by R N Merle
But Darklin lay gasping in agony and could not move, even to shield herself from the witch’s blackest glare.
11
The Exchange
Darklin stood at the wood’s edge. Beyond a fringe of tall grass and cow parsley, the Somerborne’s pasture lay resplendent with wild flowers. As she waited to catch her breath, the display of brazen colour only seemed to increase the painful push and pull of air from her chest.
It had been a week since Gressyl had caught her lie. For three days she had lain prostrate on her patch of straw waiting for the pain to subside. At first Gressyl had shouted at her, demanding that she get up and go about her work, but when even the most hideous threats had failed to move her, she eventually understood that Darklin was genuinely incapacitated, and had even brought her a healing tonic, but it had no effect.
When Darklin was able to stand, she went to the shelves and collected potents she thought might help reduce the pain. The brew she concocted from them had the side-effect of making her disorientated. At night, she had vivid dreams; John’s eyes, the tortured expression on Annie Sparrow’s face, Gressyl’s cold smile, and faces of people she did not recognise, swirled before her eyes, like a many coloured potion stirred in the black cauldron.
Neither of them acknowledged the fact that Gressyl’s efforts at a healing potion had failed, Darklin had not spoken a word to her since the punishment. But when it occurred to Darklin that Gressyl’s sleeping potion was also ineffective, she began to have suspicions. The reason why Gressyl had stopped going to Fallenoak, and why she was so keen for Darklin to do the work in her place, made her believe that Gressyl had lost her powers.
Darklin wondered how it had happened. She guessed the most likely answer was that as there were only five witches of Vardyn serving in Her name at the same time, when she had received the powers, she had become one of the five, and Gressyl’s magic had faded as a consequence.
She didn’t like to imagine Gressyl’s frustration with the loss of Her gift. How powerless she must feel, how purposeless; though she showed no outward signs of it. Nothing about her appeared to have changed, she had hidden it very well. Her lack of magical ability did not make her any less frightening. Her eyes were just as chilling, and her punishments just as vicious. Darklin gingerly touched her ribs, as she thought of the way Gressyl had leapt at her, brandishing her wicked cane.
Still sore, Darklin sat down carefully under a tree to wait for John, glad to have a rest. It had taken her twice the time it normally did to reach Shadows End, as she had taken small, slow footsteps to limit the pain and keep her breathing even. She grimaced at the prospect of having to walk all the way back again, and hoped her journey had not been made in vain.
Darklin began to feel better as she waited in the sunshine, with the gentle warmth relaxing her muscles, she could almost have fallen asleep. Eventually she saw a figure moving across the field, and heard John’s dog barking a warning. As the figure got closer, Darklin could see that it was John. Anxiety returned in an instant, causing the whole side of her torso to throb with pain. She clambered to her feet, and made sure he was alone before she cautiously stepped out from the trees, so he could see her, then retreated a little way back into the woods.
Moments later, she heard his footsteps treading down last year’s leaves, then saw him, searching the shadows and foliage. He had not seen her.
‘John,’ she said in a small voice. It felt strange to say his name, as if she hadn’t earned the right to.
John looked in her direction. When he saw her, he frowned. He folded his arms over his chest and waited, showing he was willing to listen to what she had to say, though his body remained rigid with caution,
Darklin took a deep breath, ‘I need to say something, I need to make you understand. I want you to release me from my end of the agreement we made. I am a witch. I must be able to use my magic.’ she said.
For the last week, every excruciating breath she had taken, had warned her of the danger she faced in lying to Gressyl. She had no desire to curse anyone, but she was terrified by what might happen if Gressyl took further steps to ensure that Darklin was doing what she was supposed to. She might be forced to use the magic against her will. She did not want to break the promise she had made to John, but feared she might be made to.
John’s frown deepened. ‘Then stop being a witch.’
‘I cannot, I have sworn an oath, and my mother…I don’t know what she will do to me if she finds out I have not been performing any curses. It is my duty, what is expected of me...’ Darklin glanced up at John’s face, it was set firm. Implacable. She knew then it was useless trying to explain. She inhaled unsteadily, trying to stop the foolish tears she could feel building, but her eyes watered with physical pain, as the next breath she took felt like a stab to her ribs. She gasped, and snatched hold of a tree branch to steady herself.
Darklin saw John take a step toward her. He was going to grab her and take her to the Justice for attempting to go back on their deal. Darklin froze in dread. She could not run, even if she had been capable of it. The closer he got, the more he towered over her. He had never seemed so tall before. She watched in horror as John’s hand reached out and caught her right elbow. His grip was loose as he gently led her away from the trees.
Darklin jerked forward, mute and compliant with shock, as he guided her toward the meadow. After a few steps, he stopped and gestured to a fallen log. Darklin felt him release her elbow, and she instantly took a step away.
‘Sit down.’ he said.
She lowered herself gingerly onto the log, watching his every move like a cornered, wild creature. He sat down on the other end, and leaned forward, resting with his elbows on his thighs.
‘What is your name?’ asked John, quietly.
‘Darklin.’ Her voice was barely audible. She sniffed and wiped her wet face with the back of her hand.
