In Fallen Woods

by R N Merle

  ‘Hello,’ John said. ‘Mrs Day, may I introduce you to our friend, Darklin.’

  ‘How do you do, my dear?’ The woman had pink flushed cheeks, and bright blue curious eyes. The corners of her mouth rested in such a way that she seemed always to smile. She wore her hair about her shoulders. It was pure white, thick and lustrous.

  As Darklin met her gaze, their eyes locked. Darklin felt peculiar, like the woman could see inside her, could read all her secrets. Mrs Day had some knowledge of charms, and consequently some knowledge of witches. Darklin wondered exactly how much she knew, and was put on guard. She frowned and lowered her eyes to the floor, and nodded in response.

  Darklin found she did not have a word to say, and listened silently as the rest of them chatted and laughed. It was not long before Darklin had to return to Gressyl’s house. Before she left, she caught the woman’s eye again. The woman smiled, but Darklin sensed there was something more behind it, an unspoken communication. For once Darklin was glad to leave, she needed time to work out what she should feel about Mrs Day. The Somerbornes were obviously very fond of her, but Darklin hoped that she would not see her often.

  June vanished in a haze of soft heat. After weeks of visiting almost every day, Darklin found herself increasingly at ease around the Somerbornes. Only James and Willow maintained a cautious distance. John and Bess were unfailingly kind and friendly, and Tom became bolder, asking her questions, particularly when John or Bess were not within hearing.

  ‘Miss Darklin, are you a nun?’ he asked. Darklin faced him as they sat at the kitchen table on a wet afternoon. James sat in another of the chairs, only his head was visible above the table top. He watched Darklin with interest, though when she tried to meet his gaze, he hid his eyes from her.

  ‘I am not.’ she replied.

  ‘Then are you in mourning? Is that why you wear black?’

  ‘No.’ said Darklin.

  ‘Where is it you live?’

  ‘Far away, on the other side of the woods.’

  ‘Can I see it? Have you been there long?’

  ‘You cannot see it. It is very far away. If you ever tried to find it, you would get lost.’

  ‘Do you have any brothers?’ Tom continued.

  ‘No, none.’

  ‘Where is your mother and father. Are they dead?’

  ‘Tom, that is enough.’ Bess scolded as she re-entered the room, carrying with her a pile of clothes to be mended.

  Darklin wasn’t keen on being questioned, it was difficult for her to know how to reply, she worried if she had given too much away. But as she thought through her conversation with Tom, one question stuck in her mind, and she thought of it more and more throughout the afternoon. Who was her father?

  She had always believed that he must be dead, but still she did not know one thing about him, not even his name. She was struck by the strangeness of it, why had she not thought of him before?

  An image of a bearded man with dark wavy hair and crinkling eyes slipped into her head. Was that him? It was possible that she had seen him when she was young, and did not fully remember him. She couldn’t imagine Gressyl tolerating the company of a man, it went against the rules of Vardyn. A witch must be solitary. Perhaps it had happened before Gressyl promised herself to the coven.

  Who was her father? The question wouldn’t leave her mind, and later that night as Gressyl handed her the sleeping tonic, she found she had the courage to ask Gressyl directly.

  ‘I have a question.’ she said quietly.

  ‘What is it?’ Gressyl said.

  ‘Watching the families in Fallenoak, it has made me wonder, who was my father?’

  Gressyl did not answer. Slowly, Darklin looked up at Gressyl’s face. It was ashen. Teetering, Gressyl reached for the wall to hold herself up. Instinctively, Darklin stretched out her hand to help, but then drew it back again. She never touched Gressyl, and believed that she would not want her to.

  Gressyl’s head drooped onto her arm, a sheen of sickly perspiration covered her face, and her breathing was shallow. Darklin thought that she should do something, so she pushed Gressyl’s chair near to her. The chair groaned loudly as it scraped across the floor. Darklin reached for Gressyl, reluctantly deciding she would have to help her to the chair.

  ‘Don’t touch me!’ Gressyl rasped. Darklin dropped her arms to her sides, and watched as Gressyl precariously dropped into the seat.

