In Fallen Woods

by R N Merle

  ‘Mornin’.’ he said.

  ‘Have you been at these pots?’ Bess asked, an annoyed edge to her voice.

  ‘No, I thought you might.’

  ‘Of course not. I don’t spend my time cleaning up, just to make a mess.’ Bess stood on a chair and moved the pots back to their place.

  John stiffened, sure now that someone had been in the house.

  ‘I fear Willow’s taken sick. When I came down he wouldn’t wake up.’ John told her.

  ‘Poor old thing. What’s wrong with him?’

  ‘I cannot tell. Is there bacon left?’

  ‘Not for Willow’s breakfast.’ Bess said, looking around the kitchen distractedly. ‘He’s probably worn himself out, chasing the sheep around.’

  ‘It’s not that. Something’s wrong.’ John said.

  ‘What?’ said Bess distractedly. ‘I can’t find Mother’s vase, the one she used to put roses in.’

  ‘When did you last see it?’

  ‘Yesterday. I put daffodils in it yesterday afternoon, and left it on the window sill.’

  ‘One of the boys might have broken it.’

  ‘Oh, I hope not, John. It always cheers me up putting flowers in it like Mother used to.’

  ‘Is there anything else amiss?’

  ‘I don’t know. Why?’

  ‘Better have a look.’

  ‘Why? Do you think we’ve been robbed?

  ‘I don’t know. Something is not right.’ John said.

  ‘I should see if they’ve taken Mother’s necklace.’

  Bess rushed to a small wooden box on the mantle in the parlour, where her mother had kept her keepsakes and jewellery.

  ‘It’s still there.’ she said amazed, caressing the coral beads in her palm. ‘Surely that would be the most obvious thing to take. It is the most valuable thing in the house, and was hardly well hidden. It can’t be robbers.’

  ‘Better keep looking, just in case.’ John replied, searching in his pocket for his father’s bone handled knife, feeling his stomach lurch when he realised it was not there. He and Bess moved silently around the house, unsure of what they would, or would not find.

  * * *

  Like a true witch of Vardyn, Darklin slept through the entire day. She was swollen eyed and thick headed when Gressyl’s knock woke her, and she noticed a dull ache in her neck and limbs as she stretched. She had not expected that delivering the curse would deplete so much of her energy. She was irritated with herself for sleeping so long, and missing the Somerborne’s reaction to her spell. She had wanted to be there just after first light to witness their confusion and distress when they found that their money and valuables had vanished. Now, she would only see the aftermath.

  Still, it will be satisfying, she thought brightly. They’d had the whole day to contemplate their ruin, and she would still be able to witness their desolate faces, and have the relief of knowing their laughter had been silenced. The thought of them no longer made her feel heavy hearted and oppressed, instead she felt powerful and pleased with herself. She got up and hurried out of her room, groaning inwardly when she thought of all the chores she had to do before she could get out of the house.

  Gressyl watched over her as she prepared her own meal for the first time, telling her which bits of meat to cut, and pointing out the few tiny scraps which she could discard. She tipped the meat and bones into a boiling pot of water, hanging over the fire. Gressyl instructed her to add a tiny sprig of rosemary, stressing that she should not waste their supplies of herbs in cooking. The result was unappetising, but not anymore repulsive than the meal Gressyl usually prepared, so Darklin considered she had done well enough. She spooned burning hot mouthfuls of the thin liquid down her throat as fast as she could manage, until her bowl was empty.

  At the first opportunity, she left the house, having hurriedly informed Gressyl that she would be going to check the traps. As she hurried towards Shadows End, she didn’t recognise the lightness and energy of excitement, the feeling that she could walk without tiring.

  She was getting used to following small signs she had noted along the way; a fallen log she scrambled over, the skull and antlers of a deer covered with black moss, and the opening of an old badger set.

