In Fallen Woods

by R N Merle

And another rule would be broken, the fifth rule: Never allow fear to interfere with your duty, she thought to herself with a wry smile. She had not been punished yet for breaking the daylight rule. Perhaps Vardyn had no way of knowing. Perhaps the punishments were yet to come.

  If only she were brave enough to do what was required of her, and meet what was coming head on, instead of avoiding it like a coward. But she knew she could not make herself go to Fallenoak, any more than she could make herself jump over the moon.

  She tried to decide which horror she would least like to face. Going to Fallenoak, or facing Gressyl after she had discovered she had lied about going. She knew what a punishment from Gressyl was like. Though at the time, it felt like she wouldn’t, she had lived through the punishments, and she could live through them again. If the men of Fallenoak caught her, she would not live at all.

  She heedlessly drifted through the woods as she plotted. Step after step, instinctively negotiating tree roots and overhanging branches. When at last she looked up, she realised she had wandered straight to Shadows End. From the limits of the woods, she squinted at the glaring glow of the candle lit house. Her heart sped. She told herself to go back immediately, and turned on her heel to leave, but as she did, she heard a succession of screams from the house. Instantly compelled, she crept again to the listening place by the window.

  She carefully rose to look inside. She did not understand what they were doing. They had pushed the furniture to the edges of the room. John was stumbling around the parlour, wearing a blindfold over his eyes, his arms outstretched and hands feeling. Bess and the two young boys were doing their best to stay out of his reach, squealing and laughing every time he got close to them. John grasped the youngest boy, and lifted him into the air over his head.

  The laughter pierced Darklin’s ears like red hot daggers. She blustered back into the trees. The torment returned, but seemed to have doubled in strength. She couldn’t breathe. Her chest was constricted by an impossible weight. She slid to the cold ground, rested her back against a tree, and pulled her knees up to her chest.

  For a long time she sat perfectly still, concentrating on drawing air into her lungs. The rustlings of the night creatures grew louder around her, as if they had not noticed her presence. The night drew on. Gradually, Darklin’s breathing deepened and steadied. Her hands released her knees and dropped onto the damp grass. She opened her eyes and found herself distanced from the torment, the ache in her chest, and the anguish in her head.

  In the silence and darkness, she could think with cool clarity. She prioritised her needs, deciding on the two most important. One, to keep herself safe from Fallenoak, and two; bring devastation to the Somerbornes, if it meant using up every bit of her time and magic trying.

  She sat until she sensed the approach of dawn. In the time between, she came to understand that she would not succeed if she let fear rule her. She must be sharp and bold; she must be cunning and brave.

  She thought up the exact words she would say to Gressyl when she returned, to say enough so that her tale would be convincing, but not enough to get caught out with too much detail. She mentally flipped through the pages of the book about the inhabitants of Fallenoak, recalling the details she had memorised about their vices and curses. She picked out a family from the village, one whose circumstances were similar to that of the Somerbornes.

  When she arrived back at the stone house, she took off her cloak and hovered by the stack of shelves.

  ‘Well, girl, what have you to tell me?’

  Darklin looked in Gressyl’s direction, but not at her face. The inside of her mouth was parched, she swallowed with difficulty.

  ‘I went into the village…’

  ‘What’s that? I can’t hear you, get over here.’ The witch banged her cane on the floor in front of her. Darklin went and sat crossed legged at Gressyl’s feet, looking down at her hands. She cleared her throat, and to her surprise, her rehearsed lies tripped confidently from her tongue.

  ‘I went to the house of the apothecary. The Vining family seemed to have regained their spirits since the time of your last curse.’

  ‘What was the spell I last used on them?’ Gressyl asked, as if it were one of her tests.

  ‘A curse designed to ruin their wealth. You cursed his remedies so that all who used them developed a fiery rash upon their skin. It was supposed to render him and his family impoverished and desolate, but when I listened outside their window, I heard the room was full of laughter and bright voices.’

