To Those Who Never Knew (A Monksblood Bible Novel Book 1)

by Isabella Anton

  To Those Who Never Knew

  A Monksblood Bible novel

  Isabella Anton

  To Those Who Never Knew © Isabella Anton

  ISBN 978-1-9999415-0-5

  eISBN 978-1-9999415-1-2

  BIC/BISAC: FM – Fantasy | FJH – Historical Adventure / FIC009030 – Historical Fantasy | FIC014020 – Medieval

  First published in Great Britain in October 2018

  ibellaanton.com

  FIRST EDITION

  Text and Ebook Design © Isabella Anton, ibellaanton.com

  Cover Art & Design © Anita B. Carroll, Race-Point.com

  The moral rights of the author and illustrator have been asserted.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  To the Anton and Avetisoff families. Keep dreaming, keep fighting, and never lose hope that the world will always be full of magic.

  Preface.

  To those who never knew, I’m so sorry for what happened. I never thought things would turn out like this.

  In 1348, Great Britain was hit by the black plague. Originating from London, it crept west over the span of many years, engulfing the land in a devastating sickness. It wasn’t the kind of plague we had learned about in our history books. It was much worse. Magic was being drained from the land. The craft itself was widely used before Man even had a word for it. People where happy. Everyone was able to use a degree of it, from the smallest of children to the most royal of kings. It thrived throughout the Earth with a strong heart.

  The world was a much better place until they appeared—the Black Plague Brotherhood. It is because of those extremists that our world is now without magic. Their mark on history erased from our books.

  And it’s all my fault.

  Benthyg dros amser byr yw popeth a geir yn y byd hwn.

  Everything you have in this world is just borrowed for a short time.

  - Welsh proverb

  I.

  The sound of a man’s voice strained over the clanging of metal, the coppery smell of blood and sweat filling the air. “Jade! Please… don’t do this!” his eyes pleaded.

  “I’m sorry, it’s the only way,” I replied. Why was there so much love in my voice? Why did my heart ache when I could barely see who I was talking to?

  “It is not and you know it! Do not fall for his tricks!” His voice was becoming weaker, fading as a second man’s terrifying aura appeared behind me.

  “I will… kill him…”

  “Stop!” I screamed, my body tense as my protective instincts took over. “Stop, I’ll go with you.”

  Bing.

  The pilot’s voice boomed out over the public address system, his thick British accent disorienting me.

  “We’ll be descending into Heathrow in approximately forty minutes. It is now 5:30 in the morning. On behalf of British Airways, we welcome you to London.”

  Even with the freezing temperature, I was sweating my ass off, my hoodie constricting me. Unzipping it, the cool, sterile air of the cabin helped to shake the vile queasiness from my stomach.

  That dream... it had felt too real. My pulse raced as I replayed the scene in my head, the chaos that had ensued around me, the bloodshed… My hand flew up to my mouth trying to keep down the bile that was rising from my throat from the gory image. I had always hated the sight of blood, the fact that it ran blue in your veins and red outside always reminded me just how two-faced people could be.

  I had stayed awake for most of the ten-hour journey and it had taken all my energy just to get that hour’s sleep, but now my mind struggled to pull itself together. My legs bounced up and down in an effort to relax, my sneakers squeaking with the process. Ever since I had stepped foot onto the plane my mind kept ticking away at the many things that could go wrong and what I had gone through to get my parent’s approval to study abroad. This was the last stretch. In less than an hour, I would be landing in London and starting my journey over to Wales.

  I unbuckled my seatbelt, the man next to me looking down his nose at my thirteenth bathroom trip.

  The plane was silent as I walked up the aisle, people had started to prepare for landing while others were still deep in sleep, eye masks and ear plugs blocking out the cabin. The blood flow to my stiff legs gradually returned, relieved to have the break from sitting. Not only was I squeezed into a middle seat, but it had taken me ages to figure out how to recline the chair and work the TV.

  I waited for the person inside the lavatory to finish, the sliding door banging itself shut as I made it inside, almost scaring myself to death as I looked in the mirror. I had tied my long black hair into a messy bun that now mimicked a bird’s nest, tendrils of it knotted in places. The black circles under my green eyes were made more prominent by my fair complexion and their violet shade, a look I hadn’t donned since my final exams last year.

  I did my best to correct myself, only to have the plane lurch in the process.

  Oh, fuck that.

  Quickly unlocking the door and pushing past the line of people that had formed, I returned to my seat, my visegrip on the edge of the chairs the only thing keeping me from falling into someone’s lap.

  The cabin was starting to come alive, its lights gradually brightening in time for me to get back to my seat and buckle in. The plane turned slightly down into our descent, causing us to violently jolt in the process and the kid two rows behind to retch, the smell of putrid vomit dispersing into the air. I would have said he had deserved it for complaining the whole ride, but I almost grabbed a paper bag myself.

  Is it supposed to be this bumpy?

