In Fallen Woods

by R N Merle

  To one side of the orchard was a steep, tree-covered hillside, which Darklin had never explored. As they ran toward it, the rain plummeted down, drawing up the rich scent of the earth. John led upwards, seeming to know the way. The rain tore through the canopy, and Darklin could feel cold raindrops dripping down her nose and cheeks. They scrambled higher, twisting in and out between the trees, at such a pace to make Darklin’s legs burn. The bank steepened as they climbed, but John maintained a firm grip on her, so she did not slip.

  After what seemed like an age, they came to the top of the hillside. The trees thinned out, leaving them exposed to the full force of the rain. In front of them, Darklin saw a tall, round, stone tower, obscured by an almost complete covering of ivy. John hastened her over to it, and they entered via a tall archway. She found herself in a small, circular room containing a steep stone stairway. It was dry. They stood trying to catch their breaths. Darklin wiped the rain from her face, and wrung out her hair.

  ‘What is this place?’ she breathed.

  ‘This is Rosamund’s Tower.’ replied John.

  ‘Does she live here?’

  ‘Not for hundreds of years. Follow me, I’ll tell you her story.’

  John started up the narrow, circling staircase. Darklin trailed behind, her legs heavy with fatigue. When she reached the top stair, she stood looking into a small, round room which had four large windows, facing north, east, south, and west. Under each of the windows was a seat crafted in stone. Ivy had begun to ingress on the inside of the tower, so that each of the views was framed by a shining mass of dark leaves. Almost instantly, Darklin detected a faint smell of roses, but it did not trouble her. Bess used rosewater almost every day, and the fragrance had a different, pleasant association for her now.

  On one wall, there hung a painting. The oval frame was covered in moss, but the portrait was still clear. It was of a young man dressed in red, he was leaning against an oak tree with a spaniel at his feet. He had long, dark, wavy hair and brown eyes, painted with a sorrowful expression. A pink ribbon wove in-between his fingers, belonging to his lover, Darklin guessed. She thought it was a handsome face, though not as handsome as John’s.

  Darklin went over to the western window and looked out. They were so high up they seemed to be part of the sky itself, but she couldn’t see anything through the rain and low cloud. She sat on the window seat, and turned to John.

  ‘Who was Rosamund?’ Darklin prompted. John sat beside her on the curving seat.

  ‘My father once told me her story, I don’t know how much of it is true, or what has been changed with time, but I’ll tell you what he told me.’ John took a breath and began. ‘Many years ago, a great family once lived in these woods. They had a vast house, with hundreds of servants and stores of immense riches and treasures. It was surrounded by beautiful gardens, teeming with the rarest roses and largest lilies, and every other flower you could think of. The lord and lady of the house had two daughters, Rosamund and Arabella. They were twins, Rosamund looked exactly the same as Arabella, the only way to tell them apart was that Rosamund always dressed in pink, and Arabella in gold.

  They were always together, and could not be parted. As children they played every day in the gardens, as long as the light would last. They never squabbled, or even disagreed. They seemed to match in mind as well as body.

  Time passed and they grew into young ladies. Then one day, when out in the garden, Rosamund and Arabella met with a forester’s son by the name of Everleigh. The three of them quickly became friends, and met regularly in the gardens. After a time, Rosamund announced to Arabella that she was in love with Everleigh, and begged her sister to let her meet with Everleigh in private, so that she could find out if he felt the same way. It was the first time one of the twins had not desired the other’s presence. Arabella let her sister go with a heavy heart. Although she loved her sister, and wanted her to be happy, being of the same mind as Rosamund, Arabella loved Everleigh in exactly the same way.

  Rosamund met Everleigh in the orchard, far from the eyes of her parents or the servants. Everleigh declared his love for Rosamund, and they became secretly engaged. Rosamund knew that her father would never approve of the match, since Everleigh was without wealth or title. From then on, aided by Arabella, Rosamund would meet Everleigh alone.

