《Yours》


 Chapter 1

    The Cumbrian mountains bore the weight and beating of the pouring rain, leaving gaping puddles upon the chocolate earth. As the wind shook the trees and swayed their branches to and fro, thunder rumbled across the darkened sky, mimicking the sound of a thousand giants stomping their feet on the ground. A bolt of lightning struck a nearby cliff, causing chunks of stone to break off at the surface and roll down to the bottom with a crash. Packs of wolves swarmed the forest for a scrap to eat, their paws leaving tracks in slippery dirt.


    These hungry beasts dared not approach Cumbria¡ªthe large, gray kingdom that was perched amongst the rocks thousands of feet above, less they would be met with a swift swing of a sword or axe by the locals if they even managed to make it past the walls.


    The winter of 1704 was a cold and wet one, and it looked like the following year¡¯s harvest wouldn¡¯t bring much. Oddly enough, Cumbria¡¯s seven hundredth anniversary was only a few weeks away, but none of its residents seemed to be in the mood for any sort of celebration. Floods and mudslides devastated their crops, destroyed their good soil. Many homes had been swept away, leaving thousands with nowhere to go¡ªthose who had managed to survive and were exposed to famine.


    Approximately twenty miles from the western border of the Cumbrian mountains lay a desolate island, covered by a mass of weeds, trees, and tangled vines. The place was not fit for habitation by any means, and any fool who strived to build their home there had the shadows touch their shriveled bones by first light. The water from the murky lakes and rivers were stagnant¡ªrotting away at the surface and attracting multitudes of flies. The land struggled to produce anything other than thorns, and not a single bird called out from the trees. Dozens of underground caves, covered in poisonous moss and algae, littered the surface and caused holes to open in the sinking ground. Snakes and rats the size of dogs devoured what little vegetation remained, leaving the earth sore and naked.


    In the depths of one of these numerous caves, a faint green light glimmered for a few moments, and then faded. Like a pulsing heartbeat, it softly protested against the domineering darkness, before growing stronger until it completely bathed the walls in a neon glow and there was nothing in sight.


    * * * * * * *


    John Weston Tillamore III paced to and from; his hands were clasped so tightly behind his back that his fingernails dug into his palms. He was a thin, tall young man; his finely tailored waistcoat and breeches hung so loosely from his frame that they resembled curtains. His face was pale, and his dark brown eyes were large and bloodshot. He had misplaced his glasses, and all could he do was turn. Three steps forward. Pivot. Three steps forward. The buckles of his shoes glowed in the dim light. Although only twenty six years of age, his slumped over form made him feel much¡­..older.


    He couldn¡¯t help but flinch.


    Aging. If there was anything he couldn¡¯t stand more in the world, it was the thought¡ªthe idea of getting wrinkles. Each morning, he had made sure that his servants applied fresh rose water and the finest powder to his cheekbones, nose, and mouth. If he dare even discover a pimple on his chin or forehead, he would be sure to find the person responsible and either send them to hang in the gallows or be flogged. He would¡ª


    ¡°That is enough.¡± The sharp female voice pricked him in his side, like a thorn. John abruptly glanced at his mother, Thera Tillamore, who was seated by the door in the parlor. Her curled wig was piled up high upon her head, decorated with jewels and feathers. The crackling sound of the fireplace filled the air, alongside the heavy rain pouring against the glass windows. She began to fan herself with a folded piece of paper, and her blue eyes met his.


    John exhaled.


    ¡°You are going to dig a hole in that rug,¡± Thera snapped. ¡°Stop this nonsense. Sit down and have some tea, my boy.¡±


    A high pitched cry echoed down the hall, followed by another shriek. John immediately rushed towards the closed doors, but Thera abruptly rose to her feet and blocked his path.


    ¡±Sit. Down.¡± Her jaw was clenched.


    ¡°Mother, I¡ª¡±


    The look in her eyes made him immediately realize that there was no getting through to her. John reluctantly sank down on a sofa, accidentally rattling the tea set on the table and causing some of the hot liquid to slosh out of the cups. Thera frowned and folded her arms.


    Another scream bounced off the walls.


    John flinched and buried his head in his hands. ¡°Mother, please.¡±


    ¡°If only your father could see you in this state, he would be rolling in his grave. Have we not sacrificed enough for you? I dare say that if you find yourself unable to conduct yourself under such conditions, then I imagine that the throne will be no use for¡ª¡±


    ¡±I am king,¡± John fired back, slamming his fist against the table.


    ¡±Then act like it.¡±


    Beads of seat rolled down the young man¡¯s temples, collected underneath his chin. He spoke through his teeth. ¡°Can a man not see to his own wife in her hour of distress?¡±


    ¡°Gloria will be fine,¡± Thera replied. She calmly walked to the table and poured out a cup of tea, her hand elegantly posed. The rings on her fingers caught in the orange firelight. ¡°This is a stubborn baby that will come when it decides to. You and I have no say in it. The midwife will call you when she is ready.¡±


    ¡±W-what if she dies?¡± John murmured. He took off his crown and ran both of his hands through his hair. ¡°The last three were stillborn. I can¡¯t keep putting her through this again.¡± His brown eyes glistened in the light. ¡°I can¡¯t.¡±


    ¡±You foolish boy. You know that all of Cumbria is depending on us for an heir. A beautiful child. You cannot possibly quit so soon.¡± The older woman placed two spoonfuls of white sugar into her cup and stirred, causing the utensil to clang against its china surface. ¡°If you want this kingdom to survive, you must fulfill your duty. Your father had to do it. I had to do it. And now, son, it is your turn.¡± She took one sip and frowned. ¡°This is cold. Where is that blasted servant girl? Elsie?!¡±


    The two double doors swung open. A wide eyed, freckled faced girl sprinted in the room. Her apron was stained with blood, and her face was tired, but her smile bright. ¡°Your Majesty, come, come quick! You have a son. A son, I tell you!¡±


    Before Thera could open her mouth to reply, John had already reached the end of the long hallway, his shoes echoing against the marble floor. The amount of candles in the room made him dizzy as he rushed into the bedchambers, breathing heavily.


    Gloria Tillamore sat amongst the rumpled sheets and pillows, her dark auburn hair tumbling down her shoulders. Her eyes were closed, but she opened them and gave John a weak smile. The top of her silk nightgown was soaked with sweat, and she struggled to sit up in bed as he rushed to her side and grabbed her right hand. As the midwife wrung out some bloodied cloths into a wet basin, Thera leaned against the doorframe. In her arms was a small, tiny bundle, wrapped in white cloth. A few strands of sparse blonde hair stuck outwards. As John glanced behind him, he was astonished to see the number of servants and guards out in the hallway, peering inside.


    ¡°Everyone leave us,¡± his mother ordered. ¡°Only the midwife is allowed to stay. My daughter in law is exhausted. Now.¡±


    As the others began to file out, Elsie clasped her palms together, almost jumping. ¡°Your Majesty, it¡¯s a¡ª¡±


    She had hardly finished her sentence before the back of Thera¡¯s right palm met her face. The young girl recoiled in pain, as the sound of the blow echoed across the room. She removed her hand, astonished to see blood across her knuckles; a great deal of it was trickling down her nose. John held his breath.


    ¡°You lazy, impudent girl,¡± Thera hissed. ¡°You¡¯ve done absolutely nothing but neglected your duties. Go and see if the cook needs help in the kitchen. And I do not want you up here again without my permission. Is that understood?¡±


    Elsie shakily nodded. Blood leaked down her chin.


    ¡±Now get out of my sight.¡±


    As she hurried away, the newborn¡¯s cries filled the air. Thera closed the bedroom doors and glanced at the child, who was now screaming on the top of his lungs.


    Gloria gave her a questioning look, before holding out her arms. ¡°Let me see him. He¡¯s probably hungry.¡±


    ¡°My dear, you need to rest,¡± Thera murmured. ¡°Let one of the wet nurses tend to him. I¡¯ll call one in and see that she aids you.¡±


    ¡°But I want to hold him.¡±


    ¡±John, darling, would you mind coming with me?¡± The older woman adjusted the wailing child in her arms. ¡°We need to talk.¡±


    John studied his mother for a while, before placing a kiss on Gloria¡¯s sweaty left cheek. ¡°I¡¯ll be back, my love,¡± he softly said. ¡°I won¡¯t be long, I promise. You did a wonderful job. Try to rest a spell, and do not excite yourself.¡±


    Gloria wearily nodded. As the midwife gave her a large mug of cool water to drink out of, Thera led John down towards the end of the dimly lit corridor. The baby was crying so hard at this point that John began to reach out towards his son, but Thera roughly grabbed his wrist.


    ¡°Is something wrong?¡± John asked.


    ¡°It is a changeling,¡± Thera whispered.


    ¡°A what?¡±


    His mother pursed her lips as she held the bundle out towards him. John grimaced, nearly stifling back a horrified cry. The child¡¯s face¡ªhe could not make sense of it. The nose and mouth hardly resembled a human¡¯s, and the dark blue eyes were large and round, similar to Gloria¡¯s. His chest grew tight, and his chin slightly quivered and shook.


    Thera gave him a hard look. ¡°You have indeed failed our bloodline.¡±


    John¡¯s eyes burned.


    This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    ¡°I never knew that you and Gloria could ever be so careless. If your mother in law¡ª¡± Her voice shrank down to a whisper. ¡°If our people have to lay eyes upon¡ª¡±


    ¡±What do you want me to do?¡± John asked, raising his arms over his head. ¡°What do you want me to do? I don¡¯t¡ª¡±


    ¡±I¡¯ll tell you,¡± Thera fiercely replied. ¡°Such a horrid creature cannot abide among us. This child does not belong to anyone but the devil. You have not become one with your wife, but with something that has no place in this world. And now, you must send it back where it has come from, lest it destroy us all.¡±


    ¡°Mother, I¡ª¡±


    ¡±I will hear no more of it. You shall follow behind your father¡¯s footsteps. More children will come. Yet this is a tarnished stain, a memory that no one wants to have. If anyone sees such an abomination, our people will riot.¡± She placed the screaming baby in John¡¯s arms. ¡°I cannot have it in my presence anymore.¡±


    ¡±But what am I to tell Gloria?¡±


    ¡°You leave that to me.¡± Her eyes narrowed. ¡°From now on, in her eyes, this curse is a stillborn, just like the others. I shall tell her of the news. And for the sake of our kingdom, you will not mention anything of it to her or your subjects. There is no child.¡±


    A lump rose in John¡¯s throat. ¡°You are asking me to lie to her?¡±


    ¡°You shall do as I say.¡± Thera¡¯s voice was colder than ice. ¡°Now, take this thing outside of the palace walls and get rid of it.¡±


    ¡°That is my son¡ª¡±


    ¡±You share no blood with it. It is a demon in the form of a human. Gloria¡¯s body has been cleansed of its presence. It is a direct threat against the future generations that will come.¡±


    The young king stared at her in disbelief.


    ¡°It shall not come into contact with any of us. And if I as so much ever lay eyes across it again, I will have it eliminated on the spot. Do you understand?¡±


    John¡¯s head was spinning so much that he could hardly breathe. He watched her make her way back into the bedchambers, her long skirts dragging upon the ground, feathers floating in her elegant, powdered wig.


    The hallways seemed to grow, shrink, then expand again. John didn¡¯t recall stumbling down the steps, before sitting at the last one, holding onto the wailing bundle until at last it became silent, only a few hiccups. He could not look at its face again.


    * * * * * * *


    In 1083, the brave Irish knight Sir Gerald Buferon received the surname Tillamore from Robert II, the Duke of Normandy, after the murder of Earl of Northumbria in 1080. Being of royal blood and with shared ties to the throne, Gerald Tillamore, alongside his brothers, William and Henry, established and founded Cumbria. The mountains provided the young kingdom enough security from enemies who wished to seized and gain control of their lands.


    For the past seven hundred years, the Tillamore dynasty was at its strongest, each chain link supporting the other. Broken ones were cast aside. Their genetics, youth, and beauty were one that many people believed could have been a divine intervention itself. Besides these physical advantages, intelligence, charm, and honorable qualities such as courage and bravery were ones that solidified a Tillamore at the core.


    The newest addition to the Tillamore lineage knew of none of these things. Just a few months away from his twelfth birthday, the young prince not know what it was like to feel the sun on his face or hair. He did not know what it was like to talk, laugh, tease, or joke as people his age often did. He did not know his own name; if he had one, it was never spoken to him. It was always, ¡°come,¡± or ¡°stay.¡±


    He only knew the dark stone walls¡ªand what was behind them. He knew that he was forbidden from leaving them. He only knew to remain quiet, to listen to the voices of the servants outside, the woman that he knew was his mother, and his three younger sisters, all who were triplets and had inherited her beauty. He watched them grow from crawling babies into energetic toddlers learning how to walk and stand for the first time. He wished that he had been able to guide them on their first steps.


    They often played and squealed as they ran up and down, their curls bouncing up and down and peeking out of their large pink bonnets. He saw his grandmother sitting in the family room, playing the grand piano exactly at three in the afternoon on Sundays.


    He loved hearing her singing voice.


    He had memorized their names. Whispered them. Anne, Cassandra, and Audrey. Thera. Papa. Mama. He wondered if he would ever get one.


    The boy did recognize his father¡¯s still, stern voice, when he did come to him to bring him a tray of food or a book. He had begun to learn how to read, and drew out crooked letters with a feather and ink on a page. He loved the illustrations on one of his favorite stories, Robinson Crusoe, and would spend hours drawing the ocean on the page.


    The palace walls were echoey, but he soon learned what each room was, how each stair tread creaked when a foot was against it. He placed his fingers against each cold stone, peeking out of one of the cracks to see the elegant, furnished rooms, all in its splendor and glory. He was a pale, skinny child, and was quite small for his age, with unkempt dark hair that fell to his back. His clothes were clean, he received plenty of good food, he had a soft mattress and blanket to sleep on, and he looked forward to his father visiting him whenever he could.


    But he desperately longed for someone to talk to. He had his books, his drawing pen, and all sorts of toys, but they only worsened the growing emptiness inside of him. Overcome by loneliness, he spent many days in his bed, curled up in a ball and sobbing until his pillow was soaked with tears.


