Shade of Destiny (The Foreseeing)

by Shannon M Yarnold

  Lord Oprend was strewn on his bed beside his wife, who was still asleep. At Wynn’s entrance he smirked but Wynn still had her head lowered and so did not see his face twist gleefully. A knock sounded behind Wynn surprising the Master and wiping the smile from his face, he grunted admission, wishing they would leave but it was only the servant of the Wardrobe. He entered and hovered by his namesake, his face impassive. The Master did not glance at the servant of the Wardrobe instead fixing his attention back on Wynn.

  Running his fingers through his hair he ordered Wynn to set the tray on the writing desk watching as she obeyed, setting the tray on the desk, where the Master ate his breakfast each morning. Ale with white bread, a dish of meat and a dish of fish; an ordinary, if outlandish, meal for a Lord. Wynn then waited to be dismissed. The air between them was tense and Wynn was beginning to feel, once again, uncomfortable in the Master’s presence. The Master glanced over and checked his wife was still asleep, she mumbled something incoherent then rolled over. Satisfied the Master got out of bed, walked over to the other servant present and allowed him to dress him in a silk dressing gown. Wynn shivered, knowing what was coming.

  The Master walked over to her, “Raise your head girl,” he commanded, his voice was deep and Wynn felt the arrogance in his words. Wynn slowly raised her head and her eyes met with the Master’s. It was as though the rest of the world disappeared, a fragment of her dream flashed in front of her face, as though brought on by the Master.

  Lord and Lady Oprend’s black carriage slowly came into view, from the shadows of the forest opposite the square, and into the glow of the lanterns. The horses that led it snorted in the cold night air and plumes of air rose around them. Behind the carriage Woodstone’s army of men marched in unison, hands on their swords and murder in their eyes. A murmur of unease spread through the nine hundred strong crowd, they noted that the army had never appeared at the New Year celebrations before; their presence this night brought shivers of mistrust. A sullen man with thinning black hair stepped out of the carriage, followed by a woman with a thin face and long curly blonde hair. They stared down at the crowd with disdain and the crowd stared back at their leaders.

  Wynn blinked, releasing a breath she had not realised she was holding. If the Master thought her actions strange he did not show it, in truth it had only taken a moment of her time to remember and then relive the snippet of her dream, brought on by the very man it centred on. Yet she could not believe her expression was not horrified, would the Master be offended? To calm her nerves she studied his now familiar features, her eyes darting over his face. He was a man with a morose face only heightened by the wrinkles that lined his eyes, nose, mouth and forehead. His thinning black hair sat greasily atop his head, peppered with grey strands. His teeth were crooked and his thin lips were in a constant sneer. She could see no redeeming features, no matter how often and long she stared at his face. Age was creeping up on him and no matter what he did he could not fight with time, even in her dream he had been old, only now it was beginning to show.

  He smirked as he raised a hand and stroked her cheek. “You are such a beautiful girl, far too beautiful to be a maid. If I had my way you would be my wife.”

  Wynn curtseyed, as was proper for such high praise, but the words did not settle but simply fell away, forgotten. Every morning the Master would compliment her on her beauty, and tell her he wished she was his wife, and every morning Wynn would whisper a thank you and wait to be excused. He would smirk as she left and leave it at that, but this morning the Master did not stop stroking her face. She frowned a little in confusion and felt goose bumps erupt over her body as his eyes leered at her.

  “Say the word and I can save you from the drudgery of your life,” the Master whispered softly, as though painting the image before them, “you would be rich and admired, your beauty is that of royalty, no one would doubt your worth. My dearest Wynn you must understand, the people of Woodstone are working against me, and I fear I will die without ever knowing how sweet your lips taste.”