  Eventually, Everleigh decided that he must go and find his fortune, before he could marry Rosamund, and he asks her to wait for him. She promises she will, with all her heart. Rosamund tells Arabella that the next evening, she and Everleigh will meet in the orchard to say their goodbyes. But Arabella is overcome with jealousy and pain. The next evening, she dresses in one of her sister’s pink gowns, and persuades a young man of her acquaintance to walk with her in the woods. When Everleigh goes to meet Rosamund, he sees Arabella with her young man. Believing Rosamund is unfaithful, his heart is broken, he walks away and never returns.

  Rosamund knows nothing of this, and though she wonders why Everleigh never came to say goodbye, waits through the first year, without complaining, silently patient. But when two years had passed, and there had not been a word, she had the servants build this tower so that she could watch for his return. And after it was built, she sat here every day, waiting for him. Arabella could not bring herself to tell Rosamund what she had done, knowing that it would make the sister she loved hate her. Arabella was driven mad with guilt, and one day they found her in the river, drowned. Rosamund waited for Everleigh until the colour faded from her lips and her hair frosted white. He never came.

  There had been so much unhappiness, the family came to believe the house was cursed, and when Rosamund died, they and all the servants abandoned the place and never returned, and it was left to go to ruin. A lot of the stones were taken to build the castle up at Fallenoak, but there are still remains of it in the wood that you come across.’

  ‘There are still roses in the garden.’ Darklin murmured.

  ‘And of course the orchard is still there. My grandfather swore it must be enchanted, to have existed so long without being lost or overgrown. I never thought that was true, until I met you.’ he smiled.

  Darklin had watched John’s face intently as he told the story. Now that he had stopped speaking, she looked out of the window. The clouds had passed and the sun had returned. She looked over the valley and inhaled with surprise.

  ‘What is that?’ she breathed.

  John turned in the window seat and looked out, so that their heads were almost touching.

  ‘A rainbow. They appear when there is sun and rain in the same moment.’

  ‘Is it magic?’

  ‘Of a kind.’ replied John.

  Darklin gazed at the arc of bright colour that leapt high over the rain drenched landscape. It was something she never could have imagined. Too soon, the streams of colours, like an ethereal bridge of painted air began to pulse, fade and disappear. Darklin kept her eyes on it until the last, determined not to blink and miss a moment. It had to mean something, she thought desperately, something so spectacular could not appear and vanish without a reason.

  When the rainbow had faded completely, she took in the view from the window. She could see over the woods for miles around, far away villages, and blue and green hills rolling to the edge of the sky. Below, the raindrops left on the trees looked like thousands of sparkling diamonds.

  Darklin felt warm tears streaking down her face. Just as when she had first seen dawn break, she was awed by the splendour of nature, and grieved that she had missed so much of it. At times, finding beauty still unsettled her, not because she found it threatening; but she feared how temporary it sometimes was, how there was no way to hold on to it.

  She furtively turned to see if John had noticed her crying. He was staring at her. His eyes rested on her lips, and held an expression Darklin had not seen before. The scent of roses seemed to grow stronger. Darklin felt weightless and dizzy. Unconsciously, Darklin and John inched closer together. Her heart thrilled, responding to his pro
ximity in an ecstatic rhythm…..

  The loud warning cry of a blackbird broke suddenly from the trees below, piercing through the enchanted air and shattering the moment. John turned away from her, and in a flash, was at the top of the staircase. He looked stunned, horrified at what had nearly passed between them.

  Darklin’s heart shattered.

  As John started to descend, he called behind, ‘The rain has stopped. We can go back now.’

  That night, in the blackest hour, Darklin went back to Rosamund’s orchard. She pegged a white sheet to a branch, lit a candle behind it, and sat waiting for moths to fly to the light. She had brought jars, enough to restock Gressyl’s shelves, and when the moths flew bullishly onto the sheet, she gently picked them off, and carefully dropped them inside the jars, as Gressyl had taught her. They were to be kept alive as long as possible, so that the potions that they made would be more powerful.

