Chapter 1
Puddles rippled on the muddy lane. Land might as well have been sea with the amount of murky liquid it held, water mixing with dirt to create a sludge that bubbled in the open fields and clung to travellers’ shoes.
The sky above was dark, grey and lifeless until it burst with bright blue rage that whipped across the atmosphere like a vein throbbing in a madman’s forehead. Then it would rumble a low grumble, sometimes it would be a shout, but it always simmered into a still silence that left the world in anticipation, waiting at the edge of its seat until it called again. Everyone would wait and wait during the quiet, the heavy tapping and pattering of the thick, teary droplets chattering away nervously as if they didn’t feel comfortable in the suspense.
Storms always seemed very angry, Gwyn thought. They bellowed and raged, screaming out their fury so brutally that it made the clouds cry. The wind would roar and cause branches to crack and fall, breaking away like frail bones in a beaten body. The rivers would bulge with water, flowing rapidly and aggressively like boiling blood that burst from a heart. The flowers and animals would all hide away, disappearing until the thunder ceased and the lightning stopped flashing threateningly across the sky.
Yet there was a certain beauty to them. Something that made them soothing despite the havoc they wreaked, for within their chaos there was raw emotion. Angry is what they seemed to be, but truthfully, they must be very sad. There must have been something incredibly horrifying and gut wrenching to make them sob and shriek so passionately. Their pain appeared so human that often she wondered if they weren’t connected to someone’s thoughts. Did one person have the power to control the weather? Or did that person change every day? Maybe that person was God. But was God capable of being so devastated when he lived so far away, detached from the reality that she was forced to embrace.
Either way, no matter how fascinating she found storms, they still made her very wet. And currently, she was absolutely drenched.
The rain had started suddenly. It began with one drop, then two, then another three and abruptly there were thousands of them. They littered the view that stretched across the meadows, hiding the hills and farmland away behind a dull, misty veil, and darkened the sky so terribly that it almost appeared to be night even though the time was only ten past three in the afternoon.
She had tried to outrun it, but she was only a little girl at the age of eleven. Her legs were short and her lungs small as her lips parted to let out raspy breaths. It was her punishment for venturing too far from home. Now she was caught in the wind and rain, splashing through the puddles on Bracken Lane.
It was a narrow, modest path if it could be called a path at all, stepped out and made barren by the shoes and wooden wheels of carts that had stumbled through over the years. The grass always tried to grow back, but it was forever in vain because shortly after another horse would trod on it again. It ventured over the undulating hills, drifting higher and lower like a restless snake, slithering on and on until grasslands became forests, and forests inevitably became mountains somewhere far, far away.
Right now, she was descending from a knoll, the buildings making up a farm just barely visible in her view as she looked down at the old Adkin’s place. It was made of wood and appeared ancient to the imaginative mind of a young girl. Micah often invited her over, along with Ila, and she full well knew that it was nothing more than just an ordinary house with a rather bland stable wonkily stood next to it. But from the distance, especially in the fogginess of rain, it looked gloomy and ghastly.
The planks that were a pretty shade of brown during the day were now black as shadows, the splintering walls wobbling in her eyes like they were about to come down at any moment, while the soft orange glow of the fire inside seemed pallid and weak. When she thought of houses in horror stories, the Adkin’s farm was always the first thing to come to mind, causing sizzling goosebumps to run up her arms and along her spine.
Once, when she had admitted this to Micah he had just laughed and called her silly. However, it wasn’t long before he joined in the fun of entertaining wild conceptions and telling haunting stories of his ancient relatives who had lived and died one after the other in the same house he ate and slept in. He’d added at least another ten tales that summer alone, and Gwyn was starting to deliberate which were true and which he had made up. Possibly all were fiction knowing him.
But today there was something eerie about the farm.
Her soaked, ebony flats halted as they drowned in a puddle, a miniature stream gushing along the incline she had just slipped and skidded down from and throwing bits of bark and grime at her white, soiled socks. It was cold and the fabrics were clinging to her skin in the most disgusting manner as she stood there shivering and holding a hand against her brow to help her blue eyes peer through the downpour. Her onyx-coloured hair was plastered against her skull, helpless as it dripped in its dowsed state and coiled against her scrawny neck. Being clothed in nothing but a summery white and blue dress that went no further than her knees, she had no protection from the tears that were shed by the sky. Everything about her was soggy and floppy, including her mood- until the moving shapes ahead captured her interest.
