by R N Merle
It took her until the light faded, but slowly she got each object free of the rich brown mud. The blanket proved difficult, but she managed to clean most of the mud off, using some campion root as a soap. She respectfully placed the objects into a sack, and carefully stashed them in a crevice of the twisted oak tree, where they would be sheltered from the rain. She intended to return them shortly, in case the blanket became sullied again.
Darklin lay in her room. She had spent the night making potions for Gressyl. In a way that she had not noticed before, it left her feeling cold and exhausted, so much so, that she didn’t believe she would have the strength for the amount of work Gressyl actually intended her to do. That was not the only thing to make her feel low. A crushing misery took hold as she suddenly realised that when she gave the objects back, she would no longer have a reason to talk to John. After their last word had been spoken, she foresaw her future stretching out before her as a colourless eternity. It couldn’t happen yet; she was not ready to never speak to him again.
She turned her mind to planning, the one skill she had learned as a witch that she could still use. Soon she had an answer. If she returned the objects one by one, eking out the time between, it would give her an excuse to see him more, and for longer. What she would do when there was nothing left to return would have to be thought of later. She turned restlessly onto her side. Regardless of her scheme, the blanket would still have to go back when daylight came, Darklin thought, as she closed her eyes.
In the afternoon, she found John in the meadow, shearing sheep in a pen. She stood back for a moment, observing him. He handled them smoothly, assuredly, simultaneously powerful and gentle, turning them over on their backs and deftly cutting the fleeces away. His hair reflected the sunlight as he pushed it back from his face with his forearm.
Darklin felt suddenly awkward and unsure of herself, too obscure and different from him. Her palms were sweating and her stomach was uneasy. She wanted to speak to him desperately, but she was worried what she might say. Her words seemed to stream so carelessly when they spoke. It never occurred to her to try to obscure the truth about her life. This time, she might reveal something that would finally turn him against her. Returning the blanket she had taken would probably reignite his anger. Maybe it was better if he didn’t see her, then she would not make things worse, and she wouldn’t find out how little he thought of her.
She waited until his back was turned, and hung the blanket on a fencepost nearest to the tree line, hoping he would see it before it rained, or the wind blew it away. As she hurried away she heard his voice call after her. She pretended not to hear him and walked on, but his voice came again, closer now. She finally turned, feeling at once relieved and embarrassed. His face glowed from exertion, his eyes were full of brightness.
‘Darklin. I wanted to thank you for returning Grace’s blanket.’ His mouth stretched into a soft smile. Darklin couldn’t understand the force behind it, he had only smiled yet she felt glorious and helpless and inexplicably sad in the same spinning moment.
‘There’s no need…to thank me. I took it in the first place.’ she stuttered.
‘Still, I know she’ll be relieved to have it back.’
Darklin fixed her eyes on the ground. ‘I am still looking for the other things,’ she lied, ‘They are difficult to retrieve. I will return them as soon as I can, but it might take a while.’
‘Very well.’ said John
Darklin looked up at his face, amazed that he was not angered by this information.
‘I’ll be seeing you then.’ he said, smiling again.
The corners of Darklin’s mouth twitched upward, unbidden.
‘You will be seeing me.’ she said.
12
The Contrast
A week later, Darklin retrieved the bag of coins from the sack inside the old oak tree. Before she left to take them back to John, she knelt by the bank of the water pool and leaned over to examine her reflection. The shimmering white face that greeted her, gave back an expression of uncertainty. She wiped her pale lips on the back of her hand, pinched the apples of her colourless cheeks, and roughly combed her hair flat with her fingers. She studied her reflection once more, then plunged her hand into the pool, ruffling the calm surface until her image distorted and broke apart, and was lost in the movement of the glossy water.
Her heart fluttered like a sparrow’s as she walked through the woods, knowing that each step she took brought her closer to John. The May blossom had fallen and vanished, and had been replaced by unfurling June leaves, not yet broad enough to obscure the sky. As she walked, Darklin could see the shapes of birds scuttling along branches, preoccupied with delivering the limp insects dangling from their beaks back to the gaping mouths of their young. She couldn’t help being exhilarated by the scents and sights of new life surrounding her.
As she drew near to Shadows End, she heard the familiar noise of an axe chopping wood, and followed the direction of the sound. She found John hard at work, and waited before she disturbed him.
The glittering blade of his axe swung rhythmically through the air, biting into the trunk of a crooked hazel tree that was leaning into the boughs of its neighbour. His brow was slightly furrowed in concentration, but the movement of his body appeared thoughtless and graceful. John made a final strike into the wedge he had cut in the trunk, and the tree creaked and fell. Darklin jumped slightly as the ground resonated with the shock of its weight.
As John stood catching his breath, she walked carefully over to where he was working. Again she was rattled by nervous energy, and was unsettled by a fluttering sensation located in the pit of her stomach.
‘John,’ she called out, not loudly.
His head whipped round to look at her. He looked surprised, but no longer wary.
‘I never hear you coming.’ he said, smiling.