  ‘Hmm,’ Gressyl grunted. ‘Folk are usually most troubled when they have their livelihoods and security threatened. They must be very foolish not to be worried by it.’

  Darklin looked up. ‘Is it possible the spell did not work as it should?’

  Gressyl’s eyes hardened. Darklin shrank away from her glare. Gressyl was silent for a long moment then said, ‘There are times when spells turn out differently than how we expect them to. Very occasionally they might fail. But this only means we must try harder. You must use something more powerful on them.’

  ‘Like what?’ Darklin said eagerly. The cane whipped out and struck her cheekbone. Darklin was stunned.

  ‘You must think for yourself, fool. What has been the point of learning all those spells? It is easy enough. I keep telling you; you must destroy the source of their delight. You only have to find out what it is.’

  Darklin got up slowly and stumbled over to collect the spell book, and sat down with it at the table. She was astonished that she had got away with the lie. Despite her stinging cheek, she felt light hearted and strong. For a few minutes she relished the sensation of relief fizzing through her veins, making her want to smile and weep at the same time. Now, she could devote herself entirely to finding the right curse for the Somerbornes.

  She considered everything she had heard and seen about the golden haired boy and his family for the rest of the night and into the next day. Eventually, something John had said popped into her head, ‘….as long as we have a roof above our heads,’ There it was, her answer. The farmhouse was what made them happy; its security, its brightness and comfort. Why would they worry about having no money when they had somewhere to live, and could gather food from the fields and the woods?

  With tender care, Darklin turned the pages of the book, enjoying the anticipation of finding an appropriate curse. An hour later she discovered the spell which she believed would rid her of the Somerborne torment. This time she would be victorious. She would make no mistakes. She had found a spell that was perfectly fitting, and perfectly vile.

  8

  The Plague

  The night descended, moonless and still. At Shadows End, Darklin watched the light from the parlour window flicker out, then bided her time until she could be sure the family were asleep. She paced the uneven ground at the boundary of the woods, hardly able to stand the anticipation.

  She had slept soundly through the entire day, after purposely dosing herself with a draft of the sleeping tonic she had made, and had only woken when Gressyl had summoned her. Now, she was rested and ready to use her magic. It was another night suitable for going to Fallenoak, and Darklin had told Gressyl that she was going to use her curse on the apothecary’s family. Gressyl had not seemed to suspect any kind of deception, and had looked almost pleased by Darklin’s eagerness.

  Darklin stared up at the sky. A sprinkling of stars vanished and reappeared between fleets of passing cloud. Somewhere a fox barked, its raucous call echoed and faded until the woods became silent again. To occupy her hands, Darklin pulled at the tall grass fringing the tree line, distractedly ripping the unripe seed heads from their stalks and scattering them at her feet. The high grass within her reach had all been stripped by the time she thought it was safe to approach the house.

  She advanced towards the rear of the farmhouse. Then, clinging to the wall, she slid with her back against the cool stone until she arrived at the kitchen window. Taking out a stick of charcoal, she craned her head
, and under the sill, drew the symbol of Vardyn, then ran back toward the cover of the trees.

  Once concealed at the edge of the wood, Darklin doubled over and tried to catch her breath. She took in lungful after lungful of the scented spring air, enough to make her feel nauseated, but she couldn’t stop her heart from racing. The moments to come were too important.

  She straightened, smoothed her hair away from her face, and silently prayed to Vardyn that the curse would be a success. She gathered her composure, settling her mind into a state of concentration. She closed her eyes, tightened her fist around her wand, and began to chant.

  She could feel the magic working almost instantly. The grey smoke slithered out in a thin line from the tip of her wand, and drifted towards the house. As she continued chanting, the line of smoke broadened, as if growing stronger. When it reached the house, the smoke slunk over the stone walls, twisting into a thick chain that locked around the farmhouse walls.

