House of Fear and Freedom (The Wyrd Sequence Book 1)

by Kimberley J. Ward

  The light bounced off the walls as they went up one story, turned a corner, and climbed up another. The stairs ended in a small hallway dotted with closed doors. Margret opened the first one to their right and ushered Nessa inside.

  “This was my daughter’s room before she married,” Margret said, setting the lantern on top of the chest of drawers. “You’re welcome to it tonight, until Hunter’s mess has been sorted out. Again.”

  Nessa stood in the doorway, feeling awkward, and watched Margret rummage around in a draw. A moment later she pulled out a long, plain dress and laid it on the bed, and then busied herself at the small wood burner at the back of the room, chatting merrily away. Nessa didn’t hear a word that came out of her mouth, too busy staring at the all too inviting bed. It was small and narrow, but looked ever so soft and comfortable and warm. The pillows were as plump as marshmallows and the duvet was a thick quilt that held the promise of a good night’s sleep.

  “There,” Margret said, clapping her hands together, knocking Nessa out of her trance. “That will get the place toasty in no time.” She stood and eyed Nessa. “Now, you get yourself out of those wet clothes, dry yourself off, and get that dress on,” she ordered kindly, nodding to the one on the bed. “While you do so, I’ll go and fix you something to eat. You look practically half starved.”

  Nessa smiled in gratitude and shuffled into the room, dripping water.

  Margret left, shutting the door behind her, giving Nessa some privacy.

  Nessa didn’t waste any time following her orders. She kicked off her boots with relish and jumped over to the fire, pulling at the socks that clung to her feet. Once they were off, revealing pruned toes, she placed the messenger bag on the floor and began working at the ties of her tunic. Her fingers were numb, and she fumbled for a little while, but she finally managed to untie them, and then everything ended up on the floor in record time, a pile of crumpled clothing that slowly leached water.

  The dress was several sizes too big, the hem pooling on the floor and the sleeves dangling past her fingertips. Nessa sat on the bed, rolling them up around her wrists, and then loosened her hair, letting it fall down her back in a damp and messy wave.

  Free from her wet uniform, Nessa warmed up quickly, her skin turning pink and her fingers thawing. Gazing around the room, she wondered what she was to do now.

  The room was small, quaint, with a single bed, a chest of drawers, and the fireplace. A basket of logs sat next to it and there was a worn rug on the wooden floor. The curtains had little pink flowers on them and were drawn across the window. The back half of the ceiling had a slope to it, and Nessa guessed that she was up in the loft space.

  Her eyes fell on the bag and she crouched beside it, opening it up and pulling out the orb. It was still bundled in the grubby blanket, and she set it down on the rug in front of her.

  Nessa unwrapped the orb and felt a spike of alarm when she saw it.

  The bag and blanket had protected it from the worst of the rain, but still, moisture had seeped in and clung to the orb’s surface in little beads. Nessa ran her hands over it, wiping away the water droplets, and discovered that it was as cold as ice.

  Nessa suddenly felt a bizarre amount of worry. She didn’t know why, but she did. Something instinctive told her that the orb needed to be warm, else... Nessa bit her lip. Why did it need to be warm? she wondered. For a long minute Nessa stared at it, questioning why worry grew like a dark flower in her chest as the orb’s light dimmed.

  With a sound of frustration, of annoyance, Nessa reached over to the drawers, opening the lowest one and pulling out the first thing her hand came in contact with, a shirt, soft and clean. She used it as a towel, rubbing it over the orb in gentle circles, drying it.

  Soon it began to warm up, not a lot, but just enough to ease the tightness around Nessa’s heart. Before she could do much else, she heard the creak of the stairs as someone climbed them. Margret, Nessa presumed, with a rather late dinner.

  Hastily, Nessa wrapped the orb in the shirt and stowed it under the bed, not wanting Margret to see it. She moved to perch on the edge of the mattress, waiting, her stomach growling in anticipation. She made a silent prayer, begging for the food be piping hot and flavourful, and preferably a pizza. Nessa decided that she could really use a pizza right then. Covered in cheese. Cheese and pepperoni.

