Nettle Blackthorn and the Three Wicked Sisters

by Winter Woodlark

  The boy with the violet eyes was talking to the man, making casual gestures with his hands, and the dog was happy to see him, his heavy tail thwacking heavily upon the ground as the boy dug into a pocket and tossed a small morsel at its feet. The dog greedily snapped up the tit-bit and settled back down contentedly beside his master. Nettle couldn’t quite make out what transpired between the man and the boy, the man scowling and eyeing the boy suspiciously with black eyes squinting above a stub that barely passed as a nose, but soon enough the boy opened his messenger bag and handed over a small parcel wrapped in brown paper and tied with simple twine. The man tossed away the bone and before the bone could arc at its zenith, the dog leapt up, snatching it mid-air, and crunched it down in two bites. The man wiped his greasy hands on his leather trousers and took the parcel from the boy.

  Nettle was intrigued, what’s in that parcel? She moved just slightly for a better vantage point and her foot snapped a twig. Her heart lurched as the sound reverberated around her.

  The dog leapt to its feet. Its hackles springing up in a spiky ridge down its long back. A growl rumbled in its chest as it bared a mouthful of vicious teeth and stalked from the gaping mouth of the cave toward where Nettle hid.

  Nettle froze. Her heart exploded into a deafening erratic beat. Her skin grew clammy and her tongue thickly swollen in a mouth that was quickly losing moisture. Every inch of her body wanted to run screaming through the woodland, but instead, she remained paralysed with fear.

  While the boy lingered near the mouth of the cave, the brute of a man trailed behind his dog, edging around the clearing keeping to the shade of the woodland. He would have reached her faster if he crossed the clearing directly; he was either reluctant to enter the bright sunlight, or was trying to be sneaky. He drew out a weapon from inside his patchy jacket. A stunted sword, its blade thoroughly nicked, gleamed dangerously.

  The dog caught her scent, snarled, and sprung forward, barking ferociously. Thick strands of saliva whipped from its fangs, intense red eyes solely focused on hunting its prey. Nettle’s heart near imploded, her breath was loud and quick. She scuttled back and lost her balance, falling back awkwardly, hitting her head against a twisted root. Her head now stinging she dug her hands into the soft earth, trying to push herself back up, but she was trembling too much and had lost the ability to move. Oh, what can I do? What can I do?! I have to get out of here. Move legs! MOVE!!

  The dog ripped across the clearing. It was almost upon her, so near she could see its coat was matted with dried blood and tangled with burrs. It leapt through the fringe of the woodland.

  Nettle couldn’t even scream.

  The dog slid to a halt, barely a foot away from her. Its intent was to hold her there until its master arrived. The only thing between her and it, was the fronds of a pig-fern. She could smell its rank rotten breath. Its thin black lips rolled back to bare a line of vicious teeth. It barked, snarled and snapped. Spittle flew as it whipped its head about in a frenzied rage, and its taut body rippled with sinew and muscle barely held in check. It wanted to kill her. No - it wanted to kill her, then devour her, bones and all. It was just waiting for permission.

  She threw up an arm to protect her face as she frantically sought something to use to defend herself. Her fingers clenched around a broken branch. She swiped a the dog, snapping it across the snout. It yelped, drawing back, only to twist itself in preparation to leap at her.

  Suddenly, a crashing commotion of snapping branches erupted a good distance away, as if someone or something was blundering around in the woodland, running away from the clearing.

  The brutish man’s attention spun away. He called off his dog, his voice was like rocks sliding down a quarry, and began to lumber away.

  The dog was furious to be called off, and was torn between defying his master or shredding her to pieces. Its taut body quivered with rage and its pitiless blood-red eyes bored through her as it panted heavily. Nettle had never faced such an all consuming ferocious hatred. She held tightly onto the branch which shook in her trembling hands. She bit back a sad whimpering noise, absolutely terrified of being torn apart.

  The man bellowed again, the dog hesitated, gave one last sharp snarl at Nettle, then bounded away, ripping up chunks of dirt with its paws as it charged away from her and into the bush.