    He gazed at his sisters playing with a dog in the hallway through the cracks in the walls. Using a lump of chalk, he drew three stick figures upon the stone floor. With a shaking hand, he made sure to give the dog a long tail and big, floppy ears. Slowly, he added a fourth stick figure next to them, before placing his palm directly on it. The girls¡¯ laughter echoed in his head.


    The child noticed that Gloria¡¯s stomach had gotten big again. Excitement suddenly took over him, and he peered through each crack and crevice, his large pale eyes glowing in the dark. It seemed like ages, but as the weeks passed and her abdomen grew, he struggled with patience. For him, another sibling would be a playmate for him.


    He stayed up all night and fell asleep behind Gloria¡¯s bedroom wall. When he awoke to the cries of a baby, he watched with anticipation through a crack in the plaster as his father laughed with glee and his sisters crowded around the bed to see. Servants filled the room, and Thera was grinning from ear to ear, rocking the baby back and forth.


    ¡°My darling grandson! My sweet, sweet boy!¡± She chuckled. ¡°He has your face, John, one of a true Tillamore. Well done, John. Well done. He is absolutely beautiful. And he has your mother¡¯s fine hair.¡±


    ¡°What are you going to name him?¡± perked up Anne, who clutched her doll with her left hand and began to suck on her thumb.


    ¡°Charles,¡± Gloria murmured, placing a kiss on the baby¡¯s cheek, who was giggling and placing his foot in his mouth. ¡°But we¡¯ll call him Charlie for short.¡± She glanced at the triplets. ¡°He is your only brother, so you shall be gentle with him and play nicely, do you hear? He is very, very little.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Mama,¡± the girls answered in a chorus, causing a few of the guards standing outside of the bedroom door to chuckle.


    John¡¯s smile slightly faltered, and he looked down for a moment before walking out. Thera shot him a menacing look, before returning a sleepy Charlie back to Gloria¡¯s arms.


    The nameless child slowly took a few steps back from the wall. He stared at his bare feet for a moment, pondering for a moment if what he had heard what his mother said was true. Surely, she had meant him as well. He wanted to draw a picture of a ship and give it to his baby brother as a birthday present. The thought of slipping out from behind the wall gave him a bit of anxiety, but it would only be for a moment. And he was used to moving quietly. He had done it his whole life.


    He spent the next two evenings by candlelight sketching out the ship with a stump of lead. Once he was sure that the hallway was quiet one night and everyone was asleep, he lifted up a chunk of a loosened wooden floorboard and climbed out of the stone structure for the first time.


    He barely made a sound against the floor as he made his way up the steps in the kitchen. To his surprise, the hallways looked just as plain as the outside as they were within, but he knew how to find his way to Charlie¡¯s room. The oilcloth was nearly folded up and tied with a piece of loose thread he had broken off from his quilt.


    The bedroom was dark, and he felt his way around the furniture, careful not to bump into anything. As he slowly approached the cradle, he stared at Charlie¡¯s sleeping form, his sound breathing. Unable to resist, he gently reached out and picked up the newborn, holding him in his thin arms. A smile slowly spread across his lips as his brother looked up at him.


    There was a shriek at the door.


    The boy immediately spun around, startling the baby, who began to cry. Thera stood in the threshold, holding a candle, her white knuckles wrapped around the handle. She screamed and screamed, dropping it, causing the guards to come in and stomp out the flames before they spread to the curtains.


    ¡°Get away,¡± she hollered. ¡°Get away.¡±


    The child took a few steps back in a daze. He saw his father rush towards him, yelling at him to get out before he ripped Charlie out of his arms. He saw his mother, his crying sisters. He saw them clinging to her mother skirts, wailing and screaming.


    He then saw his face for the first time in the dresser mirror.


    He felt his father¡¯s arms grab him and carry him out of the bedroom, down the steps. The drawing fell to the floor and slipped under the cradle.


    * * * * * * *


    ¡±We are going on an adventure,¡± John said, holding his hand out to the young prince early the next morning. The palace was incredibly still, in pale comparison to the chaos from the previous night. Gloria had been given the laudanum drops, so she would be well into a sweet slumber during the day. ¡°A very exciting one. So you must dress warmly.¡±


    ¡°Outside?¡± the boy asked.


    ¡±Yes.¡±


    ¡°Will there be pirates and sailors?¡±


    It was extremely difficult for John to look him in the face, so he studied the wall instead. He fought back the water building in his eyes.


    ¡±Papa?¡±


    ¡±We shall see. Put on your coat.¡±


    The child¡¯s eyes were bloodshot, redder than the hot coals. He had not slept all night, only tossed and turned. But he obeyed, although, in his young mind, he found it quite strange, as he had never owned a coat before. He shrugged it over his nightshirt as John placed an old straw hat upon his head. Then, he squeezed both of his bare feet into a small pair of leather boots.


    ¡°Come. Don¡¯t forget your book.¡±


    The boy stared up at him. ¡°Like Robinson Crusoe?¡± he hoarsely whispered. His throat was sore from crying.


    ¡°Yes,¡± John managed to get out. He shoved three shirts, pants, half a loaf of bread, apples, and a sketchpad with two broken pencils. As the boy finally took his hand, they ascended up the steps, and, for the first time in all of his twelve years, outside.


    The cool August morning in 1714 weighed heavily upon their shoulders. It was silent between them, as it was still dusk and a deep fog had settled in the air. John rowed the oars, relieved that his son couldn¡¯t see the tears rolling down his face. Blisters were on his palms, which were slick with blood and rubbed something fierce. He adjusted his hat and clenched his jaw.


    ¡°Where is Charlie?¡± the boy quietly asked, dipping his fingers into the cold, gray water. ¡°And Mama? And Anne and Cassandra and Audrey?¡±


    ¡±They will join us soon,¡± John weakly said.


    ¡°And Thera.¡± A few stands of dark hair blew over the child¡¯s hideous face, partially covering his pale eyes. John flinched.


    ¡±She as well.¡±


    When their boat docked upon the shoreline of the island, the young boy ran up to the gray sand, his long hair blowing in the wind. He stared at the strange landscape of shriveled trees and branches, before turning around. John dropped the bag on the ground, still wiping his face. He noticed his son staring at him and got down on his knees.


    ¡±Papa?¡±


    John could not meet the boy¡¯s gaze. The child¡¯s eyes were such a strange color that he had neither inherited from him or Gloria. Thera had been right. He had truly come from the pits of hell himself.


    Changeling.


    ¡±Why are you crying, Papa?¡±


    ¡°Let us play a game.¡±


    ¡°A game?¡±


    ¡±Yes. What would you prefer?¡±


    A broad smile fell upon the boy¡¯s sunken and distorted face. ¡°Hide and seek,¡± he whispered.


    ¡±Aye,¡± John choked out. ¡°Very good choice. I will count to twenty. You hide.¡±


    The boy giggled and took off into the woods, before disappearing out of sight. John fought back a sob, clasping a hand over his mouth. After a few moments, he weakly stumbled to the boat and pushed it against the waves, before climbing in, gripping both sides with his shaking palms, reaching for the oars. His stomach was twisting, churning, and he struggled to breathe as the island grew smaller further down the water.


    ¡±One¡­¡± he whispered.


    ¡±¡­.two¡­¡±

 Chapter 2

    The kingdom of Cumbria was split into four main territories: Belisaur, Gardil, Ormon, and Calibee. Out of these, many cities, both small and large, had taken shape like weeds sprouting from the ground¡ªsome more developed than others. The oldest ones were located in Orman, which were walking distance away from the looming palace that could seen within the mountains with just the naked eye, amongst the lush fields and grass.


    The majority of Ormanians were of noble descent, as many of their ancestors either had very loose ties to the Tillamores by blood or had dwelled there long before the growth of the other cities. It was a deeply favored spot amongst the men in the king¡¯s count. Dubbed as ¡°the city of the jewels¡± it was where many came to spend lavishly and live a life of luxury within the large mansions and elaborate shops. Hundreds of business owners ensured that their establishments would settle within the rapidly expanding population, as they were drawn towards the coal and iron mining industry. Due to the recent invention of the steam engine, such resources were in heavy demand.


    Belisaur, the southern front of Cumbria, was established sixteen years after the birth of the nation¡¯s capital city, Guadana, was a chunk of what many common folk referred to as a complete wasteland. Unlike its counterparts, Gardil and Calibee, the ground was nearly made of stone, making farming nearly impossible due to being so close to the mountains.


    The lack of cities were substituted for very sparse, rural villages and communities who rarely saw or interacted with each other, as they were at least thirty miles apart or more. At night, thieves and scumbags ran freely and terrorized the peasantry that toiled there day and night. During the day, a downpour would appear within the Cumbrian mountains that would nearly flood out the residents who scrounged the ground for whatever they could find, followed by the unbearable heat of the sun that would cause cracks to form in the earth. The bones of deceased cattle decorated the dried up fields, causing vultures and ravens to pick at their decaying flesh with their sharp beaks.


    * * * * * * *


    During that rainy fall day in 1714, many children were born in a multitude of homes, just to be as expected at any other date. While others believed that birth was directly connected to fate, some often believed that it was an occurrence of random events. Whatever the case may have been, the decision to celebrate or not hardly mattered.


    In a broken down shed, stifled breaths filled the hot, sticky air, as a woman¡¯s silhouette appeared on the wall. Water dripped through the collapsed roof and splashed into the puddles in the mud, next to the bales of molding hay. The woman¡¯s fingers dug into the soft earth¡ªher cracked lips parted, causing them to sting. She took another shaky breath, and, fighting back the agonizing pain in her lower thighs, delivered one final push with a stifled moan. Her fingers felt around her blood soaked skirts, down where her hands made contact with soft flesh, and she found herself looking at the large dark brown eyes of her newborn daughter.


    Using her remaining strength, the woman raised the crying child up to her left breast. Her own vision was foggy, and she attempted to wipe all the stuff that was all over her, to find something to cut the umbilical cord. She longed to kiss her daughter, hold her a bit closer. Yet, as she leaned her head against the rotten wooden beam that supported the shed, her hazel eyes focused on the falling rain, never to open or close again.


    The little girl¡¯s weak cries rang out in the shed, her small arms and legs pumping and kicking in the air. As the downpour stopped, the night sky appeared, being fully covered in a blanket of stars. When dawn arrived, a deep purple hue had spread across the wispy clouds, just peeking behind the mountains. The woman¡¯s body, having entered the first stage of decomposition, began to attract flies. Her bloated flesh had taken on a greenish appearance, and the scent blew in the wind, carried amongst the vast, empty countryside.


    On the fourth day that following week, when the sun was in the middle of the sky, a man was hiking up the twisted trail, heavy bundles of sticks attached his bent back. His busted hatchet hung by his side, and a deep indignation had settled within him for his previous carelessness. How now was he supposed to feed his family? He had no money to get it repaired, and the landlord was coming to collect¡ª


    A faint cry echoed in the trees.


    The man stopped and turned his head to the side. Scratching his beard, he spotted a dilapidated shed, nearly falling apart at the foundation and looking like it would be knocked off to the side at any moment in time. He adjusted his hat and took a couple steps forward in the shriveled grass, wondering if his brains had been addled. After a few moments of silence, he had started to turn away when he heard the sound again.


    He hesitated, before pushing back his thoughts and entering the shed. The stench was so strong that it made his eyes water, and he clamped a hand over his mouth at the sight of the maggot infested corpse of a young woman slumped over against the wooden beam, her eye still open. Attempting to not look at her face, the man rushed forward and reached for the child in her frozen arms. Her eyes were closed, but her chest was moving up and down to his relief.


    ¡°Mercy,¡± the man murmured.


    He tore off his cloak and wrapped it around the frail child¡¯s body, taking great care to keep her arms and legs warm. Her features had a strong likeness to her mother, with a head of thick black curly hair. With his fingers, he gently closed the woman¡¯s eyes, murmured a prayer to the saints, and took off through the fields as fast as his blistered ankles would allow him.


    * * * * * * *


    The Guadana House of Mercy, located at the outskirts of the city, was a towering brick building tucked in with multiple shops across the street. Being one of the oldest places in the area, it was blocked off on all sides by a large, rusty iron gate and had several windows that overlooked the bare courtyard. It provided shelter to nearly two hundred children between infancy and the age of seventeen, being run by a team of fifty staff members and owned by two sisters, Melissa and Susan Collington. Having opened its doors in 1712, the Guadana House of Mercy received monthly funds to cover operational costs, mostly donations from the public. The moment the city officials came to visit, every child was given a clean outfit, a decent meal, and made to stand out in the courtyard. Once they left, the children were immediately ordered to change and return back to their duties, and all funds and donations landed into the Collingtons¡¯ grubby palms.


    In her freshly painted study on the first floor, Melissa Collington counted a pile of silver dollars on her desk, which had been polished and wiped clean. The faint sound of children laughing and carrying on was all she could ever hear, and this bit of time to herself was a small comfort. She was an overweight, heavy-set woman, and her green eyes squinted to properly see through the round spectacles that rested on the tip of her nose. Mumbling to herself, she reached for another bag of coins and was about to loosen the drawstring when a heavy knock on the door made her jump. She immediately shoved the money into the left upper drawer of her desk and folded her arms after adjusting the bright orange bonnet on her head.


    One of her most trusted staff members, Lola, entered the room. Sweat stains had gathered under her armpits, and strands of dark hair stuck out from the lopsided pinner cap on her head. She gave an awkward curtsy, smoothing the wrinkles out of the stained apron that was tied around her skirts. ¡°Begging pardon, ma¡¯am.¡±


    ¡°Can you not see that I am occupied?¡± Melissa asked in an impatience tone. She rose to her feet. ¡°What do you want?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m terrible sorry, miss,¡± Lola replied, attempting to enunciate through her lisp. ¡°There¡¯s¡­there¡¯s a¡­a gentleman at the front door.¡±


    Melissa glared at her. ¡°So answer it.¡±


    ¡°I¡­I¡­.he¡­he has a babe with him.¡±


    ¡°A babe,¡± the Headmistress remarked, placing her left hand on her hip. ¡°Ah, isn¡¯t that quite a surprise. Tell him that we have no more space available. He needs to try his luck with the hospital across town. They have far more rooms than we. This is a parish.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve¡­I¡¯ve tried, but he won¡¯t¡ª¡±


    Releasing an aggravated sigh, Melissa roughly shoved the young woman aside and made her way down the hallway. She made sure her steps were slow and postured, that her head was held up high. That was what Lola lacked¡ªdignity and grace. And common sense. And with Susan being out of town for business, she was more than capable of running this place on her own. Her shoes echoed against the polished wooden floor, and when she approached the doorframe, the sight of the man holding a silent baby in his arms left her befuddled. Melissa cleared her throat, curtsying as he politely bowed and removed his scraggly hat off his head.


