In Fallen Woods

by R N Merle

  ‘Lizzie is a lovely girl, and we have been good friends all our lives, but she will not be my wife.’

  Darklin could not trust that his words were true, the power of relief they carried was too great. She trusted misfortune, and she wanted the final blow to her heart to come quick and clean, even if she had to bring it on herself with her next question.

  ‘But you love her?’ Darklin asked, believing she knew the answer.

  ‘I love her as a friend, nothing more. Nothing will change, there is no need for you to leave.’

  Darklin shook her head, confused, unable to process the meaning of his words.

  ‘You are not in love with her?’ Darklin asked again.

  ‘No, I am not.’

  At last, Darklin looked up to meet his gaze. His eyes told her that what he said was true. Relief gushed through her, sweet and warm. It made her want to start sobbing all over again. She sniffed and pushed away the tears from her cheeks with both hands, suddenly feeling very foolish and self-conscious.

  ‘Come on, let’s go back, or Bess will be furious.’ John said, helping her to her feet, leaving his arm lightly around her shoulders. They began walking to the barn, but half way, John stopped in his tracks and cleared his throat. Darklin could hear singing from the meadow, a sad, sweet song, carried by a voice that was high and pure.

  ‘You didn’t mean what you said, about not coming back?’ John asked.

  ‘No. I will be here as long as….,’ she was going to tell him about her family, but he spoke over her.

  ‘Good, because there is something that Bess and I wanted to tell you, or ask you.’ he said, stumbling over his words. ‘We have spoken, all of us, and we wanted to say that we would like you to be one of our family. There would be a place for you at Shadows End, if you needed it. We wanted you to know, you belong with us.’

  ‘You would let me live with you?’ Darklin asked to be sure.

  ‘We would be happy to have you live with us. If that is what you wanted.’ John replied.

  Darklin’s heart exploded with joy. She beamed at the idea of waking up every day at Shadow’s End, and being part of their family. It was such a lovely thought she was almost afraid to imagine it, for fear that it wouldn’t come true. There was much to think of, and talk about, but in that moment Darklin allowed herself to just feel happy.

  ‘Thank you.’ she whispered, looking full into John’s eyes.

  John looked down at her face and smiled. His hand rested on the side of her face, as his thumb swept yet more tears away. He bent down and kissed her forehead, but as his head was about to draw away, he stopped. In one slow movement, his lips found hers, and pressed against them softly, once. Darklin’s gasp was almost silent. He drew away slightly to meet her gaze. His expression looked troubled, as though he had taken something he was not sure belonged to him. There was a question in his eyes.

  Darklin answered without thinking. She closed the ground between them, stepping so close that there was no room for her feet. She tipped against him, and his arms locked her around her waist, as her fingers wrapped around the solid muscle of his shoulders. John’s mouth found hers instantly, effortlessly. Darklin responded, astonished yet rapt. A dizzy warmth spread out from the centre of her body. Her knees were so weak, if John had not held her so tightly against his chest she was sure she would fall over.

  ‘John!’ A man’s voice sounded through the trees. The moment was broken. John pulled away, his eyes, locked with Darklin’s, full of ardour. Darklin tried to catch her breath, but her heart would not stop racing.

  ‘John?’

  John looked up, Darklin followed his gaze. Joseph appeared up ahead, and beckoned. John took a step away from Darklin.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Bess is after you to make a toast!’ he said, waiting for John to catch him up.

  John looked regretfully at Darklin. He brought the back of her hand up to his lips, and kissed it.

  ‘I’d better get it over with. Quickly.’ he said, smiling, his eyes bright with joy. ‘Come then.’ he sighed.

  They walked hand in hand back to the barn, but it seemed to Darklin that she was floating.

  When they reached the barn, a crowd of men, full of joviality and cider, and gratitude for their host, greeted John with cheers and slaps on the back.

  ‘Make way for Master Somerborne!’

  As John was ushered into the barn, the link of their hands became broken. He looked back at Darklin, and called, ‘Wait there.’