Bracken Lane split apart at the Adkin’s farm, either going straight on through Merriland Wood, or turning left to travel next to the property and join the main road to the town, Maplemire. It was from Maplemire that the carriage must have come from, Gwyn decided, recognising Sadie’s lofty silhouette as the mare trotted heftily towards the buildings, surely excited to get home. She plodded past the gate and came to a stop in front of the house, Mr Adkin hastily toppling out of the wagon and running to grab the bags loaded in the back.
She could recognise him easily, a well-built man, tall and slender though much stronger than he appeared, since it always surprised her how easily he picked up bales of hay. He was holding his hat in place atop his head while he rushed about, eventually dropping his hand so that he could grab as much luggage as he could.
Now the other figure, was much more interesting for it was one she did not know. In the first moment, she mistook it for Micah, but no it couldn’t be for he was far too tall. Micah was a year younger than her and a late bloomer, so he barely managed to crawl up to her shoulders unless he’d hit a sudden growth spurt. However, it was never long till she herself shot up another inch or two and was gifted the honour of teasing him further about his small size.
As far as she could make out, this one looked to be a similar height to her if not a bit taller. It must be a boy because he’s wearing trousers and his hair is short, the reasoning fluttered through her brain as she took a step forward. She watched as he too jumped off the cart and idly stood on the side, not showing any sign of being bothered by the rain as he didn’t run around hurriedly like Mr Adkin and instead stood stiffly in place. It was almost as if he didn’t know what to do with himself, loitering unsurely while Mr Adkin walked towards the front door and yelled something that muffled against the continuous drumming of droplets, though it was obvious that it was a sign to come once he waved an arm in the air.
Gwyn took another step, squinting hard to see.
The boy hesitated. He wavered in place, leaning forwards as if he was about to follow Mr Adkin. Then he turned around.
The lighting was dim and the distance still quite far. But their eyes unmistakenly met. Gwyn felt her heart skip a beat then pound roughly at the unexpected encounter, but she didn’t move. Her hand fell from her temple to her side, allowing the rain to pelt onto her cheeks as she continued to stare like a wide-eyed doe hypnotised by headlights.
The boy, in turn, continued to stare too.
She tilted her head with intrigue, feeling the adrenaline make her dizzy but finding herself unable to carry on out of surprise that he so intently ogled her back. His expression wasn’t visible, though he was definitely scrutinising her the same way she was him.
His hair was dark, not quite enough so to be black, she concluded, suspecting it was a shade of brown when dry. His clothes were dark too apart from the white shirt under his coat. Everything about him seemed dark and mysterious, just like the house behind him. Would Micah conjure up tales about him as well? Those would surely be interesting.
A smothered call barely reached her ears as the boy looked away, glancing to Mr Adkin standing in the doorway with rays of gold brightly blooming behind him.
Just like that, the spell was broken, and when he quickly swivelled back to inspect Gwyn some more, she already had her sights set on the murky shadows of trees sprouting further away while she broke into a sprint to hide under them.
It wasn’t until she was surrounded by the rattling leaves in the wood that she braced herself on her knees and allowed herself to pant breathlessly. Only then did she acknowledge the blood pounding in her ears and burning under her clammy skin.
Strange. Strange day and a strange boy. Oh well, she was sure that Micah would have a thing or two to say about him.
The warmth of the burning fire was gladly welcomed when Gwyn stepped through the door. Her muscles immediately shivered and relaxed at the prickling heat that crept throughout her, her footsteps making the floorboards of the homey cottage creak and whine.
“I told you it would rain,” an elder man’s voice made her jump, freezing her in place as she turned to the living room. Her grandfather was sat on the couch, newspaper prattling when he flicked to a new page while the fire in front of him cackled cheerily and illuminated his aged face and grey hair.
“I know,” she pouted, guiltily creeping closer. “But the sky was clear this morning.”
“The air was heavy and humid.”
“That doesn’t always mean it’s going to rain…”
“When you’re my age…” he lowered the paper and peered over his shoulder at her soggy frame, “you just know. Aye, look at you! Dripping all over my floor!”
“It’s not like I’m doing it on purpose!” flinching, she analysed herself, head twisting this way and that to witness her dress oozing water.
“You look like a mop that was viciously dunked in a bucket.”
“I couldn’t help it! I ran all the way here anyway!”
“From where child? I dare admit that my mops are dryer than you!”
“Maple Weald.”
“Maple Weal-?! What were you doing all the way over there?”
“Playing in the woods of course.”
“And you couldn’t have done that here?”
“Merriland is far smaller than Maple. And Maple Weald is far prettier, Maplemire was named after it after all.”
“For the love of… go get yourself changed. You’ll catch your death in that.”
Right when he said that, she gave a sneeze. “Yeah, alright… probably a good idea.”
