The Long Lost

by Rebecca Woods

  I kept my head down and kept my tall but slight build pressed in close to my father’s. If we were lucky we would not be stopped again today. One day our luck would run out, I tried not to think about that but the fear crept in occasionally and dominated today. I took a couple of deep breaths and told myself to focus on staying calm.

  For all of the dangers presented by venturing outside, there was no denying that the ancient city was a vast and interesting maze of variety. If it were not for the oppressing presence of the Defenders – there were always one or two on every street corner watching proceedings – the city would have been a place to explore and enjoy; poor and wretched though it was with its beggards, public chastisement, free houses and homes for the slovenly.

  From what my father had said and from the titbits I picked up in conversations between father and his Defender colleagues who came to the house, there were lots of other cities across the country of Englander and indeed, the New World; some richer than this one and full of towering spires, castles, gold and beautiful skies, some much poorer than this one and in areas with high volumes of the burning rain, where dark clouds brought the darkness long before other cities.

  I had always been interested in hearing about these other places. Father also often talked about the places he had travelled to before he fell low and I had retained a lot of the stories gathered during our nighttime conversations.

  As usual, Father walked me into the library and left me at the counter while he went to speak to Henry, the library manager who had been the subject of our conversation the night before. Father and Henry had been acquaintances for a long time, since before he had acquired my mother from her family and sired me.

  I took off my heavy outdoor cloak. Underneath I wore a thinner cloak with a hood. I pulled the hood up and went to sit behind the desk, noting that nothing seemed to have been moved since I had left the night before.

  At this time of the morning, the library was always very quiet. I knew this would probably be my only opportunity to do what I was about to do. It was a silly risk to take, especially after being followed home after my nighttime excursion; however, the urge to take the risk was far too seductive to resist.

  I looked at the door my father had just walked through and felt my heart beat fast. This was it. It was time to go!

  I left the counter and walked quickly down an aisle towards the rear of the library. I had visited this particular section many times and knew this book well. Even so, I couldn’t help myself; I must piece the letters together and read more. My footsteps sounded louder than ever in the echoing gloom. I ignored the fear and carried on towards the shelf that contained what I sought.

  I got to the shelf and scanned it for my book. It was there as it always was. It was taken out very rarely and was usually there whenever I took it upon myself to risk my life and try to read its many passages.

  I reached for the large dusty book and grabbed it. I opened it up quickly, flicking to my bookmarked section. The book was called “The Divyne Destruction of the Worlde by the Lord Jesus”.

  I had always been schooled on the destruction of the Old World and on the New World that had washed away its sin and decadence; but I wanted to read about it for myself. I remembered my mother teaching me to distinguish between the different letters when my father had been out or working. If I really thought hard I could still picture my mother’s plain yet loving face in the flickering firelight. Oh how I missed the clandestine lessons that were my only source of solace. How I missed her.

  Thinking about my mother always made the old pain come back, the pain I had suppressed and then put to good use. I pushed it aside for now. I had other things to think about.

  I scanned the section of the book I had already read to refresh my memory:

  “When the Old Worlde was set asunder, evil that wrapped its dark tentacles around peoples and cultures spanning millennia was disintegrated in an instant by Him”.

  I slowly pieced those letters together, struggling but remembering how I had done it the day before.

  I shivered as the tingly feeling on the back of my neck that had warned me of the presence of the strange man the night before returned, I ignored it.

  I then skipped to the part of the book that had enthralled me the day before:

  “As has been the lesson for all men from the cradle, all artefacts of the sinful Old Worlde were destroyed; leaving but one. One golden, beautiful treasure was discovered that guided the first angels in the early days of the New World”.

  That book had been the Bible; A King James NIV.

  A noise from the counter cut through the silence. Oh no. I put the book back quickly and walked quickly back to the counter. If I walked quickly but not too quickly, I may just about get away with it. I felt my heart pump loudly as I walked.

  I got to the counter and prepared to welcome the esteemed patron to the library. There was no one there.

  I then heard a noise that came from the direction of the shelf I had been standing by not one minute before. A cold realisation gripped my stomach like ice, I had been seen. I had been watched.

  I got behind the desk and sat down. Stay calm.

  Another sound came from the shelf, then what sounded like soft footsteps.

  A figure emerged from the shadows, it was him. Striding towards me with his hood up was the man who had followed me home the night before. I had no idea how I knew this. I had not seen his face, yet his walk and stance told me it was him. The strange senses I had always hidden told me it was him.

  I shook; there was nowhere to run. I was trapped. Any moment now my father would emerge with Henry unless they decided to stay and enjoy some ale. Not that this would help me. It hadn’t helped my mother. All he had to do was say something in front of Henry about how he had seen me the night before and I was done for.

  I prepared to fight for my life, not that it would do much good.

  The man stopped three feet from the counter. He breathed deeply and I could see his chest rising and falling quickly. Everything about him screamed with tension, this seemed wrong immediately. Males never showed anger, tension or weakness of any kind; it was as against the rules of their sex as being out alone was for women.