  Darklin smiled and waved, as the gap in the crowd closed behind him. She waited just outside, by the barn doors. She couldn’t stop smiling. She gazed up at the evening sky, not knowing how to endure the time until John came back. She wanted him by her side, near enough to touch. She could hardly believe what had passed between them, that he had kissed her. That he wanted her that way. The pale blue sky was deepening into darkness, and she could see the first stars beginning to sparkle.

  Her head was spinning from how things had turned so quickly, from thinking one minute that she had lost John forever, to being in his arms the next. From pure misery to the sweetest bliss. She felt wonderful, ecstatic.

  Darklin chafed her arms with her hands, noticing the chill in the October air through her light dress. She stepped just inside the barn, hoping it would be warmer. As she raised herself on to her tiptoes, to try to see John through the crowd, the voice of an old man came to her ears, his words were clear and unmistakable.

  ‘It won’t be long till the witch hunter gets her.’

  Darklin’s head turned. Two old men leaned against the barn wall, sipping tankards of cider, oblivious to her. Just the word ‘witch’, turned Darklin’s blood cold, before she had even begun to realise what they were saying. Were they talking about her? Was someone coming for her?

  ‘It been quiet all summer, mebbe she’s given up.’ said one.

  ‘I don’t think that is true. He reckons he knows where she lives now. He followed her almost back to her den last night. He’s having the men search the woods tomorrow.’

  Disjointedly, Darklin remembered the previous night, as she had made her way back to Gressyl’s house, the sensation that someone was following her. It was true then, and he had almost caught up with her…

  ‘Well I just hope he’s not mistaken, like they were with that other poor girl.’

  ‘He said when he gets her, he’s gonna cut out her black heart, to prove to us all he’s got the right one.’

  ‘Aye, that’s what he says…’

  For a moment, Darklin stood, too shocked to move. Then she stumbled outside, and found herself walking away. Her brain was working far too slowly. She couldn’t quite seem to process the consequences of what the men had said. Instinct began to take over, and reminded her that people were unsafe, and that she should hide.

  She crossed the meadow into the woods. Slowly the noise of the party began to fade, and soon Darklin could only hear the sound of her feet snapping twigs, and the rustling of leaves. Inside the wood, it was dark and still, and Darklin was falsely lulled into feeling protected. Then, like a dam breaking, the full realisation of her situation rushed into her consciousness. What was she going to do? What could she do? Panic tightened her chest. The men will be out in the woods tomorrow. What if they found the house, and Gressyl?

  She stopped moving. She did not have to go anywhere or do anything. She did not owe anything to Gressyl, nor did she hold any concern for her. Darklin hated her for what she had done. The idea that Gressyl would have to face her crimes and punishment, did not make her uneasy. She could stay right here at Shadows End, where she would be safe and protected. John would be by her side until the search was called off, or Gressyl was found. For an instant, the thought was so relieving that Darklin felt almost peaceful.

  But as she imagined Gressyl’s frail body swinging from the gallows tree, another thought struck her. Gressyl was the only one who knew where she came from. She was the only one who could tell her how to find he
r family. If Gressyl died, or even if she was taken, Darklin would not have a hope of finding out anything. Her family would be lost to her forever.

  She had to get to Gressyl before anyone found her, she had to learn about her family before it was too late. She gathered her skirts and ran. Branches whipped against her arms and face, and tore the flowers from her hair, but Darklin kept on determinedly, driven by a frantic mix of anger and fear. Every step she took deeper into the woods, took her further from where she ached to be, away from the new life she wanted to begin.

  By returning, she was risking being caught alongside Gressyl, and she did not doubt they would hold her equally responsible. She was running into danger of the gravest kind, but she would not let it keep her from her family. For the moment, tenacity was overcoming her terror, still she couldn’t help looking behind her, half believing the men were already on her trail, set to release the snarling, slavering dogs.

  By the time she reached the water pool, her lungs were aching, and her heart ready to burst. She sprinted on, into the dead wood. Her progress slowed as the trees grew more crowded, and she twisted and squeezed between the trunks as agilely as she was able. She was for once thankful that the house was so well hidden, it meant there was a chance that the men would not find it. Would not find them. She thought of being inside, while the men surrounded the house, knowing there was no way of escaping. It was too risky, she would have to get Gressyl away, and destroy all the evidence. They would have to leave while there was still time.