  Still, even then, with the danger diverted, Nettle found she couldn’t move. She silently screamed at herself, get up, run, do something, anything! Yet directing her limbs was beyond her, she was trembling uncontrollably and cold with fear.

  Utterly terrified, she almost screamed with fright when the boy with the odd violet eyes and broken nose appeared silently by her side. He pressed a finger to his lips commanding silence. He scowled, seemingly annoyed at having to help her.

  He uncurled her fingers from the branch and took her hand. His touch was velvet soft, yet there was strength in the curl of his fingers around her own. “Follow me,” he mouthed.

  She didn’t know how she managed it but she followed. She crept as quietly as she could through the thick forest floor littered with dead leaves, that sounded to her own ears with every footstep she was shouting out - HERE I AM! Nettle could hear the man and the dog crashing about, getting further away from them. How did that happen? What distracted them from me? With their distance she found her heart stopped clamouring as the constriction in her chest eased, and warmth began to return to her body. A few minutes later the boy guided her back through the rosemary hedge and into the safety of Olde Town. He let go of her hand then, as if her touch burnt him.

  Nettle’s legs felt like jelly. She crumpled onto a seat and held her head in her hands. “Thank you,” she breathed, her voice muffled between her fingers. “I thought I was going to be dog food.”

  “Have you lost your mind?”

  Nettle’s head jerked up at the caustic tone he used. “Huh?”

  He was looking at her, his mouth curled with distaste, as if she was the most dim-witted person he’d ever had the misfortune to meet. “Are you utterly obtuse, huh... What were you doing in there? Trying to get yourself killed?”

  Nettle was dumbfounded. “I… no, of course not. I was just…” How was she supposed to explain she was following him? “Curious,” she finished lamely.

  He dusted off his midnight blue jacket from the few leaves that had caught on his shoulders and adjusted his scarf, and gave her a contemptuous look. His violet eyes had darkened to the shade of a black-Doris plum. “Didn’t those signs spell it out enough for you? Besides, how on earth did you get past-” He stopped, mid sentence and she saw confusion cloud his angry expression. “How did you get past those signs?”

  She shrugged, caught off-guard by his question. “I don’t know, I just walked past. Same as you.”

  He gave her a long considering look and ran a hand through his hair smoothing it down, but as soon as his fingers passed through the locks sprung back up, wild and tousled. He walked toward her, his gait predatory. “You just walked on by?”

  She nodded, wondering where this was going.

  He slung his messenger bag off his shoulder and gently placed it on the ground beside the park-chair and Nettle briefly wondered if whatever it contained was fragile. And then the boy sat down beside her, so close their shoulders were touching and Nettle took in his smell. He smelt the way pine did after a misting of morning rain, crisp and fresh. He reached a hand toward her, his fingers were long and tapered and his nails neatly trimmed.

  Nettle flinched. “What are you doing?”

  He just gave her an exasperated oh-do-be-quiet look and wound her long hair around his hand so that he could lift it out of the way. He leaned in and breathed in the scent of her neck, his eyes closing momentarily. His warm breath tickled her skin and its wake left little goose bumps. To her chagrin she blushed. This was the closest she’d ever been to a boy before, her family not counting, and it was odd to suddenly be so incredibly aware of another person’s proximity.

  He drew back an
d eyed her keenly. “You smell like cinnamon.”

  For some reason, it didn’t sound like a compliment. She leapt to her feet, her cheeks flushing an even deeper shade of red. “What the hell does that mean?”

  He ignored her question and asked instead, “What were you doing up there?”

  “Following you,” she answered, crossing her arms over her chest defiantly.

  “You were following me?” The way he said it, the way he looked at her with his arrogant smirk and that glint in his eye, was mortifying, as if he was accusing her of liking him. This is ridiculous, she scolded herself, why am I putting up with this again? She popped a hand on her hip, like Jazz did when she was dishing out attitude. “I followed you OK. I wanted to give you a piece of my mind. You were so rude and nasty and mean-”

  His gaze narrowed. Then, he snapped his fingers. “That’s who you are, the girl who knocked into me. Thought you looked familiar.” He leaned back slouching against the seat, an arm casually slung along the back of the chair, pleased with himself.