  I wiped my hands on my jeans, rubbing them methodically into the worn fabric to calm my nerves.

  It’s alright, Jade. You’ve come this far…

  My passport and landing card were tucked into the back pocket of the seat in front of me. Pulling back the knitted lining I picked them up, rereading them for the tenth time to make sure everything was ready for when I would hit border patrol. Mom had reassured me there wouldn’t be a problem, but you always heard strange stories about getting randomly searched.

  I quickly swapped my documents for my water bottle, my mouth going dry at my impending arrival.

  Ding.

  I felt the plane’s force slam into me, my back stiff against the padded chair, as the pilot maneuver onto the runway and hit the brakes hard.

  Were we already that close to the ground?

  My eyes scanned the runway through the little oval window, the dark morning spotted with lights. I hadn’t realized it, but I had instinctively grabbed the woman’s hand next to me, her look one of annoyance but understanding.

  It was a struggle to navigate my way through Heathrow. I had managed to get through border patrol, the line surprisingly short compared to the EU arrivals (though who knew how much longer that would last) and followed the herd of people to the conveyer belt of luggage, where I waited impatiently for my bag to appear. People came and went, collecting their things, and the crowd soon thinned out when finally, my year’s worth of clothes and necessities appeared. Struggling, I lifted it from the belt, the wheels hitting the marbled ground
with a thump.

  Alright, now… to find Terminal 3. All the international students were meant to meet up and hitch a ride to the university from there.

  Heading out to the arrivals gate, I followed the purple and yellow arrows towards an elevator and down to an underground train, gaining some disapproving grunts from the elevator’s occupants as I squished myself in. Once the doors opened, it was like a Black Friday sale. The rush of people propelled me onto the platform where a train was already waiting, carriage after carriage spanning from one end to the next.

  I found an empty car and situated myself next to the onboard guide, resolute to not miss my stop—though it seemed I had nothing to worry about. It only took five minutes to get to Terminal 3, the train an excessive yet direct route.

  A group of businessmen were lined up by the door as if ready to run a relay race. Their brows were slick with sweat as the train came to a stop, waiting for the doors to open. I could see they were seasoned travelers as they rushed out, their confident strides navigating the sea of people quickly and easily. My brain switched to autopilot as I joined them and jostled my way through the throng of traffic all the way to the arrivals gate where loved ones were waiting for their significant others.

  That dream… I still can’t shake the uncanny feeling of–

  My phone vibrated against my leg and I pulled it out. So far only one person knew my UK number… “Hi, Mom.”

  “Hi sweetie, did you land safely?” I knew she meant well, but my lack of sleep and food made my answer short.

  “No, I’m calling from beyond the grave…” Hearing her unimpressed sigh on the other end, I could picture how she would have shook her head in annoyance, her blonde hair bouncing with the motion. “Yes, I’ve landed safely. I just got to the meeting point.”

  Trying to get out of people’s way, I found a row of empty chairs and parked myself there for the time being.

  “Alright. I just wanted to make sure you got there safely. When you didn’t call I got worried.” The sound of her twisting our old phone cord had me missing them already (not that I would tell her). We hadn’t replaced that thing since the 90s, Dad adamant that it was a classic and if it wasn’t broken, why get a new one?

  “Sorry Mom, I haven’t even had a chance to breathe yet,” I rubbed my eyes, dislodging sleep in the process.

  “It’s fine. As long as you got there safely.”

  “Yup.”

  I could hear her unvoiced worry, a constant rerun of the words playing throughout my childhood: Be careful! Don’t do that! I just don’t want you to grow up. And my all-time favorite: You’ll always be my little baby.

  “Then you better go find an adult from your new school.”

  “Mom. I’m twenty years old… I am an adult,” I said with some venom.

  “Someone more adult,” she reprimanded.

  I didn’t want to fight, not again. My parents still had their reservations about me studying abroad for the year, a perspective I didn’t agree with at all. When I had told them I wanted to go to Wales, they acted as if I had told them I was running off with a total stranger to elope!

  I huffed out in torn frustration. I wanted to do right by them, be the best person that I could be, but sometimes that meant diverging from them and finding my own way. “Fine,” I gave up easily. “I need to go now. Love you.”

  I could hear she wanted to say more but thought better at that moment. “Love you too.”

  I ended the call and stood, gathering my things to make my way to a bigger section of chairs. Other students were dotted around and I scoured the area to see if anyone from the university was there yet.

  “University of Wales students!” a man shouted from behind me, his Welsh accent rough in my ears.

  I turned to find he was not at all what I expected the adult to look like. His grunge-punk ensemble was balanced out by his smile. Spiked, black hair adorned his head, adding to his already tall height. Studded earrings lined his ears, while the leather jacket he wore creaked as he moved. “If there are any University of Wales: Trinity Saint David students, will you please come over here!”

  I stuck out my hand to him. “Hi. Jade Morrison.”