  As she burst through the door, she grabbed a cloak from the nail, and draped it over her, before Gressyl could notice her dress. She did not have time for Gressyl’s questions.

  ‘Gressyl!’ she cried.

  No response. Gressyl sat huddled in her chair. When Darklin crossed the floor to her, Gressyl did not look up. Spurred on by the urgency of the situation, Darklin reached out a hand to shake her by the arm. Under Gressyl’s black dress, the arm Darklin touched was as feeble as a dry twig. Gressyl’s eyes peered open.

  ‘What is it?’ she gasped.

  ‘They are coming for us!’ Darklin cried.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I heard them.’

  Gressyl didn’t seem to understand what she was saying. Her eyes closed again.

  ‘You must leave now.’

  ‘Yes, I will leave soon.’ Gressyl said brokenly.

  Darklin looked at her skeletal face covered in a sheen of perspiration, she heard the sickening rasp of her breathing, the dull emptiness of her black eyes, and understood what Gressyl meant.

  ‘We need to move.’ Darklin said futilely. She wanted to make her appreciate the danger they were in, she wanted Gressyl to tell her what to do.

  ‘I can’t move now.’ Gressyl stammered. ‘Foolish girl.’

  Darklin thought desperately. She could bundle her up, and try carrying her through the wood… but the men would soon catch up with them. It wasn’t safe. Darklin smothered a sob. She could not leave until she found out about her family. Either Gressyl would die, or the men would come; she had until then to find out.

  Darklin wrapped Gressyl in all the cloth she could find, and made a blaze in the inglenook, using the store of wood she had chopped and gathered. Then she shook Gressyl awake again.

  ‘Where are my family?’

  Gressyl’s eyes widened slightly, her breathing became more laboured and wheezing. She closed her eyes.

  ‘Where are they?’ Darklin said louder.

  Gressyl’s eyes flickered open again.

  ‘You have to tell me!’ Darklin cried.

  Gressyl’s mouth opened then shut. She shook her head and did not say a word.

  Darklin retreated to the table and chair, and lay her head down on her arms, wishing she knew if Gressyl could not tell her, or would not tell her. She sat staring. For a few precious moments, she was back in the garden at twilight with John, reliving the feeling of being safe and loved and at home in his embrace.

  But there was another home beckoning her, and there was love there too. She covered her face with her hands, as despair bored into her. When she looked up, she noticed the spell book lying open on the table top in front of her. As she flipped through the pages to close the book, her eyes fell upon the title of a spell. A Truth Spell. Darklin sat up and leaned forward, peering at the words written down the centre of the page in tall, black, sloping letters. She lit the candles on the table, and before she knew it, her index finger was tracing the list of required potents, and her brain was calculating if it were possible. It was a simple spell, and she had everything she needed on the shelves. All she had to do was conjure it, and feed it to Gressyl. She guiltily thought of Mrs Day. But one, small last spell, wouldn’t make much difference, would it?

  Gressyl’s breathing faltered, then started again. Darklin realised how easily it could have been her last breath. She didn’t have time to waste weighing her options; if she didn’t try the potion now, she would never get her answers.

  She rushed to the shelves and grabbed at the potents. She sloshed some coloured potions into the cauldron, sprinkled in a few dried leaves, five dry bones, and a vial of blood, drawn from the heart of a white dove. She put the cauldron over the fire, and waited for the potion to boil.

  Darklin watched closely, nothing was happening. Time was slipping away. She looked up at the window to see the greyish hue of daylight. She tapped her foot nervously, desperate to be moving, as every nerve in her body told her to run. At last, bubbles formed on the surface of the potion.

  Darklin took up her wand. Her hand was cold and clammy. She suddenly felt very fearful. She didn’t want to awaken the dark spirit inside her. What if it never slept again? She would not want John, nor anyone of them, near her poisoned heart. She thought of the children, of Tom, James and Grace and their wide, innocent eyes. Then another picture entered her mind, of a dark eyed woman, smiling warmly as she sewed. She knew her. It was her mother.