  Wynn stared at his face, forcing herself not to snort derisively. She knew the Master had connections; he would never be harmed. The town he resided over, Woodstone, was the smallest town in the land of Inlo. A dense forest rested around it, hiding creatures of the night, and giving the town its name. Through the forest, vast deserted plains stretched far into the distance, in all directions, bridging the gap between Woodstone and the other towns of Inlo. Fields used for growing crops lay inside the dense forest in the most south part of town. The town itself inhabited no more than nine hundred. The streets were winding and long, housing bakers, butchers, and blacksmiths; cottages nestled between trades, causing the town to feel claustrophobic and dark. The forest crept into the town at only one point; a thin path had been made throughout the years, with the need to visit Lord Oprend, whose Manor lay at the heart of the forest.

  As was the ancient law each town throughout the lands was governed by a Lord, who reported directly to the King via a messenger or hawk. Woodstone’s leader, Lord Oprend, was an ageing, pot-bellied man. Woodstone had been governed by the Oprend family for generations, as was the requirement from noble blood, and being born into the title gave Lord Oprend a false sense of importance; he grew from a spoilt and unbearable child, into a bitter unloved man. A Lord was required to marry into an equally influential family, and Lord Oprend had detested his new bride from the moment he had laid eyes on her.

  Inlo had three other, much larger towns, which each held thousands of inhabitants, Kingly, the capital had over ten thousand, making it the central point for trading and bartering within Inlo. Inlo was cut off from the other lands as a large stone wall had been built around it, in darker times. Legend had it that the wall had been built three centuries past by the ruling King after his attentions had been rejected by Inlo’s ruler, Lady Rose. The wall was built to keep her and her people in, and since that day had never been removed. Entering and leaving Inlo was prohibited, the only way to leave was to be favoured by the army who guarded the perimeter and the crossing point.

  The Master had complete control over Woodstone and, Wynn thought soberly, influence over the other towns of Inlo. That control was kept through inconspicuous fighting. Leaders were killed by trained assassins before they even had the chance to object to the Master’s rule, replaced by those loyal to the Master. Woodstone had been ruled by the army for as long as Wynn could remember. She had heard rumours of the infamous night seventeen years ago when the army had first taken complete control over Inlo. The Master manipulated the army and therefore would never feel its force. The army were the ones who truly controlled Inlo, under the Master’s jurisdiction. Wynn had known no different, men of the army governed and everyone else obeyed. Those who stood up to the army were sent away never to be seen again.

  And yet the chance of escape was still alive in people’s hearts, the chance to be Free. But any attempt to leave would mean instant deportation, or death. It was illegal to leave Woodstone; no one had tried to leave for years. There was even talk, rumours of the darkest and most forbidden kind, that it was the Master and his soldiers that had taken advantage of Terra’s defeat at the hands of an unknown army seventeen summers ago. It was only a few weeks after the invasion, when Terra’s defences were still at their weakest and the monarchy was still reeling from the attack, and at the death of his wife and kidnap of his baby daughter, that the soldiers of Woodstone moved in. The Master had publicly made it seem that he was doing Terra a great favour by offering his, continued, support; the soldiers were merely there to maintain order in a fragile land. It fooled nobody then and fooled nobody now. Wynn swallowed as yet another fragment of her dream danced to life, brought on by her thoughts.

  “Thank you Woodstone for attending the New Year celebrations,” Lord Oprend announced monotonously, “it is one of special importance to my wife and I because of the birth of our baby daughter.” His face remained cold and expressionless despite the talk of his new daughter, “H
owever, instead of the usual celebrations, there is a change of plan; I have just received news by hawk from King Dianis that Cairon has been attacked.” The crowd began murmuring but stopped when the army behind the Lord began unsheathing their weapons.

  “The General is certain that in the time it took the message to reach us Cairon, and therefore, by extension, Terra would have fallen and that the invading army would have plenty have time to continue through Inlo, to obtain hostages. I am viewing this act as a direct attack on our honour, for a foreign army to even try the might of the land is beyond forgiveness. It means we will need to fight to stop these monsters.” Lord Oprend looked around the tiny village, his face cold and hard as stone, “Every man must report to Oprend manor for instructions and recruitment conditions... That is all.”