  Nettle’s murky eyes lightened to sage-green as her rage built. She paced in front of him, stabbing her finger his way. “You bowled me over! Didn’t even say sorry, or even check to see if I was all right.”

  He shrugged a shoulder. “You seemed fine to me.”

  Nettle blustered with indignation. “You pushed me over. I fell! I had scrapes and cuts and bruises, and look here,” she said showing him her scabbed palms. “You did this!” Her tone hitched and became a little hysterical, causing a few people close by to turn their way with curiosity.

  The boy lazily got to his feet so he could inspect her hands with mock concern. The utter nerve of the guy! Just as rude as the last time they’d met, she told herself, well more like a hit-and-run, she amended. “You could at least apologise.”

  Instead the boy crossed his arms gleefully and rocked back on his heels. He was thoroughly enjoying goading her. “So you mentioned you wanted to give me a piece of your mind. Go on then, clearly it’ll make you feel better.”

  Nettle was taken aback. Her train of thought dissipated like a sprinkling of water over a hot pan. Huh? What… was I going to say? His eyebrows rose at the length of time she stared blankly at him. “Well I hadn’t exactly… worked it out.”

  “Right,” he drawled and turned to leave.

  “Well,” she said flustered. “I was working it out in my head when I followed you up the hill. Then, well… how was I to know some giant wielding a sword was going to come after me.” She flung her arms upward. “I mean, what was that all about? Who runs about with a sword and dog on steroids?!”

  He suddenly grabbed her arm and dragged her close. She noticed his nose had a large bump on the bridge where it had been broken and was only slightly curved out of place. He glared at her. “Hush, keep it down.” And then furtively glanced over his shoulder. Nettle glared right back and struggled to free her arm, but his grip was too tight.

  “All right,” she whispered harshly. Her dark expression matched his infuriated one. “Message received.” He let go of her arm. Nettle wanted answers. “What was that man doing? He was guarding that cave, wasn’t he? What’s so important in there? What was in that brown paper parcel?”

  The boy leaned close so only she could hear. “Do yourself a favour and don’t concern yourself with the goings on in Olde Town.” He turned to leave but this time it was her fingers that gripped his arm stopping him.

  Nettle persisted with a frown. “Why? What’s going on?”

  He gave her a hard stare, then made up his mind about something and his expression eased slightly. For a moment, he actually looked quite pleasant, Nettle decided. Then he said, “Just forget about it all. Forget everything that happened up on that hill.” And he flicked her forehead with a fingertip.

  Nettle blinked several times, completely caught off guard. Did he just..? She tilted her head slightly giving him a perplexed look.

  His own gaze narrowed and he angled his head so that he looked at her side-ways. They stared at one another like that for a moment longer before he flicked her forehead once more and said a little slower, “Forget it all.”

  Nettle rubbed the spot where it stung and flung a dark look at him, her lips pinching together in anger. What on earth does he think he’s doing?

  The boy began to shift his feet, seemingly unsure of himself. He went to flick her a third time when she swatted at his hands. “Hey, listen up. Stop that will you!”

  He recoiled, his own expression confounded. He wore the expression uncomfortably, as if he’d not experienced bewilderment too often. “Stop what?”

  “Flicking me and telling me to forget.” She swiped at him again. “As if I’m going to forget a 500 pound giant. Seriously, who do you think you are, some kind of Jedi-Master.”

  The boy didn’t respond, his eyes grew big and round and he just stared at her. She hadn’t noticed before how smooth and milky his skin was, or that charcoal lashes thickly framed his violet eyes. And he’s still staring at me. She squirmed uncomfortably under his intense gaze. What on earth is he looking at? Is there something on my face? His finger came up and she shied away from him. But he was simply pointing it her way. Finally he answered, in a distant manner. “You’re no tourist.”

  Nettle rolled her eyes, duh. “Of course I’m not.”

  He jerked at the waspishness in her tone, which seemed to shatter his bewilderment. He was about to retort, his features contorting into a sneer, when the ground beneath their feet, began to tremble.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Earthquake!