“And try not to turn the house into a lake while you’re at it,” with a sigh he twisted back to the fire.
She was about to ascend, foot already lifting for the first step when her eyes brightened and she quickly pivoted to her grandfather again, “Oh! Oh, I have news! I saw something on my way back.”
“Did you now? What did you see?” he grunted with zero interest, determinedly scanning an article that predicted this would be the rainiest autumn in the last ten years.
“You know the Adkin’s farm?”
“Mhm…”
“I think that orphan boy came in today.”
At this he stilled. The paper slowly sank, and he somewhat rigidly rotated to her, gently pulling the glasses off his nose and placing them in his breast pocket. “Did he now?”
Gwyn nodded, “I saw Mr Adkin come in with the carriage and some boy. Didn’t get a good look at him because of the rain, but it sure wasn’t Micah. Too tall to be.”
“Well then… that is something new, isn’t it?”
“Why are they adopting an orphan?” she confidently asked, brows furrowing with perplexity. “They already have Micah and Tobey… why do they need a third kid? Especially one that’s old. A baby would be cuter.”
“One… you need to watch that yap of yours…” he shook a finger at her sternly while he searched for the right thing to say. “And two… well… he’s not really an orphan exactly, is he?”
“He isn’t?”
“Well… no…”
“Then what is he?”
“Ah… um… well… well he’s… it’s complicated.”
“What does that mean?”
“It… it means…” now he was really struggling, stammering and tutting with difficulty before he realised there was an easy way out of the interrogation. “It means you should be going upstairs to change and not mindin’ your lil’ nose in someone else’s business. Now, march upstairs you wee snoop. Worse than your mother you are.”
She gave a disappointed tut and growl, but she didn’t argue. This time she went upstairs, thumping noisily as she hurried to her room. When she was halfway there, the front door clunked open behind, sending her spinning on her heel to see who it was and nearly falling over the banister in the process.
“Goodness gracious! It’s horrific out there!” a neat silhouette thrust itself inside. Once the door was slammed shut again, the newcomer allowed her shoulders to droop so that the black raincoat could peel off and reveal who it was.
“Hi mama!” Gwyn bellowed from above with a frantic wave.
Her mother jolted at the unexpected shout, looking up while she placed the coat on a hanger, “Hello my lo-… what on earth happened to you?”
“I got caught in the rain too.”
“What were you doing outside?”
“Playing.”
“In the rain?!”
Her grandfather then chimed in snitchily, “She got herself all the way to Maple Weald again.”
“Grandpapa!” she whined with a hurtful twinge of betrayal.
Her mother glimpsed at him then spoke to her, “Oh Gwyn… you shouldn’t be venturing so far.”
“But I like it at Maple Weald.”
“It’s lovely I agree, but could you not go with your sisters at least? You’re only little and I can’t stand the thought of you sauntering around that desolate wood all alone.”
“I’m not alone, there are animals there.”
“It’s rather the people that may be lurking there that frighten me…” she said with a tired exhale. “You shouldn’t go out alone.”
“But Kim and Lea don’t want to go out and play.”
“What about your friends then?”
“I was only out in the morning. I didn’t want to drag them out for nothing.”
“Morning? It’s nearly four in the afternoon.”
“Maple Weald is safe! You didn’t mind me going there all summer!”
“Because during summertime the days are longer. It’s not safe for you to be walking around at night. It’s not safe for any young lady.”
Gwyn hung her head, solemnly watching her damp feet and feeling a flush of heat burn her icy cheeks. It didn’t seem fair that she was being reprimanded, chewing on her lip with a sense of wrongdoing though she didn’t understand why.
Upon seeing her look of pure despair, her mother softened slightly and rolled her eyes with her own feeling of remorse, “Alright, alright… we’ll discuss this later. Go get yourself cleaned up. The last thing we need is for you to come down with fever.”
“Yes mama,” and she was off like a rocket before any minds were changed. Her feet clobbered desperately, bedroom door ramming closed and making her mother flinch at the unintended force.
Then she huffed and ambled into the living room, “Honestly, what am I to do with that girl?”
“She can manage herself,” Mr Briscoe said, licking a finger and flipping to the next page of his newspaper. “She’s a clever lass and if you restrict her, it’ll only encourage rebellion.”
“I think her safety is a little more important than fear of a wee tantrum.”
“Not if her tantrums are anything like yours,” he scoffed in return, chuckling at his own wit till he saw the glower on his daughter’s face. “Yes well… you can’t shelter her too much either. That’s also not healthy.”
“It’s not sheltering. I just don’t want her walking on those empty roads in the dark.”