  He took it in a viselike grip. “We’ve talked over the phone. Owen Evans. Nice to meet you.” I had known for months that I was heading over here, Owen a guiding hand to my every question.

  As he marked off my name on his clipboard, I noticed others converging onto our spot and made myself comfortable on a row of chairs nearby as they sorted themselves out, the group joining me soon after.

  “Is everyone here?” I asked as Owen sat on the floor to complete our little circle. The trauma of my chair’s broken reclining feature had made me wish something had happened to the plane, my back and neck aching for a flat surface.

  “Not yet, we’re still waiting on one more.”

  We moaned in unison. It seemed everyone had the same experience getting here, their eyes red-rimmed from the lack of sleep. Well… all except one.

  “How’re y’all doing? I’m Claire, from South Carolina. What’s y’alls’ names?”

  I knew right then I wasn’t going to like her. Not because she was a Southern Bell or the fact that her hair looked pristine compared to my grease trap… It was the fact that even at seven in the morning, she could be this happy and awake.

  “I’m Jade,” I gave up sleepily.

  “I am Nick, from Spain,” one of the guys said. He pushed back his copper hair, the color almost melding with his deep skin tone. He wouldn’t have been my first choice in a line of guys, but he was definitely one of the more attractive people here. Though it was only the end of September, he was already dressed in more layers than I would ever need in winter, but he seemed to balance it all out by wearing a pair of flip-flops.

  The other guy pulled out his headphone, half joining the conversation. “Luke,” he said, uninterested in what was really going on. I couldn’t tell what his story was but he was the complete opposite of Nick. Not only was he clad in all black, but his posture was languid. If I really squinted I could probably make out the ‘fuck off’ sign that should be hanging around his neck.

  “Sorry! Sorry!” we all heard from behind us. The sound of bags dropping onto the airport’s tiled floor made everyone in the area turn.

  The woman that stood there wore white-framed glasses that made the angles of her midnight face sharper, while her mess of tight curly brown hair was tied back with a thick headband. She wore the typical jeans and a t-shirt combo, with a flannel shirt tied loosely around her waist. “Hi, sorry I’m late. My flight from Delaware got delayed because of the stupid wind!” She plopped down the rest of her stuff and took the seat next to me. “I’m Jackie.”

  “Owen. Head of the International Office.” He shook her hand and gave us all a short nod.

  “Jade,” I answered her. People always say first impressions are important, and from what I saw, I knew we were going to get along well.

  “Nick.”

  “Claire.”

  Everyone stared at Luke until he finally gave up his name again.

  “Right, well that’s everyone,” Owen said, picking himself up off the floor. “The bus is just outside. It’ll take about six hours to get to Lampeter–”

  Six hours?

  “but don’t worry, it’ll give you enough time to sleep. And we’ll have two breaks in between.”

  I looked at Jackie, her face a mask of weariness, just like mine. I knew getting to Lampeter wasn’t going to be easy. I had looked it up several times, trying to figure out where it was relative to. It was inland, an hour away from the coast and three hours west of the capital city of Cardiff, planted and landlocked in the heart of South Wales. From what I could tell it was a small town, the Welsh countryside the permanent backdrop in every picture.

  Collecting our things, we all trudged out to the
bus, the morning finally bright. The driver took our bags and stored them into the lower storage compartment, leaving us to find our seats. I relaxed into the gray vinyl, my back rejoicing at its softness. Jackie already had her legs sprawled out next to her as she faced me, the bus pulling out onto the main road.

  “So you’re from the East Coast?” I asked Jackie, putting my own feet up in an effort to get comfortable.

  “Ya, I’m over from the University of Delaware. You?”

  “California. University of California: Santa Barbara.”

  “Cool! A Cali girl.” She looked me up and down, assessing me like I did her earlier. “What brings you all the way here?”

  That was a loaded question. It was one I had fought with my parents about and the whole reason I wanted to come to Wales. In the end, I had won out with the same argument.

  “I’ve always wanted to come to Wales,” my voice wavered. “I was actually born here but got adopted when I was a baby. Thought I might as well take this time to visit.”

  I had never been this open about my adoption before. I had known since I was little that I wasn’t Janet and Dave Morrison’s biological child, but for their sakes, I rarely brought it up. The last time I did was when I was little—Mom and Dad pacing in their room as tears ran down both their faces, heated words passing between them. I had no idea why, but I knew I never wanted to see them like that again.

  “Oh wow! That’s amazing. Do you know specifically where in Wales you were born?” She rummaged into her backpack, pulling out a bag of chips that I eyed longingly. In the bustle of everything, I had forgotten to grab a snack.

  She held out the bag, inviting me to have one.

  “You’re a saint…” I grabbed a few and munched on them before answering. “Somewhere around Cardiff, but I’m not exactly sure where.”

  “Maybe you’ll get the chance to poke around? Sorry to jump in, ladies,” Owen turned in his seat to face us. “We’ll be heading to Cardiff in December with the other campuses. Part of the international program here.”