  Darklin began to chant in a shaky voice. She looked around her. The grey smoke had not appeared. She chanted again, this time concentrating on how she hated Gressyl for stealing her away. Slowly, the grey smoke swirled at her feet. Darklin willed the magic with all the energy she could muster. When the chant ended, the smoke didn’t rush, but seemed to hesitate before it sank back into the floor. Darklin grimaced, unsure if it had worked. She quickly ladled some of the potion into a tin cup, and woke Gressyl.

  ‘Take some of this,’ Darklin said, tipping spoonful’s of the potion into Gressyl’s mouth.

  When the cup was empty, Darklin waited a moment, almost scared to ask.

  ‘Where are my family?’ she asked again.

  Gressyl did not respond.

  ‘Tell me where my family is.’ Darklin begged. ‘You have wronged me, and you can put it right. Tell me where I am from.’

  Gressyl coughed and began to mouth words. Darklin drew closer.

  ‘I would have given my life for him,’ she rasped breathlessly. ‘I loved him more than my heart could hold.’

  ‘Where do I come from?’ Darklin spoke clearly and loudly.

  ‘And he broke it. He broke it…’

  ‘Where did you steal the child from?’ Darklin tried.

  ‘I heard them laughing at me.’

  ‘Who does the child belong to?’

  ‘And she took me in,’ Gressyl’s voice grew faint. ‘She taught me…’ Gressyl’s eyes closed. Darklin shook her.

  ‘Tell me where you stole the child from.’

  Gressyl’s eyes half opened. ‘Twas near the sea.’

  ‘Where?’

  Gressyl shook her head.

  ‘Who did you steal her from?’

  ‘A fisherman and his wife, they had other children.’

  ‘What was his name?’

  ‘Tre…Trewyth.’

  Gressyl’s voice trailed away as she drifted into unconsciousness. Her breathing was ragged and irregular. Darklin could not wake her.

  Darklin wasn’t sure how much time
had passed, when Gressyl gasped and opened her eyes again.

  ‘Come close.’ she breathed. Darklin obeyed, a small part of her hoped that Gressyl was about to tell her the truth. Gressyl weakly took hold of Darklin’s sleeve. Darklin noticed the emerald ring she had found on the shelf, adorned the third finger of Gressyl’s left hand. The crow fluttered down from the rafters, and perched on the back of Gressyl’s chair.

  ‘Tell me the Rules.’ she requested.

  ‘Tell me where I come from first.’ Darklin insisted.

  Gressyl’s mouth moved, but no words came.

  Darklin realised that Gressyl wasn’t going to tell her anything. Gressyl’s last concern was being sure that the Rules of Vardyn were followed, that she had succeeded in her training of Darklin.

  Gressyl feebly reached out and grabbed Darklin by the collar, peering into her eyes. ‘Do you hate them, every last one?’

  Darklin drew herself away from Gressyl’s reach. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I don’t hate anyone.’

  Gressyl’s eyes widened, but did not close. The sound of her laboured breathing did not come again. Darklin watched a long column of black smoke slither from Gressyl’s mouth, slip down her chest, body and legs, and seep into the ground.

  Stunned, Darklin remained completely still. Slowly, she remembered the danger she was in. The men were coming, she had to leave. Shakily, she covered Gressyl’s face with her blanket.

  There was one last spell she needed to complete. From the top shelf, she took down a bright orange potion in a thick glass bottle. It was a spell Gressyl had prepared in case of an emergency. The only other thing Darklin took from the house was her wand. She looked at the crow, and opened the door wide. The crow dropped down onto Gressyl lap, and with its beak and claws, delicately prised the emerald ring off Gressyl’s bony finger. Then, as if understanding, the old crow fluttered stiffly out into the fading daylight, taking the emerald ring with it. Darklin followed, closing the door behind her. The crow flew onto a nearby branch, then hopped higher. She heard the flap of its wings battering against the crowded branches, and the sound of its agitated caw fading as it flew away.