The Boy in the Dark

by June Wilson

  Ellie shook her head, but already her thoughts were racing. Whose grave? There had been so many recent deaths. She ticked off the possibilities: Mathilde - but she didn’t have a grave or any kind of marker, given her treachery. The same went for Geraint. And Jonas wasn’t dead, or at least Adrian Winter wasn’t, so it couldn’t be him. As for Cael, his body had been burned, in the ceremonial manner befitting such a Lord.

  She groaned inwardly. There was no point to this guesswork. As much as it pained her to abandon Orla, they needed to get back to Skellstor and Isolde as quickly as possible. It was clear that the message was for her and her alone.

  MIDDENGARD – 1996

  Chapter 17

  There were screams coming from her mother’s bedchamber and Iris was frightened. Her father had told her to stay with Hilda in the kitchens, but Iris wanted to know what was happening. She was supposed to be getting a baby brother or sister, but this sounded horrible.

  “There you are, madam!” Hilda puffed her way up the stairs, face red with the effort. “You’re supposed to be helping me with the baking – remember?”

  “Yes, but…”

  “No yes buts. Come with me with this minute – don’t make me shout for Brigit.”

  Iris looked longingly at her mother’s bedroom door. She wanted more than anything to make sure she was safe. But Hilda’s outstretched hand was the lesser of two evils – she didn’t want Brigit to give her some awful job to do.

  “She’ll be alright, won’t she?”

  “Of course she will - your father’s with her. Nothing ever goes wrong when he’s here does it?”

  “Guess not.” Iris sniffed. Her father was a brave man (everyone said so) and she loved him more than anything – especially when he let her ride Elfric. But sometimes he went away, for ages and ages, and she heard the servants whisper about duties in the human world. The human world – why would he go there, when he could be in Glassmere?

  Just thinking this made her feel prickly and cross as she followed Hilda back downstairs. Stupid humans. They had no right to see her father more than she did.

  “Now then missy, you can help me with the cake.” Hilda handed her a large bowl, full of flour, sugar and eggs. “Sit down over there and mix it good and proper. When you’re done, we’ll put some candied fruit in – your mother’s favourite. And then we can tell her what a good girl you’ve been.”

  Iris did as she was told. Her arms were tired by the time she’d mixed the cake to Hilda’s satisfaction, but she didn’t mind. She liked being in the kitchens. They were always warm and full of delicious smells: fresh bread, soups and broths, roast meat, blackberry pie… just thinking about them made her stomach rumble.

  “I’m hungry,” she said.

  “Are you now?” Hilda wiped her hands on her apron. “You can scrape the bowl then. Here you are.”

  Hilda handed her a wooden spoon. What a treat! Iris loved sweet things – well, most food really. She was a growing girl, her mother said. She was only six but already taller than the stable boy, who was eight. Which was good, because when she was old enough she was going to be a Guard like her father and protect Middengard from the enemies of old - enemies that still lurked in the land’s farthest reaches. Dark elves and giants and even trolls.

  “Hilda – boil some more water - quickly!”

  Iris turned, spoon mid air, to see Brigit gasping for breath at the foot of the stairs. Her face was all red and blotchy.

  “Is something amiss?” Hilda asked, taking down one of the big copper pots and filling it with water.

  Brigit tightened her lips and glanced at Iris. “Just the water, Hilda, thank you. Bring it up as soon as you can.”

  Iris frowned and went back to scraping the sides of the bowl. Hilda was grumbling under her breath, stoking the fire.

  “Has the baby come yet? Are you going to bath him?”

  “How should I know? I only do what missus long-nose tells me, I do.”

  Iris giggled. She knew this was what Hilda called the housekeeper when she was cross with her – even though they were the best of friends.

  “Do you think I’ll be able to see him soon?”

  “Don’t count your chickens, missy.”

  “Why not? He’s my brother.”

  “Who said anything about a boy? Could well be another girl, just like you – and the Aetheling help us if it is.”

