Beyond the Gates of Evermoore

by Krista Wolf

  The egg…

  It suddenly occurred to her that she should probably be looking for it already. Melody scanned the property. On the other side of the path, a line of thatched stone houses ran in a thin, low-slung row. There was a carriage house too, and beside it a barn — big and weathered but fully restored to its former beauty. She supposed the egg could be anywhere. But she’d check the mansion first.

  The grass swished against her dress as she walked. Melody turned her head back one last time to remember where the gate was. To imprint her exit point in her mind, so that when—

  What the hell?

  The gate was gone. Right where it used to be, a thick, rolling mist had enveloped the treeline.

  “Great,” she thought. “Already I’m lost.”

  She stopped walking and peered into the mist. It appeared to be moving, or maybe it was just a trick of the dying light. The treeline also seemed impossibly far, as if she’d been walking three times as long as she really had.

  It didn’t make any sense.

  Melody had run track, all throughout high school. She knew distances well, and the point at which she entered the field had to be at least a hundred and fifty yards away. The mist had swallowed the trees there and then seemingly stopped. But left and right…

  She shivered, despite the heat. Left and right the mist ran the entire length of the property, on both sides of the path. It created a big semi-circle that hugged the entire plantation grounds.

  Keep moving, her little voice told her. Her legs obeyed without being asked. Melody hiked her dress higher and started taking longer strides. The field which had been so beautiful only moments ago was creeping her out now.

  She looked up about halfway to the house. Oddly it seemed to be staring back at her. An strange sense of intrusion stole over her, as if she were some kind of interloper — unwanted and uninvited. Someone who snuck onto the Evermoore’s grounds, like a thief. Someone who definitely shouldn’t be walking on the grass.

  All of a sudden she wanted to be on the path. She could turn toward it — all she’d have to do was hang a right at a large woodpile and cut beneath the oaks. It would be easier walking for sure. And it would also—

  Her head snapped to the left. She heard a noise. Saw movement.

  What the—

  Melody froze mid-step, her body going utterly still. An unmistakable sound reached her ears, gravelly and terrifying:

  The low, angry growl of a very large dog.

  3

  The hound was stocky and ferocious, with a giant bulbous head and a body rippled with muscle. It reminded her of a bulldog, only bigger. Much stronger and angrier.

  Melody caught its gaze right away and maintained steady eye contact. Though her experience with dogs was limited, she knew enough not to look away. Outwardly she remained confident. Her expression portrayed strength, even defiance.

  Inwardly she was absolutely terrified.

  It snarled again, but she held still her ground. The dog’s eyes remained fixated on her. It raised its snout, sniffing the air, then curled its lips all the way back… revealing a nasty set of yellowed, slavering jaws.

  Another growl started up, this one even louder and angrier than the first. A second dog stepped out from behind the woodpile…

  She ran.

  There’s no way I’m making it!

  It wasn’t even a question. Melody could run fast — faster than anyone she knew — but this was totally different. First, she was wearing shoes not sneakers, and she was dressed in a ball gown. And these were dogs. They were built to run.

  She got up to speed and maxed out quickly. Even so there was nothing else to do, the house was simply too far away. She could put her head down and dig deep, maybe gain an extra step or two, but already she could hear the animals racing up behind her. Two sets of paws, digging hard into the dirt. Growing louder. Growing closer…

  She fell. It happened in an instant, and Melody was up again just as fast. Without checking her pursuers she broke through the line of oaks and emerged onto the hard road. Her shoes made loud clacking noises against the surface of the old pavers. She considered kicking them off.

  As the snarls grew louder she risked a quick look back. If they were going to catch up with her, she might as well be prepared for their spring. Maybe she could fight them off. Maybe she could—

  THWAP!

  The sound was followed by a loud squeal, and the heartbreaking cries of a very wounded animal. Melody looked again and saw a man standing over one of the dogs. He was tall and well-built, with thick blonde hair and a square-set jaw. In both his hands he held a long, wood-handled axe.

  “HI-YAAAA!”

  His shout was loud and fierce and stopped the other dog in its tracks. It skidded to an ungracious stop, its paws slipping on the worn brick path. The man raised the axe again and the dog turned and bolted. It scrambled back the way it came, disappearing beneath the thick canopy of trees.

  The man lowered the axe and turned to face her immediately. “Are you alright?”

  Melody had her hands on her knees, still gasping for breath as her savior approached. Apparently her track-running days were a lot further behind than she originally thought.

  “Y—Yes…” she breathed. “Thank you… so… much…”

  He held out an arm, offering her some support. She took it gratefully.

  “Are you sure you’re okay? I saw you fall.”

  “I’m fine,” she gasped. “But I think I… might’ve torn my dress.”

  “You did,” he said, kneeling before her. “But only a little.” He held up a scrap of material in one palm, split down the middle. “Man you run fast!’

  She chuckled nervously, half amused, half still terrified, all pumped with adrenaline. Now that she was safe her eyes went to the fallen animal. It was twitching on the pavement a moment ago, whimpering, but now it lay still.

  “Don’t look at that,” the man said. He put an arm around her and turned her toward the house. “It’s… not good.”