‘How old are you?’
‘I am in my sixteenth year.’ she muttered, keeping her eyes on the ground.
‘Tell me, Darklin, how did you come to be a witch?’ His voice was soft and Darklin found herself growing calmer.
‘My mother is a witch, she taught me, summoned the powers for me.’
‘From the devil?’ John’s voice quavered slightly as he spoke.
‘No, our magic has nothing to do with the devil.’
John released a long breath. ‘Where does your magic come from?’ he asked eventually.
‘I have sworn an oath, I cannot tell.’ replied Darklin.
‘Did you want to be a witch?’ he asked.
Darklin thought for a moment. ‘It is the only way to live without being trapped.’
‘Trapped? By what?’
‘Other folk. Folk and their ways.’
‘What’s wrong with other folk? We are not all bad.’
‘Folk are the greediest, cruellest, most foolish creatures on this earth. They are shallow, worthless, and wicked, and need to be punished for their ways.’
‘And that’s why you curse people?’ John surmised as much as he asked.
Darklin nodded. ‘To destroy their happiness.’
‘Why did you choose our family? Why did you keep trying to harm us?’ he asked.
‘I watched you.’ she said, too raw to think of lies or evasions. ‘I saw you and your family happy, and laughing all day. It is my duty to destroy happiness where I find it, so I tried to make you wretched with my curses, but no matter what I did, I could not make you miserable. But I had to keep trying.’
John was silent for several minutes. ‘We are not always happy.’ he replied slowly. ‘We have had our share of sorrow. But it is wrong to harm others, don’t you know that?’ he asked.
‘My mother would say it is them that want to harm us, that the village folk would have us dead for our ways.’ Darklin replied.
‘If you curse them and make them miserable, do you blame them?’
‘If we did not use our magic, we would be just like the rest of you, s
tuck in a trap.’
John looked to the sky and shook his head. ‘It is not right. I cannot agree that you should go about cursing people. I’m sorry, Darklin, but our agreement stands. If you use your magic, there will be consequences. You promised to return the things you stole too.’
A wave of defeat crashed over Darklin. Of course he would not understand. Darklin nodded slowly, and waited a moment to gather the energy to get to her feet, swallowed the cry of pain her movement engendered, and walked away as quickly as she was able.
Darklin returned to the house at a feeble pace, pausing to rest against a distinctive twisting oak, close to the water pool. The more she felt like crying, the more her rib hurt, so she tried to be practical and resign herself to her situation.
If she did what Gressyl asked of her, she was sure she would end up in the hands of the village folk. If she did what she had promised John, she had little hope that Gressyl would ever understand, and after last week, Darklin was fully aware of the fury she was capable of. Whichever path she chose was equally terrifying, equally brutal. If she met her end at the hands of the folk, or the hands of Gressyl or Vardyn, what difference did it make? She was trapped by a choice, or lack of one. But which was her choice?
She was convinced that she did not want to do what Gressyl demanded. Her desire to punish had disappeared almost instantly after she realised she couldn’t hurt John. That person who had been tormented by the Somerbornes, now seemed a far off stranger. She could not imagine herself being tormented by the people of Fallenoak, and she was too afraid to go near them to find out if she would be. She didn’t have any real interest in what other people did, or if they were happy. She just wanted to stay far away from them.
There were other reasons why she should not obey Gressyl’s demands. If she did what Gressyl told her, assuming she wasn’t captured first, soon enough the list of people Gressyl wanted destroyed would be fulfilled, and they would leave. Leaving Fallenoak meant leaving John, and though Darklin didn’t know what had caused it, or where the feeling would lead, she knew instinctively she didn’t want to be far from him. And aside from that, she had a mostly wishful inkling, that she might not be completely dispensable to Gressyl. If Gressyl had lost the power to do magic, she needed Darklin to do it for her. Would Gressyl destroy the only means she had to complete her work? Darklin fearfully hoped she would not.
With no alternative, Darklin resigned herself to the fact that she would have to keep pretending to Gressyl that she was doing her bidding. That way she would also keep her promise to John. She would just have to make sure she did not make any more mistakes, and endure the crushing dread that Gressyl mightfind out.
Several days later, Darklin crept out into the afternoon light, taking with her a trowel and her wand, to try and find the treasures she had stolen from the Somerbornes. She had no idea where they were, only that they were buried under a tree somewhere between the water pool and Shadows End.
She passed between the trees, intermittently chanting a reveal spell as she circled their trunks, but it did not prove effective. She tried randomly digging under trees she thought she recognised, but had no luck. After a while she gave up; her body still complained if she tried to move around too much. She sagged down under a tree to rest. She thought for a while, and decided to search again when her ribs were less tender.
As she was about to get to her feet, she heard the approach of footsteps, and crouched low among the ferns. Fear spiked through her veins, and she broke into a cold sweat. Had she been seen? She raised her eyes above the foliage.
Her heart fluttered strangely when she realised it was John. He walked towards her. When she saw it was safe, Darklin stood up, and they regarded each other with caution.
‘Hello.’ John said.
Darklin stared back at him.
‘How are you?’ he asked.