  Iris stared into the now empty bowl. She knew Hilda was teasing her, but she wanted a brother. A brother would be good for fighting and riding and exploring in the mountains. But a girl…no, a younger sister wasn’t what Iris wanted at all.

  Iris couldn’t take her eyes off the crib. Two babies! No one had said anything about two. And worse, they were both girls.

  “Come here darling.” Her mother was beckoning to her from the bed and she rushed into her arms, snuggling down against her warm and familiar body.

  “Do you like your little sisters? Aren’t they beautiful?”

  “Suppose so,” Iris mumbled. She wriggled in closer. There was no point complaining now. Maybe she could get a brother next time.

  Her mother winced and Iris looked up. Helaine was pale, with dark shadows under her eyes. She looked like someone who was ill – just like the stable boy’s mother, who had died last spring.

  “What’s wrong? Was it the babies? Did they hurt you?” She scowled in the direction of the crib.

  “No darling – I’m tired, that’s all. There’s nothing to worry about. Now, are you going to be a good girl and go with Brigit? She’ll take you for a walk – you can pick some flowers for me from the garden. I’d like that.”

  “Okay.” Iris slid down from the bed. She didn’t want to go – she’d only just been allowed in. But her father was watching her and he looked a bit strange. Not angry or anything – just strange.

  “Thank you.” This time her mother’s voice was barely above a whisper.

  Iris was half way down the corridor when she had a thought. She raced back to the bedroom and pushed open the door. Her father was kneeling by her mother’s bed, head bowed. He was making a funny noise – was he laughing?

  “Which flowers, mother? Which ones would you like?”

  There was a long pause and it was her father who finally answered, though he kept his back to her – which was very rude, or so she’d been told.

  “You choose Iris,” he said, his voice shaking.

  So he was laughing after all – though Iris couldn’t work out why. There was nothing funny about getting two sisters, especially two at the same time.

  “But I want mother to say.”

  “No! Now hurry up and do as you’re told.”

  Iris felt unwanted tears spring to her eyes. What had she done wrong? Absolutely nothing. It was so unfair. She rubbed at her face angrily and stomped down the stairs for the second time that day. She’d get the biggest bunch of flowers ever and ask Hilda for some pretty ribbon to tie them with. And she’d take her mother a piece of the lemon cake that had just come out of the oven – the one she’d baked that morning. Satisfied with her own cleverness, she realized she didn’t care about the new babies. She was going to be the daughter her mother liked best.

  The flowers were beautiful. Iris picked loads and loads then ran inside and dumped them on the kitchen table.

  “What’s all this then?” Hilda came bustling in from the pantry. “I’ve just scrubbed that table.”

  “Mother wants flowers. She sent me for them specially.” Iris puffed her chest out. “I’m going to tie them in ribbon for her.”

  “Oh, you are, are you?” Hilda cast her eye over the mountain of greenery. “These won’t be much use – dandelions. Weeds.”

  “Yes – but there’s pretty ones too – look!” Iris salvaged a pink rose, then a white one. “And these.”

  “Common daisies,” Hilda muttered. “Still your mother does like yellow. Now, be careful of the thorns on the roses, won’t you?

  Iris stuck her tongue between her te
eth in concentration as she collected the best of the flowers. Hilda wanted to tie the ribbon for her but she pushed her away. She wanted to do it herself, so mother would know how much she loved her.

  “There!” She held out the bouquet for Hilda’s inspection.

  “Very good Iris,” Hilda said solemnly. “Flowers fit for a queen.”

  “I’m going to take them to her right now – so she can put them in water.” Iris ran to the stairs and raced up them as quickly as her legs would carry her - up into the Great Hall and then another flight to her mother’s chamber. She was out of breath by the time she reached the door and she’d managed to lose a few daisies on the way. Still, it didn’t matter, the flowers still looked pretty.

  The door wasn’t shut properly and Iris could hear voices. Someone was crying. Her mother? She sucked in her breath. It was the new babies – she knew they’d cause trouble. She nudged the door with her foot, straining to hear.