    ¡°Sir, you must¡¯ve heard what my assistant told you,¡± she began. ¡°We have no room here.¡±


    ¡°Madam, forgive my sudden intrusion,¡± the man quickly said. ¡°This child needs proper nourishment; she hasn¡¯t eaten in days. Surely you can find it in your heart to¡ª¡±


    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.


    ¡±There is no room,¡± Melissa repeated. Goodness, how dull could people be? ¡°Try the local hospital.¡±


    ¡±I have no money,¡± he replied, shaking his head. ¡°And they are overcrowded as well.¡±


    The headmistress shrugged. ¡°Then you must seek refuge elsewhere. I cannot help you.¡± She moved aside to shut the door, but there were quick footsteps behind her in the hallway. ¡°Good day to you, sir.¡±


    ¡°Wait!¡± Lola shouted. Her breaths were labored, and she stepped through the threshold. Her arms were stretched out. ¡°Give me the child. I¡¯ll see she gets some milk.¡±


    Melissa roughly yanked her by the shoulder, causing the girl to nearly lose her balance. ¡°Have you lost your mind?¡±


    ¡°Thanks be to the saints,¡± the man exclaimed. A large girl spread across his worn face as he placed the bundle in Lola¡¯s arms. He was missing two of his front teeth. ¡°God bless ye both.¡± And before both women could get a word out, he had disappeared within the streets, within the crowds of horses and carriages and passing people.


    Melissa slammed the door so hard that it left a crack against the wooden frame. Her face was dark red. ¡°How dare you.¡±


    ¡°Begging your pardon, m¡¯lady,¡± Lola held the sleeping baby close to her chest. ¡° ¡®Tis just but one more¡ª¡°


    ¡±Damn you. One more, one more, one more!¡± Melissa shouted. ¡°It¡¯s always one more, eh?¡± She pointed a thick finger at the petrified young woman. ¡°I shan¡¯t hear another word. Everything that you use within this house for that brat is coming out of your pay. Maybe that¡¯ll teach you next time about making decisions that you are not equipped for.¡± With a final huff, she stormed down the hall, her long skirts trailing behind her as she made her way to the courtyard, where a group of children observing her immediately scattered to get away from her path. ¡°You disgusting beasts. Get to work this instant!¡±


    Lola gazed after her for a moment, before carrying the now-awake baby to the kitchen area. Once she prepared a pewter-bubby pot with fresh goat milk, she raised it to the child¡¯s lips after sitting down on a stool near the fireplace. It took a little bit of prodding, but as the baby began to eat, she gently caressed the child¡¯s left cheek. The dark brown eyes, large and round, examined the room, before focusing on Lola¡¯s smiling face. She reached out and held the infant''s small hand, who was hungrily suckling on the end of the bubby pot.


    ¡°You seem to be quite solemn for someone who is so very small,¡± she murmured. ¡°I haven¡¯t heard a peep out of you. You pay that old geezer no attention; as she flaps her gums all day. She¡¯s the one who needs tending to.¡± And in her mind, right then and there, as the flames caused chunks of wood to break off within the fireplace, a name settled in her name for the child. Tace.


    * * * * * * * *


    During that winter in 1740, snow fell from the roofs and landed underneath the hooves of the horses trudged by on the street, their breaths visible in the cold air.


    Tace quietly laid on her pallet, trying to ignore the hunger pains in her stomach. She drew the worn blankets around her thin body, hoping that it would bring her some sort of warmth, but to no avail. Her bare feet were curled up, and she couldn¡¯t help but shiver in her ragged dress. The room was dark¡ªmost of the other girls were asleep, or lying awake with perhaps the same thoughts she had.


    She just had to wait a little longer.


    Breakfast had consisted of a slice of moldy rye bread. Lunch was half a bowl of porridge. And dinner was some sort of strange stew with lumpy carrots stuck at the bottom. If it was Christmas or Thanksgiving, each one of them would receive a boiled egg or a piece of ham. Or salty pork. The thought made Tace¡¯s mouth water.


    She¡¯d licked her plate clean with her dirt rimmed fingernails, and yet her stomach still grumbled louder than before. She¡¯d fallen behind on her chores, such as sweeping the courtyard and washing the dishes. As a result, the repeated beatings from Melissa Collington¡¯s cane ensured that she never miss a spot. Due to her being smaller than the others, she¡¯d received them quite often for being the slowest. Her fingers were sore and wrinkled from scrubbing the kitchen floor until it shone.


    One of the eldest and strongest girls, Hester, just about ran the kitchen on her own with her minions, who were equally as big as her. Being the Headmistress¡¯s favorite, she¡¯d been able to get seconds from the supper table. Thirds, even. Tace could see all that food starting to gather around her waist. Although Hester had just turned seventeen, she looked far older¡ªchunky with a still, set face. She ate like a man. Full plates, heaped to the top with sausage, boiled eggs, bread, ham¡ªwith a mug of ale that she chugged down. Her eyes fell upon the other children like a hawk, and when she spied Tace grabbing a scrap of bread during breakfast, she snatched her by her arm and dragged her to the headmistress¡¯s study.


    ¡±Ye rotten child,¡± Melissa Collington had snapped, her glasses nearly about to fall off her face. ¡°Ye steal from me? After all I¡¯ve done for you?¡±


    Tace observed her with her large brown eyes. It was the child¡¯s silence that had pushed the woman to the brink for ages.


    The little girl was so sore from the punishment from the Headmistress¡¯s cane that she could hardly sit down the next morning. Despite Hester monitoring her everywhere, when she wasn¡¯t looking, Tace slipped a dead rat into her mug. As Hester¡¯s screams filled the air after she had taken a long sip, a smug expression fell upon the young girl¡¯s face.


    Hester rushed out to the privy to vomit, causing the other children to laugh uncontrollably. It didn¡¯t take long for the Headmistress to find out the culprit, resulting in yet another whooping and no supper for three days. It hardly mattered to her, because she had grown to greatly despise adults. It was simply because they were bigger and older that they believed the world revolved around them. She found them to be bullies, like Hester.


    Tace placed fire ants in Melissa Collington¡¯s bed, taking great delight in seeing her face covered in bright red bumps the next morning and her nearly in tears due to the itching. The woman furiously scratched until her skin bled and the doctor had to add a stinging salve to her face, only adding to Tace¡¯s joy. Using a candle, she set fire to the drapes. She then dumped an entire container of pepper into the soup the cook was making, causing everyone to sneeze uncontrollably for hours.


    When she was caught putting Susan Collington¡¯s powdered wig into a mostly full chamber pot, both sisters were seething. She received a beating, before being ordered to tend to towering piles of filthy laundry with a chunk of lye soap. She shoved manure near the stables in the back, flies gathering around her skin. The moment the dinner bell tolled, she snuck back to the kitchen, but was startled when Melissa Collington¡¯s hand grabbed her by the ear and yanked her away.


    ¡±Ye still haven¡¯t learned your lesson, have ye? No supper for you.¡±


    When Tace was thrown back into that cold, dark cellar at nightfall, the child banged her small muddy fists against the wooden door, begging for someone to unlock it. Her cries echoed down the empty hallway, but no one answered her. As she curled up into a small ball in the corner, sobbing, she could see two red eyes glowing in the dark¡ªa squeak.


    Two days later, she was finally let out, but was so weak she could hardly stand. Once she had been given a chipped mug filled with cold water, which she chugged down quickly, Melissa shoved a broom into her hands and ordered her to start sweeping the first floor. Her first meal in ages consisted of a piece of cabbage and two soggy pieces of bread. She choked them down, and to her relief, she was ordered to sleep in the girls¡¯ quarters at bedtime.


    Tace knew she had to leave tonight.


    She had heard talk about the place getting too crowded¡ªthe headmistress was sending her and many others to the workhouse. She¡¯d heard the other girls whisper about it at meals. It was where children wouldn¡¯t be wanted. Bastards like her, they told her. And no one wanted bastards.


    Once she had strained her ears to the point that there wasn¡¯t a single noise in the hallway, the young girl silently slipped out of bed, wrapping her worn shawl around her shoulders. Her head was shaved very close to her scalp, similar to a boy¡¯s¡ªdue to the lice that was going around¡ªso her large ears stuck out, framing her thin, small face. Her nose was bright red from the cold air as she managed to push up the window a couple of inches, peeking behind her to make sure that no one could hear her movements.


    In the left hidden pocket of her ragged skirts¡ªshe had stolen the Headmistress¡¯s needle and thread to in order to sew one¡ªwas a small knife that she had grabbed from the kitchen drawer while she was bringing in an armload of firewood. Her arms and knees were sore from the labor of that day; but the hunger in her stomach was worse. She climbed through the window, made her way through the courtyard and out past the gate.


    Guadana slept. The streets were still, with the exception of the coachman lighting each of the gas lamps with an orange flame. Snowflakes landed on Tace¡¯s eyelashes, and stuck out her pink tongue to catch some in her mouth. Despite her body being completely numb from the cold, she much preferred it to the humid summer months, where the stench from where people dumped their waste on the side of the road made her dizzy. The air was cold. Fresh. It had no attachments.


    The surface of the fine white powder glistened like crystals. In all of her seven years, the child had never experienced such a glorious sight. It reminded her of the sugar cakes that she would see the Headmistress indulge in after supper each day in her study. Fluffy and warm from the oven¡ª


    Her stomach growled again, and she shook her head. Thoughts like these would not help.


    The air didn¡¯t smell like the musty walls of the orphanage, the stink of the endless piles of soiled shirts and skirts she had spent hours scrubbing against a washing bat until her fingernails bled, or the familiar stench of urine in the privy.


    She had never smelled nothing before.


    Rubbing her red knuckles together, she continued to trudge down the road. Whenever a wagon or a coach passed by, she hid behind an alleyway, crouching down below the bricked walls. Sometimes, she would press her fingers against the glass windows of nearby hotels or apartments, watching people dine and sup together in the orange glow of familiarity. A deep pang settled inside her when she spotted children her own age, laughing and playing with their siblings or parents.


    She slowly dropped her palms and retreated into the night, the brilliant white around her no longer providing her any comfort. Tucking the shawl more tightly around her shoulders, she abruptly walked away, fighting the sensation in her large brown eyes.


    Tace¡¯s bare feet left tracks in the snow.

 Chapter 3

    Several miles from Guadana, through the endless fields and winding mountains in the Belisaurian territory, lay the small, dingy town of Herskes that few in the Cumbrian kingdom would ever lay eyes on.


    The snowfall started to lighten up a great deal, however, many individuals passing by began to hurry through the vast forest that surrounded the area, their coats and scarves blowing in the raging winds. Their torches illuminated the icicles that hung from each crooked branch and the mouths of darkened caves that loomed in the still mountains above. The braying of the horses could be heard from afar, followed by the encouraging voices of the men who struggled to push their carts through the knee-deep snow.


    * * * * * * * * *


    Despite Herskes being a small town, their marketplace was unbearably overcrowded.


    Behind each wooden stall, the women had knobby apples and roasted corn cobs out for display. Most of the men sold livestock, such as geese, chickens, and goats. The scents of manure, sewage, spices, and freshly baked bread rose in the air. Children rushed through the streets, shouting and playing, while additional people brought their goods through the wagons being pulled by the mules.


    A girl suddenly shrieked, nearly dropping the basket of corn she held in her hands. As the others followed her gaze, they soon discovered a tall figure emerging from the woods. Some boys who were in the middle of a game in the street took one look at the looming shadow and began to run away, shouting on the top of their lungs.


    The young coal miner was covered head to toe in soot, carrying a pickaxe and several ropes on his left shoulder. He kept his head low, but walked slowly, his shoes crunching against the snow in the road. The whispers and pointing of the individuals nearby made his face flush, but he approached one of the fruit stands. Before the woman who was selling the produce could speak, her husband stepped in front of her, glaring at the towering figure.


    ¡°Yes?¡± he demanded.


    The young man¡¯s stomach grumbled as he pointed at a large red apple with a dirty fingernail. ¡°Would like to take a couple of these, sir.¡±


    There was a long silence. ¡°I am afraid not.¡±


    His face grew pale. ¡°Pardon?¡±


    ¡±You ought to leave. I have customers waiting in line.¡±


    ¡±Well, they¡¯re going to be waiting a bit longer, eh?¡±


    ¡°I said, you need to leave.¡±


    Gritting his teeth, the young man slammed a few copper pieces at the edge of the stall. ¡°I am no thief. This is honest money. See? Right here.¡±


    A large crowd had gathered around them. The seller swallowed hard. ¡°You best leave. That is tainted with blood. Blood money.¡± With his right hand, he knocked the coins off the stand, causing them to land in the snow. ¡°You Hollomans only have dirty money to bring. I will not bring the curse of a murderer upon my family.¡±


    The young man swore under his breath. He turned to glance at the crowd, who backed away as soon as his gray eyes fell upon them. A few other councilmen pushed past them, dressed in velvet waistcoats, polished shoes, white stockings. Their wigs were powdered, covered in curls. The shortest one approached the miner, folding his arms and glancing up at him.


    ¡°You are Stacey Holloman, correct?¡±


    He didn¡¯t answer, only smirked. He studied the funny looking man looking up at him. He wondered how long he could last in a brawl. The fool¡¯s arms resembled nothing but frail twigs.


    Look at how confident you are now, in front of all these people. Speaking with such authority, just because you have the law on your side. Let us see how bold you are when it is just the two of us here, eh?


    ¡°It is best you leave, before you stir up trouble. Or we shall have to inform the authorities. You are trespassing.¡±


    ¡±Trespassing? This land isn¡¯t¡ª¡±


    ¡±Consider this your final warning.¡±


    Stacey gave the salesman a dirty look. With his arm, he knocked over the pile of apples, sending them all tumbling to the ground. A smirk formed on his lips when he saw the enraged expression appear the man¡¯s face. Without another word, he snatched one up, took a large bite. Chewing loudly, he marched his way through the city, cursing everything and everyone he saw.