  There was blood, too. Blood on the ground. Blood on the blade of the—

  “Where’d you get that axe?”

  The blonde man shrugged and pointed back at the woodpile. “Found it sticking out of there.” Sure enough, a small pile of freshly split wood lay scattered around a large stump. “Lucky, eh?”

  “Very,” she agreed.

  Without realizing it, they’d begun walking together. Moving slowly in the direction of the house.

  “I’m Eric,” he said amiably. “Eric Hanham.” He offered his hand.

  “Melody,” she smiled back, taking it. “Melody Larson.”

  “Pleased to meet you Melody Larson.”

  She sighed and shook her head in disagreement. “Not half as pleased as I am to meet you.”

  The road to the house was fully shaded, and it felt good to be out of the sun. Melody was still sweating, still shaking. But at least she was safe.

  “I’m okay,” she said finally, as she took her arm from Eric’s. “Thank you.” He smiled and nodded. She was moving deliberately slow, and appreciated the fact he was kind enough to match her pace.

  They passed a mortared stone well on one side, the carriage house on the other. A noise came from the barn area — the rhythmic sounds of metal striking metal. Blacksmithing was something they would’ve done back when the place was built in the late 1700’s. Apparently, with the plantation restored, it was going on again.

  A man stepped out from the barn just as they passed by, one with dark wavy hair that fell to his shoulders. He was shirtless and glistening — every stretch of exposed skin was covered in a thin sheen of sweat. It made his chest stand out. His arms even more. As she watched, he upended a bucket of water over his head, drenching himself completely.

  His eyes blinked open and he caught Melody’s gaze. The man did a double take, as if surprised by her sudden appearance.

  She waved at him to say hi. Reluctantly at first, sheepishly, he raised one big arm to si
gnal back.

  “Who’s that?”

  “Hell if I know,” said Eric.

  The man was still staring at her awkwardly. He had striking blue eyes. A stubbled chin. Eventually he dropped the bucket and turned away, heading back in the direction of the barn.

  “Where’d you come from anyway?” Melody asked as they walked. It was odd that the question had only just now occurred to her.

  “Stepped out from behind one of these trees,” Eric said with a short laugh. “Remember? You were there.”

  She looked him up and down as if seeing him for the first time. He wore a gentleman’s coat and vest, all black with gold buttons. Shoes with silver-washed colonial buckles. Everything he had on was period dress, just like her.

  “I know that, but why are you here?”

  He smirked at her. It was a knowing smirk. “I could ask you the same thing actually,” he said.

  “I’m an invited guest,” Melody told him. “There’s a ball tonight.”

  “There’s a ball every night,” he laughed.

  “What?”

  “Nothing,” Eric said dismissively. He gestured at his own outfit. “Look at me. I’m an arriving guest, just like you.”

  Melody gave him another once-over but said nothing. There were almost to the house now. Her legs had finally stopped trembling.

  “Listen,” he said, leaning in confidentially, “I’m just like you. I’m here for the same thing you are.”

  “The cotillion?” she asked innocently.

  Eric’s gaze shifted back and forth for a moment before falling back on her own.

  “No,” he whispered. “I’m here for the egg.”

  4

  Melody stood at the base of the porch, trying not to be stunned. They were in the shadow of the house now. It loomed over them like a living thing.

  “You’re here for what?” she asked carefully.

  “For what I just said,” Eric answered. His voice dropped even lower. “Don’t make me say it again.”

  “But—”

  “You think you’re the only one sent here by the Order?”

  Now she was stunned. The Hallowed Order was never to be acknowledged outwardly, at least not for what it was. The only exception of course was to other members. Melody stared back at him, completely uncertain.

  “Ah,” said Eric, “you still don’t believe me. Here. Look.”

  He rolled up one sleeve. A large tattoo snaked its way up his forearm, all black and grey and filled in with intricate detail. Tribal bands gave way to a lion, a rose, a swooping dove. And further up, past his bulging bicep… a familiar eye, its pupil etched with a crescent moon, buried within the other designs. An eye set in a circle, against interlocking triangles.

  The symbol of the Hallowed Order.

  “So you’re…”

  “Here for the same thing you are. Sent by Aldwyn.”

  Aldwyn. Melody turned the name over in her mind. It definitely sounded familiar. She was sure she’d heard it in her time at the Blackstone.

  Eric rolled his sleeve back into place. “And who sent you?”

  She paused, but only for a moment. “Xiomara.”

  Eric laughed. “Oh man, sucks for you. I’d hate to have to report back to her. Especially if I couldn’t find the…” His voice trailed off as he glanced around again. “Well, you know.”

  Melody’s face went flush with anger. Xiomara! This was supposed to be her first assignment. Her first unassisted assignment! And now here was someone else, sent perhaps even to babysit her. Or at the very least, to help out.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” Melody said, just a little too quickly.

  “Doesn’t seem like nothing.”

  “It’s just that…” She sighed in frustration. “I thought I was being sent here alone. I work well alone,” she added, although that part was a bit of a stretch. “No offense.”