Darklin nodded once, not really sure what he meant.
‘Have you explained to your mother that you can no longer go about your witchcraft?’ he rushed out.
Darklin shook her head, mentally cringing at the idea of it.
‘No.’ she said. ‘I will wait for her to find out herself. She would not understand, and would have me do worse to you than I already have.’
John expression turned to dismay. ‘I had not thought… Does your mother…does she curse people?’
‘No, she has lost her power.’
She waited for him to turn and leave, but he stayed.
‘Tell me, do you have any brothers or sisters? A father?’ he asked.
Darklin knew she should not be talking to him, but something inside her wanted him to understand her and her life.
‘No, it is just me, and Gressyl, my mother.’ She stumbled over the last word, it was difficult to think of her that way. John leaned back against a tree and folded his arms.
‘And you live deep in the wood?’
Darklin nodded.
‘Have you lived there all your life?’
‘As long as I can remember.’ Darklin knew that that wasn’t very long. ‘I don’t remember much.’ she said, not sure how to explain. It was a thought that haunted her, why could she not remember being a child, and running and laughing like John’s brothers. Darklin sat back down amongst the ferns and wrapped her arms around her knees.
‘It is strange I have not seen you before.’ he said.
‘We only come out at night. A witch is not supposed to be abroad during daylight hours. I have broken a rule.’
‘You live only in darkness?’ John exclaimed. He shook his head. ‘I cannot fathom…The idea of existing without light, never feeling the sun. It would be unbearable.’
‘It is a part of the rules. Brightness is an allurement, made to draw you from the shadows, and expose you to all who would do you harm.’ Darklin tried to explain.
‘I suppose a witch has many enemies.’ John murmured.
‘Gressyl says they would all have us dead. I know what they do to those they hate, I have seen the dungeons, and the gallows tree.’ Darklin swallowed hard.
After a moment, John replied. ‘Some might say they are governed by justice, not hatred. That when people have broken laws they must pay a price.’
‘Gressyl told me why they are imprisoned, for not paying that fat Squire all of their silver.’
‘Some, maybe. Some may have stolen or committed other crimes. Don’t you think it is wrong to steal?’ he asked.
‘A witch does not obey your laws, that is what makes us free.’
‘Still, how would you feel if someone took something of yours, something you hold precious?’
‘I own nothing like that.’
‘Nothing you hold dear?’
Darklin shook her head. She could not think of a single object in Gressyl’s house she would miss if it disappeared.
John looked baffled, he scratched the back of his neck.
‘Have you ever thought, your mother might be wrong about what she tells you?’ he said slowly.
‘No, I have seen for myself the ways of folk.’
‘What have you seen?’
Darklin told him about the night in February and all the horrors of the castle, of seeing Annie Sparrow suspended from the gallows tree, how the sight still haunted her.
‘Was this the only time you have been to Fallenoak?’
Darklin nodded.
John was silent for a long time. ‘It seems like you saw all the worst parts of what folk do. People can be cruel and selfish and weak, but we are not all like that. There are those of us who try to be kind, to do what is right by our neighbour, and love and care for each other.’
‘There is no such thing as love. Love is an illusion.’
John blinked at her words. ‘Love is no illusion. It is real, as real as the sky above your head.’
‘Love is a trap. It’s what makes people miserable and wretched.’
John shook his head again, his eyes searched the branches above.
‘Do you not love your
own mother?’ he said.
‘A witch must never love.’ she replied.
John scowled, and chafed his hands up and down his arms, as if he suddenly felt cold. Darklin looked up, the sun was setting fast, she would need to get back to the house soon.
‘I will return your things as soon as I can, I must get back before Gressyl wakes.’ Darklin explained quickly, getting awkwardly to her feet and stealing a last look at John before she left.
Darklin located the Somerborne’s treasures a few days later. She discovered a rowan tree with a suspicious patch of bare soil at its base. When she sank her trowel into the earth it was met with solid resistance. She carefully uncovered each object; a bag of old, tarnished coins (the sound of which, all those nights ago, she had mistaken as the sum of the Somerborne’s wealth), a white handled sheath knife, a small pottery vase with a bright blue glaze, a collection of carved wooden animals, and a muddied blanket embroidered with pink rosebuds.
She studied each of the objects in turn, fascinated. She rubbed her thumb over the smooth surface of the knife handle, imagining it in John’s large hand. She examined the animals carved with intricate details, that must have taken an age to complete. The tiny stitches on the blanket were evidence of the time and care lavished on it too. The coins were not like the ones Gressyl usually took from people’s houses, Darklin tried to read the words printed on them, but they were foreign, and she could not make sense of them.
She gathered all the objects in the blanket and took them to the water pool. If the items were truly what the family valued most, it would be better to clean them up before she gave them back. She knelt by the water. Pollen had gathered at the edges of the pool, and Darklin wove her hand in the cold water to disperse it. She carefully dipped each of the items into the water, and wiped them clean with the hem of her cloak. As she worked, dragonflies skimmed over the surface of the pond, occasionally perching beside her on the reeds and bulrushes that grew by the bank. Darklin found herself being mesmerised by their shimmering, iridescent colours.