  Darklin could feel the cold energy inside her being used as the wand let out more and more smoke. She strained, focusing all her power, her rage and anguish into the curse. Her breathing became shallow; her limbs felt chilled and heavy. As she chanted the final words, Darklin opened her eyes in time to see the smoke blast downwards, into the ground surrounding the house. Simultaneously she felt her own energy evaporate and she sank to the earth, breathless and exhausted.

  Moments or hours later, she didn’t know which, Darklin gathered the energy to sit up, becoming unnaturally still as she watched and listened, waiting for the curse to take effect. Nothing was happening. She buried her face in her hands, trying not to despair. It must work, she told herself angrily, it must. She looked carefully around her, and then to her relief, the sound of rustling leaves filled her ears. They were stirring.

  Creeping out of the leaves and undergrowth, emerging from beneath rocks and crevices, shining black insects loomed around Darklin. They moved in a gathered mass, along branches and down tree trunks, a collected army of different species; spiders, cockroaches, stag beetles, earwigs, ants and centipedes, all with one destination in mind.

  Darklin peered at the ground. It had become a wriggling sea of glinting bodies. The sight of them made her skin prickle. She shivered in pure disgust, and was at the same time completely delighted.

  She put up her hood, tucked her hands up the sleeves of her dress, and climbed onto a tree stump in an effort to stay clear of them. She blindly shook each leg in turn to make sure none had climbed on her. She looked up again, and gleefully made out black ranks of the tiny abominations marching across the grass and up to the pretty house.

  The walls of the house gradually turned black as they assembled and climbed, seeking a place of entrance. The woods around Darklin began to still as the last of the insects followed the straggling line toward the house. When it seemed that the farmhouse had become completely blackened, the plague of intruders filed in through a downstairs window, that had been left a crack open.

  The air began to hum, and swarms of wasps and hornets dropped down the chimney like a funnel of smoke going the wrong way. Slowly, the outside walls of the house lightened back to pale stone as the creatures one by one, took up residence inside.

  Darklin laughed and jumped up and down in excitement, desperate to hear the Somerborne’s reaction. Minutes passed, no one had stirred. Darklin grew impatient. She could feel the tickle of an insect crawling up her shin, and she swatted it away angrily, then crushed it with her boot.

  She waited, but heard nothing from inside the house. She thought the dog would rouse them, at the very least. She could see the sky was starting to lighten; if she left now she would have to race home to have a chance of beating the dawn. She stamped her foot in frustration. Before she left, she couldn’t help sneaking over to the house and peering into the parlour window. On their comfortable furniture, over their pretty fabrics, between their scattered, loved possessions, everywhere was crawling with life. Darklin’s grin grew so wide it was painful.

  Darklin did not attempt to sleep when she got back. After she had given a report to Gressyl of her dealings in Fallenoak, she went to her room, relieved that her lies had again gone unnoticed. She waited until she thought it was safe, and then crawled out of her room, crossed the cold stone floor on her hands and knees, slipped out of the door, and into the wood. Her feet were light as she ran through the trees, but it still seemed an age had passed in the time it took her to reach Shadows End.

  She arrived to see the family assembled in the garden. Some pieces of furniture and a few belongings had been taken from the house, and were strewn around the garden, casting strange shadows across the grass. Doves called agitatedly from the horse chestnut, somehow managing to make their cooing sound discordant. The two young boys sat still and hunched, their faces bewildered, and Bess stood staring at the house.

  ‘They are in the barn too. Though not as many.’ John announced, as he walked across the garden to join the rest of his family. Darklin watched Bess’s face crumple as she burst into tears. John put his arm around his sister’s shoulder, and robustly wiped the tears from her cheeks with the heel of his hand. ‘Don’t worry, we’ll get rid of them.’ he told her.

  ‘They shouldn’t be there in the first place. I never heard of anything so strange. Do you think someone has done this on purpose?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ said John.

  ‘Where are we even going to sleep tonight? We can’t go back inside.’

  John considered a moment. ‘Well, tonight should be fine and mild. We can make a shelter and sleep under the stars.’