  As she neared the farmhouse, she could see light coming from the parlour window. The night is not young, and they have not yet gone to bed, probably they are too scared to, Darklin thought with pleasure, experiencing the first sweet taste of her victory. She crept up to the house as sleek as a cat, and concealed herself under the parlour window.

  ‘It is as if they knew exactly what to take….’ she heard the girl Bess say. She spoke quietly as if dejected. Darklin couldn’t resist peeking through the glass to look at their faces, and then wished she hadn’t. Inside, the Somerborne children were seated in a row on the settle, with their feet resting on a low bench. With a blanket draped over the five of them, they were a perfect illustration of comfort and cosiness. They sat opposite a roaring fire, blazing to ward off the chill, and the evils of the night. Evils like me, Darklin thought as she drew her cloak around her. The three smallest children were asleep, the baby wrapped in John’s arms, and the two boys each cuddled against an older sibling. Darklin had not been prepared for another picture of contentment; this one perhaps worse than the sunshine and terrible laughter. The discomfort in her chest came again, stronger than ever.

  ‘…what it would hurt us most to lose.’ Bess continued.

  Darklin watched as John’s brow furrowed in thought. ‘I think you are right.’ he said.

  ‘If they hadn’t taken what belonged to Mother and Father, then it would not be so bad,’ said Bess, ‘But those were the only things we had left. They would be so disappointed. Especially Mother. Her poor roses.’

  There was silence for a moment, and then John said slowly. ‘We have our memories of them. I think they would want us to remember that we have each other, and that is the most important thing. And we have enough to eat and a roof over our heads, we are safe and warm and loved; that is what would have made them happy. You never know, those things might be found, they may yet turn up somewhere.’

  Darklin did not think this was likely, especially when she didn’t even know where she had frenziedly buried them in the darkness.

  ‘Now, come on, I think it’s time everyone was in bed. We’ll feel better in the morning.’ said John.

  ‘Yes. I feel worn out and a hundred years old. And poor Grace has been crying all day for her blanket.’ Bess sighed. ‘Who would steal a baby’s blanket?’

  ‘Perhaps someone who needed one for their own babe.’ John replied.

  ‘I just can’t understand why they didn’t take what was most obvious. My coin purse was left out in the hallway, I can’t believe they would not have seen it.’

  Darklin’s stomach lurched, her ears burned red. Something had gone wrong. The spell had not worked as it should…

  ‘Do you think we should get another dog?’ Bess whispered, ‘He certainly wasn’t much help last night.’ She softly poked the dog that was stretched out asleep under John’s legs. It looked up, yawned and went straight back to sleep.

  ‘I wonder if he was dosed with something to make him sleep.’ John pondered.

  ‘Perhaps we should bring the geese in instead, we’ll be certain to hear them if they are disturbed.’

  ‘Hmmm,’ John said distractedly, trying to extricate himself from under his brother’s sleeping body. ‘Can you take Grace, and I’ll put the boys to bed.’

  Bess carefully took the sleeping baby from John’s arms. ‘You don’t think they’ll come back tonight, do you?’

  ‘I’m sure they won’t. I’ll lock up all the doors in case. We will be perfectly safe.’

  Bess nodded. ‘Goodnight.’

  ‘Sleep well.’ said John.

  Darklin watched them tend to the fire, blow out the candles and leave the room, and then sat with her back to the wall, fiercely battling an onslaught of tears. She had been elated
at the idea of seeing them crushed, she had not realised, had never anticipated the cost of having her hopes and plans come to nothing. They were not ruined. They were not even in despair. They were calmly sitting by the fire, and she was burning with anguish.

  She crept back into the wood’s darkness, feeling better when she sensed she could not be seen. Now she let the tears pool in her eyes. She was so unused to being overpowered by her emotions, she felt helpless and weak, and then angry with herself for feeling that way. She did not like to cry. It had happened only a few times during Gressyl’s punishments, and when Gressyl had noticed, she had always found ways to make the punishment worse. Darklin had become skilled at smothering her tears, but she could not quell the pain of this failure and defeat.