  It occurred to Darklin that it didn’t matter how she handled the moths, since the potions she made would never be used. The routine questions Gressyl asked on her return from Fallenoak had diminished, and she appeared not to listen to Darklin’s answers. The requests for curses were becoming less frequent as well, and though she knew Gressyl had an end she wanted to achieve, Darklin didn’t ask why there were less, for fear she might reawaken Gressyl’s zeal.

  Darklin wrapped her arms around her shins, and lent back against a tree trunk. For once the dark felt right. It had been waiting for her all these months, for a moment like this, when the light of day would only intensify the darkness of her thoughts. It seemed to open its arms and embrace her, eager to take her back.

  She relived all that had happened that day. The sweetness of it, until the moment John had turned away from her, and ran like she was poison. As soon as she had descended the tower, she had made her excuses and left. She couldn’t bear to pretend that nothing was wrong, as he had.

  John did not want her, she knew that now, and the pain of that knowledge was like nothing she had ever known. Her heart was crushed. Gressyl had perhaps been right all along. Nothing good had come from loving John, just like nothing good had come for Rosamund and Everleigh.

  Suddenly the whole summer became unreal, the time she spent in the light was the dream, and darkness her reality. She thought about Shadows End, how it seemed somehow enchanted. Always warm, always bright. But it wasn’t real. Even the name of it was a lie. The house itself cast a shadow. Everything had a shadow.

  She could not trust what she had felt, or what they felt about her. She had never understood why they wanted her around, or why they were so nice to her. She was not one of them. She didn’t belong there. What if they had only made her welcome out of charity, as they would any wretch who happened their way? What if Bess’ friendship was a way of securing help with her work? What if John’s smile was not friendly, but pitiful?

  She stopped, afraid of what she might think of next, afraid of going too far, and having no way back. She cleared her mind, taking in the cool night air in deep breaths. A tawny owl gave out a haunted cry from somewhere in the dark, and she shivered.

  The moon made its way across the sky. Darklin got up and went to examine the sheet. While she had been lost in thought, at least two dozen had landed, all of different shapes and sizes, colours and patterns. She thought of how John would like to see them, how he would take them gently onto his hand, without harming a hair of them, and study their beauty.

  She put them one by one into the jars. They had been so easy to catch, Darklin thought. They were just like her, in love with light. If she took the sheet away, they would fly heedlessly at the candle and destroy themselves in the flame. She had heard Gressyl say it again and again, as she described the foolishness of some young maiden, lost to desire: ‘she was a moth to a flame’. Yet, she had not listened. At the beginning of the summer, she had told herself that she would find the truth of things, then she would know whether or not Gressyl was wrong. The truth of Gressyl’s words rung in her ears. In this moment, standing in the darkness, she could not argue against them.

  When the moths on the sheet had all been safely captured, she held the candle up to a jar, and for a long moment watched the desperate fluttering inside. Silent tears streaked her face, and she wiped them away roughly on her sleeve. She clenched her jaw and shook her head. Then she blew out the candle and opened the jars. When the creatures did not instantly fly away, she shook them out into the night, and watched them scatter towards the glow of the golden moon.

  15

  The Clearing

  Unable to sleep, Darklin left the witch’s house at first light, and walked deep into the woods. She knew the direction of Fallenoak, and that of Shadows End, and avoided them both. She couldn’t bear the thought of running into John if she lingered in her old haunts. She had to find somewhere new, without a trace of memory or hope.

  Other than deciding which way to go, or how far she should proceed, her mind was clear of thoughts as she roamed. For most of the morning she walked through uninterrupted woodland, cool and damp, and sheltered from the sun. Eventually, she came to a place where the trees were less crowded, and the wood opened out onto an eerie heath grazed by sheep, where the shadows of misshapen trees fell across an expanse of purple heather.

  Darklin surveyed the open space, fearing she might be seen by a shepherd or his dog. Above her, a buzzard soared high in the air. As it dipped and swooped, Darklin could easily imagine how its prey would feel, as she scurried across the perilous pasture, toward the protection of the woods on the other side.

