, helping her pen the beast once more. Once the pig was contentedly rooting through its dinner, he saw the state Ara had been left in. “Go wash in the stream,” he ordered, his finger pointing to the running water that bordered her world.
Ararinda rinsed her hands in the horse trough before taking a clean dress from the drying line and making her way to the stream. The air was cold, and goose pimples rose from her arms at the thought of the quick running water rushing over her skin. She knew there was a pool not too far downstream, but it was actually beyond the boundary fence, and she had never gone to it.
Mother and Father sneak to it, so it must be safe enough, she thought. It would be far better to plunge into the deeper water and be rid of the grime quickly than to scrub at it in ankle deep water.
Ararinda placed her clean dress over the fence post and untied the belt of her soiled dress before pulling it over her head. She cringed as glops of mud streaked her face. She quickly tossed it into the water, where it floated a moment, until the water soaked into the material and it sank, the hem of the skirt still floating. She looked at it a moment before securing it in place with a rock. The gentle current wouldn’t rush it away, but it would clean the muck. Satisfied, she ran to where the pool was hidden.
When she reached the end of the fence, her steps faltered. One more step, and she would have gone farther than she ever had gone. The trees didn’t appear to be any different beyond that one step, but the sight of them made her palms sweat, and she almost took a step back. She bit at her lower lip, worrying the soft flesh between her teeth as she looked at the clearing that surrounded the pool.
The sun was well past that part of the tree canopy, making the pool black in the shadow the old trees. The bushes on the far edge moved, and she shrank back, grasping the fence post, but had to laugh at her childishness when a rabbit hopped out to drink from the pool. It paused when it saw her, and retreated to its hiding spot.
Some mud slid from her cheek and down her neck, reminding her of why she was breaking her boundaries. She shook off the ominous feeling and took the step. The pool is only a few paces away, what harm could come to me? Ara wondered. Mama and Father will never even know.
When she came to the pool, the eagerness that had come with thinking she was doing something naughty ebbed. Ararinda looked around, suddenly shy about her nakedness and was quick to slide into the cool water. She dunked her head under and scrubbed at her arms. rough in the process, red lines formed along her arms as she scraped away the dirt with her fingernails.
The brush around the pool seemed to quiver in her peripheral vision as she cleaned herself. She paused to look around her, staring into the foliage. As she gaped, everything in the woods seemed to stop. Even the birds silenced their songs as she looked for what had caused her unease. She started to move toward the far edge, hoping it was just the rabbit, but the knot of fear in the pit of her stomach made her believe it was something larger.
“Ararinda!” she heard her mother calling for her from the inn.
Scrambling out of the water, Ara was anxious that she had tarried too long and would be caught outside of the safe area. She hurried into the clean dress that remained on the fence, but when she looked for the one she had left to wash, it was no longer there. The stone she had put on it was in place, but the dress was gone. She knew it had not floated downstream, or she would have seen it while in the pool. Ara worried her mother had gathered it up while looking for her, and she would be caught.
When she got back to the kitchen, her mother said nothing about the dress.
&n
bsp; When the family sat down for supper, her father said nothing about it either.
She didn’t dare bring it up herself and excused herself to her room very early that night. She stared out the window at the stream that twinkled in the starlight. A flutter caught her eye toward the top of trees. Ara squinted at it, and her eyes widened as she saw it was her dress blowing in the breeze. How it had gotten so high, she could not say, but it frightened her. The stomach knot she had felt in the pool returned, heavier, as she watched the skirt dance on the light breeze of the night.
She slammed the shutters harder than intended and buried herself in her covers.
“It’s almost time.” The voice came to her that night for the first time since she had been a little girl. “You will come to me, Ararinda. I grow impatient,” it rasped.
As she had before, she pulled her pillow over her head. However, sleep did not return. The voice had seemed so close. When the dawn broke, she had to force herself from her bed. She spent the day in a trance, doing her chores, taking her meals with red rimmed eyes and a yawn not far from her lips.
“What is it girl?” her father asked, the corners of his eyes crinkled with concern, but the edge of his mouth drawn tight in aggravation.
“Did we have a guest come late?” she asked. “I thought I heard talking in the middle of the night.”
Her father seemed to pale at the suggestion, and her mother gave a whimper from the kitchen. Still, both her parents denied a guest coming in the night.
As the weeks passed, the voice became very familiar as he called to her each night.
When her sixteenth birthday came, dreams began to accompany the voice:
She was alone—always alone. She seemed to start at the doorstep of the inn, but the walls were crumbling in, and the surrounding forest was long-dead. Ara found herself forcing her way down unfamiliar paths, overgrown from lack of use, searching for the speaker. When the wind blew, the call would come, and she would force her way past—grabbing branches and snagging thorns, always trying to find the source. Her bare feet bled against the cold and rocky soil the farther she went.
She would come to the edge of the forest and stare into emptiness. There was nothing beyond the woods. The cities and towns the travelers had told her about did not exist, except as decrepit piles of rubble, and beyond those was only empty blackness. Usually, she woke in a panic, gripping sweat soaked sheets when she realized that all her hopes for a life beyond the inn were pointless.
The night of her seventeenth birthday, she willed herself forward, seduced by the speaker to find him in the darkness. The wind had stopped, but the voice came again, different that time, kinder than it had ever sounded to her ears. “So close, Ararinda, so close. Just a few more steps.”
Her head snapped as she was yanked back to the fence and a hand struck her hard across the face, waking her. Her father had hold of her, looking at her with wide eyed panic. Looking around, Ara saw she was at the edge of the stream, almost to the hidden pool.
“How did I get here?” she asked, her gaze darting around the dark clearing.