  ‘Do you want some water?’ Darklin asked.

  ‘No.’

  After a few minutes Gressyl’s breathing slowed, and she opened her eyes. She fixed Darklin in her sight and gasped roughly.

  ‘Never ask that again. Now leave.’

  Darklin withdrew to her chamber, busily speculating on why Gressyl had reacted so strongly. She ruled out the idea that it was due to the loss of a husband. Gressyl only cared about witchcraft. The more she thought of it, the more unimaginable it seemed that Gressyl had once been married. Or perhaps that was why it was painful, perhaps she had been a child born out of wedlock, and she and Gressyl had been cast out. It would certainly explain some of Gressyl’s opinions. She started to imagine Gressyl alone with a young baby. She thought of Bess and Grace, and all the nurturing, patience and gentleness needed to care for a baby. She could not imagine that Gressyl had ever done this for her. It seemed impossible that Gressyl could ever be so tender…

  Darklin closed her eyes, and fell asleep trying to ignore the irritation of her unanswered questions. When she woke, her head was full of a vivid dream of a family. They were seated around a table in a white-walled cottage kitchen, and Darklin herself occupied one of the places. The mother had her back to Darklin, and was busy stirring a pot on the range. Sat at the table, there was the crinkling eyed man, she had imagined hours before, with a fair haired baby seated on his knee. A small black haired, dark eyed girl sat across from her, playing with a spoon. A large loaf of bread lay in the middle of the table, along with a plate of small shining fish, and a jug of milk.

  The man took out a length of cord from his pocket, ‘Who can show me a shank knot?’ he said in a deep, melodious voice. The little girl cried ‘Me, me!’ And then Darklin had picked up the baby from his father’s knee and carried it toward the kitchen doorway. As she stepped over the threshold, she found herself in the Somerborne’s kitchen. She started in surprise. The Somerbornes were also seated around the kitchen table, but there wasn’t a space for her. She turned to look behind her, but the doorway to the other family had disappeared, and been replaced by a solid stone wall, and the child in her arms had vanished. For an instant, panic, loss, and the sense of being alone, engulfed her. Then she woke.

  14

  The Rainbow

  As weeks passed, the colours of the woods deepened from silver green to emerald, and the meadows burnished gold with the steady warmth of the sun. At Shadows End, fruit ripened in the orchard, and bees and butterflies danced over the cornflowers and clover in the garden.

  Darklin relished all the subtle changes taking place around her, harvesting memories of all the precious hours she spent at Shadow’s End. She found more and more that the Somerbornes twined themselves around her heart. The need to hear their voices, to receive their attention, to know the important and mundane happenings of their lives, opened a new void inside her. She was not content to be by herself, she wanted to be with them; she wanted to be one of them.

  For the first time that she could remember, she was enjoying being alive. Each morning as she awoke, she was filled with joyful anticipation as she wondered what the coming day would bring. She wished that the hours she spent at Shadows End could last forever. But the summer nights returned sooner with every sunset, and as darkness fell, Darklin’s old fears returned to haunt her.

  There was much to be afraid of; the consequences of breaking Vardyn’s rules, and the fear of being caught out by Gressyl, gnawed at her contentment. But most of all, she thought how happy she was, and this scared her most. Part of her was always waiting for the
bad to come out of the good, Gressyl’s words rung in her ears, ‘No happiness goes unpunished, be it by Witch or by fate.’

  On the last day in July, the river valley lay bathed in a misty golden light, which lingered throughout the day, gilding the trees and meadows with an amber glow. In the early afternoon, Darklin and the Somerbornes stood lined up on the riverbank, beside the small mooring that held John’s boat. The two youngest boys squirmed with excitement. John had been promising them a trip on the river all summer. It had been decided that everyone would go, and Bess had prepared food to take with them, so they would not have to hurry back.

  The boat dipped and bobbed in the water as John stepped sure-footedly aboard and readied the oars in the rowlocks. Bess positioned herself at the stern, with James on her lap, one arm tightly around his middle. Tom jumped in of his own accord, causing the boat to abruptly tip to one side. John snatched a hand out to stop Tom from falling overboard, and Bess gripped the side of the boat, until it slowly steadied itself. John gave Tom a reprimanding look, which Tom returned with a look of surprised innocence.