    * * * * * * * * *


    Amongst the shadows in the forest, hidden behind a great number of broken branches and fir leaves, sat a small wooden shack. Smoke rose from the lopsided brick chimney. Upon its sagging porch, which was weighed down by junk and a pile of firewood, were two windows that faced northbound, both which had spidery cracks in them. The door, barely hanging onto its hinges, weakly blew in the wind. A large pickaxe rested against the doorframe, and another wild gust of wind sent snow shooting through the entrance; landing on the wooden floor before gradually melting.


    The room itself; only being lit by a small fire burning in the hearth, consisted of a table against the wall, covered in handmade tools. Broken shards of glass littered the ground, and a pile of metal pots and pans, covered in cobwebs, sat in the corner, waiting to be used. Nearby those was a nearly overflowing chamber pot, followed by dried leaves that had made their way in through the broken window. A fresh row of frost gathered beneath the wooden ledge, which made it difficult to shut. The crackling sound of the flames filled the air, nearby the shredded remains of a mattress.


    On the pillow sat two dolls.


    In the darkness, a slumped over figure raised a glass bottle to his lips. In his other hand was the small portrait of a fair skinned woman and two little girls. The young man¡¯s gray eyes focused on the image for a long time, before he slowly set it down on the table.


    His loneliness had gotten the best of him as it did every night¡ª it was just the snow and the trees, the mountains, and his reliable pickaxe. No other soul that came by, just him, and this old, rotting shack. Most days he aimlessly wandered by in the trees, hunting squirrel, deer, possum. His nails were blacker than the coal he broke up to feed his fireplace. He¡¯d pretended not to care that he never received visitors, but by God, he was so damn lonely, so very lonesome, even lonelier than he was on the wretched farm he grew up on, and he needed to escape. Just once in a while.


    Fortunately, he didn¡¯t have to experience it for the next couple of hours. His fingers lingered around the tarnished pendant attached to a rusted chain around his neck; a small valuable that he had carried with him ever since he was young.


    Now, he was free.


    His steps were clumsy and delayed. To his dismay, when he attempted to take another swig, he found that the bottle was empty. Cursing to himself, he threw it to the ground, causing the glass to fall all over the place. He then wiped his moist mouth, before grabbing his coat and stumbling out of the door, the cold air causing frost to cling to his whiskers.


    He couldn¡¯t remember how long he had trudged through the snow, but he was relieved to see Alden¡¯s tavern appear in the distance. The sound of a fiddle rang in his ears. It looked almost to be a slow night, with a few of the townsfolk¡¯s horses and wagons tied near the entrance. The moment he stepped through the threshold, he leaned sideways against one of the double doors, causing it to loudly bang against the wall.


    ¡±Rise and shine, boys,¡± he yelled. ¡°Rise and shine.¡±


    The scent of tobacco filled the air, and the men who were seated at the rounded tables stared up at him. The man who was playing the fiddle stopped. A few of the women who were serving beer to the customers froze, before whispering amongst themselves. Thomas Alden, in the middle of wiping a glass clean with a rag, immediately walked forward and pointed his left hand at the newcomer. He was a short, chubby man, with a poorly fitted wig.


    Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.


    ¡± ¡®Tis a beautiful evening¡ª¡±


    ¡°You,¡± Alden barked. ¡°Out.¡±


    A smirk gathered on the young man¡¯s lips. ¡°Evening, gentlemen. It¡¯s a fine night.¡±


    Alden glared at him. ¡°Stacey Holloman, if you do not leave the premises this instant, we will have no choice but throw you out by force.¡±


    ¡±Get a couple of yer bitches to do it.¡±


    ¡±I said, get out.¡±


    Stacey snorted, before breaking out into full force laughter. The room was incredibly still, and Alden¡¯s face grew pale, whiter than snow. Stacey then straightened up his body, before spitting out the wad of tobacco he had been chewing to the ground.


    He was an enormous man, just shy of seven feet tall. Years of working in the coal mines had given him a muscular physique¡ªhis biceps bulged through the ragged coat and vomit stained shirt he had on. His black hair was unruly, but it was the wild look in his large gray eyes that unsettled the residents of Herskes. Rumor had spread that he had strangled his own wife and children with his bare hands.


    ¡°I needs me some ale,¡± Stacey replied, his words slurred. ¡°Then I be on my way.¡±


    Alden swallowed hard. ¡°You are not welcome here. Now, get out, before I call the¡ª¡±


    ¡±Why did the music stop?¡± Stacey exclaimed, making his way through the room. He knocked over a few tables, causing some men to scramble to their feet and move away from him. A grin spread across his face. ¡°Come, now, keep playing. Don¡¯t stop.¡±


    The clicking sound of a pistol made him turn his head. Alden¡¯s face was covered in sweat, and his arms shook as he aimed it at his head. Stacey studied him for a moment.


    ¡°You heard him, you blubbering fool,¡± one of the maids snapped. She was a mighty pretty thing, and he softly whistled as she set the tray roughly down on the table. Her facial features was what Stacey struggled to remember the most. Ah, Bessie Taylor. Almost reminded him of his Eliza. An indignant expression crossed her eyes as Stacey reached over for her hand. He bowed and kissed it, causing her to flinch.


    ¡±My dear lady, would you like to have this dance?¡±


    The pistol went off, grazing Stacey¡¯s shoulder. Smoke rose from the barrel, and warm blood leaked down his left arm. Alden clenched his jaw, repositioning his hands. He took a couple awkward steps back as Stacey glared at him, releasing Bessie¡¯s hand. He gulped as the man¡¯s towering shadow fell over him. There was something that twinkled in his gray eyes.


    Alden¡¯s body went sailing across the room, knocking over several tables, before crashing against several wooden barrels that spilled ale all over the floor.


    As the customers began to shout and charge at him, Bessie rushed outside, yelling at the top of her lungs. Stacey wiped his jaw, before swinging at each man. The sound of crunching bones was music to his ears, and the women began to scream, attempting to get themselves out of the doors and climbing over each other. A deep ringing set in Stacey¡¯s ears, and he took the pistol between his large hands and snapped it in two after stepping over the unconsious bodies of the men on the floor. Alden¡¯s face was bruised. Stacey slowly approached him and placed his palm on the man¡¯s shoulder.


    ¡°I just wanted me a beer,¡± he slurred.


    Alden groaned.


    The silence of the tavern made Stacey¡¯s stomach twist. With his blood soaked fingers, he grabbed a wooden mug, before filling it up to the brim with ale, foam settling over the surface. As he gulped it down, his gray eyes spied the fiddle lying in the middle of the table. In a fit of rage, he smashed it as hard as he could against the table until it was a pile of splinters that dug into the palms of his hands.


    Stacey sank to the floor, heavily breathing.


    * * * * * * * *


    He first remembered laying eyes on Eliza when he was about nineteen. That was the year that his pa had lost his sight and his ma had gotten sick. He and his brothers had to help out on their farm.


    But she had appeared to him, almost in a dream, while he was out harvesting potatoes and she stood out in front of him in an olive green dress, barefooted with her curly hair loosened about her shoulders. She was the most beautiful thing he¡¯d ever seen.


    And he was incredibly startled.


    She waved at him, and he shyly looked away. He didn¡¯t expect no woman to pay any mind to him. But the moment she gave him that sweet smile of hers and mentioned that her folks had just moved in the area, he was lost.


    When she became pregnant with their first child, her father threatened to shoot him in the head, so they both packed what little belongings they had and fled into the night, towards the mountains. Their second daughter was born in the shack he had built with his own hands, a strong roof and walls and a stone fireplace.


    His darling girls were three and six¡ªballs of energy that seemed to bounce off the walls. He had recently gotten a new job in the mines. Eliza took up sewing for a few ladies in the country side. Every night, he would bring home game for them¡ªrabbit, deer, squirrel. Then he would take his fiddle and play in front of the fireplace, with his girls sitting on his lap and Eliza clapping her hands to every beat.


    It was Christmas Eve.


    He had spent all of his money at the shop¡ªscented soap for Eliza; chocolate and two small dolls for the girls. He ran down the hills, smelling pine and firewood. He remembered the snow in his hair, but the door to his shack was open. As he stepped in the room, the bag he held fell to the floor with a thud.


    Blood splattered the walls, staining the floors and Eliza¡¯s hand sewed curtains. The cupboards were rummaged, and all their dishes and glasses were smashed to the floor¡ª-the knocked-over money chest which had contained their small savings bare.


    He noticed Eliza¡¯s blood soaked form on the ground. Something wasn¡¯t quite right with her neck. She laid next to the cold bodies of his girls. He held them all in his arms for hours, until the coals of the fireplace slowly died and left them in the darkness.


    * * * * * * *


    ¡°Mr. Holloman, the court has found you guilty of destruction of property, scandalous public behavior, and assault. You are sentenced to receive a hundred lashes in the public square.¡±


    The judge¡¯s voice and the jeers of the crowd were muffled against Stacey¡¯s ears, which were stopped up with mud and snow. He didn¡¯t remember how he had gotten here. He only knew that he had a terrible headache, and his stomach was sour. A couple of hours ago, he had been puking his guts out in a small cell. He was shirtless, and his bare feet dragged against the frozen earth as he was led to a wooden post. A thick rope tightly bound his wrists together. Strands of his dark hair fell over his wet face.


    Warm sunlight had peeked through the clouds above, causing some of the snow to melt. The crowd¡¯s roars grew louder as he was kicked to his knees and his arms were secured to the post. Tomatoes, eggs, and a dead cat was thrown in his direction. He managed to raise his head and spied Thomas Alden at the front of the crowd. His left arm was in a cast, and a bandage was wrapped around his head.


    The whizzing sound of the whip filled the air, landing across Stacey¡¯s back. He closed his eyes, gritting his teeth against the searing pain that coursed through his body. The guard yanked it out of his flesh, causing bits of blood to spray across the wooden post, leaving specks on the snow. With each lashing, Stacey grew dizzy, his fingers digging into the splinters of the post. His breaths became heavier, his gray eyes wet. He struggled to count, and when he skipped a number, the guard would start over again.


    As the sun set in the sky, the crowd had long dispersed. Stacey laid on his stomach in the mud, his head buried in his arms. The marks of the recently untied ropes had left marks around his wrists. With what remaining strength he had, he dragged himself through the snow, leaving behind a long streak of red, like an artist¡¯s paintbrush.


    He wasn¡¯t sure if he would make it to his shack, but he did. His blood soaked hand that reached for the water bucket he had on the porch shook as he dumped it over himself. Groaning, he packed a layer of snow across his raw back and leaned sideways against the steps. His breaths were visible in the cold air. More than anything, he longed for his tobacco pipe, but it was on the table inside the room. He then struggled to his feet, wincing in pain. Breathing heavily, he made his way up the steps.


    In the trees, he thought he spotted the movement of a figure.


    A faint smile crept across his lips.


    * * * * * * * *


    Stacey¡¯s skin was peeling. Festering, bubbling, revealing the flesh he never wanted or knew. But this was no unfamiliar occurrence, although it greatly irritated him.


    He knew where to go, to seek refuge. Despite the pain shooting up and down his blood soaked back and neck, he made his way into the night, back into Herskes, concealed by the shadows. Once his gray eyes met the cemetery, his pupils became dilated.


    He dropped to his knees at the first grave.


    * * * * * * * *


    The effects of Stacey¡¯s hangover made him sleep for the next few days. When he awoke, his back was itching terribly, with large keloids forming upon his renewed but sensitive skin. He felt around for the portrait of Eliza and his girls, exhaling with relief once his searching fingers found it. For a long time, he held it as tightly as he could to his chest.


    After slipping into a shirt, he scooped up his chamber pot and dumped it outside. His stomach grumbled, and he realized that he had no more food left in his home. With the last few lumps of coal in his pocket, he decided to go into a different market, and try his luck in selling them. He needed to return to his work in the mines, but his back was in so much pain that he could hardly move around.


    With a quiet sigh, he sat down on his mattress, resting his forehead into his large hands. Overwhelmed by the wave of loneliness that suddenly descended upon him, he closed his eyes. He tried to imagine that he wasn¡¯t alone, that his shack was so cold and empty and silent. He imagined his girls dancing to the sound of his fiddle, Eliza¡¯s sweet laugh, the tap of her foot¡ª


    That was when he glanced at the pillow. A deep lump rose in his throat, and his gray eyes became glazed over. Viciously, he began tossing the items in the room, flinging aside his tools and turning over the table. He raised his arms over his head, breathing heavily as sweat beaded down his face.


    ¡°No,¡± he whispered. ¡°No, no, no.¡±


    One of his daughter¡¯s dolls were missing.

 Chapter 4

    Tace¡¯s mostly frozen hands scrunged around the rubbish pile. She could hardly feel her fingers, but her eyes lit up at the sight of metal scraps. Fascinated by their texture, their color was shinier than a polished spoon. As quickly as she could, she shoved them deep into the pockets of her ragged skirts, which blew in the wind. Her teeth chattered, causing her jaw to ache. Her shawl, which had been wrapped around her the previous night underneath a nearby bridge, had mysteriously vanished when she woken up.


    Shivering uncontrollably, she hugged her thin arms, unable to withstand the sudden gust of fresh air. Wiping her bright red nose with her sleeve, she turned down towards the right edge of the street, hopping over the mounds of frozen manure and waste on the side. In a way, she had turned it into a game to distract herself from her hunger¡ªto see how great of a distance she could make it from another.


    She had learned to not look at people in the face.


    Women immediately ushered their children out of her path, their colorful skirts a stark contrast to the now slushy gray snow that was pushed aside by the wagon wheels. Men hardly glanced in her direction, dressed in thick furs and crisp white stockings. The rim of their hats were covered in fresh snow that was falling from above. Due to there being so many people running about, the young girl did not flinch to the sight of carriages or horses again, although the idea of laying eyes on the headmistress¡¯s face made her more alert.