‘I have your coins.’
‘Thank you, though they belong to Tom. He was beside himself when he thought that he had lost them.’
‘Are they valuable?’
‘No, I don’t think so. My father dug them up in the lower field and gave them to him. He’s been using them in his games ever since, imagining he’s got hold of a fairy’s gold or a pirate’s loot. How did you know how much he would miss them? How could you know which things it would hurt us most to lose?’ His eyes searched her face as he spoke. Darklin looked down.
‘I learned it from a spell.’ she said. Darklin thought about the other objects in the sack. ‘Those possessions are what you most treasure?’
‘Yes, for one reason or another.’
‘I thought the spell had gone wrong.’ she said, almost to herself.
John swung his axe and drove it into the stub of the fallen tree trunk just in front of where Darklin stood. Before she realised what she was doing, Darklin cowered away from the sudden movement, and toppled over a tree root. She hastily lowered her arms that had risen to shield her head, and peeked up at John.
‘I’m sorry.’ he said. His face looked as shocked as she felt. He took a step toward her, offering his hand to help her back on her feet, but Darklin scrambled up quickly, and stood further away from him, feeling foolish.
‘I didn’t think….I did not mean to scare you. Forgive me.’
‘We don’t forgive. Forgiveness is a weakness.’ Darklin responded out of habit, trying to regain control of her breathing.
‘Is that another rule your mother taught you?’ John asked.
Darklin nodded. She wished she had spoken more carefully, he seemed to jump on her words like they contained some hidden importance.
‘It is strange. My father taught me the opposite. He told me only a strong character will admit when they are wrong, make an apology and ask for forgiveness. He said that if forgiveness is asked of you, you should grant it, even if you are most aggrieved. It is a test of your strength to swallow your pride and bury your grievances, or else the bad feelings will eat away at you, and poison your life.’
/> Darklin thought through what he said. ‘You would forgive anyone who asked for it, no matter what they did?’
John frowned. ‘No, I couldn’t say that. But I would try.’
‘Do you forgive me?’ The words spilled from her mouth before she realised she might not want to know the answer.
John looked uncertain for a moment, then his jaw clenched in resolve. ‘I do.’ he said.
It is too simple, Darklin thought, he should hate her for what she did and had tried to do. She didn’t trust his words, no matter how much she wanted to believe they were true.
‘Now will you forgive me?’ he asked.
‘Is that how it is? You forgive when you are forgiven? Like a custom….a trade?’
‘Sometimes perhaps,’ John said, ‘but you can only really forgive someone if you faithfully mean it.’ he added.
It seemed important to him, Darklin thought. She did not bear any ill feeling toward him for startling her, she only felt foolish for reacting so strongly.
‘I forgive you.’ she said. It didn’t hurt her to say it, and when John half smiled at her in reply, she was glad that she had.
To extend time, Darklin decided to wait two weeks before she returned the next item, but after ten days she gave in to her craving to see him again. When she arrived at Shadows End, she discovered John mending the fence. As she approached the dog barked, drawing attention to her presence.
‘I was wondering when I would see you again.’ John said as he strolled over to her, carrying his tools. ‘I was just about to do some fishing, come and sit by the riverbank.’ he added, tossing his head in the direction of the river.
He turned and started to lead the way, expecting that Darklin would follow, and for a few steps, she did. But when she stepped from the treeline, she became intensely aware that there were no sheltering branches around her, and felt exposed and anxious. She wanted to follow him, and was thrilled that he had asked her, but her old instincts held her back. She stopped suddenly.
‘I came to give you this.’ Darklin held out the knife, with the handle pointed toward John. He moved over to her and took it.
‘Thank you, I’ll hopefully need it later, if I have any luck.’ He started to turn away again.
‘I can’t come with you.’ she said.
‘But why?’
‘The others. Someone might see me.’
‘The rest of my family have gone to visit a neighbour, they won’t be back for hours, and there’s nobody else about for miles. I’m sure you will be safe. But I will understand, if you’d rather not…’
Darklin thought about turning back, about spending the rest of the afternoon on her own, wondering what it would have been like if she had spent it with John. She thought of the time that would come soon, when she would no longer have a reason to see him, and knew she had to take her chance.
‘No, I will go.’ She spoke before he could change his mind.
‘Very well then.’
John collected his fishing rod and net from the barn, and some stale bread. Darklin followed him, unused to so much space around her, so much light. The only way she felt more secure was by stepping in John’s shadow as it trailed over the long grass. It was better when they reached the willows by the bank, and she could sit under the leafy branches.
For some time, John stood waiting for the fish to bite, but after a while he sat down. He stretched his legs out before him, and propped his body up on his elbows, holding the rod loosely in his right hand. He looked so content in the sunlight that Darklin inched herself forward until she too could feel its warmth on her face.
The dog had not stopped watching her, and as she moved, a low growl emanated from it. When John heard it, he said in a meaningful tone, ‘Enough.’ The dog lay down by John’s side, with its brown eyes still fixed upon her.