  “None taken,” shrugged Eric. “And hey, I didn’t know you were here either,” he admitted. “Not until I saw you out in the field.” He stopped himself, then chuckled. “Hey, you came out of left field! That’s kinda funny, right?”

  Melody tried her best not to be amused. “A little,” she conceded.

  “Maybe they wanted us to help each other?”

  She shook her head reflexively. “I really don’t need any help.”

  “I dunno,” he said, scratching his chin. “Looks like you definitely might’ve needed some help back there…”

  Melody followed his gaze back to the road. Off in the distance, the dog was gone. Probably limped off, although she couldn’t see how. Thinking the animal might be okay made her feel somewhat better at least.

  “Look,” said Eric. “I didn’t mean to—”

  “No, no,” she relented, resting a hand on his arm. She couldn’t help but notice it was a firm arm. “This has nothing to do with you. I promise. It’s just that… well…”

  “You thought you were riding solo.”

  She sighed and smiled. “Yeah, that.” Melody bit her lip. “I guess I’m just being an asshole.”

  “Nah. I get it.” Eric’s voice was soft and understanding. Consoling, but without trying to placate her. “They’re always springing shit like this on us, aren’t they?”

  Melody laughed out loud. “Yes. Yes they are.”

  “So let’s make the best of it,” he said.

  “Okay.”

  “Find this stupid thing and get out of here?”

  She nodded. “Definitely.”

  “Good.”

  Melody took a deep breath and let it out slowly as they stepped onto the porch. She was feeling better already. The big antebellum mansion was imposing, to say the least. Locating what they were after might take a while, and two heads were always better than one.

  The Order must really want this thing, she thought to herself. Badly.

  Enormous columns streaked upward on either side of them, stretching twenty-five feet in the air. Stepping past them, Eric knocked three times against the thick, painted door. The sound barely registered. When no one answered he knocked again, harder this time.

  He turned to her and raised an eyebrow.

  “Oh, and can I say one more thing?”

  “Shoot.”

  Eric winked. “You look cute when you bite your lip.”

  5

  “You can read people,” a woman once told her. “Hear their thoughts, their emotions, even share in their hopes and dreams. You have the gift of insight — one of the rarest gifts that can ever be given. But it must be cultivated. Tempered with caution, and moderation.”

  Melody had been fourteen at the time. Fourteen and secreted inside the strange dark tent at the heart of the fairgrounds, surrounded by a thousand people enjoying the Renaissance Festival. The “gypsy” woman confided that she wasn’t a gypsy at all. She was a tarot card reader who, self-admittedly, didn’t have any of the gifts her grandmother once possessed. By the end of the reading, she’d even given Melody her money back. She did it almost fearfully. With reverence and respect.

  “Be very careful how you use your insight,” the woman had warned. “Employed correctly your gift can bring you great things… but also enormous sorrow.”

  She’d left the Oracle’s tent more confused than ever. Up until that day, Melody always assumed she had good intuition. That everyone could read people the way she did, only maybe she was better than most. She couldn’t see the future any more than she could shit gold. Couldn’t conjure up the winning lottery numbers, or tell when a plane crash was about to happen, or anything even remotely that useful. All she got was bits and pieces of the present. Flashes of memory, of emotion and instinct, from the person she focused on at the time.

  Her friends had laughed at her story. They cared little about her experience in the tent, and wanted to talk only about their own. It was all silly stuff, too. Boys. School. Love…

  It wasn’t until she returned to the Oracle the next day, on her own, that Melody real
ized what she truly had. At first the woman wasn’t too happy to see her. She could feel it — no, even see it in her mind’s eye. The Oracle feared what she could do, and the more it seemed to scare her the more it frightened Melody as well. By the end of their second encounter however, the woman had softened. She was consoling toward Melody, which she needed, but also guided her in new directions.

  “Take this,” she’d said, opening a darkened drawer. She pressed something cold into Melody’s hand — a thin token, carved from jade. On one side it was intricately etched with a symbol. On the other, an address had been scratched crudely with the head of a pin.

  “Contact them,” the woman had told her. “Show them this was given to you, and they might help you.”

  Melody had no idea who ‘they’ were. But the address on the back of the token — somewhere in upstate New York — had changed her life forever. She began receiving letters at first, hand-written missives inquiring about what she could do. She described all of it, every last detail, listing encounters and examples and how she generally felt before, during, and after using her ‘gift’.

  A week later two people had come — a man and a woman. They approached her cautiously and in secret, but with a warmth and openness that quickly eased her fears. They could show her how to use her gift, they told her. Teach her how to call upon it, to turn it off and on. She was not to inform her parents. Not to inform anyone. If she did, there would be no more visits. No more knowledge.

  Melody kept her promise.

  Shortly after her eighteenth birthday a car arrived for her. It took her to the airport, where she was flown to New York on a private jet. It was her first time in an airplane — her first time ever being so far from home. Her grandmother had been wary of her choosing outside study rather than going straight to college. Her parents would’ve objected outright, but an accident had taken them from her when she was only ten.

  Blackstone Manor was an all new place, where she began an all new life. Xiomara was there to greet her when she arrived. The tiny African woman stood at the massive front doors, wearing a bright red robe and muttering a stream of colorful but hilarious curse-words.