Shade of Destiny (The Foreseeing)

by Shannon M Yarnold

  “You’re in bed,” the owner of the hand said softly. Wynn frowned but couldn’t recognise the voice. She felt a cold cup against her lips and she opened them warily, feeling cool water pour down her throat. It soothed her dry mouth and aching throat and she felt marginally better. She lay in silence and stillness until she felt strong enough to raise her hand gingerly to her face. The skin on her cheek had been sown together. Her fingers softly ran over the bumps of thread, and felt no blood. The bleeding had finally stopped. As her mind became clearer she began to once again sense the emotions of the person beside her. From what Wynn could gather the person was female, her urges and emotions were indubitably leaning towards the maternal; and she was unquestionably concerned for Wynn’s wellbeing.

  Wynn rubbed her eyes and slowly opened them, watching as a figure became clear before her, a young girl, with long blonde hair and dazzling blue eyes. The sun shone brilliantly through the window above her, illuminating her and bathing her in golden light.

  “I’m Braelyn,” the girl said, taking the cup away, “I’ve been looking after you, you fainted last night.”

  Wynn nodded slowly as she remembered what had happened, it came back to her, flickering before her eyes. The Master’s room, the darkness, the knife glinting in the candle light, the new maid, the strange man that unwittingly saved her by entering the room and the new maid nursing her.

  “He branded me,” Wynn whispered, as quiet as breathing, more to herself than to Braelyn. The realisation of it made her stomach churn, the injustice of it all, he had permanently marked her, in a place that was impossible to hide. Wynn cared not that she did not know the maid; she had the overwhelming urge to talk about everything, to be told she was right to feel the way she did. She felt a great anger, but an even greater uncertainty. What the Master had done was wrong she was sure, but he owned her as much as he owned the horses in the stable. Was she right to feel so bitter? She felt confused as her own senses told her what had happened to her was wrong, but her years of being taught to believe she was nothing combated her anger.

  Braelyn squeezed Wynn’s shoulder gently, breaking Wynn’s train of thought, to show she understood, but Wynn was numb to the touch. The world felt suddenly colder than it had ever before, and she felt herself fall deeper into darkness. She had hoped, one day, she would find someone to love her. Not the way the men did when they visited the Master, but in a mutual, caring, respectful relationship. Someone who would take her from her sadness and show her what it meant to be happy. But not now. Now she was scarred. I understand now why the other maid’s despised me so, Wynn thought sadly, they were marked, and I was not. Now I have become one of them, but with the worst of scars. They can hide theirs with a scarf but mine is plain for all to see.

  Braelyn handed her the cup and Wynn took it unthinkingly, swirling the contents around despondently. Now she was coherent enough to think her mood became ever darker. The night before she was devoid of anything save the pain, numb to the world, but today she was awake and burned with rage. She had known this day was coming, her time to be marked was overdue, but not like this. Not in such a way that puckered her face and made her completely unrecognisable, she wondered idly how she looked but cast the thought away. She could not take the sight, not yet. They sat in silence, or so it was for Braelyn, to Wynn her head was buzzing with her thoughts, and Braelyn's emotions. Wynn gritted her teeth and gripped the glass tightly.

  “I wonder if I should say something,” the girl thought suddenly and Wynn's eyes unconsciously flickered to her face. Braelyn looked startled and Wynn realised she had acted upon a thought, not something said aloud. She would have to be careful, such behaviour was suspicious and people were sent to The Rune for much less. “She looks so sad, I wish I knew her more so I could say something to make her feel better,” the girl continued on in her head.

  Wynn glanced down. This Braelyn was a good person, as good as Cook and Wynn wondered how they could have stayed so moral, so hopeful, in such a world as this one. Times were hard and people were cruel. She glanced back up at Braelyn, her long blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. She was undeniably beautiful and kind and Wynn for a moment wondered if she had died and Braelyn was an angel sent to collect her soul; but Wynn did not believe in such things, no angel could bear to walk on such a sad world.