  She walked further, through hidden valleys, and further, splashing through rocky streams, and clambering over fallen trunks, where it seemed no person had ever set foot.

  The more distance she travelled, the lighter she began to feel. A sense of freedom returned to her; she did not have to think about John Somerborne, nor care what he thought of her. She only had herself to care about. But as his name stole momentarily into her head, it instantly brought back the agony she had been trying to escape.

  She started to run, as if she could leave the pain behind, in the place where she had just thought of him. Her feet pounded the earth, the energy of agitation fuelling her speed. Eventually, she came to a shuddering halt and bent double. She closed her eyes, and mentally exorcised him from her body with every ragged breath she exhaled.

  By late afternoon, she was sure she had covered many miles, and a reckless part of her liked the idea that she might not be able to find her way back.

  When darkness fell, she stopped, and made herself a bed of dry grass under the protection of a yew tree. As she lay, tightly wrapped in her cloak, the heartache she had run from all day finally caught up with her. She was cold and empty inside, and not just from lack of food. She should be worried that she had not returned to Gressyl’s house, but she wasn’t. She just wanted to go back to Shadows End, and for everything to be as it was before. She curled into a ball, and bit down on her lip to stop herself from crying.

  When she eventually fell into a troubled sleep, she dreamt she was roaming the woods again. She was lost. It was full dark, and she was frightened. There was someone hunting her, but she didn’t know who, only that she was in mortal danger. She searched for somewhere to hide; a hollow tree trunk, the underside of a bush. Her eyes scoured the darkness, but she could find nowhere safe. She could sense the hunter was getting closer. She ran blindly through the trees in panic, desperately hoping that she would soon find safety. But no matter how far she ran, or what turns she took, there was nowhere to hide.

  At last, she found a break in the trees leading on to a lane. As she hurried along the rutted road, she realised the landmarks and scenery were familiar to her. She knew at what point the muddy road would turn to sand, she knew when the hedges at the side of the road would fall away and reveal a small white cottage standing on the wind battered shore. She knew that inside the cottage lived the crinkle-eyed sailor and his family. Relief flooded her body, making every muscle l
imp.

  She sprinted to the cottage door, and took hold of the latch, tugging it with all the strength she could muster, but the door was locked. She pounded on it, screaming, ‘It’s me! Let me in!’

  The hunter was close by, watching her, taunting her.

  ‘Let me in!’ she cried. No one answered. She ran to a window and tapped loudly on the glass. Inside, the whole family were seated cosily around the fire. She tapped again. No one turned to see who was at the window. They could not hear her. She screamed in frustration. Then she was grabbed violently by the collar…

  Darklin woke, shouting out desperately, gasping for air. For a long time she sobbed quietly.

  The sky was grey with dawn when Darklin got to her feet, and stiffly started off again. The residual fear from her dream lingered, making her feel shaky and vulnerable. She had intended on returning to the witch’s house, but when she started back, she felt like she was walking towards the source of her pain, and she could not face it. She turned on her heel, and took off in another direction. After a while, it began to drizzle, and Darklin put up her hood to shield her head.

  Her empty stomach growled. Over the summer, she had become used to eating regular meals, and her mouth watered at the thought of one of Bess’ meat pies, or fresh, thickly buttered bread. As she passed a stream, she drank handful after handful of clear water to try and fill herself up, but it didn’t much help.

  She followed the course of the stream, and soon noticed a change in the density of the trees. She came across an apple tree, and was surprised to find herself at the edge of someone’s orchard. She snatched off the first apple she could reach, and bit in to it ravenously. It was rock hard and sour, and she spat most of it out. She crept further into the orchard, hoping to chance upon some ripe fruit. Looking cautiously about her, she came to a sudden halt.

  Beyond the orchard was a small thatched cottage. The right half of the building was rounded, in the shape of a small, squat tower, with a long chimney, rising from the conical roof. The left half was square. Irregular windows, both in size and placement, dotted the white walls, which were partially obscured by climbing greenery.