  Matching the dream I’d had the night before, I saw the man lift both hands to his hood.

  He seemed to take a deep breath before he lowered it. I found myself wanting yet not wanting to see his face, I somehow knew that everything was about to change; how, I did not know.

  The light from the skylight hit his face as the hood came down and I gasped as it was revealed. His features were almost exactly like mine. I had never resembled either of my parents or grandparents. This man could have been me if I had had the fortune to be born male. He had a thinner face however, which was covered in a network of lines and thin scars. His lips were full. The gauntness of his features frightened me.

  I couldn’t hide my shock and surprise and gaped at him before tearing my gaze away and staring at the counter.

  “Auriana,” his voice cut through the tension, fear gripped my stomach and made my heart race. This was it. I was about to join my mother in oblivion.

  “Auriana,” he said again; the voice was accented and I could not place the origin of it. The ancient city rarely saw visitors from outside unless they were trading at the markets by the sea and I had never spoken to anyone from another part of the world before.

  “You need to come with me”. He took another step forward and I stole another glance at him. His eyes looked even more large and green. Emotions seemed to swirl in them and it was only my fear of him that stopped me from being slightly mesmerised.

  I lowered my gaze, thinking that this could be what saved my life if spotted; if Henry or a Defender walked in, I would fare far better if I was not seen interacting with this strange man. I would be accused of harlotry in a flash otherwise.

  I breathed hard and my heart almost shot through my chest cavity as I saw him take a step forward in my peripheral v
ision, his black cloak moving with him.

  “Auriana, I have no time to explain”. Urgency now layered his voice.

  “You must come with me. You are in the worst kind of danger”.

  Danger – the word sent icy chills through my body. Danger.

  I had no choice, I must speak – and speak I did.

  “Master”, I said in my softest voice, hoping it would placate this madman.

  “Master, I know not what you mean”.

  Silence and hard breathing, he raised a hand to his head and I quaked inside. What on God's New Earth was about to happen to me?

  "Auriana, we share the same dream, the one with the river. The dream with the wide river and the people singing across the water. That’s because we’re the same. We’re the same!”

  I had never told anyone about that dream, had never even allowed myself to really think about it in the cold light of day, and I was scared. I wondered how this strange man knew not only my name but also my most private dreams. I wondered what else he knew. Herena’s dying face swam into my mind and I suddenly felt weak. I needed to get away from this man if he didn’t kill me or hand me to a Defender. Why had he not seized me last night?

  I looked up and met his gaze again, knowing I was taking an almighty risk. I was once again struck by both the similarity in our appearance and the intensity in his eyes, which made them glitter like candlelight on puddles.

  “Master”- I began. Keeping him calm was my only hope. If he was not working for the Defenders then he was a madman for sure.

  He laughed again and turned away, ran a hand through his long dark hair and turned back to me, anguish in his face now.

  “Master?” he said angrily. “I am not your master. I am your servant. I am here to rescue you and take you to safety for your life is in danger as we speak. You must trust me. You must, must must believe me”.

  He turned back to me and I could see that he was in earnest; he at least believed what he said was true. The ring of truth was on his lips and in his eyes. This meant nothing though; a madman was still a man, still a mortal danger to me.

  I had to get out of this somehow. I considered calling for my father and opened my mouth to do so.

  “Khalashaya” He said, as if sensing what I was about to do. I lost my nerve and closed my mouth.

  His eyes were anguished and I once again registered the deep lines etched in his face that belied his otherwise youthful appearance.

  “Khalashaya is my name”.

  “Master”- I knew not what else to call him. Had I not always addressed males that way unless they were family? Master was the mandated term and therefore Master was the term I used again. Madman or not he would not catch me out. I would not fall before this man, whoever he was. The only danger I was in was the danger that came from being seen in interaction with a man I was not married or related to.

  These thoughts filled me with a renewed inner fire that was hidden quite spectacularly as I layered my next words with a softness of voice and a gentleness I had learned to adopt through the years.

  “Please…Master, begging your pardon but it is likely you have the wrong person. I am but a humble slave and have no desire to be disrespectful”.

  I looked down at the counter again.

  When I looked up he was gone and all I could hear was the sound of the burning rain hitting the skylight above like little daggers. I was more terrified than I could remember being for a long time.

  Leaving work that night I pulled my hood over my head so that it draped across my face and took the risk of walking a different way home. I walked through a lane I had never gone down before, I would probably need to jump a wall further on, but my sense of direction told me I was still going the right way. I jumped at every scuff of boots on the ground I heard or thought I heard in case the strange man…Khalashaya…decided to accost me again. If he did it on the street I was in even more danger than I had been earlier.

  I arrived up at my front door twenty minutes later than usual. I knew I was in trouble as soon as I walked in, could feel the tension emanating from the kitchen as soon as I closed the front door. The emotion seemed to be embedded into the very wood of the doors I pushed open to get there, it throbbed in my fingertips and turned my blood to ice. I was in danger.