  As Wynn pondered a thought entered her conscious that was not hers or Braelyn's, “I hope she is awake, I curse the Master over and over...” the thought trailed off becoming nothing but wordless anger and Wynn knew instantly who it was. Cook was walking down the stairs that joint her room to the kitchen. Wynn glanced up at the door and Braelyn followed her gaze, a moment later there was a knock at the door and Cook walked into the room. She seemed to take up all of the space; she had a presence that demanded attention, but despite the loudness of Cook's person Wynn did not miss the look of confusion Braelyn shot at her that she had known the door was to knock. Wynn swallowed nervously.

  Cook, oblivious to Wynn's worry, ushered Braelyn away and sat next to Wynn. Instantly Wynn could feel a flood of love emanate from Cook, as well as all of Cook’s hopes, desires, fears and emotions. It was overwhelming and Wynn closed her eyes for a moment to gather herself. She had loved Cook all her life but it was too personal, almost wrong to see so much of a person. For the first time since she had discovered this curse she began to feel guilty. It was one thing hearing and feeling others who Wynn did not know or respect, but it felt like an intrusion, like spying when the focus was passed onto Cook.

  “How are you feeling?” Cook whispered. Wynn frowned and her lip suddenly shook with the effort of controlling her emotions and thinking coherently. She was overwhelmed with her own despair and pain, as well as Cook and Braelyn’s foreign emotions that tasted strange on her tongue and imprinted on her soul. How to explain when none could understand? Wynn wished abruptly they would go and leave her alone. She did not want their sympathy. Wynn took a shuddering breath and shrugged in reply to Cook’s question, her eyes downcast. Cook grabbed her hand and Wynn looked towards her.

  “What that man did to you is awful. We knew your time would come to be marked, but not – not like this,” Cook whispered, squeezing her hand, “but you are still beautiful Wynn, you must believe me.”

  Wynn scoffed and lifted the cup to her mouth to avoid any more conversation, her hand shaking violently. She knew if she met Cook’s eyes she would fall apart. Her resolve was shaky as it was and her breath came slowly, a great effort, as though she had forgotten how. She knew that Cook was sincere, and knew Braelyn agreed reverently, but how could she believe them when she wore such an ugly scar? Wynn glanced up, careful to avoid looking directly at anyone, and saw that the long scarf Cook usually wore around her neck had fallen down and that her scar was on show. A brilliant circle carved into her throat. She felt a new lease of pain for the hurt that the Master had caused Cook, her mother in every sense.

  Beside Wynn Cook closed her eyes in despair, Wynn had always been a survivor and now she was ready to give up. The world Cook had known before That Night had completely disappeared. Life was hard, and many died before their time, their bodies working but their spirits broken. She, like many of the inhabitants of Inlo, dreamt of salvation in a far off land, not affected by Lord Oprend’s cruel reign. But only the noble or the army could pass The Wall which ran around the whole of Inlo. Such fantasies were kept inside, to speak would make them solid, desirable, and she knew they were unachievable.

  Wynn closed her eyes, sensing Cook’s thoughts which mirrored her own, which had always mirrored her own. She was not the only one who wished for freedom and it broke her heart that others suffered the same sadness she felt every day. Finally her tears spilt down her face, her pain mixed with Cook and Braelyn’s. She cried like she would not stop and Cook and Braelyn comforted her, but something in Wynn had changed. Something had broken.

  Wynn slept on and off for days, the agony of her cheek and loss of blood confining her to her bed. Flashes of Cook and
Braelyn beside her – cleaning her wound and giving her water – sometimes crept into her conscious. She never saw them; her eyes were constantly closed to avoid looking directly at anyone, she could not face their tender loving eyes, but she felt them as a presence. And when Wynn was not sleeping, she tried to make sense of this new force inside her. She had never felt so connected with everyone around her, and yet more isolated at the same time. It was unnatural, and yet she felt like she had discovered a part of herself that had been hidden. She had never considered herself particularly perceptive, she could read surface emotions easily but anything deeper was something that she skimmed past, there was no point paying much attention to anyone, but now she could sense and experience exactly what others around her were feeling, and it scared her and fascinated her in equal measures.