    The scent of bread from the bakery lingered in Tace¡¯s nostrils. She had counted each of the shops on the last few corners, but somehow, she kept circulating to the same place. Salivating, she lingered in front of the door, hands deep into her pockets. Such a selection of muffins and cakes and biscuits¡ªall golden brown and warm from the oven, with melted butter and peach jam on top. The sound of the ringing bell filled her ears. She had pressed her nose and cheeks against the glass window when the sudden sound of the door banging shut made her jump and abruptly turned her head to the side.


    A short, scruffy man, wearing a large apron tied across his bulging middle glared at her. In his hands, he clenched a broom. His eyes resembled the small, round stones she used to skip across the lake. When he gritted his teeth, she noticed he had a golden molar that gleamed in the light. Before Tace had enough time to react, the broad wooden end struck her across the face. She landed sideways into the deep snow, her left cheek stinging from the sudden blow.


    ¡±Dirty, rotten, good for nothing little wench,¡± he yelled, shaking his grubby fist. ¡°If I ever catch you here again, I will alert the constable. Get away from my property. You are scaring away my customers and driving them off my business.¡±


    In a daze, Tace struggled to get to her feet. Her heart was thudding rapidly in her chest as another figure appeared¡ªa woman bigger than he with chunky arms. Her blonde hair was tucked underneath a bonnet, and she was wiping her flour covered hands against her apron. Her face was deeply flushed.


    ¡°Edgar, dear, come inside now. You¡¯ll catch a cold out in this draft. I will fix you your tea.¡± She then glared at Tace. ¡°Are you deaf? Off with you!¡± A disgusted look fell on her eyes.


    The child, stumbling awkwardly in the snow, began to pick up her skirts, dragging her numb feet within the mud. Her drenched dress, now clinging onto her, froze against her skin. It was only until she had made reached a couple of blocks down the street that she leaned her back against a brick wall, her eyes burning far worse than her cheek. She had only been out here for a week, but she was determined to never return to the Guadana House of Mercy. Placing a hand on her stomach, she felt around in her pockets, her frozen fingers suddenly making contact with small bits of metal she had collected.


    The metal.


    Tace licked her dried lips.


    Only a couple of corners down, she remembered passing the blacksmith¡¯s forge. She had seen men and women of all ages lined up, selling all sorts of stuff to him. After glancing down the street, she rushed past a group of men loading wood onto a wagon.


    * * * * * *


    The three copper coins weighed down Tace¡¯s pocket as she skipped down the sidewalk towards the market, eager to lay eyes upon what was available. She could already imagine herself biting into a juicy apple, perhaps a couple of boiled eggs, or¡ª


    She landed face first into the snow.


    ¡°What do we have here?¡±


    The sound of snickering made her look up, squinting her eyes in the dull evening light. Two boys, much taller than her, stood in her path. The one who had tripped her was grinning from ear to ear. He was dressed in worn, but clean breeches, and his dark brown hair was tied back into a queue. He couldn¡¯t have looked older than thirteen, but when he suddenly grabbed her by the collar of her dress and lifted her up in the air, his strength resembled a fully grown man¡¯s.


    ¡°Look at the rat,¡± the boy sneered. ¡°Filthy.¡±


    ¡°Funny how she won¡¯t say a word,¡± his comrade chuckled. ¡°Most girls would scream.¡±


    ¡°She is a damned mumblecrust. What is it, little rat? Something has your tongue?¡±


    Tace¡¯s legs helplessly dangled below her. She squirmed, attempting to pry herself free from his grip, but it only tightened, causing pain to shoot up her skin. The boy¡¯s dark eyes met hers as his comrade continued laughing. He opened his mouth to say something, but Tace sank her teeth deep into the flesh of his white palm as deep as she could. He shouted a curse word.


    Tasting blood in her mouth, Tace turned away and began to run. But she had only gotten a few feet away when the boy placed a pocket knife against her throat, holding her back. The sharp edge bit against the flesh of her neck.


    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    ¡±Scum,¡± he hissed. ¡°You¡¯ll pay for that.¡±


    ¡°Come on, Ben,¡± his friend murmured. ¡°Let¡¯s go already. I have to go home for chores.¡±


    ¡°Are you mad?¡± the boy exclaimed. ¡°She just bit me.¡± Roughly, he made her face him, before striking her across the mouth. The impact made her incredibly dizzy. ¡°Look at me when I¡¯m talking to you, sewer rat. You probably gave me a disease.¡± His brown eyes then settled on something in the snow. ¡°I see your pockets aren¡¯t empty.¡±


    Tace glanced down. To her dismay, her pennies were strewn across the ground. As she reached down to grab them, the toe of Ben¡¯s boot came colliding against her face, causing blood to run down her chin. He roughly shoved her into a nearby pile of manure, before scooping the money in his pocket. Smirking, he folded his arms.


    The young girl¡¯s bloodied mouth was quivering. Her fists were balled up, her blackened nails digging to her palms. The other boy remained still, his smile fading.


    ¡°Aww, is she going to cry?¡± Ben murmured, breaking out into a deep laugh. He made a tsk, tsk, tsk sound with his lips, before pocketing the change. ¡°Are you fixing to tell your mother? Oh, that is right. You don¡¯t have one. No one wants anything to do with you.¡±


    His laughter was all Tace could hear. The manure had seeped into her nose, mouth, the corner of her eyes. His hoots followed her as she pushed past a startled woman holding a dead chicken in a basket, fresh from the slaughterhouse. She couldn¡¯t see much, just colors, mostly, and the sound of her bare feet crunching against the snow. Her arms and chest were throbbing, and she believed that they were close behind her, but it had begun to snow against when she finally stopped, breathing heavily in the middle of the woods.


    She could still taste the blood from her nose. Slowly, she crouched within the snow beneath a large fur tree, her head into her knees, before finally falling apart into countless pieces. Her sobs were quiet, a gentle whisper against the calm wind and rustling branches.


    * * * * * * * *


    The silence of the trees comforted Tace.


    She wasn¡¯t too familiar with her surroundings, or how long she had walked, but as night fell and the large white moon shone in the sky, she could make out a silhouette of an owl watching her in the branches. Using handfuls of melted snow, she cleaned the manure and blood off her face the best she could. Her fingers were fiercely numb, but she managed to clear off a couple of pine branches, before selecting a small opening in a boulder as her shelter.


    Faint and dizzy with hunger, she attempted to start a fire with the kindling she had gathered, but it was far too wet. Curling up on the wet ground, she attempted to close her swollen eyes. Yet, the unbearable stomach pains kept her awake, despite how exhausted her limbs were. Rolling on her left side in the dark, she once more forced herself to sleep, before the glow of an orange light came into view.


    Tace slowly sat up.


    It was quite hard to fully make it out within the shadows of the trees, but she could just about see it. Driven by the cold, she stumbled out from beneath the rock and blindly followed the hue, pressing her small hands outwards to remain balanced in the snow. She weakly leaned against another tree before making it out towards the clearing, where a small wooden shack met her large brown eyes. The scent of smoke rising from the chimney made her draw closer, despite everything inside of her wanting to pull away.


    Her wet bare feet left prints upon the surface of the wooden porch. A dark red substance was spread across the stair treads and a nearby patch of snow, leaving a mark around the threshold and peeling white paint.


    The child then placed her left ear against the door. It was silent, with the exception of the crackling flames from the hearth inside. With one eye, she peeked into the dimly lit room, where the scent of urine and tobacco met her nostrils. Silently, she propped the door open enough to slip sideways through the gap. The welcoming heat of the flames was too much for her to turn from, and she eagerly rushed towards the fireplace, holding both of her hands out.


    Sighing with relief, Tace inched herself as close as she could, the orange glow illuminating the side of her face. As she glanced around the room, she spotted a large pickaxe leaning behind the door; the metal blade gleaming at her. The tool sent shivers down her spine¡ª-it was as nearly as tall as her. Cobwebs hung in the corners above, and layers of dust and dead bugs littered the windowsill.


    She had finished thawing herself out by the flames when she jumped and moved away.


    A figure in the dark corner of the room stirred, their breathing heavy and labored. Tace immediately got to her feet, taking a few steps back at the sight of the giant man fast asleep. His upper torso was bloody, covered in angry lacerations, and his closed eyelids fluttered, like he was in a strange dream of some sorts. Strands of dark, matted hair had fallen upon his face, and on the pillow near his head were two small cornhusk dolls.


    The young girl remained frozen for a moment, before taking a hesitant step forward. The giant did not move. Her large brown eyes fell upon the doll with the patterned purple dress¡ªand as soon as her eyes fell upon its painted face¡ªher deep, agonizing loneliness melted away at the sight of a new friend.


    Her very first friend.


    Unable to resist, her dirty fingers gently picked it up, and slowly, she hugged the doll as tightly as she could. She buried her face into its hair, slightly swaying back and forth.


    Her lips, for the first time, formed into a small smile as she admired the doll¡¯s plaited yarned hair, twirling the ends with a dark nail. Right there, she gave it a name. Isabel. She whispered the word. When she longingly gazed into the doll¡¯s polished buttoned eyes, she gently caressed the side of its face with a blistered finger.


    Isabel, she softly whispered again.


    The giant¡¯s abrupt snore suddenly jolted Tace back into her senses. Silently, similar to how she had entered the shack, she moved away as a child of the shadows would be accustomed to, with Isabel tightly tucked around her left arm. She glanced back a couple of times over her shoulder as the man turned over in his slumber, exhaling sharply.


    * * * * * *


    In the darkness of her small and cold den, Tace slept soundly on the thawed earth with Isabel¡¯s button eyes touching the tip of her nose. After days of endless walking and the very short nights in Guadana, the fatigue that she had been fighting for nearly a week swallowed her whole. Unlike the chaotic noise of the city she had spent her short life in, amidst all of the buzzing and carrying on, the silence itself had lulled her into a deep, sweet dream. Her breaths were quiet, in rhythm with the now gentle wind humming around her new home.


    A couple of mistletoes were tucked into Isabel¡¯s two braids. The doll was locked into the child¡¯s frail arms, close to her slow but steady heartbeat.


    Tace¡¯s muddy bare feet were curled up in the makeshift bed that she had created for herself, consisting out of pine branches and moss. Her stomach was filled with walnuts and mushrooms that she had collected in a nearby pile. Outside, it continued to snow once more, piling on higher than before until the shack and the trees around it were covered in fine powder.

 Chapter 5

    The Cumbrian palace, built in the year of our Good Lord 1011, was 106 feet wide with approximately 2,108,555 square feet. It had three gardens: central, back, and main. Two supplied the kitchen staff with what they needed; the other consisted of a multitude of flowers¡ªroses, daisies, marigolds, the like.


    With three hundred and fifty servants, including thirteen thousand ladies and gentlemen of the royal court, the place was hardly empty. Equipped with seven hundred and fifty rooms, staff and hired help occupied the lower quarters. The basement, which was located at the bottom of the palace and one of the oldest structures, was one spot that very few went down to retrieve an item. Forgotten by the royal Cumbrian inhabitants, it sat covered in cockroaches, spiders, and mouse droppings. A stack of moldy books sat in the corner, the pages glued together and the printed ink blurry and inaccessible to the eye.


    Filled with mostly empty crates and dust covered barrels, a wet, earthly scent wrapped around the stale air. When it rained, water dripped down from the ceiling, causing moss and algae to form on the uneven stone and brick walls.


    * * * * * * *


    ¡°John?¡± The heavy knock on the door was muffled, echoey. ¡°John, I need you to open the door. You¡¯ve been in that room for ages.¡±


    The doorknob twisted and turned.


    ¡°I can¡¯t find the key, darling.¡± The voice faltered. ¡°I¡¯m going to write a letter and send for the physician. You remember Dr. Crowsley, yes? He will be here by boat in three days.¡±


    The Cumbrian ruler did not look up, not even at the sound of Gloria¡¯s persistent tone. He sat in a large washbasin, the warm water murky and gray. Soap bubbles clung to his flesh and hair. His eyes were bloodshot, and he buried his head in his knees, squeezing his eyes shut. His ears were ringing excessively, and the throbbing in his head intensified. His study was a blur of colors.


    ¡±Talk to me,¡± Gloria pleaded. ¡°Please. Your mother is worried sick. And so am I. And the children, too. Please, just open the door.¡±


    It had been three months since John had set foot outside the palace walls. He hadn¡¯t slept, or eaten anything really, besides the cups of wine he sipped on throughout the evenings. He had the servants leave them outside of the door. He furiously began to scrub at his flesh until it bled and the water grew pink.


    ¡°John!¡±


    He tried to open his mouth, but not a single word would come out. Eventually, the banging on the door stopped¡ªhe could hear the queen¡¯s footsteps retreat down the hallway.


    He closed his eyes.


    * * * * * * *


    Elsie wearily carried the tray up the sixth flight of stairs, her face coated in sweat. It weighed heavily down upon her arms: minced pies, jams, biscuits, and a large pot of steaming tea. Balancing it on her hip, she reached the door at the edge of the hallway and rapidly knocked her foot upon the carved door.


    ¡°Who is it?¡±


    ¡±Tea, your Grace,¡± she replied.


    There was an abrupt sigh, before the door opened. Thera Tillamore folded her arms and scowled. Her hair, which was usually so elegantly styled, now resembled a squirrel¡¯s nest that hung about her shoulders underneath her crown. A strange odor rose from her stained dress, and her dark blue eyes fell upon the young woman, who gave her a polite curtsy. To Elsie¡¯s surprise, her fingers were bare, as the only jewelry that she wore was the diamond chain around her neck.


    ¡±I thought you could use some refreshment.¡±


    ¡°Set it down over there,¡± Thera said, pointing at her disorganized desk. ¡°And leave me. I have the most terrible headache.¡±


    ¡±Yes¡¯m,¡± Elsie whispered, stepping into the room. Her fingers were tightly clenched across the tray, turning white at the bone. The heat from the crackling fireplace only made it more difficult for her to breathe. In the corner of her eye, Thera slumped into a wingback chair and watched her with a lingering gaze.