  Nessa nearly moaned at the thought.

  Margret opened the door and stepped in, carrying a tray ladened with a steaming bowl and a small loaf of bread. She handed it over to Nessa with a smile.

  “There you are,” Margret said. “You tuck into that. It’s a good old stew, my mother’s recipe. Cures almost anything, that. It will have you full and warm, and ready to doze off in minutes.” She turned to leave, then paused in the doorway. “Don’t worry about Hunter. He’s just banged his head up some. He’ll be right as rain by tomorrow morning.”

  “Thank you,” Nessa murmured, relieved at the news.

  “I think it’s me who owes you the thank you, child, for bringing our Hunter back to us.” With that, Margret left the room, quietly closing the door behind her. Nessa sighed and sat up against the headboard, eating her dinner quickly, not unlike a starved dog. While it wasn’t a pizza, her prayer had been answered in part, for the stew was hot and delicious, and true to Margret’s word, had Nessa ready to doze off in minutes.

  Kicking back the duvet, Nessa settled down on the soft, soft bed. The mattress was a cloud, and the pillows were as comfortable as they looked. After weeks of sleeping on a pile of rotting straw with nothing but mouldering blankets, this room, this bed, was a paradise. Nessa rolled onto her side and curled up into a ball, pulling the duvet up over her shoulders. It was thick and heavy, settling around her like a warm embrace, one that faintly smelled of lavender.

  Nessa smiled, and with the knowledge that Hunter was being taken care of, closed her eyes.

  The storm continued to rage outside, with raindrops pelting the windowpane and the wind howling down the chimney. Nessa didn’t care, though, for she was warm and her stomach was full. For the first time since she had arrived at Ironguard, Nessa felt a measure of peace.

  Sleep soon found her, pulling her into blessed darkness.

  Only the darkness didn’t last for long.

  ∞∞∞

  Light slowly bloomed, like the petals of a flower unfurling for the first time, and Nessa found herself in a long, barren hallway. At the very end was a door, slightly ajar, with the sound of arguing voices spilling from it. Nessa frowned, looking around, wondering with a sleepy mind what the hell was going on.

  It was a dream, surely? A vivid, detailed one.

  But something wasn’t quite right, it didn’t feel right. Nessa couldn’t even be sure she was asleep. In dreams you are in a bubble, one that blurs the edges of reality and makes the normal slightly odd and the odd seem normal. In the bubble you have no sense of time, of confusion or strangeness. In your little dream bubble, you are somewhat detached from what’s happening. You can’t feel things like cold or pain. That’s what confused Nessa, because she could feel the cold flagstones beneath her bare feet, and the heat from the flaming sconces that lined the hallway’s walls.

  Nessa stood, trying to figure out if it was real, if she had lost her mind completely in the last month, or if it was just a bizarre dream. She felt like she was there, and that she wasn’t, all at the same time. Nessa raised her hand, pinching her arm. Hard.

  It hurt.

  You can’t feel things in dreams, the rational part of Nessa’s mind told her, certainly not pain.

  She looked down at herself and barely bit back a scream.

  Nessa was a ghost.

  There, but not fully.

  Nessa raised a hand before her eyes. Well, the vague shape of it, at least. She stared at it in horror, able to see the hallway through it. There was no skin or bone, just a pale translucent shape, nothing but a mere suggestion of a hand. Gazing down, Nessa discovered that the rest of her was equa
lly affected.

  Nessa swore and looked around, desperately seeking answers, a clue to her whereabouts, her predicament, anything. Keep clam, keep calm, she kept telling herself, repeating it like a mantra.

  Behind her was solid darkness, an intimidating wall of nothing. The doorway in front of her, though, was bright and inviting. It beckoned to her.

  Feeling like it was her only option, Nessa started forward, half expecting to fall through the floor, vanishing into it like a phantom, like she didn’t exist anymore.

  The door was only a short distance away, but it seemed to take forever to get there. It felt like for every two steps she took, she only moved forward one. The argument fell silent for a heartbeat, and then continued in hushed tones. Frustration grew and Nessa wished that she was at the door.