  And when Wynn was not puzzling over her newfound skill, or fearing the consequences of it, the pain in her cheek forced her to sleep. Sometimes after waking she would still feel like she was dreaming and the only thing that she found helped her differentiate from reality and dreaming was the same nightmare she had each night. When she was awake she was freed from it – and gladly took the confusion and pain – for when she was asleep it seemed ever more terrifying. She had always dismissed the dream, and accepted that it was something she could not change, but this new skill forced her to consider that the dream may actually have happened. That the woman, who had protected her, Elina, really was her mother. As she tried to capture the image of her mother over and over again, guiltiness descended, guilt that she had discarded Elina as nothing more than a character in the dream. She felt sick to the pit of her stomach, for the years of denial, this dream – or nightmare she corrected herself – was the only thing other than her necklace, that she had of her mother.

  If the dream then was real, the woman that had murdered her mother was real too. Aerona. The very word made bile rise in Wynn's throat. If her dream were true then every night she had witnessed the death of her mother, by the hands of a Magus. The dream took on a new, frightening, dismal persona, it was more than a recurring nightmare, it was the death of her mother, and her murderer. Wynn longed to ask someone about the dream, but she knew no one would understand or be able to offer an explanation. Magic, legally, didn’t exist, Mages, Magus, Gypsies, anything remotely supernatural had been stripped from the historical records, and to talk of it was forbidden. Rumours throughout the years had led Wynn to believe magic had once been accepted and praised. Those with it were revered and respected. Now the only remnants of the old times were Gypsy folk, the race most associated with magic – for it was in their heritage and culture – were outcasts, forced to move every few weeks to avoid detection.

  Patiently she pushed the thoughts away and focused on breathing, she found her mind wandering to the Gypsy folk time and time again, it seemed to be more often than not as time was lost to Wynn in her near constant state of pain. She considered what she knew of the race, they were linked undeniably with magic, tales of palm reading and tarot cards travelled far. They had lived in the plains around Woodstone and throughout the lands but now they were exiled. Wynn had only ever seen a Gypsy once before, he was brought through the town and the inhabitants brought out to watch as the soldiers erected a gallows and walked the man to the noose and hung him. Wynn remembered it clearly; he was hung for suspicious and unacceptable behaviour. The soldiers did not need to translate it, it meant he was sentenced to die because of his heritage, of a family and lifestyle he had no control over.

  “Wynn?” A voice urged, Wynn coughed and woke up suddenly, sitting bolt upright in surprise. Cook stroked her arm and gently laid her back onto the bed, “Wynn try and eat some bread, you haven’t eaten for four days.”

  Wynn glanced around the room, swallowing as Cook's concern flooded into her and swirled like smoke through her body. To appease the feeling she took the bread and chewed on it slowly. It was soft and sweet in her mouth and due to her starvation tasted more wonderful than anything she had eaten before. She took the other slices that Cook had been holding and wolfed them down. Cook smiled proudly and sat her upright again when she was done.

  “How are you feeling today?”

  “I’m... better,” Wynn said eventually, touching her cheek warily. Her fingers touched the crust of a thin scab and she choked back a sob knowing a scar would soon follow. A permanent reminder of that which she hated most, the one thing on this earth she would do anything to see destroyed, to even think his name was disgusting. Lord Oprend. She bit her lip until she tasted her warm, salty blood. Wiping it away she closed her eyes and took a deep shaky breath to steady herself. Once she had calmed herself she swung her legs over the side of the bed and shakily stood up; the floor was cold on her bare feet. Gingerly she walked over to the mirror and stared into it. She could feel Cook’s unspoken objections but ignored them. Her reflection revolted her, her hair was limp and her face pale, dark bags were etched under her eyes and the scab was black and very visible. She turned to Cook.