  She had never considered that the curse would not work. She was sure she had executed it exactly as the spell book had directed. She thought of all the effort and worry she had been through the previous night. It had been for nothing. She had little doubt that it would not take more than a day for the Somerborne’s to get over the things that they had lost. By tomorrow, they will be laughing again, she thought bitterly.

  The torment renewed its urgency in her heart. She couldn’t bear thinking that she had let them cause her pain again. A squall of impotence and hatred ripped through her. She smacked her open hand against a tree trunk as she passed, trying to drive out the energy of her rage, but only succeeded in gashing her palm.

  She stopped by the water pool on the way back to the house to clean the wound, and wash away the evidence of her tears. She could not let Gressyl see that something had disturbed her. She repeatedly pressed her cold, dripping fingers over and around her eyes to rid herself of any redness and swelling, ignoring how the open cut stung sharply as she did so.

  She slunk back inside the house. Gressyl looked up at her as she entered. ‘No meat tonight?’ Gressyl asked suspiciously.

  Darklin shook her head, and then turned her back to hang up her cloak and hide her face.

  ‘Nothing for tomorrow’s supper. It’ll be a soup of bones for you.’

  Darklin snatched up the spell book, and sat down at the table. She looked over the curse she had used, to make sure that she had not left anything out, and was no less convinced that she had performed it exactly as the book had instructed. But she knew that there were valuable items left untouched in the Somerborne’s house, so the spell must somehow have failed. She wondered what exactly had gone into the sack. If only she had taken the time to look…

  The fault must be with my magic, she concluded. My power is weak, she thought miserably. She imagined herself writing the first page of her own spell book; the curse had been a disaster and did not deserve one lowly black pentagram. Darklin shut the spell book, leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes, trying to think of what she should do next.

  She was sick to her core of the Somerborne’s, sick of wasting all her thoughts on them. She wished she could snap her fingers and they would disappear, never to be see again. If only she had that power.

  If she never went to Shadows End again, she wondered how long it would take to forget them. Surely, it would happen over time; over many months, perhaps years. She had an intuition, though, that she would never forget the golden haired boy, John, even if she lived to be a hundred.

  But if her magic did not work on them, she felt she had no choice but to avoid them, pretend she had never set eyes on him, or knew of the existence of the pretty farmhouse at the edge of the woods. I will banish them from my thoughts, she announced to herself. Only she would know how she had let herself be beaten. It would be her secret, her burden to carry. Surely, she thought, Gressyl herself had not always been successful, there must have been times when she had failed. Darklin wanted to ask her, but was sure Gressyl would think it an impertinence.

  All the next day, Darklin lay awake in the darkness of her room, drained and despondent, her thoughts too addled to let her rest. She told herself that the first few days would be the hardest, as everything was still fresh in her mind. The torment was vicious and determined. Soon though, it would begin to fade. It must.

  The afternoon was the longest Darklin had ever known. The torment would not let her forget the sound of the Somerborne’s laughter, and all the while another voice inside taunted her that she had let them win. She gripped her blanket with whitened knuckles and gritted her teeth. She tried to block out their echoes in her ears, the images of them in the sunlit garden, and under the blanket by the fire. She tossed and turned and yearned to scream out loud.

  She tried reciting spells and potions in her head, to distract her from the memories, ‘A raging rash: poison oak, hawthorn berries and nettles’….she muttered to herself, but the images and sounds always found a way to break through the walls she put up in her mind, and she would be overcome. In desperation, she began again with another potion, her thoughts becoming a nightmarish loop of listed words, and excruciating memories.

  Night again. Darklin swallowed down sips of hot water and bones. She was too exhausted to care how disgusting it tasted. She lifted some liquid in her spoon, then studied the trickle as she tipped it back into the bowl.

  ‘Tonight is a moonless night.’

  Darklin jumped at the sound of Gressyl’s voice. She was speaking out of turn, interrupting the usual pattern of the night.

  ‘You will go into Fallenoak and find a victim for your first curse.’