  As Darklin waited her turn, she held Grace tightly in her arms. Grace twisted, and drew up her hand to stroke Darklin’s cheek, then tangled her small fingers in Darklin’s hair. Though she pulled painfully, Darklin didn’t attempt to stop her.

  Darklin could not help but feel excited about the trip. It had occurred to her that she might be seen by others using the river, but she was tired of being fearful, and so ignored the nagging voice in her head that warned her there might be danger.

  As her turn neared, Darklin took a step closer to the river, and as she did so, studied her reflection in the water. She inhaled sharply at the changes she saw. In the shimmering image, it was clear that she had gained weight and health, the hard angles and hollows of her cheekbones had softened, her skin had become dewy, and her complexion touched with colour. Her eyes were no longer dull and shadowed; they shone softly. She hardly recognised herself.

  ‘Darklin? Are you coming?’ John prompted. She met his eyes with a startled expression, and he smiled slightly as he held out his arms to take Grace from her. She carefully passed Grace over, and climbed down into the boat, feeling its unsteadiness, and adapting her movements accordingly. She took her place at the bow, and John handed Grace back to her. John untied the rope just as Willow streaked across the bank and dived nose first into the boat, taking his place under John’s legs. John cast off and manoeuvred the boat into the centre of the broad water. The stroke of his oars soon obtained an easy rhythm, and Darklin couldn’t help but watch the turn and pull of his shoulder muscles under his white shirt as he rowed.

  At first, the fact she was relying on a layer of wood to keep her safe unnerved her. She could not swim, if she should somehow fall into deep water she would be helpless. She wondered if anyone aboard the boat could swim, and her arms unconsciously tightened around Grace’s waist, as she brushed her lips against Grace’s soft cheek.

  Darklin tried to imagine what it was like for the others, believing that the river was responsible for the death of their parents. She looked down over the side of the boat. The deep green water was so peaceful and still, it was hard to believe that it was capable of such murderous currents.

  As the boat progressed downstream, the river curved and widened. It’s banks were lush with trees, growing right to the edge of the water, some of the branches stretched out over the river on either side, as if attempting to bridge the rift in the woods, caused by the wide expanse of water. In places the trees thinned out to reveal meadowlands grazed by sheep, and then marshes where osiers crowded the water.

  After a while, they came to a point where the waterway divided, and instead of following the main stream that led to Clearwell, John steered the boat down a narrower course, less used by people.

  The soft sun and the soporific sound of the water lapping against the side of the boat, soon lulled Grace into sleep, and Darklin herself relaxed with the calm motion of the boat. As John rowed in steady silence, Bess quietly pointed out different things for James to look at; dragonflies and moorhens, duckweed and minnows. But the peace did not last long. Tom begged for a turn at rowing. He was not content to take just one oar, and pestered John incessantly. When they reached a particularly shallow stretch of the river, John relented. He moved carefully next to Darklin and Grace. As he sat down, his arm brushed against Darklin’s. She made as much room for him as she could, trying not to feel unsettled by his close proximity.

  ‘Now Tom, whatever happens, just keep hold of the oars.’ John told him solemnly. Tom awkwardly manoeuvred the heavy oars. He had trouble positioning them in the water, and they turned uselessly in the air. Then, for a few strokes he began to make progress, but as his right arm was stronger than his left, the boat began to turn in a slow circle. He instinctively let go of the right oar to aid the left, and it slipped from the rowlock into the water, and began drifting away.

  Careful not to rock the boat, John climbed over the side. Although the current was gentle, the oar had already bobbed a little way downstream. John waded after it, but he was not quick enough. He stretched out in the water.

  ‘Can he swim?’ asked Darklin.

  ‘One the harvesters taught him years ago.’ replied Bess. ‘There was one year you could hardly get him out of the water. Has he caught it yet?’