Darklin was mesmerised by the movement of the river, how the light starred the surface, and how the reflections of the trees coloured the water. She listened to it lapping the bank, an entrancing sound, constant through the murmur of insects and birdsong.
Suddenly John turned to look at Darklin. ‘What will happen, when your mother finds out you have not been using your magic?’ he asked.
Darklin stiffened. ‘I cannot say. I will be punished, I suppose, or turned out of her house, forced to live among the folk.’
‘Would that be so bad?’
Yes it would, thought Darklin. ‘I would not last long among them.’ she said.
John frowned. ‘You would not have to tell them who you were, or where you came from.’
‘But I am not….I don’t want to be like them. And they would not accept me. They mistrust strangers. ‘
‘I don’t think that is right. As I said before, people are not all bad. There are some who are small-minded, and mean-hearted, even wicked, but there are others who would try to help you, try to be your friend.’
‘But I would have to live by their ways. Worship their God, obey their laws, and become a wife or a servant so that I don’t starve.’
John gazed silently into the water for a while.
‘Would you rather be a witch than live an honest life?’ he asked.
‘It is not what I want, but I don’t have a choice. There is no freedom in your world.’ she tried to explain.
‘You would choose to curse and torment people?’ John sounded frustrated.
‘I…’ Darklin was confused. She didn’t want to curse people, but being one of the folk was unimaginable. ‘You said yourself that folk are wicked.’
‘That is true, and we have laws that punish them for it.’
Darklin thought how the folk were punished, the wretched people locked away in the dungeon.
‘People rob and steal because they have nothing; in your world they are punished for not having money. Money is the only thing that matters.’
John didn’t answer immediately. She watched his hand smoothly stroke the dog under its chin, then along its head and across its side.
‘Maybe some of our laws are not fair. But neither is setting curses on folk. I am not educated, and I haven’t seen much of this world, but I don’t believe it is right that the innocent should be tormented. Life is hard enough.’
‘Gressyl says they need punishing because they are weak.’
‘Being poor and being weak are not the same thing. And if they are weak, that is punishment enough in itself. They should not be punished because you do not approve of them. Your punishments are just cruel. All you are doing is making people come after you, which is exactly what you don’t want. The people in Fallenoak, Darklin, are not evil or wicked. They are mostly kind, neighbourly folk, who just want a peaceful life.’ He swallowed and looked her straight in the eye. ‘Your mother has deceived you. You have only been shown one side of things, there is much more to life than what you have been told.’
His words resounded in her ears. ‘What do you mean?’ she asked.
‘Being part of a family, being loved, being a child of God, living an honest and useful life in the world amongst others–is what makes people happy, and rightly so.’
‘But no one is happy. At least not for long. Maybe it is you who are deceived.’
‘People are not happy all the time, that is the way of life. But it doesn’t mean that your only option is witchcraft. You could live blamelessly, alone in the wilderness, and be no worse off than you are now.’
‘Always fearful of being discovered, and with no power to defend myself?’
John sighed. ‘But you are missing out on so much. It doesn’t have to be one way or another. There is darkness and meanness, but there is also warmth and love. There are small pieces of happiness that you should welcome, not shun. Your mother is lying when she says they are not vital to life.’
Darklin nervously twisted a long strand of grass in and out between her fingers. She had never allowed herself to believe that there might be something better; Gressyl had warned her how pleasure in life was only an illusion, a cruel trick
that was sorely paid for. Fate dealt out pleasure and pain in unequal portions, the cost of a portion of happiness, was at least ten fold of sorrow. But had she only been told that because it was what Gressyl wanted her to believe?
‘How can I know what you are saying is true, what if you too have only seen one side?’ Darklin asked.
John turned his body so that he was facing her head on.
‘I can tell you I speak the truth, but it is up to you to decide what you believe. You can only find out for yourself.’
When Darklin walked away in the early evening light, she left muddled. She had heard two sides; a view of life according to John, and life according to Gressyl. There were points where their views ran close together, and others that were widely opposite. John could not deny outright what Gressyl had said, but Darklin couldn’t help but think some of what he said made sense too.
It wasn’t as if she hadn’t had doubts of her own about living as a witch, and she had heedlessly broken many of the rules already. She didn’t understand how Gressyl could put herself in danger night after night, or how she had the energy to despise the folk, enough to pursue them relentlessly, until she felt that they could suffer no more. One family had been enough for Darklin. And while she could see that someone like the brutish Squire might benefit from a curse or two, leaving people without hope, crushing broken people like Mary Sparrow, was not something she wanted to be a part of.
Nevertheless, John had not wholly convinced her. The alternative to witchcraft was not much more appealing. A life in a community would suffocate her; living in dread that they would find out about her past. The streets were so crowded and the houses so overlooked, she would always feel like a stranger being watched. Even if the people tolerated her, she would have to find a way to earn money, working like a slave in a degrading situation, or face being locked away in some dark stinking dungeon. It wasn’t as if she had a family to support her, or give her shelter.