  A wave of dizziness came over her and Nessa closed her eyes. She felt sick and disorientated, as if the world was sliding under her feet. After a few deep breaths it lessened, and when she opened her eyes, she found herself standing in front of the door. Bright light poured through the gap, dazzling her. She squinted and looked back over her shoulder, confused as to what had just happened.

  Footsteps from within the room drew Nessa’s attention. She sidled closer and peered through the gap, spying a narrow section of a lavish study. A plush rug covered the floor and towering bookshelves dominated the far wall, filled from top to bottom with every size and colour book imaginable. Over to the left was an open fireplace, green tinged flames reaching high, and sat in front of it, lounging in a large armchair with a glass of wine in his hand, was Blondie.

  Nessa’s heart skipped a beat, and she wanted to turn away and run, to hide. Then there was movement, making her pause, and Shadow came into view.

  “This could be a problem,” he was saying, beginning to pace.

  Blondie raised pale eyebrows. “I fail to see the problem. No one of consequence will help her. She knows no one here.”

  “Oh, really? That boy, Hunter, seemed pretty damn determined to help her.”

  Nessa’s lips parted in shock. They were talking about her! Hunter, too. She inched closer, listening intently.

  Anger seethed in Shadow’s voice. “The little bastard even managed to stab me.”

  “Indeed he did,” Blondie murmured, eyes thoughtful as he watched Shadow’s pacing. “Has someone got a hurt pride?”

  “Now is not the time for you to be playing games,” Shadow snapped. “This is serious. She has escaped with someone who is a potential risk to us. Don’t forget that Hunter was in your prison for a reason. He’s already demonstrated where his loyalties lie. Now we have no idea where he has taken her or what they might do next.”

  “She’s taken the egg, though. That’s something, at least.”

  “The egg,” Shadow muttered. “Yes, she has taken the bloody egg with her. If it hatches before we find her, if the king discovers that the egg is no longer in our care, then he will have our heads.”

  “The king,” Blondie snarled, taking a sip of wine. “The king doesn’t have the slightest inkling of what is going on. All will be well, just you wait and see. As I’ve said, no one of great importance will hide her from us. She’s a child, Shadow, a mere wisp of a girl. She has no idea where she is, or more importantly, what she is. Sooner or later she’ll get scared and realise that the only place where she’s safe is here. When that happens, she’ll return of her own choice. Until then, all we need to do is keep her presence hidden from the king.”

  “She’s not a dog, Margan. She might not come running back to us with her tail between her legs. What then?” Shadow spun, facing Blondie. No, Nessa corrected herself, facing Margan. “You and your bloody plots and plans and scheming. If you had just listened to me in the first instance then this wouldn’t have happened! She would have been on our side from the start!”

  “You had your chance to retrieve her. You failed. What can I say? She’s a feisty little thing.” Margan scowled. “And speaking of your failure, how did that come about? In all the years that I’ve known you, you’ve never let a simple thing like a flesh wound stop you from achieving your goals.”

  Shadow’s eyes darkened. “As I said. The cut was deep. It bled a lot. I must have passed out.”

  Nessa’s eyes widened. He lied. He was lying. He could have easily brought her back to Margan. Only he hadn’t.

  “So you must have,” Margan agreed, his tone as dry as dead leaves.

  Shadow growled and muttered something that Nessa couldn’t quite hear. She edged closer, hoping to catch what he was saying, and her knee banged against the door. Shadow and Margan fell silent, then the latter sprang from his chair, rushing to the door, rage on his face.

  Before Nessa could jump back, he was there, yanking the door open, staring at her with those icy green eyes of his.

  His gaze cut through Nessa, not seeing her at all. With a snarl, he slammed the door, smashing it into Nessa, knocking her back, throwing her to the ground. The floor whooshed up and darkness engulfed her, swallowing her whole.

  Nessa jerked awake.

  The dimness of the inn’s room was a welcome sight. The once burning fire had dwindled down to embers, showing the cosy space in a rosy glow, and although the wind still howled down the chimney and rain pattered against the window, it felt warm and safe.