  For the first time in her life she wondered about her parents, would she have had a chance to live a happy life if they were alive? Or was she always destined to serve and obey? Was the woman she saw each night in her dreams really her mother? Wynn took a deep breath.

  “Who was my mother Cook? Do you know?”

  Cook, taken completely by surprise, took a moment before she could speak. Normally Wynn would have had no option but to wait patiently but now she had access to Cook’s thoughts and emotions. Despite herself Cook began to remember while she thought of the best way to phrase what she was about to say. Wynn stumbled backwards, recovering before Cook could notice, as Cook thought about the moment she had entered Elina Fillamenth’s burnt cottage and found Wynn crying in her broken and scorched cot. Wynn had no recollection of it, she was only a few months old, but the cottage was same one she dreamt of each night, and the body... Wynn took a shaking breath as Cook remembered the broken and burnt body of Elina, sprawled under a pile of rubble. She was almost unrecognisable but through the blistered and raw skin her black hair and emerald eyes were unmistakeable. The same woman Wynn dreamt of each night.

  “I knew your mother,” Cook whispered, “it was many years ago, but she was a beautiful person, inside and out, she made her trade as the village wise woman. If I remember rightly she moved to Woodstone over two decades ago and she was well loved. She – she died That Night.”

  Cook said no more aloud, but her thoughts continued on, how horrific it was to find Elina dead, how it was another body to add to the pile of dead men, women and children. Cook had been a member of the search party, when the army had awoken and Lord Oprend had recovered. Cook had found Elina and her baby and was ordered to take Wynn straight to the Manor. It was the way of Woodstone, an orphan instantly became property of Lord Oprend and Cook had had no option. The moment Wynn was found Lord Oprend instantly claimed her and gave her to Cook, deigning her able to care for the baby, Cook had no choice but to agree. Cook remembered the days after That Night, the inhabitants were reeling from the scores of dead left in the square and Lord Oprend was agitated for Cook had done something terrible.

  Wynn listened to Cook’s guilty conscious; the moment she had woken she made her way to the Great Hall to check on Lord Oprend, Lady Oprend and their baby. She found Lady Oprend slumped on the floor, her face frozen in a blood curdling scream, holding a baby. Cook checked the infant and found it was unharmed. She took it from Lady Oprend’s clutching arms and ran from the Manor before Lord Oprend and the army woke, her only thought to save the baby, she could not willingly condemn the child to a father such as Lord Oprend. She reached the square as people were beginning to leave their homes and she seized upon her chance.

  She hid the baby in the forest, nestled between two huge oaks that overlapped, creating a small crevasse that would serve as the perfect place to both hide the baby and keep it safe. She left the baby girl on the moss that grew in the crevasse, leaving her white apron as a blanket. From the
re she made her way to square, not having to pretend to be horrified at the massacre that had ensued. The bodies were lifted free of each other and lined up so they could see who was dead. Over four hundred men, women and children lay in the amber light of sunrise. Cook helped identify the bodies until Lord Oprend entered the square, flanked by the army. In that moment the inhabitants knew things would never be same, the look of greed on Lord Oprend’s face was chilling. He ordered a search party to check if there was any left that they had not been identified. Cook gladly offered herself, glad to be able to help any way she could.

  It was some hours later when Cook, a handful of volunteers and three soldiers stumbled across the ruins of Elina Fillamenth’s cottage. Elina had been somewhat of a social recluse, her clients made their way to her cottage deep in Lumber Wood if they needed her for she rarely frequented the town. It was the last home they had left to search; the soldiers thought it a waste of time. Nothing would have happened to Elina, they reasoned, she was the village wise woman, but the plumes of smoke rising above the trees told a different story. They found the broken and torched remains of Elina’s cottage just as the sun had reached the middle of the sky. Faint crying echoed around the forest and it was then, as they stepped into the wreckage of the cottage, that Cook saw Wynn.