  The stone walled kitchen was the only room in the old house with a proper fire and chimney and my father and I often drank mugs of ale sitting at the heavy oak table beside it. The table had two cracked benches on either side instead of chairs and Father was sitting facing the fire with his back to me.

  “What happened?” he barked. “Why are you so late?”

  “Father I”- I began.

  He didn’t turn round, just sat there as still as a block of ice.

  “My boots”, he said. I felt a shudder of fear as I realised what he meant by that comment.

  “My boots were discovered in your bedroom, hidden inside the window seat and bearing strong evidence of excursions in the Burning Rain”.

  “Father I…wore them to the library. I hid them so that I could tend to them and would not have to tell you they had been burnt”.

  He whirled around in his seat, his eyes flashing with anger, his face red and his eyes bulging dangerously.

  “LIAR!” He rose from the table and strode across to me; I cowered backwards.

  “You have been going out at night have you not?”

  He advanced upon me. His face twisted in anger. I did not know how he had discovered the boots I had hidden in my window seat but I was frightened.

  “YOU ARE GOING TO GET YOURSELF KILLED”.

  He slapped my face, the sound echoing around the small kitchen and sending pain shooting through me.

  “And it’ll be because you’re as foolhardy your mother, disobeying the rules and not knowing her place”.

  I was stunned into silence. He had never said this before. He had never even hit me before. I opened my mouth to speak but my fear got the better of me.

  He advanced upon me and put a hand over my mouth. He whispered menacingly.

  “You are not allowed to read Auriana. You are not allowed to take part in activities that are self-serving. To do so puts us both in danger”.

  “Why?” I whispered, shocked that I had voiced this. I looked at him and took his hand away from my mouth. This couldn’t be real, it was a bad dream. Never before had I allowed myself to lose control like this and betray myself so spectacularly by questioning the very orders of our Lord and the fabric of our society. It was the shock of being approached by Khalashaya, the shock of being followed home the night before.

  Whatever it was, I suddenly felt something release inside me; something hot, wet and fiery that begged on bended knee, pleading to be allowed out and slammed against me like a caged animal driven mad behind its bars.

  “Why, Father”? I said quietly. “Why?”

  He slapped me again, not once but three times. Each slap reverberated around the room and bounced off the walls, ricocheting like stones thrown at old buildings. Each one hurt more than the other and almost knocked me off my feet. How had I ended up experiencing this nightmare?

  He went and sat back down and faced the fireplace once more. He lowered his head into his hands.

  I left the room without being dismissed and went upstairs to my bedroom. The window seat I had hidden the boots in the night before had been disturbed. How had my father known to look there? How had he even missed the boots in the first place? Once in my safe space I allowed my iron control to slip and shatter further; emotions poured out of me and I could no more hold them in than I could hold water in my palm.

  I cried for myself, for my mother and for the father I had always trusted never to hurt me. True, he could not intervene when others did but he had always made me feel safe. I was broken. I put my hand over the place he had slapped me so violently and cried like I had rarely cried in my whole life.

  Why had I questioned him? I did not need to ask myself that question really, fo
r I knew the answer; I questioned my place in this world because it felt wrong. I then carried the shame and guilt inside with me, a sick feeling of disgust with myself for not being what had always been expected of me.

  A knock sounded at my door that echoed around my aching head, then two more, each sounding like a death knell. I rose and went to the door, opening it with a shaking hand and a heart that heaved with pain.

  My father stood there, his eyes swimming with the tears he refused to shed and his mouth set in a hard line.

  Without saying anything he walked past me into the bedroom and sat down on the window seat. He faced me and said nothing. I closed the heavy door slowly and walked over to the bed. I sat down opposite my father and wondered what I was going to say to him now.

  “I know you still read” he said, the pain now evident in his voice as well as his eyes. “I know the compulsion grips you like a vice and that you cannot shake it”.

  He paused and took a deep breath.

  “I know this because I witnessed the same in your mother. I even empathised with her myself before my true adult days”.

  He got up and left the room suddenly and I felt fresh, needle sharp tears prick the back of my eyes.

  Everything had changed and I was more scared than I had ever been in my life.

  I was doing it before I even knew I was doing it, but suddenly I was opening the shutters and looking down into the lane for Khalashaya. Sure enough, there he was with his hood covering the face that was so like my face. He looked up at me and walked away, soon lost in the darkness. I felt my heart shudder against my chest as if trying to escape.

  I shivered and closed the shutters. Too numb now to feel anything but pain, I collapsed onto the bed and slept immediately.

  Weakness

  I was standing by the river again; the sharp reeds pierced my delicate nightgown and I shivered with cold. My toes sank softly into the mud and squelched. Despite my discomfort, I felt the first stirrings of the familiar yearning I always felt.

  I was completely alone except for the voices that sang from the other side of the river that was too far to see, even for my superior eyes.