  Nessa pushed herself up, sitting against the headboard, trying to calm herself down. Whatever had just happened wasn’t your Average Joe kind of dream. Nessa felt clammy and jittery. Needing a dose of normality, she got out of bed and on shaky legs, she went over to the fire.

  Nessa stoked it, placing a couple of small logs onto the embers, nursing it back to life. Once the flames were lively dancing again, she settled down next to it and wrapped her arms around her legs, resting her chin on her knees. God, how she wished she could confide in someone. She had just been in the castle, had overheard a private conversation between Shadow and Margan, had witnessed Shadow’s lie.

  Yet there Nessa sat, utterly alone and confused, wishing for, at the very least, a hug. Her mind jumped to Hunter for a second. He would listen. Then she remembered that he was injured and needed time to rest and heal.

  Nessa sighed unhappily and gazed blankly at the fire, trying to think about what she should do.

  Margan’s words came back to her, whispering through her mind, restless and cruel.

  She has no idea where she is, or more importantly, what she is...

  Nessa wondered what he meant by that.

  What she is...

  A small ball of misgivings grew in her stomach.

  Nessa might not know exactly what Margan was up to, but she did know that he was playing a game of some kind.

  Just as Shadow was.

  ∞∞∞

  Warm sunlight touched Nessa’s face with gentle fingers, turning the insides of her eyelids red. She groaned and rolled over, searching for a few more minutes of sleep before she had to face the realities of the day. She dozed for a little while. Then, slowly, the events of last night began to filter in, and sleep became impossible to find.

  Nessa sat up, burdened with the decision she had come to after hours of deliberation.

  Today she would tell Hunter the truth.

  Well, some of it.

  Feeling jittery, Nessa got out of bed and reached for the orb, pulling it out from under the bed and tucking it into its bag. She crossed over to the door and cracked it open, peering out. The hallway was empty, all the doors except one were closed. A candle sat on a small table off to the side.

  Nessa inched into the hallway, not wanting to disturb anyone, and crossed over to the open door, hoping that Hunter was inside.

  He was.

  In a room similar to hers, lying reclined on the bed, a mound of pillows around his shoulders, was Hunter. A large bruise marred the skin above his brow, an ugly mess of blue and green. Colour had returned to his face, and the swelling around the mark had gone down significantly. His eyes were closed, despite the curtains being open a
nd cheery sunlight flooding the room.

  Nessa’s shoulders sagged and she decided to let him rest. As she turned around, about to head back to her room, there was a sleepy groan from the bed, making her pause. Hunter blinked heavily and pushed himself up a little higher on his pillows, grinning when he caught sight of her standing by the doorway.

  With a murmured greeting, Nessa took a hesitant step towards him, suddenly feeling shy and a little bit afraid. She held her bag tight, as if it might shield her from what was to come.

  “How are you feeling?” she asked, shutting the door behind her.

  Hunter’s smile was bright as he said, “Oh, I’m fine. Just as I said I would be.” He moved to the side, making space for her on the bed.

  “That’s good,” Nessa said, sitting next to him, “because I really need to tell you something, and I need your help to understand all of it.”

  Hunter’s smile drooped, replaced by a look of uncertainty. “Alright then, I’ll do my best, if you so wish it.”

  Nessa made herself comfortable, for her story wasn’t the shortest, and placed the orb on her lap. She opened her mouth, but the words instantly caught in her throat. Her cheeks burned and she fiddled with the bag’s strap, growing unsure of herself.

  Nessa’s didn’t have the faintest idea of how to start.

  After several failed starts, Nessa was about to call it quits when Hunter gave a quiet sigh and said, “Sometimes, I find that it’s easier just to blurt it out. No restraints, no thinking about what to say. Just spit out the first thing that comes to mind.”

  So Nessa closed her eyes, leaned back against the pillows and the headboard, and with Hunter’s gaze on the side of her face, the words loosened and her story spilled from her tongue.

  “I’m not from here,” was the first thing Nessa said. It left her lips slowly, hesitantly. She had paused for a second after those four words, then the rest of her story had soon followed, a flood rival to that of the raging river from last night, fast and without mercy.