  At first, the slight movement of the ground went unnoticed. Then, as Nettle and the boy with the broken nose squared off against one another, the earth began to tremble, distracting them both from their argument. Nearby a large terracotta pot jostled, its bushy olive shrub shimmying with the building vibrations; above, the View-Point sign swung violently, its rusted hinges squeaking, and things started crashing to the ground from the picnic tables.

  Someone yelled, “EARTHQUAKE!” A child screamed, while a few toddlers broke into wailing sobs. Parents cried out for their children.

  A moment later an explosive shudder almost shook Nettle from her feet, the cobblestones rattling beneath her. She grabbed hold of the closest thing to steady herself, which just happened to be the quarrelsome boy. His velvet jacket felt as silky-soft as she’d imagined and when he took hold of her hand, his fingers covering hers to steady her balance, she glanced up. A heart-beat later she realised he was grinning at her with his infuriating smirk. Nettle’s mouth pressed together thinly and she shoved herself away from him.

  Bram! Out here in the open it was relatively safe, but Bram wasn’t. He was in a three story building, hundreds of years old, and she had no idea if it could withstand a violent earthquake. Terror seized hold of her, her thoughts overtaken by images of ceiling collapses, dust clogging lungs, and digging through rubble. I have to get to Bram!

  The noise the earthquake made was deafening. Buildings creaked and groaned. Stone scraped and shifted. The rumbling of the very hill, thunderous. Nettle unsteadily made her way toward the path. It was nearly impossible to run in a straight line. She wove her way past terrified parents scrabbling for their children - unmindful of the mess now on the ground - cutlery and crockery, cameras and handbags, splattered food and drink.

  The confrontation with the boy with the strange violet eyes was completely forgotten as Nettle pounded down the winding pathway as fast as she was able, passing folk who either pressed themselves against the path’s barrier or had completely came to a standstill, frozen with fear. She had no thought for herself, only for Bram. Please let him be safe, please let him be safe...

  She’d almost reached the Three Wicked Sisters’ when the shaking subsided and the tremors dissipated completely, leaving in its wake an eerie silence perforated with the soft sound of sobbing, and gentle hushes from mothers.

  Inside the tea house, it wasn’t as bad as what her mind h
ad pictured. The quake had littered the floor with broken glass and dishes, and tumbled paintings and candles from their scones. There was so much food splattered at the feet of the stunned patrons that hadn’t fled, it was like they’d participated in a food fight. The ceiling had luckily held and no-one was injured that she could see. Though the sight was welcome and she let out a pent-up breath, she couldn’t completely relax until she had Bram in her sight.

  Liquid had sloshed from the cauldron, dirtying the floor with its dark brown slop and gelatinous contents. Pip was on his hands and knees mopping up the mess. He wrung the liquid into a bucket and sluiced fresh water over the floorboards. Nettle edged around him and the slippery floor, her nose crinkling at its unpleasant odour, pushing her way through the throng, frantically searching for a golden head.

  “Bram?!” she yelled over the hum of frightened chatter. “BRAM?!”

  A hand popped up. “Nettle, over here!” While she’d been away, he’d been moved to the table by the bay window.

  Relief surged through her, he was fine, in fact judging by the wide grin on his face, he’d just experienced something – as Bram would put it – fantastic!

  Bram skittered about with excitement. “Wow, did you feel that? It was enormous!” He threw his arms into the air. “The whole tea house went BOOM! Then everything shook, and people screamed, and glasses smashed, and then people started running for the door -oooff-”

  Nettle lurched into him and hugged him tightly.

  “Ugh, leave off. ” Her brother grimaced, twisting himself half free to give her a funny look. “What’s up with you?”

  Nettle held on tightly, thankful he was unharmed. “Nothing. I’m just glad you’re alright.”

  “Oh, okay,” he drawled in that way that said he thought she was being girl-weird. “You know, you didn’t need to worry. I knew what to do. I got under the table and held it down.” He tried to look serious, but couldn’t keep the grin from returning. “But boy, did we bounce around!”