Her father did not respond as he led her back to her room, put her to bed, and bolted the door from the outside. She could hear whispered conversation on the other side, but even with her ear pressed against the aged wood, she could not make out what her parents were saying. She vowed to ask them in the morning and began to stand up from her crouch near the door.
Arms wrapped around her from behind, and she tried to scream, her voice failing as the air was forced from her lungs by the embrace. She tried twisting around to see the attacker, but bony arms pinned her against his emaciated body.
“At last you’ve come,” he whispered into her ear. The chill of his breath startled her, and he snickered. The vibrations from his chest sent a shiver through her body, and she tried again to push away. “No, my Ararinda, you came willingly.”
Her voice quivered, “This isn’t real.”
Another laugh came as he turned her to face him. No light broke the black expanse around them that was her bedroom, but his eyes shined down at her as twin golden orbs, the same soft light she had once dismissed as moonlight through her shutters. The glow was not enough to distinguish his features, but it was enough for her to be caught in his gaze. Ara felt herself grow weak to the point of swooning, and he lowered her to the ground. The intensity in his eyes grew as he did, and she could see the glint from his wide, toothy smile.
She could hear her parents trying to unbolt the door and their shouts for her to open it. When both efforts failed, she saw the door bend against her father’s weight. After a few curses, he seemed to give up, and the only sound that Ara could hear from beyond her room was her mother’s sobs.
“Who are you?” she gasped as his hand followed the contour of her body, sliding the hem of her nightgown up her leg. Ara tried to force him away, but pulled her hand away once she touched the repulsive feel of his leathery skin.
“I am called The Hunter,” he whispered as his other hand slid up her back, his jagged nails catching in the rough fabric.
He pulled Ara closer, cradling her against his emaciated body, head resting against the sharp ridge of his collar bone. If she hadn’t felt his hand, she would have thought he wore a thin leather vest. When he shifted, she heard the bones creak and pop as the skin pulled beneath her cheek. He removed his hand from Ara’s thigh and roughly gripped her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze, the brightness nearly blinding her.
She tried to close her eyes to the golden glow, but found herself peering through her long eyelashes. She saw him gazing down on her as he straddled her body, his slender arms pinning her to the floor. He leaned over her and kissed first her collar bone, then her neck, before coming to her lips. The dry brittleness of his mouth against her skin appalled her, but the touch against such sensitive areas that had never been touched by another confused the girl.
Ararinda tried to turn away, her mouth opening to scream. He took advantage, his tongue slipping in, brushing against hers, and she felt a draining sensation go through her. The longer he held her kiss, the warmer it became to her, and the more she felt herself shrink as his body grew heavier atop of her.
The room was bathed in a soft glow. Ara realized the light was sourced by her own eyes. The Hunter stared wide-eyed down at her, and she saw her own sunken face reflected in the darkness of his pupils. His body had filled with her essence, but the sharpness hadn’t left his features. He pulled back, his full lips parted in a satisfied grin. She craved his warmth as her body became cold. She reached for him as he stood, a whimper escaping her cracked lips.
Whatever the creature had been when it had entered her room, it was gone. The man before her was young and unlike any man she had seen before. Even with the gold glimmer that tainted her vision, she saw his dark chestnut hair falling to his squared shoulders. His full lips curled, and his sharp nose wrinkled in revulsion as he looked at her. He shook his head and laughed when another thud sounded from her door, her father’s attempts at forcing it had begun again.
The Hunter waited for another three thuds before opening the door and letting her parents see her. “You broke your promises,” he chastised them.
Her mother shook her head emphatically. “No! We did as you said. We raised her as you asked. She is a good girl.”
“You allowed her innocence to be spoiled. You,” he sneered, pointing first at her mother, and then her father, “and you, took whatever traveler you desired like rutting dogs and allowed her to see it. You did not stop the monk from fondling her young body.”
Ara’s father puffed his chest at the insult and stepped forward in protest. “We put an end to it when we found out and never allowed it to happen again.”
The Hunter shook his head. “It never should have happened in the first place.”
“She is a good girl,” her mother whimpered again.
“She has viewed her own image, and she has broken the boundaries you laid. She could not resist the
call. A ‘good girl’ wouldn’t have done that,” he replied with a bitter laugh. He took a step toward the door and her parents shrank away. “I told you to raise a pure bride and good fortune would come to you. You have failed. Now you can stay here in this sad, little inn and tend to those few who come, knowing you could have been great.”
Ararinda looked at her withered hand. The light of the candle in her mother’s lantern hurt her eyes, and she hid her face from it. She didn’t need a mirror or anything else to know she was more decrepit than the Hunter had been when he had come to her.
Her father’s stare had not left her. He barely acknowledged the Hunter’s words or bothered to comfort her wailing mother. Even when he was pushed aside for the Hunter to leave, he didn’t look away.
Before the strange man could leave, he found his voice and asked, “What should be done with that thing?”
A sudden rage filled Ararinda as her father pointed at her and referred to her as a ‘thing.’ An inhuman growl escaped her thin lips, cutting off her mother’s sobs, turning into a pitiful whimper.
The Hunter stopped in the doorway and looked over his shoulder, bowing his head to Ara, a cruel smile playing his lips, before taking his leave of them. “Hunt the darkness, Ararinda.”
Hidden City of the Sea Jeanette Joyal
In another realm, a secret is kept.
Buried below the Ocean depth.
An ancient battle was fought long ago
A tale of two cities that was never told.
Most believe that there was only one city of the sea However we were all deceived …
Molded from precious metals from the fires below It stood gleaming, tall, and majestic—a city made of gold.
Hidden deep within secret waters.
Even the Gods of Olympus didn’t know of its existence.
Fractured Fairy Tales Page 21