  ‘Not yet.’ said Darklin, as she watched John kick and rotate his arms in the water.

  ‘Tom, you should have been more careful.’ chided Bess.

  ‘It was an accident.’ he replied scowling. Angry with embarrassment, he stomped to the bow to sit next to Darklin, his arms folded over his chest.

  ‘You were making fair progress, until you dropped the oar,’ Darklin said. ‘Next time you’ll know what to do.’

  Tom grunted in reply, and the frown slowly faded from his features.

  John retrieved the oar, and waded back to them. He pulled the boat toward the bank by a water meadow, and tied it to a tree. He looked less than pleased, as his clothes clung to the contours of his body, and water dripped steadily from the ends of his hair and down his back. John helped them out of the boat, then excused himself to find somewhere to wring out his clothes discreetly, with Willow at his heels.

  While they waited, Darklin stretched out in the warm grass, and her eyes wandered lazily to the boat left under the shade of the trees. She couldn’t help being reminded of Vardyn, of how she had been lured into a boat by her false lover. When she had first heard the story, she had thought Vardyn was foolish and weak for betraying her family, but now she could understand how it had happened.

  She wondered what would have become of Vardyn, if her lover had proved himself true, if after the murder of her family, she had had him to turn to. How many lives would have remained intact, how much suffering could have been avoided if he had opened his arms to comfort her?

  All the terrible curses that had been cast down the years by countless hateful witches, suddenly seemed so pointless. A futile vendetta, the success of which was measured by a few ruined lives, while the rest of humanity grew and strived obliviously. She did not want to be a part of it; she did not want to speak, nor hear, nor think about witchcraft ever again for as long as she lived.

  She wished for a life of her own choosing, the substance of which bore an uncanny resemblance to daily life at Shadows End, where a certain tall, golden haired young man would always be close by. She shook her head in a dismissive gesture. The idea was so uplifting, yet so far from happening, Darklin knew it did her no good to think of it. Still, she longed for a way to extricate herself from her life of curses, vengeance, and darkness, but she had no idea how to make it happen.

  ‘Darklin! The food is ready. I was calling you but you didn’t hear me. Where were you?’ Bess laughed, as she handed Darklin a cup of cider.

  ‘Off with the fairies I expect.’ John joined in, as he strode back to them, looking damp but more comfortable than he had before. Darklin grinned back at him, una
ble to stop the fullness of her smile. Bess passed out bread and cheese, and cherry pie. Willow laid quietly by James’ side, Darklin could see why; when Bess wasn’t looking, James sneakily fed Willow the crusts from his bread and other titbits.

  After they had finished eating, Tom demanded that they play a game.

  ‘How about hide and seek?’ said Bess.

  ‘But Darklin always wins when we play that.’ whined Tom.

  ‘Well what do you suggest?’ replied Bess.

  ‘Blind man’s bluff.’ said James.

  ‘Very well,’ said Bess, taking the cotton scarf from around her neck. ‘You can go first.’ she said to Tom.

  ‘We’ll have to make sure no one goes near the water.’ said John.

  ‘Fine, nobody can go further than that tree stump, those two bushes or that basket. And when we stay ‘stop’, you stop.’ Bess said, pointing to each of the boundaries as she declared them. When Tom had been blindfolded and spun, he stepped across the ground with his arms outstretched. James ran around him, teasing him with his nearness, and Tom started to chase the sound. James was not looking where he was going and ran straight toward Darklin. Darklin dodged out of the way, but Tom’s fingers glanced off her arm. He lunged to the side, and caught her around the waist. He squeezed her so hard the breath was forced out of her body.

  ‘Gotcha!’ he said, pulling off the blindfold.

  ‘I will go next,’ John offered, crossing the grass to take the scarf from Tom.

  ‘I will take my turn.’ Darklin said with a smile. John bowed his head courteously and smiled back.

  Bess covered Darklin’s eyes with the scarf, tying it firmly around her head.

  ‘Can you see anything?’ Bess asked.

  ‘Nothing.’ she replied. Tom pulled her by the hand and turned her in circles, more times than he himself had been spun.