    ¡°Elsie.¡±


    She spun around, smoothing out the wrinkles of her skirt. ¡°Yes, your Grace?¡±


    Thera winced in pain and placed a hand against her forehead. ¡°I need more candles for this room. There¡¯s been such a draft coming in from all the rain outside, and I believed I¡¯ve caught cold. Would you be a dear and fetch some from the basement?¡±


    ¡±Candles, your Grace?¡± Elsie asked. ¡°Do you prefer that I run to the market and get you some fresh ones? The ones down there are probably useless after being¡ª¡±


    ¡±I do not wish to quarrel with you,¡± Thera snapped. ¡°You stubborn cad. Why do you wish to deny me this request? And hurry, please. These stumps are about to go out.¡±


    The young woman bit her tongue. ¡°Forgive me, your Grace. It would take but a moment.¡±


    Thera sighed and placed both of her feet upon a patterned stool. ¡°Thank you.¡±


    When Elsie closed the door, she glanced at the hallway. Thunder rumbled from outside, and lightning forked the gray sky. After stretching her back, she yawned and began to make her way down the steps, her shoes echoing against the vast marble floor. Her stomach rumbled. The sooner that she would be able to be done with this, the sooner that she could retire for her noonday meal of potato soup and warm bread. The cook had taken a liking to her; given her double portions for taking on most of the load in the kitchen. She hoped to impress him further.


    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    The rain began to patter across the windows.


    As she finally approached the stairwell leading to the lower level, a strange, unfamiliar scent met her nose. She then lit a candle and shone the light over the steps, hesitating at the pitch darkness below. A frown spread across the young woman¡¯s face. Didn¡¯t they put candles down there for staff as they did with all of the other rooms? How inconsiderate, she thought, quite cross. How inconsiderate, indeed.


    She descended down the steps.


    * * * * * * *


    Six-year old Cassandra Tillamore dragged her jump rope across the ground, picking up her long skirts so that they would not get caught beneath her brand new shoes. She paused to adjust the lopsided jeweled crown that rested on top of her dark brown curls. Mama often got quite cross with her when she engaged in such unladylike things, and she did not want to dirty up her hemline. A proper princess would not want to do anything of the sort. As the youngest triplet, she knew she had to watch and learn by example.


    Her sisters had snuck into the kitchen to help themselves to gingerbread and cake. She planned to join them as soon as possible¡ªjust as she could skip to a hundred without stopping. Grandmother had given the jump rope to her the previous week. With her cheeks flushed, she had attempted several times, only to make it to twenty-five. She tried to show Mama, but she had noticed her sitting on her bed, sobbing hysterically in her hands.


    Charlie was fast asleep in his wooden cradle, peacefully sucking on his hand. He was getting fatter every day, and Cassandra couldn¡¯t help but admire his chubby cheeks and tiny little feet and toenails. More than anything, she enjoyed making him laugh, to see his pink gums.


    Mama didn¡¯t seem to notice him. She spent long hours in her room, before going upstairs, then returning, even more shattered than before. She hadn¡¯t held Charlie for a while, and the young princess couldn¡¯t figure out why. Every morning, after the nurse had fed him, Cassandra would sit in the big rocking chair in the parlor and sing to her new baby brother.


    She had asked if Papa was on a trip¡ªand when he would be coming back soon. Her mother, through the tears that spilled down her face, gave her a weak smile and cupped the side of her face with a cold hand. She hoarsely whispered, ¡°Soon, poppet. Very soon.¡±


    That had been five days ago. Grownups were very terrible at telling time.


    Cassandra exhaled and leaned against the stone brick wall, breathing heavily. One of the guards¡ªthe fierce looking man that stood in front of the throne room, was walking down the hallway, his uniform crisp and ironed. He was a favorite in her father¡¯s court¡ªStephen Gupervinne. Due to him being the tallest person that Cassandra had ever seen, even taller than Papa, he had first intimidated her. But when he spotted her, he stopped, the stern expression on his face quickly disappearing, before deeply bowing.


    The young princess stared at him.


    ¡±Good afternoon, your Highness.¡±


    Cassandra curtseyed the best way she knew how¡ªthe proper way that her grandmother had taught her. Her new shoes were indeed slippery, and the crown on her head had become lopsided again. Frustrated, she pushed it back upon the sweaty mess of curls on her head, causing Stephen to smile.


    ¡±I see you are in the middle of a game.¡±


    ¡° ¡®Tis more than a game. I can¡¯t get to a hundred,¡± she complained. ¡°I¡¯ve tried and tried, but I can¡¯t. I want to go outside and play, but Mama thinks I¡¯ll catch a cold. The floor is too smooth.¡±


    ¡°You best listen to your mother, then,¡± Stephen said, kneeling down to her level. He chuckled. ¡°And all this needs is just some practice, alright? I believe that you are doing a fine job, Princess. It is no easy task.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve never even made it past thirty,¡± Cassandra replied, folding her arms. ¡°What a lousy number. Anne can do forty in her sleep.¡±


    ¡°Well, could you have reached that number when you first started?¡±


    ¡°No. Before, I couldn¡¯t do even five without getting tired. Or the rope getting tangled.¡±


    Stephen¡¯s eyes twinkled. ¡°Then there¡¯s no point in giving up now, is there? Keep at it. You¡¯re getting better with each passing day.¡± He reached into his uniform pocket and pulled out a white daisy. ¡°Until the rain stops, you can indeed carry a little bit of the outdoors with you.¡± He winked. ¡°Here.¡±


    Cassandra smiled as she took the flower. She inhaled its sweet aroma, the soft petals that tickled her nose. She watched as he rose to his feet, tilted his hat at her, and continued down the hallway, his head held high. Grinning, she tucked the daisy in her wild curls and took off running in the opposite direction, her shoes echoing against the floor.


    * * * * * * * *


    ¡°¡­.thirty-four, thirty-five¡­¡±


    Jumping rope down the steps was no easy feat, but she wasn¡¯t about to surrender. Her chubby hands gripped the smooth handles.


    ¡±¡­forty, forty-one, forty-two¡­¡±


    The dim candlelight illuminated the basement hallway, casting her shadow against the stone walls. Cassandra giggled, picking up the pace once she reached the last step. She was so focused on where her feet landed that she hardly noticed the pungent aroma that met her nose, assuming that it came from her flower. She had beaten her sister¡¯s record. Now, she would be very sure to tell her tonight, since Anne had always bragged about doing things better than her anyways.


    ¡°¡­forty-five, forty-six¡­¡±


    The basement was even hotter than upstairs. It glowed like a furnace; like the cathedral that she had seen in Guadana during Christmas service, with all of its brightly shining lights. Candles were lit in every corner. Cassandra hopped around the wooden crates, skipping her left foot over her right. Behind her, one was spilled over, unlit wax candles spilled upon the ground. Her curls bounced up and down, and her blue eyes were wide with excitement.


    ¡±¡­..fifty¡­fifty-one¡­¡±


    The young princess circled around the barrels, before heading up the steps again. Her loud voice filled the humid air, grew dimmer as she hopped upstairs, returning to the main floor. As her figure disappeared from the basement hallway, the lit candlesticks began to flicker, swayed by a gentle wind.


    A pool of dark, thick blood stained several of the barrels and crates in the far back left corner of the basement. It soaked the floor and the corner of the walls, painting them in a deep crimson shade that merged well with the swirling shapes and growing algae on the floor. Slowly, cockroaches crawled up from a split crack in the wall, swarming in multitudes. Some attempted to travel through the blood but drowned beneath its inky surface.


    One of Elsie¡¯s shoes were missing, leaving her right pale bare foot halfway submerged into the puddle of blood. Her still form, which was slumped against the wooden crate, gradually faded in the dim light as the lit candles took on a greenish hue. A cockroach then crawled from the right side of her mouth, which was still partially open. In her left hand was a broken candlestick, still tightly clenched between her fingers¡ªworn from a decade of scrubbing and mopping and sewing and gardening.


    Her head was turned in the opposite way on her body¡ªher large eyes staring at the wall forever. All of the bones and tendons attached to her neck were uprooted, like an old tree being removed from the earth. The candles extinguished, leaving a thin, twisted trail of smoke that rose up in the air.


    The basement became engulfed in darkness.

 Chapter 6

    On the very edge of the Herskian outskirts, amidst the dense trees and branches that nearly covered the gray sky, a black shape laid on the ground in the shadows. It remained curled up, similar to a cat enjoying a patch of sunlight on the floor. In the dim light, two dark green eyes shone, next to the wide jawline with yellow teeth and inky, bloody saliva that dripped from the stretched lips. Bits of flesh and tissue were glued to its molars, with the shredded remains of a maid¡¯s cap.


    The being¡¯s claws sank into the soft earth, its heavy breaths the only sound in the stillness of the trees. It released a high pitched, rattling screech, before the large hole was fully formed. When it rose up on all fours¡ªtail dragging against the ground¡ªtwo large eggs, covered in a thick layer of slime and blood, remained below. Not too soon after the creature scurried off, disappearing between the bushes, a glowing neon light pulsated from the eggs, casting a deep shadow on them.


    * * * * * * * *


    Stacey winced in pain as he lifted up his pickaxe and swung at a nearby rock. His back was burning, bloody, and itching something fierce. It took everything inside him to not recoil at the sensations coursing down his spine. His face was coated in sweat, and he flexed his large fingers around the rough wooden handle. Although his legs were begging for a break, he knew that if the shift boss, Caesar Echlem, walked by and saw him sitting, he would be out of a job again. The cold weather did nothing to ease the tightness in his chest, and his breaths were short and visible in the air.


    What he¡¯d do for a warm bowl of chicken soup and biscuits. He remembered how much his Eliza loved to cook¡ªaround Thanksgiving and Christmas she baked uneven gingerbread cookies and brewed vanilla milky tea with thick spices inside of it. Then he¡¯d take the girls out down the big hill with a sled he had made. They made snow angels, and they would all stay up late at night, wrapped in warm quilts, telling each other stories in front of the fireplace. He remembered holding his sleeping children in both of his arms in the warm orange glow¡ªEliza sitting in a chair and knitting a new scarf for him.


    A large rock broke off, landing on the ground. Surprised to see how wet his eyes were getting, he blinked as fast as he could and moved on to towards the next tunnel.


    ¡°Mr. Hollomannn!¡±


    Stacey tossed a large chunk of coal into his cart. Horses whinnied behind him, and far below, he spied Caesar¡¯s tent. The aroma of coffee and freshly-baked biscuits reached his nose, and his stomach rumbled beneath him.


    In the background, he could make out the snickering and jeering of the other men who were working not too far from him. He tried his very best to keep his gaze focused on the towering rocks in front of him, but he could already sense the heat building up behind his pale face. Gritting his teeth, he gripped the handle of his pickaxe so tightly that the blood seemed to escape from his fingers. A pebble struck the back of his neck, making him freeze. The snickers grew a bit louder, and he could hear someone¡¯s boots crunching against the snow. Then a loud, booming voice echoed through the crisp morning air.


    ¡°Mr. Holloman!¡±


    Stacey wanted to place both of his hands over his ears. His left gray eye twitched. Between the deep discomfort on his back and the throbbing in his head, he wondered if missing out on a day¡¯s worth of pay for some extra sleep was worth it. He hadn¡¯t eaten for over three days, not since the trial, as nobody would buy or sell to him. He did not look up.


    ¡±Mr. Holloman, my dear sir! I believe you are a bit addled in the ears. Mayhaps some whiskey should help clear up your senses?¡±


    This time, there was a full-fledged roar of laughter amongst the others. Stacey put down his pickaxe and glared at the man who defiantly looked back at him. Earnest Jacob. He was only a mere five feet tall in comparison, with a jagged scar that ran across his lower jaw, but he was one of the swiftest and skilled workers out of all of them. Caesar¡¯s best boy, the others referred to him. Not only did he receive higher pay, but he had access to better supplies¡ªenough to feed that pretty wife of his and six children.


    Stacey stared at Jacob¡¯s warm coat and brand new boots. As much as he wanted to strangle the little twerp, being out of a job was something he couldn¡¯t deal with at the moment. He didn¡¯t have any money¡ªhe had blown all of his savings out on whiskey. It was a miracle Caesar hadn¡¯t said anything to him.


    He simply turned away.


    Jacob smirked. ¡°I¡¯m talking to you, big fellow.¡±


    ¡°Ain¡¯t nothing to talk about,¡± Stacey quietly said.


    ¡°I¡¯m sure that Thomas Alden has plenty to say about the way you came over at his business.¡± He spat out the wad of tobacco he was chewing on into the snow. ¡°Whose place is next? The Merriman¡¯s dress store down on Eleventh Boulevard yonder? Or the Jackson¡¯s shoe shop? You best tell me, so I can let them know ¡®afore you arrive.¡±


    The next wave of laughter that followed caused Stacey to slightly dig his fingernails into his palms. He swallowed hard.


    ¡°I¡¯d invite you for a drink afterwards with the rest of us,¡± Jacob continued, ¡°but I don¡¯t think you can hold yer spirits down so well. Yer damn near drunk every single waking moment of the day. Be a shame when you try to attack one of us, or¡­¡± his voice grew lower ¡°¡­have the silly notion to put yer hands upon a woman. ¡®Twas what you did with Bessie Taylor, yes? Or maybe a couple of times with Eliza¡ª¡±


    Stacey¡¯s gray eyes darkened, and before he knew it, he had plowed his meaty fist right into Jacob¡¯s face. The impact echoed across the mountains, and the sensation of cracking bone felt good against his blistered knuckles, even in the cold. He couldn¡¯t see anybody through the tunnel vision that had suddenly overtaken him, only Jacob¡¯s startled expression, his feeble attempt to defend himself shattered like glass. Stacey wasn¡¯t sure how many times he swung at his form, but it took eight men to pull him off of him.


    All he could hear was shouting.


    Caesar Echlem rushed up the rocky slope. Dark circles were underneath his puffy eyes, and his long robe dragged out behind him, with a coat thrown over it. He had clearly spent the entire night counting money, and his beady eyes fell upon Stacey, who was restrained by a few workers. Jacob laid on the ground, groaning in agony and clutching his bloodied nose, which wasn¡¯t facing the right direction. Stacey lowered his head and sighed, staring at the holes in his boots.


    ¡°Someone get this man to a doctor immediately,¡± Caesar ordered. ¡°Hurry.¡± When his gaze fell upon Stacey, he pointed at him with a jeweled finger. ¡°You. In my tent. Now.¡±


    * * * * * * * *


    Despite how frigid it was outside, sweat caused Stacey¡¯s shirt and coat to glue to his skin. He wrung his dirty hands together, watching the tent flaps rise and fall in rhythm with the morning air. Outside, the sky was gradually changing from a purple to a pinkish hue as the first few hours of sunlight arrived. His pickaxe laid on the floor next to him.