  Why did Wynn dream so routinely of That Night? It was said by some that That Night, seventeen years ago, was the beginning of the end. According to the tales heard in snippets by gossip and rumour, it was the night Lord Oprend and his army had taken control of Inlo. Wynn could understand thinking about it every so often, in moments where her thoughts wandered, but to dream of it every night was something she could not explain or escape. Why did it matter so much to her? For some it had been the defining moment of their lives, the night everything had become so much harder, but Wynn could not remember it, she had been a baby at the time.

  The Master suddenly grabbed Wynn’s arm, breaking her train of thought. His fingernails dug into her flesh, “Are you refusing my offer maid?”

  Wynn could think of nothing to say in her defence and her silence caused the Master’s grip to tighten, the rings on his fingers, coupled with his nails, felt like they would gouge the skin from her arm. Wynn swallowed, knowing she had offended him. He scowled at Wynn’s insubordination and in temper threw her arm down and with all his might slapped her across the face. She fell to the ground clumsily, her hands thrown out too late to break her fall. The other servant by the wardrobe shuffled nervously but remained silent, he knew his place and he did not wish to be on the receiving end of one of the Master’s infamous rages. The Master’s wife woke at the noise of Wynn hitting the wooden floor and she frowned, still half asleep.

  “Darling what happened?” She murmured, her eyebrows furrowed, not bothering to open her eyes.

  “Nothing dear, go back to sleep, the maid didn’t know her place,” the Master replied calmly, flexing his fingers which throbbed from the slap.

  His wife, satisfied with the Master’s answer, dozed off again. Wynn waited until her head stopped spinning before slowly getting up, remembering to curtsey even though every fibre of her being wished to spit and curse at the vile man who had struck her, then left the room, excusing herself. Wynn blinked back tears of pain as she ran down the marble steps and into the kitchen, ignoring any servant she passed. Cook looked up lazily as the door opened, choking back a cry of surprise as she saw Wynn, her lip was bleeding where the Master’s rings had caught it, a vivid red handprint clearly visible on her cheek. Gasping she ran to Wynn’s aid, leaving the soup she had been cooking to boil over. The kitchen boy quickly dropped the potato he had been peeling and ran over to clean up the mess. Wynn refused to cry as Cook sat her down on a chair in the corner of the kitchen, out of the way.

  “What happened?” Cook asked gently, whilst she fetched a cloth and carefully cleaned Wynn’s lip.

  Wynn winced every time the cold, sopping cloth touched her face, but explained through her swollen lip. When she had finished Cook shook her head, clenching the cloth tightly in anger, ignoring the dribbles of water that pooled beneath it, “That man is a bastard Wynn. If I could take your pain away I would, I’ve looked after you now for seventeen summers and I wish I could have given you a different life.”

  Wynn smiled and hugged Cook; wiping the flowing blood from her lip on the back of her hand as she stood up. The other staff in the kitchen, who had all stopped working to listen to what had happened, quickly looked away and carried on with their tasks. They felt nothing for Wynn; they all knew how the Master treated her and their hearts were still cold. She had been different in their eyes from the day she had been brought to the Manor. A baby with no parents, only a name inscribed on the back of a small golden necklace which she wore around her neck. The necklace was too fine a piece of jewellery for Wynn to have been a peasant, but she would not have been brought to them if her parents were noble. Cook had taken her under her wing, and she had fallen into life as a maid with ease. The Master had noticed Wynn instantly, she was far more beautiful than the other maids, and as soon as Wynn had turned sixteen he requested that she bring his meals, and so had been the routine for almost two summers.

  Cook held Wynn’s cheek, the one not marred by the red shape of a hand, and slowly stood up to face her, “How about you go and check the horses? They would appreciate your visit I’m sure.”