  “Where is he? Where’s he gone?” The voice sounded like her mother but kind of different. Was someone else in there? And why were they shouting when her mother was so tired?

  “Calm yourself, my love.” Iris heard her father say. “You’re hallucinating. The birth was difficult and you’ve lost a lot of blood.”

  Hall – u – sin- a – ting. Iris tried the word out. What did it mean? And blood. Iris knew about blood. It was what happened when you had a baby. She’d seen lots of blood in the stables, when the foals were born.

  “He’s been stolen!” her mother shrieked, making Iris jump. “The Gods, the Gods…”

  “The babies are here, Helaine. No one’s taken them – and they’re girls. Two beautiful girls, just like Iris.”

  Iris felt a burst of pride. Her father had called her beautiful. Then a pang of guilt – she shouldn’t be eavesdropping. Perhaps she should go in? She looked at the bouquet, suddenly uncertain. The flowers were starting to droop. But her mother was still shouting.

  “No - no, you’re lying. I know he was here. They took him…”

  “Helaine, please – lie down. You mustn’t upset yourself. Look – the babies are there – asleep in the crib. They’re completely safe. I’m watching over them.”

  “You are? You promise?”

  “Of course. There’s nothing to worry about. Nothing at all.”

  “Safe?” Her mother’s voice had dropped to a whisper. “Safe – yes – I see that now. Tired – so tired. They never give me a minute’s peace. Always in my head…”

  “You must sleep Helaine. You’ll feel better in the morning.” Iris heard a rustle of blankets and footsteps. Sleep? Her mother couldn’t go to sleep – not yet. She gave the door a shove and ran into the room.

  “Mother – look! I’ve got your flowers!”

  She saw her mother was lying very still in the bed and she pulled up short. Her father put a hand on her shoulder.

  “Don’t wake her Iris.”

  “But,” she started. Then stopped again. Her father was looking sad and she knew she shouldn’t argue.

  “Can we put them in water? So they don’t die?”

  “Of course we can. We’ll put them here, right by the bed. She’ll see them in the morning.”

  Iris sneaked another look at her mother. It wasn’t long to morning. “Promise?” she said.

  “I promise.”

  Later. Three days? Four? How long before her mother died? The flowers were still by the bed, the day her mother’s coffin came out. Her father told her that her mother loved them so much, she named the twins after them.

  The twins – Daisy and Rose. They were small and helpless, with huge amber eyes that followed her round the room. And they hardly ever cried, which puzzled Iris, because she felt like crying all the time.

  After the mourning week they buried her mother in the high meadow, so her grave looked over the water. All the villagers came, and the tenants too. After the burial song the ceremonial pyre was lit. Iris wanted to get closer, but Brigit pulled her back. “You’re lucky to be here,” she whispered. “This is no place for a child.”

  I’m not a child, Iris thought, kicking at a stone on the ground. And she’s my mother. I want all these other people to go. She stood on tiptoes, trying to catch sight of her father. But he was nowhere in sight. Back with the twins in the Manor, she supposed. How much attention did they need? They already had a wet nurse and Hilda fussing over them. She sniffed. It wasn’t that she didn’t like the twins. She did. In the way she liked the kittens that had arrived last summer. But she still wished she had a brother. And she definitely wouldn’t get one now.

  “It’s going to rain. A storm from Mount Odin,” Brigit muttered as she dragged Iris inside. Iris knew about Mount Odin – the home of the Gods. Did that mean they were angry? She was about to ask when she spotted her father. He was in the gallery above the Great Hall. Before Brigit had time to protest she broke free and raced up the stairs.

  “Father,” she started. Then realized he was talking to an old woman – older than Hilda, who was the oldest person she knew. She was wearing a funny cloak and had long grey hair past her waist. Was she a witch? Iris sucked in her breath. She’d never seen a witch before, or a wicca as Brigit called them. Wise women, women of the woods – they had many names.

  She wriggled under a long bench as quietly as she could. It was wrong to listen – but a witch! Iris couldn’t believe her luck.

  “So - it was worse at the end?” the old woman asked.