    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    He glanced down when Caesar entered the tent and sat down at his desk, now properly dressed in a fine waistcoat, breeches, stockings, and polished shoes. The man paused to dip his feather into an inkwell and scrawl out a couple of sentences on a piece of paper. Stacey scratched the back of his head, his stomach twisting and turning.


    ¡±Look, I¡ª¡±


    ¡°Mr. Holloman,¡± Caesar murmured, taking a long sip of his coffee. ¡°You were in prison just a week ago, if I am correct? You attacked Thomas Alden at his tavern down the road.¡±


    The young man sheepishly grinned, although his heart was thudding. ¡°Well¡­I¡­.I wouldn¡¯t be so keen on calling it an attack. It¡­.it was¡­.he wouldn¡¯t let me buy a drink.¡±


    ¡°As a business owner, he has the right to refuse you service.¡± Caesar bit into a scone covered in jam, and Stacey¡¯s stomach grumbled¡ªhis hunger was getting unbearable. ¡°It seems to me that you already had plenty to drink before you came to him.¡± His eyes narrowed. ¡°That¡¯s all you¡¯ve been doing. You show up to your shift late, and worst of all, you injure one of my best workers. And you pick fights amongst the men. You have shown no productivity.¡±


    Stacey gripped the armrests of his chair. ¡°Sir¡­I¡­.¡±


    ¡±I¡¯m going to have to let you go, Holloman,¡± Caesar replied, dabbing a bit of jam that had ended up at the corner of his lips with an embroidered napkin. ¡°I¡¯ve provided you with as many chances as I can. And with what the people have been saying, you are simply too dangerous to be around. Now, maybe in the future, I may reconsider my decision. You are a decent worker when you do put your mind to it.¡±


    ¡±But if you would just listen to me¡ª¡±


    ¡±I¡¯ve had enough.¡±


    ¡°Please, please, please!¡± Stacey¡¯s voice cracked. He stood up and slammed both of his palms against the desk, causing the coffee to slosh over the edge of the porcelain cup and platter. ¡°Don¡¯t do this. It won¡¯t happen again, sir, I swear on my mother¡¯s grave.¡± His breaths were shaky. ¡°I been sober three days, sir. I haven¡¯t touched a bottle of whiskey since that happened, and I don¡¯t plan to again.¡±


    Caesar looked disgusted at the sight of his stained papers. ¡°That¡¯s not the first confession I¡¯ve heard from a drunkard¡¯s mouth. Or a wifebeater. I will no longer be persuaded by your empty promises, Holloman. Now, I will have to ask you to get off my property.¡± He suddenly leaned back and placed his hand on the pistol he carried on his waist. ¡°And if you think of placing your hands on me, you will receive much worse than a broken nose. I promise you that, my boy.¡±


    Stacey swallowed hard. ¡°I never beat no woman. I would never hurt one. I don¡¯t know why you people keep saying that. It ain¡¯t true.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure Bessie Taylor can say otherwise.¡±


    ¡±I asked her to dance with me,¡± Stacey replied through his teeth. ¡°That was all.¡±


    ¡±Hmmm,¡± Caesar calmly said, cocking the pistol. ¡°Well, you will be dancing in the afterlife if you do not get the hell off my land.¡±


    For a long time, Stacey stared at him. The young miner¡¯s face was covered in soot and scars¡ªfeatures that did not match his twenty-five years. His thick black hair stuck out of the hat he had upon his head, and his ragged coat was covered in so many patches that it could hardly prevent a gentle breeze from getting to him. Biting his lower lip, he snatched his pickaxe off the ground, and, without glancing behind him, headed off into the foggy morning air.


    * * * * * * * * *


    Tace placed the last branches on top of her shelter and crossed her arms, taking a good look at the structure. She had used some clay to secure the leaves, adding plenty of layers to withstand water coming through the roof in case it rained. Her arms were covered in mud, and she smiled at Isabel, who quietly sat on top of a nearby rock and watched her.


    Her stomach grumbled. Her supply of tree nuts and mushrooms were running low, and she hadn¡¯t been fortunate enough to find anymore. After picking up Isabel, she used her small knife to make marks against the tree trunks around her, so she would not lose her way returning back. The river had thawed out enough nearby so she could begin spearing for some fish to catch for supper.


    The child paused for a moment, before peering between the branches at the shack near the clearing of the woods. She had seen no smoke come from the chimney, so most likely the giant had gone for a trip. For days she had endlessly tried to start a fire, but the kindling in the forest was far too wet. She knew for sure that the firewood in the shack was dry¡ªgood stuff for burning and cooking.


    In the back of her mind, she was quite aware that it was wrong to steal; it was a downright sin. The Headmistress had drilled it into the heads of hers and the other children¡¯s at the Guadana House of Mercy. But she was so incredibly hungry and cold, and she was confident that the giant man who lived in the shack wouldn¡¯t even see that a little bit was missing. Plus, she had noticed that when he was home, he slept all day. His snores were enough to shake a house off of its foundation.


    Tace secured Isabel in her dress pocket, before making her way through the trees. Snow clung to her skirts as she crawled on her hands and knees, moving as silently as she could. When she reached the clearing, she ran across the white space until she reached the side of the shack, pressing her palms against the rotting wood. Crouching on her knees, she listened once more for any sign of movement. Only the wind met her ears, which stuck out from her bald head.


    Quietly, she walked across the porch, her muddy bare feet leaving prints across the floor. Her large brown eyes lit up at the sight of a generous pile of short logs sitting on the left side. The moment her small hands were about to pick up a couple, a shadow suddenly fell upon her. Startled, she shrank back.


    The giant stood in front of her. His face was first filled with shock, and his nose and fingers were bright red like hers from the cold. In his enormous right hand he held a pickaxe, which he dropped directly into the snow. As his gaze fell upon Isabel, his gray eyes narrowed, and his voice was incredibly loud, echoing in the trees around them. He was indeed the biggest person she had ever seen.


    ¡±What do you think you are doing?¡±


    Tace slowly backed away, clutching Isabel.


    ¡°You little thief,¡± the giant roared. ¡°That belongs to me. You have no right to take that!¡± He rapidly approached her, his boots making thunderous noises across the porch, which shook the bottom and sent vibrations shooting through the floor. ¡°You give it back to me this instant. Yer the one who¡¯s been snooping around here, haven¡¯t you?¡±


    The young girl¡¯s eyes widened. In her haste, she tripped and fell, knocking over a barrel of water. It spilled into the snow.


    ¡±Answer me.¡±


    Tace could hardly move.


    ¡°How dare you take that,¡± the giant hissed. ¡°How dare you think of even coming over here, with your filthy fingers all over my things.¡±


    As he roughly shoved a stool aside, it slammed against the wall of the shack¡ªbreaking apart into multiple pieces. He hardly looked at it. ¡°Get off my property. Now.¡±


    A whimper escaped from Tace due to the noise of the impact.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to drag you to the constable myself,¡± the giant snarled. His front teeth were white, slightly crooked. ¡°You think you can steal from me? I¡¯ll show you how we deal with thieves like you around here.¡±


    Tace leapt off the side of the porch and took off sprinting.


    ¡±Get off my land.¡±


    His voice echoed in the air. She could hear the man¡¯s boots crunching in the snow, heavy and awkward. As she entered the woods, she navigated her way around one tree after another. Even as it became silent, Tace continued running as fast she could until she had reached an old tree and climbed beneath its roots, shivering uncontrollably. She remained crouched in the darkness¡ªher arms were shaking so incredibly bad that she could barely hold still. Her breaths were heavy, shaky, as she kept her gaze on the opening in front of her.


    * * * * * *


    Sitting on the front steps of the shack, Stacey ran his palms through his hair as he gazed at the child¡¯s footprints, next to the doll that was halfway buried in the gray snow. Her patterned purple dress was soaked and her button eyes coated in a thick layer of mud.


    For a long time, he studied the toy. He then buried his face in his arms, hugging his knees. His gray eyes were wet¡ª and a gradual aching settled deep in his chest.

 Chapter 7

    It continued to pour for the next two days.


    Giant puddles formed on the ground, transforming the melting snow into thick gray slush. Water dripped from the twisted icicles that hung from the tree branches, weighed down by the heavy gusts of wind that threatened to sweep Herskes off its feet. All night long, these branches banged against windows, leaving sharp rattling sounds.


    Travelers and townsfolk alike hurried by as fast as they could to escape the rain, clutching their shawls and coats and hats as tightly as they could against their flesh. The constable¡¯s shoes were soaking wet, women¡¯s hats missing, men¡¯s stockings ripped, smiles on children¡¯s faces as they proceeded to jump into the puddles. Street paupers, gangs, and the homeless navigated their way around the increasingly growing piles of waste and sewage.


    Wheel tracks left dozens of lines in the nearly-flooded streets, next to the stench of sewage, human waste and horse feces. The aroma of freshly baked bread, tobacco, and meat roasting over a spit filled the air. The shadows of dancing people spread across the walls at Thomas Alden¡¯s tavern, where the sound of laughter and a fiddle playing echoed in the humid air and amidst the merrymaking.


    Not too far, near the the edge of the small town, all of the chubby councilmen sat in the dining rooms of their lavish homes, sipping their tea and munching on freshly-baked biscuits, and laughing with their families and children in their warm living rooms. A few moments later, the rain began to beat down across the roofs, trapping Herskes in a gray mist.


    * * * * * * * * *


    Elijah Holloman was hardly anything.


    He disappeared once, returned for two more years, and left for Belisaur. Then he arrived back again. He was a haze¡ªa broken fragment of a memory that could never be pieced back together.


    The only thing that Stacey could remember about the man was that he always reeked of alcohol when he got back home. He was morbidly obese, constantly complaining of a bad back and busted knees. Everyone in the household knew that he was to eat first, and once he finished, they were permitted to have his leftovers. Many days Stacey found himself unable to get a scrap due to his siblings viciously fighting like dogs at the table to snatch up what little remains were there. Biting and shoving each other over partially eaten chicken bones, minced pie, or bread crusts. His mother was forced to cook up a storm, and then sit there and watch her husband stuff himself.


    Elijah¡¯s speech was slurred, he¡¯d wet his breeches, and he didn¡¯t know what whether it was night or day. It didn¡¯t matter anyway, because he was always asleep in the only bed in the house until the following evening. His snores would shake the place. Then he¡¯d stumble outside to do it all over again. He was rarely, if ever, sober. And his mother hardly complained, due to her being with child almost all the time.


    Being the oldest out of four sisters and seven brothers, Stacey already knew what to expect. There was twelve of them in total¡ªthey had to make do with what they had. Seemed that there was a new baby every year, and the house was a noisy one. He could hardly remember anyone¡¯s names.


    When Ma was home, he¡¯d be more relaxed. She was a hard working woman, with white strands sticking out of her mob cap and her fingers knobby from scrubbing the floor of their tiny farmhouse raw. He¡¯d help her out with the young¡¯uns the best he could, trying to keep them out of her way. Made sure that supper was on the table, that the crops were harvested, horses tended to, all the babies were fed, bathed, and put to bed.


    The moment Elijah Holloman stepped foot into that house the atmosphere shifted. Everyone was silent. He talked loudly, broke things. When Ma would protest, he¡¯d hit her too. One evening, as Elijah raised his hand to strike her, Stacey delivered a heavy blow to his face. He might have been seventeen or eighteen¡ªhe could make out his eleven siblings huddled together in the other room like a pack of rats, where he told them to go.


    The impact knocked Elijah sideways, sending him reeling against the table. Wooden bowls and cups fell to the ground. He grunted in pain. For the first time in his life, Stacey saw a startled look cross his father¡¯s face. The room was completely still. Ma raised her hands up to her face, standing by the fire, where their supper was cooking. The orange light made the ends of her hair appear golden.


    ¡°Don¡¯t touch her,¡± Stacey said.


    Elijah blinked twice, before mumbling something. Blood trickled down his chin.


    Stacey¡¯s younger brothers weren¡¯t as effective during the multiple times that they attempted to take him down, and he made sure of it. A black eye and a few missing teeth had taught them. Months upon months of hard labor in the fields had left Stacey with a muscular, towering frame, in addition to the growth spurt that had overtaken him that winter. His siblings were all bastards, trying to weasel their way out of their responsibilities.


    Usually, they stole and broke what little belongings he had, so he¡¯d had to get creative about where he hid them. If it was money, that was out of the question. His father had taken the few coins he had saved up from working odd jobs and used it for a pint of whiskey.


    At night, Stacey slept on the floor, packed all tight with everyone. There wasn¡¯t even a blanket to spare in the cold room, so he¡¯d rely on nearby body heat to keep himself from shivering. When one of his baby sisters started howling due to her teething, he¡¯d had to step over them all just to get to her in the dark. God forbid that his mother woke up to that.


    It made no sense to Stacey. He hadn¡¯t asked to be here. He hadn¡¯t asked for any of this. Elijah Holloman was just like them. Hollering and yapping when things didn¡¯t go their way.


    ¡°You touch her again,¡± he told his father, ¡°I¡¯ll kill you.¡±


    Elijah slowly rubbed his bloodied mouth. ¡°So yer a man now.¡±


    Stacey glared at him, clenching his jaw.


    ¡°Let me show you how real men fight.¡±


    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    ¡°You aren¡¯t a man,¡± Stacey said through his teeth. ¡°Yer a low-life, thieving scum.¡±


    His father smirked, awkwardly got to his feet, and roughly dragged the boy out to the barn.


    For weeks, Stacey remained on the floor, wrapped in a tattered blanket, unable to move. His mother fretted about getting a doctor, but Elijah said, no, he didn¡¯t need a damn doctor, and that if the good Lord forgave him for disrespecting him he¡¯d be healed.


    Stacey¡¯s face was puffy for months. It hurt to talk or swallow or move, and he could only get down soup that dribbled down his chin. He was stiff and sore once he started walking again, and his mother was beside herself. As he slowly recovered, he tried to convince her that he was going to take care of her, of everyone, that he was going to make her real proud. She smiled and told him she already was.