  Darklin choked on her broth. Surely Gressyl did not mean she would go alone.

  ‘I must go?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You will not come with me?’

  ‘No, you must go on your own.’

  Darklin frowned in disbelief, it had never occured to her that Gressyl would not go with her. It did not make sense, Gressyl was always so watchful. She imagined herself setting out on the long route through the woods alone, then creeping over the bridge and into the dark streets. Her heart raced and her brow beaded with cold sweat. She knew in her heart she did not have the courage to do it. It was impossible that she could will herself to go there. She would have to try telling Gressyl again.

  She had no doubt of Gressyl’s reaction; she would be punished and severely. Darklin tried to anticipate exactly what she might face. Until now, she had learned to manage her actions around Gressyl, trying not to be clumsy, or let her mind wander, or ask too many questions, all things which she had been beaten for. But the reprimands lately were for things she could not predict, like being hit for double checking the spell book.

  However, Gressyl could do worse than hit. The longer Gressyl considered her punishments, the more cruel they became. She suspected that it would not just be one single punishment, but one that would last as long as she refused to do what Gressyl wanted. Night after night, until she gave in.

  Darklin shuddered, feeling sick to her stomach. She pushed the bowl of half eaten, grey mixture away from her, and lay her head down on the table, thoroughly miserable. She watched the steam rise from the bowl and disappear, wishing that she too could simply, slowly, silently, vanish into the air; transported to a place where she could not think, could not feel.

  She got up to fetch the water, delaying the inevitable as long as possible. She walked slowly to the water pool, formulating the words she would say to Gressyl. But it wouldn’t make any difference which way she put it, Gressyl would react in the same way. Darklin returned to the house, leaden footed. As soon as she had put the last bucket by the door, Gressyl insisted that she smeared her face with soot. Darklin, obedient out of habit, went through the motions of covering her face.

  There was no time left to stall, she would have to say it now. Just as she took a breath to speak out, Gressyl started talking, ‘Be sure you are not seen. You must be invisible, girl. If you are seen you are as good as dead, do you understand me? If you see anyone, or hear anyone, you must hide at once and when it is safe, go back into the woods.’

  Darklin did not hear what she said. She could see Gr
essyl’s mouth moving, but all she could think was, I must say it now. Before she knew what was happening, she heard Gressyl shout, ‘Go on then!’ and Darklin was pushed out of the door which slammed behind her, before she had a chance to speak.

  Darklin took a few steps and then crouched down amongst the dead undergrowth outside the house. It seemed foolish to go back inside. She wondered what to do. Should she start walking in the direction of Fallenoak, so that she could at least tell Gressyl that she had tried? But even the thought of walking toward the place filled Darklin with terror.

  Darklin seated herself on the hard ground, placing her chin on her hands. She couldn’t bring herself to get up and go back inside to explain. What would happen, she thought, if she waited here all night? She could wait until dawn was moments away from rising, then when she went back inside, perhaps there would be no time left for explanations, at least until darkness fell again.

  Would Gressyl know if she hadn’t been to Fallenoak? At once, a feeble hope rose in Darklin’s mind. If she didn’t go to Fallenoak, could Gressyl be deceived into believing that she had?

  At first she dismissed the thought. It was not in her power to trick one so artful as Gressyl. But slowly her mind became alive with the possibility of it. Still not sure if the idea was one of insanity, she allowed that it might be the very way to solve her predicament.

  It was cold. Darklin got up from the ground and starting walking. She would have to move to keep warm if she was to stay out most of the night. The idea of not going to Fallenoak, and not having to tell Gressyl, was so temptingly sweet. She considered how such a scheme might be successfully accomplished. There was so much to think of: how would she calculate the time she would have to spend away from the house; how she would need to invent a description of what she had done and seen in the village; what person she would pick to be the recipient of her curse.

  Also, there were the consequences to consider. If Gressyl couldn’t be fooled, there would be a hideous punishment, she was sure of that.