  “Beyond imagining. A few lucid moments – I barely recognized her.” Her father put his head in his hands.

  “I’m sorry, old friend. I did what I could, for as long as I could.”

  Iris shivered. They were talking about her mother, of course. What had the witch done? Was it her fault that her mother was dead?

  “You should have burnt the body,” the witch said suddenly.

  “I couldn’t do it Isolde. I promised to bury her by the water. It was her final wish.”

  “Foolish,” the old woman muttered. “But…”

  “My father’s not foolish!” Iris shot out from beneath the bench. “And you should leave us alone!” She rushed at the witch and pummeled her with her fists.

  “Iris!” Her father grabbed her by the arm. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “She hurt mother!” Iris wailed.

  “She did nothing of the sort. Now calm down.” He swept her up and held her close, rocking her like he would the twins. She started to cry, which she hated, but the tears felt good, so she cried some more, long and loud.

  “She’s a feisty one,” she heard the witch say, as her father carried her back downstairs. “She’ll do you proud one day.”

  Years later. Iris sat in her mother’s flower garden. The garden looked just the way Iris remembered it, the day she picked the bouquet. She could hear the twins, chattering in the stable yard. They were six now – the same age she was when her mother died. They were her sisters and she loved them, but they never stopped talking. Mostly to each other (thank goodness). Iris was in charge of Glassmere and had more important things to do than entertain the twins. Of course Brigit and Hilda thought they ran the Manor but they were always in a muddle these days. And Iris was the one who knew all about the estate - she could add up quicker than the bursar and ride faster than the gamekeeper. As for her father, he was here one minute and gone the next, dealing with human problems and Skellstor problems and the Aetheling only knew what else.

  Still, he’d promised her she could go to the Skellstor Academy in summer. She was supposed to wait another year, but she had passed all the tests. She’d even come out top in hand–to-hand combat – the first girl ever.

  “Are you proud of me mother? She whispered, as she closed her eyes and thought about Skellstor. It wasn’t so far away and she would visit the Manor as often as she could. Someone had to make sure the garden was kept free of weeds, that the roses were pruned, the hedges trimmed. Maybe, just maybe, she could persuade her father to plant a garden
in Skellstor, somewhere near his rooms…

  She must have drifted off to sleep. She woke with a start. The afternoon had turned to early evening; the air was heavy with threatened rain. And just for a moment, Iris thought she saw her mother - drifting between the rose bushes, trailing her hands across the skalte grasses.

  She sighed and drew her cloak around her. It was a trick of the light and nothing more. Just because you want something doesn’t mean it’s going to happen - Brigit was always telling her that.

  ENGLAND – 1856

  Chapter 18

  Josh had spent what was left of the penny Martha had given him on two bags of toffee: one that was caramel-like and creamy and one that was deliciously dark, like burnt treacle. He was experimenting by eating one caramel quickly followed by one of the treacle when he felt someone thump on him the back.

  “Thought you could get rid of me, did you?” a girl’s voice said. He swung round to see Molly glaring at him, hands on hips.

  “And there was me, thinking you ‘ad manners.”

  Josh swallowed the toffee at one gulp. Had manners, he was tempted to say, but this wasn’t the time to be a smartarse.

  “Um, sorry,” he said lamely. “It was so crowded and when we got separated I couldn’t see you. I thought you’d found Alice and gone home.”

  Molly narrowed her eyes at him. “You did not,” she said. “Think I’m stupid?”

  Josh reddened. “What? No – no of course not. It’s just that, um…” he held the bag of toffee out to her. “Want one? They’re delicious. Take two if you like.”

  “Don’t mind if I do.” Molly slipped two of the caramels into her dress pocket. “They’re for Will,” she added. “He wanted to come, but I told him he were too young. An’ besides…” she broke off, looking Josh up and down.

  Josh felt himself blushing again. He hadn’t noticed before, but Molly had gorgeous brown eyes, fringed by long lashes. There were purple shadows beneath them, but they were pretty all the same. “Besides?” he prompted.