  Bess looked unconvinced. ‘Will it be warm enough for Grace?’

  ‘I’m sure she will be fine. I’ll fetch some blankets from the house.’

  ‘You can’t go in there, John, its absolutely crawling.’

  ‘They are more afraid of me than I am of them.’

  ‘If that were true, they should have all run away by now. It could be dangerous, there are wasps inside.’

  ‘I’ll be careful. No need to worry.’ replied John.

  Darklin watched John go back and forth into the house to retrieve anything he could manage to carry. Darklin was amazed that she could not detect any fear or disgust on his face, not one grimace nor shudder. After blowing and swiping away the crawling bugs, he handed the objects to Bess who organised them, folding piles of linen and clothes, and grouping together the items that belonged in each room of the house.

  ‘Tom, James, will you fetch some wood for a fire?’ John asked.

  John took hold of a large broom, propped by the kitchen door, and after opening all the windows and doors, began to sweep the insects outside.

  ‘It’s no good,’ cried Bess, ‘They go back in again as soon as you turn them out.’

  John went to the barn, and brought back with him a large sack. When he had gathered enough insects to fill it, he twisted the end.

  ‘What are you going to do with them,’ Bess asked, her face twisted in disgust.

  ‘Toss them in the river.’

  ‘We should burn them on the fire, then we’d know they won’t come back.’

  Darklin eyes were busy trailing after John, so she did not see the littlest boy enter the woods. When she heard the crack of a twig, Darklin spun round. Through the branches, she could see the boy looking in her direction. She did not think he was near enough to see her, but she did not want to take any chances. She turned and slipped into the thick foliage, and when she was sure she was out of view, bolted through the trees until she felt safe.

  When she returned that night, from the vantage point of the trees, Darklin could see Bess and John huddled in blankets, near the fire. The younger children were lying in makeshift beds, and Darklin could make out the baby’s head poking up from underneath Bess’ blanket.

  ‘If Father was here, he’d be telling the most wonderful story.’ said Bess. ‘Do you remember any of them, John?’

  John nodded.

  ‘Could you tell us one?
’

  ‘No. I couldn’t tell it like Father did.’

  ‘My favourites were always the ones about the fairy folk, and the fairy children that slept in the daisies. Do you remember, Tom?’

  ‘He’s asleep.’ said John. There was silence for a moment and then Bess spoke again, her voice lowered.

  ‘Do you think we’ll be able to get back in the house tomorrow?’

  ‘I’m not sure. I spent the whole day clearing out as many as I could, and by the time I finished, there seemed just as many as when I started.’

  ‘They will go away though, won’t they?’

  ‘I don’t see what would keep them there.’

  ‘Have you ever heard of anything like it?’

  ‘I remember Joe Trimby telling me once about the castle over in Fallenoak that had a plague of mice.’

  ‘It would make more sense if it was just one creature, but for all of them to decide at once to live in our house…..’

  ‘It does seem rather like a strange dream.’ said John.

  ‘Well, when I wake up tomorrow, I hope they have all gone.’

  Darklin watched until they were still and sleeping, then went to collect some potents to take back to the house. Her feelings about the results of the curse were mixed. She sensed that they had not fully understood their misfortune, that something, she could not tell what it was, was holding them afloat when they should be drowning. It irked her. Perhaps they were so foolish they did not realise the predicament they were in. Darklin exhaled loudly. She was frustrated, but knew she had only to be patient. It would not take long until they realised they could never have their house back as it was. Then there would be despair. She could almost taste the sweetness of it.

  Darklin returned again the next afternoon to see what was happening. The objects and furniture had been cleared away, and the fire had left a messy circle of grey ash and burnt grass. A soft but constant drizzle was falling, and she saw Bess and John were sheltering under the porch.

  ‘Mrs Day said we can stay with her as long as we need to, until we can get the house in order,’ she heard Bess say clearly. John nodded grimly in response. Darklin examined their faces, and began to feel that she was winning.