“I’m sure that a busy road is far more dangerous with plenty more strange folk willing to do harm. It’s a small town Vreea. There are more friends here than outsiders, a few enemies maybe, but nobody that would bother a little girl walking home. There’s a greater likelihood she runs into Mr Garnett or Mr Fairfield, or even Mr Adkins would notice her passing by and give her a lift to make sure she’s alright. It’s not the city Vree… townspeople are different.”
“I suppose your right… but just because something is a rarity doesn’t mean that it never happens,” she reminded, straightening her dress and sitting down beside him to watch the fire dance on the logs. Her light hair fell over her shoulders, transforming into the colour of molten gold in the honeyed glow of the stoney hearth- a complete contrast to her youngest’s shade.
“It hasn’t happened yet, and I doubt it ever will- touch wood,” he knocked a fist against the deep brown end table resting on his right with a half full coffee cup shakily twinkling at the force. “So don’t fret over it. Besides… she didn’t come back empty handed.”
“Don’t tell me she brought another mouse inside…” Vreea grimaced at the memory, but Mr Briscoe shook his head.
“Not that kind of gift, no. She saw Mr Adkin bring the new one over.”
“Who?”
“The bastard boy. The one Mirela mentioned to you that her husband learned he had.”
“Oh yes, she did say something about that, didn’t she?” thoughtfully gazing into the flames, she tried to recall the conversation from a few weeks ago. “It was today that he’s coming? She was awfully quiet about it.”
“I reckon you would be too if you were about to have a new stepson come live with you. It’s not something she’s excited about, I’m sure.”
“Don’t say that father. Mirela is as kind as they come. That boy won’t receive a warmer welcome than hers, you’ll see.”
“Kind or no… I doubt any good wife would be happy to learn that her husband fathered another’s child before he fathered her own.”
“At least it wasn’t during fathering her own,” she rose and made her way to the kitchen in the back to retrieve a cup of tea for herself. When she returned into the room with a steaming drink that she carefully brought to her lips, Mr Briscoe resumed the conversation.
“Either way… imagine taking in a random child like that. Practically off the streets. You don’t know where he’s been, who he’s been with or what he’s been taught,” his nose wrinkled with some contempt as he shook his head. “It’s like taking in a stray dog. Could be ridden with flees, abused and aggressive, and God knows what else. Can you imagine the things he learned in the city? Pickpocketing, gambling… he may have killed someone and we would never guess it.”
“Sounds like you’re guessing it…” Vreea placed her cup on the sleek coffee table in front of them and sat down again.
“To have a child like that live with you, can you imagine? And under the same roof as your own young ones no less. I can’t decide if it’s brave or reckless.”
“Oh papa, you haven’t even met him yet. If he’s anything like his father, then there’s nothing to worry about, is there?”
“And what do we know of his mother? She could be the worst crook of all.”
“Go on, keep scaring me why don’t you? Right after you encouraged me to let Gwynie run around the roads without restraint. Safe town you just said, and now you’re making up stories about a demon child coming to live next door.”
“All I’m saying is we should be wary because we don’t know this kid’s background is all. Maybe he really is fine, but if it were me, I wouldn’t want him prying about my house.”
“And where would you have him sleep? The barn?”
“Potentially… until I was assured that he was a sensible young man-”
“Well then, it’s a good thing you didn’t make my girls sleep with the chickens.”
“Now that’s different-”
“Perhaps the pigsty would have been better.”
“It was a different matter entirely.”
“How so? They were raised in the city too, were they not? Gwynie was six when we left. Kimmy and Lea were nine. They could have easily been pickpockets too.”
“They are daughters of my daughter. It is not the same.”
“And he’s a son of her husband.”
“The love for a daughter is much stronger than the love for a husband, and rightfully so.”
“Goodness, Daddy don’t sound so cruel. He’s only young.”
“Gwyn called him old.”
“She’s eleven, she thinks everyone is old.”
“Oh? Alright then. If you feel so good about it, why don’t you go send her out on a playdate? He’s not that many years older I take it.”
She hesitated at that, “Well…”
“Exactly. It’s not an insult Vree, it’s a fact. We don’t know this boy or his history. Mirela can go about doing what she wishes, but I think you should advise the girls to keep their distance. Especially Gwyn… you know how she makes a habit of entertaining herself with everything she shouldn’t.”
“Hmm… you’re not wrong there. I’ll touch the topic I suppose… yes, at the same time as I tell her to not be out past dark. Kim and Lea too. They may consider themselves adults at fourteen, but they are still very much children. All three of them need to be more careful.”
“I whole heartedly agree.”