  Wynn nodded slowly, quickly bowing before leaving the kitchen through the back door. As she stepped into the brisk morning air, she reminded herself that few maids often earned the right for a few moments away from work, and for this moment, and the many others before it, she was lucky. I’m special to someone, Wynn thought sardonically as she touched her throbbing lip tentatively, finding that it was bleeding less freely now. Lifting her fingers from her lip she viewed the courtyard before her. It was empty save the rose bushes that surrounded it, swaying gently in the breeze. They formed a thick barrier around the courtyard and offered a degree of privacy. Walking up to a nearly rosebush she stood on tiptoes and smelt a dangling rose. It was fresh and sweet and smelt faintly of the rain that had fallen the previous night.

  Wynn stood there for some time, in between the rosebushes, marvelling that the Master would have something so beautiful in his garden. Eventually, when she had had her fill of the rose’s aroma she ambled towards the stables, to the left of the courtyard, reached via a small cobbled path which cut through the rose bushes, but allowed them to grow either side. As she walked she ran her fingers gently along the petals of the roses, their silkiness far more pleasant than the normal things she had to touch on a daily bases, a scrubbing brush, her thick cotton dress and the rough wooden brooms. The servant’s quarters, along with the bathhouse, both combined for convenience, lay on the left of the path, a section of the wall of roses had been cut away to grant access to the back entrance. The dense forest, which surrounded all of Woodstone and the Manor, lay to the right of the path, a hundred yards away. This section of the forest, Lumber Forest, was reserved for the Master’s hunting.

  Wynn stopped in front of the stable once she had reached the end of the path to check it was deserted. She knew that the stable boy, Groom and Hunts-Marshal would not be working this early, as the horses were sparsely used, depending on whether the Master could be bothered to actually hunt for his food, or if the Mistress was having a riding lesson. The stable was attached to the servant’s quarters and looked dilapidated against the polished beauty of the black marble Manor. The large doors, both at the back and front of the stable were open and the breeze danced through it, blowing strands of straw into the air.

  Looking once more behind her Wynn walked into the stables, noting the scent of hay which lingered in her nostrils. The eight horses inside their stalls trampled the ground curiously at Wynn, smelling her aroma and pricking their ears up at the sound of her breathing. Taking time to stroke each one Wynn made her way around all of the horses, enjoying the simple, mutual love which radiated around her. The sound of whining interrupted her and once Wynn had finished stroking the last horse Wynn walked to the end of the stables. There a Beagle bitch lay on the cold, hard ground, six puppies latched onto her, drinking furiously. Wynn knelt down and stroked the bitch’s head. She growled at Wynn but eventually relented as she realised Wynn meant her and her puppies no harm. One of the puppies stopped drinking and turned and looked at Wynn, its tail wagging furiously with curiosity. Wynn smiled at the little puppy, feeling a spike of jealously that the puppy knew its mother
and was loved and cared for – before quickly brushing the feeling away.

  The woman carried a baby, a few weeks old; it slept against her breast, a shock of black hair covering its head, to match hers. Around the baby’s neck a thin golden chain lay against the folds of her dress, a tiny star pendant dangling from it, glinting in the meagre light.

  Wynn closed her eyes to block out her dream, for some reason today it was smothering, an inescapable part of her. She took a deep breath and forced herself to think of nothing but the horses that surrounded her. Satisfied her dream would not plague her she stood up and walked back through the stables to the entrance. A black mare beside Wynn, who Wynn had spent slightly longer stroking, poked her head over the stall and nudged her shoulder to gain her attention.

  “Ebony,” Wynn smiled, turning round to stroke the horse’s long smooth nose once more.

  “Beautiful isn’t she?” A voice said admiringly from behind Wynn. Wynn jumped away from Ebony in shock, her hands clenched in fear, searching around for the voice. She spotted a figure standing in the entrance of the stables, silhouetted by the sunlight. His outline was distinctly male and Wynn felt a shiver of fear, knowing she could be whipped for visiting the stables.

  “Yes,” she agreed weakly, forcing herself to answer, as was only proper for a maid, lowering her head so the man could not see her face. The man walked closer to her, his footsteps mirroring her beating heart and through her lashes she could see he was young, with long, brown hair which he had tied back with a leather throng, a gentle face and strong chin. He wore long, thigh high, black leather boots over riding breeches and an off-white shirt.