    When his mother became ill, he began drinking some. It was only a little here and there, and he often stole his father¡¯s spirits. Once they lowered her in the ground in a wooden box with nothing but the Good Book, Stacey was completely numb. Some of his brothers and sisters had already left home.


    When his father went blind, he laughed.


    * * * * * * * * *


    The yellow glow of a candle illuminated Stacey¡¯s pale face. Dark circles settled under his eyes as he studied the weak flame. He must¡¯ve dozed off. Couldn¡¯t remember much; he wasn¡¯t sure if he wanted to.


    He¡¯d been out in the woods, looking for the child, four days in a row. But all he could see was the trees, the bushes, the mountains from afar. Each time he arrived home in the evenings, covered head to toe in snow, the sleepless nights continued. Once dawn arrived, he¡¯d plan to set out again.


    But he couldn¡¯t bring himself to leave the shack since the day before yesterday, mostly for fear that he¡¯d come across her frozen corpse, that he¡¯d be responsible again for¡ª


    Stacey groggily picked up the lopsided stump of wax, placed it into a rusted metal holder that was partially covered in cobwebs. After setting it down on the table, his hand reached for the busted old axe he was sharpening. He hadn¡¯t used it for ages and reckoned it could use some freshening up¡ªa distraction from his failed searches.


    When he slowly sat down on the stool in the middle of the cold and dirty room, it was the first time in two days that he had really left that spot. Couldn¡¯t eat or sleep. Couldn¡¯t even kiss Eliza or his girls good night. His stomach was a black hole. His head throbbed, like someone was smashing a mallet against his skull. The strange, aching had worsened, spread from his chest to his stomach. Made him slow and heavy.


    He tried to not look out of the window, or his blasted porch. Or the doll, which sat on the pillow of his bed, leaning sideways against Eliza¡¯s portrait. Her button eyes endlessly observed him. They had watched him get up, wander to the cracked window, saw him staring outside for several minutes. He¡¯d lost track of how many times he had stood by the partially opened door, gazing upon the rain and the dark woods, mist settling in his black hair.


    It was beyond freezing in his shack, even with a fire going, so he couldn¡¯t imagine what it was like outside. Water leaked from his roof; splashing in the corner of the room and echoing against the floor.


    I¡¯ll drag you to the constable myself.


    Stacey bit his lower lip, remembering the child¡¯s fear-stricken face at the sound of his voice. Yanking roughly at his left ear, he shifted uncomfortably on his stool. He wasn¡¯t sure why it bothered him so much when he realized he had yelled at her. He yelled at people all the time. But this seemed different, unnatural. He fidgeted with his hands.


    It was driving him crazy. It was a complete waste of time. Why the hell was he staying here all day anyway? He despised lazy people. He needed to be looking for a job. The tax collector was coming soon, he was already behind on his payments¡ª


    God, he needed a drink to clear his head.


    Stacey unlocked his door and placed all of the fresh wood he had chopped out on the porch, even the doll on one of the steps for the first day. He¡¯d made sure to cut them up into smaller pieces in hopes that the child would appear and be able to carry some with her. He leaned his back against the doorframe, silently watching the rain come down for hours. When night arrived, he returned inside and sat at his stool until dawn arrived.


    Despite him fighting to keep her out of his mind for past few days, he couldn¡¯t. It was a little girl, he was quite sure, but he could only tell because of the ragged, filthy dress she wore. She didn¡¯t look older than ten, and Stacey had seen broomsticks with more meat on them than her. Her bald head was covered in ringworm, and her eyes and ears were much too big, with clear snot coming out of her round, red nose. She was barefoot in the snow.


    He weakly lowered the axe.


    No shoes, no coat, ¡ªand it was pouring harder and harder every minute and the wind was about to blow his damn roof off¡ª


    Using his left hand, Stacey struck the axe blade as hard as he could against the stone, causing sparks to fly. She had likely come from the parish. Lots of runaways usually did, making the streets more crowded than ever. But he knew that Herskes didn¡¯t have a workhouse or an orphanage, so she must¡¯ve traveled afar. She¡¯d return to wherever it was, take her punishment and not be out here for long as he had hoped. Anything to put a roof over her head, food in her stomach, and it would be a lesson well learned for her.


    So why not just let that happen?


    ¡°What a foolish child,¡± he tried to say, but it came out in a deep, shaky whisper. ¡°Damned foolish.¡±


    He could almost hear Eliza¡¯s voice nagging him. Shut yer mouth, ye blockhead, she scolded. What do ye know about wisdom?


    Stacey¡¯s gray eyes fell upon the doll.


    It was not his responsibility, after all. But the child¡¯s footsteps were still partially visible in the melted snow, and Stacey tried to fight the urge to go into the woods, just to see how she was holding out. Or that she was at least eating, though he strongly doubted that. He knew this piece of land better than any man, and all the nasty critters that came with it at night, and she was so very small and¡ª


    Ye blockhead.


    Releasing a deep sigh, the young man rose to his feet and reached for his worn coat and hat. But before he could put his arms through the sleeves, he spied something slithering in the shadows. The noise resembled a hissing rattlesnake, but was jagged and crooked, popping away like gunfire. Then a deep, strained humming that filled his ears, rocked his insides.


    Stacey picked up the axe and kept his gaze upon the door. His heart thudded in his chest, and his dirty fingers tightened around the wooden handle. His throat grew tight. Despite how cold the shack was, a deep warmth had spread across his sore back, causing sweat to drip down the side of his face. The air grew heavier, nearly choking him. He was struggling to breathe.


    There was a soft thump on his porch, followed by the crashing sound of firewood that rolled down the steps. The rattling noise grew louder, and goosebumps formed on the back of the young man¡¯s neck. Twisted snarling filled the air, and the footsteps suddenly increased as the front door swung open, extinguishing the fire and causing rain and sleet to enter in the shack, trapping everything in complete darkness.


    Stacey Holloman remained frozen, clutching the axe. Maybe he should¡¯ve locked the door.


    In the pitch black, a crisp white smile formed¡ªresembling a sideways crescent moon. The figure¡¯s head suddenly jerked, almost as if its neck had been broken. The rattling sound appeared, and a faint green glow appeared from its flesh. Saliva dripped from its jaw.


    It rushed forward on all fours.

 Chapter 8

    The back of Stacey¡¯s head struck the floor.


    With a grunt, he struggled to feel around in the dark for the axe, which had slipped out of his hand. Something sharp dug into his stomach, ripping out a large chunk of flesh. In the midst of the snarling, the neon light appeared for a moment, before engulfing everything in pitch black. Deep, shooting pain rushed up Stacey¡¯s arms and legs, and all he could hear was the creature¡¯s rattles. He struggled to pick himself off the ground, but one of the being¡¯s limbs forcefully pinned him down.


    Gritting his teeth, Stacey attempted to use his left knee and drive it into its side, but it grew agitated and tore at his wound again. Thick saliva dripped from the widened jaw, which was filled with yellow, crooked teeth. Its hot breath was only a few inches from his ear, and he had to turn his head to the side as the creature¡¯s thick claws left trails of red against his ripped shirt. His sweaty hair was plastered against the side of his face. He couldn¡¯t move¡ªthe creature¡¯s weight pressed harder against him.


    The room began to fade.


    Stacey could hear the creature snarl, wincing in pain as it began to take another bite into his flesh. As much as he tried, its grasp was too strong for him to break. He closed his eyes, overwhelmed by the excruciating pain in his body. There was a gruesome snap, causing him to clench his jaw and nearly scream. He barely held it back. Splintered bone tore through his shirt sleeve. When he dared to look again, he saw that his left arm was between the creature¡¯s jaw, split almost neatly into two. He couldn¡¯t see its face; only its eyes, which shone in the dark like two green spheres, never blinking.


    Eliza, please help me.


    The creature slashed at his face, causing warm metal to leak down his swollen throat. The room was now silent, with the exception of Stacey¡¯s labored breaths. Beads of sweat traveled down his forehead and dripped off the tip of his nose, landing on his protruding collarbones. His gray eyes focused on the dead fireplace, with short bursts of steam still lingering from the blackened, smoldering logs. Digging the heels of his worn boots against the dirt floor, he slowly pushed himself against the surface, attempting to gradually inch himself towards the hearth.


    A faint rattling noise filled the air as the creature adjusted its body weight on top of his. With its claws embedded into his flesh, each slight movement was agonizing, but he forced himself to keep his gaze on the fireplace. Using his good arm, he very slowly reached out, feeling the warmth of the ashes gather under his fingers. The burn of the strain sank into his right shoulder. He remained still for a moment, listening as the being became more occupied with his body. Biting down on his tongue, he flung a handful of cinders directly into the creature¡¯s eyes.


    It released a shrill howl.


    As it stumbled back, Stacey directly struck it into the face with his boot. He didn¡¯t know how he had scrambled to his feet, and he was frantically feeling around in the dark for the axe handle. The creature, now blinded, lunged towards him in a rage, causing the table to flip over and his pots and pans to crash against the ground.


    It quickly climbed upon the walls, leaving uneven scratches across the surface with its black nails. Stacey was barely able to stand due to the excruciating pain in his stomach, and his right hand brushed against the wooden handle of the axe. He immediately snatched it off the ground.


    The sound of glass breaking echoed in the shack, and the creature, crouching on its hind legs, observed him through his smashed window. As it was beginning to leap off, Stacey, using his only good arm, swung the axe at its shadow. The blade skidded and hopped for a moment, before catching into the creature¡¯s meaty flesh. It screamed, its limbs contorted and flailing. Something wet splattered on the table and landed on the ground. The rattling noise occurred, like there was a thousand snakes below.


    Stacey repeatedly raised the axe, before bringing it down a second time. And again. And again and again, even as the rattling stopped and it was just his frantic, stifled breaths. His right arm was burning, his left one a mangled mess that hung lifelessly on his side, but he kept swinging the axe until the blade grew completely dull and the creature remained as still as the earth.


    He took a few steps back, his face coated in a layer of sweat. The axe slipped out of his hand and landed on the ground with a clatter. Due to the first rays of sunlight beginning to seep through the cold air blowing through the broken window, he could make out the creature¡¯s decapitated head and the shredded remains of its body. Stacey slumped to the floor, observing the wrecked state of his home. He was struggling to breathe, gasping so hard that his chest stung.


    He did not know or understand what he was looking at. He did not understand how he had moved to the table, picked up the edge of the head and the bits of the creature¡¯s dark, slimy body. Or how he had dragged it outside into the snow, stumbling down the porch and the knocked over piles of wood. As he set it ablaze, he weakly leaned against the porch for support, shaking uncontrollably for a long time. The stench that arose from the flames was putrid, nearly made him vomit.


    The morning light settled upon the branches above, casting orange and purple and pink. It had stopped snowing, but a fresh layer of ice had gathered on top of the dense forest in front of him. His breaths were visible in the cold air, which bit down on his bloody, torn shirt and exposed flesh. He did not look at the ashes that now sat in front of him.


    In a daze, he ran out towards the trees.


    * * * * * * *


    Stacey ended up tripping and landing on the snow multiple times. Branches scratched his face, but he pushed them back. The coldness was briefly seeping into his flesh, but his body was completely numb. His mind was spinning¡ªmaybe he was hallucinating. It was a bad trip, he had been drinking again. He often saw things he couldn¡¯t really explain in his dreams, and they were quite strange sometimes, but this was something he never knew he was able of concocting in his mind.


    No, he had been sober for nearly a week.


    He rushed down a hill, snow clinging to his dark hair. His blood stained shirt was plastered against his torso. His lungs were burning, and his busted arm was beginning to throb. His gray eyes hopelessly scanned the vast green in front of him. The little one. He needed to find the child. She wouldn¡¯t stand a chance, being so young. There were probably more out there, although he wasn¡¯t sure what it was. And if one ever found its way towards her, he wouldn¡¯t be able to forgive himself for it. For not being there to protect a child, just like he wasn¡¯t when Eliza and his girls¡ª


    Stacey roughly yanked at his ear.


    Focus.


    He slowed down and turned his head to the side. Where would a child think of seeking refuge in this cold? While he was preparing himself for the worst, he figured that the lass was a bit more clever than he thought. Unless she¡¯d left the area already, maybe found a place in the town. He¡¯d been out for only a few hours, but he¡¯d checked every crevice, tree, bush, and ditch, just as he had so many times before. A wave of panic overpowered him, and he bit his tongue.


    His boots crunched against the snow as he stopped and gazed at the towering mountains. Shivering, he began to make his way up towards them, making sure to keep an eye on the shadows. The adrenaline was still pumping through his veins.


    He regretted not bringing his axe.


    He really was a goddamned fool.


    The young man trudged through the snow, clutching at his useless broken arm with his hand. His braced himself as he approached a small, moss smelling cave just not too far from his shack, which he really did not want to return to. He paused when he saw a small bundle of wet twigs and sticks at the opening next to a few dirty mushrooms.


    His heart skipped a beat.


    A large green pile of leaves and shrubbery met his eyes as he entered the cave. Slowly, he approached the little girl¡¯s still figure halfway buried between it, curled up into a ball. Her breaths were shallow and delayed, and her lips and toes were turning blue.


    Stacey sank to his knees, cursing himself. He reached out and placed a hand on her forehead. To his great dismay, he could see that she was burning up with a fever. Ignoring the pain shooting in his broken arm, he scooped her up as tightly as he could with his other one. Leaves clung to her rags and the blackened soles of her bare feet. She weighed less than a bag of feathers, and he could see how her bones were beginning to show through. Her shut eyelids were swollen.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Stacey shakily whispered, although he wasn¡¯t sure why he kept repeating those words. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I¡¯m so sorry.¡± He exhaled as he slightly rocked her back and forth, before briefly closing his eyes. ¡°I¡¯m so sorry.¡±


    Her bald head leaned against his shoulder. As he headed back to his shack to retrieve his coat to wrap her up in, it began to snow.


    * * * * * * *


    The town of Herskes had seen many things.


    They had seen famine, drought, and the plague of 1725 that had wiped out half of the population. They had seen a series of floods and earthquakes that had swept entire homes and businesses off their foundations.


    It was just past six ¡®o¡¯ clock in the morning, where many people were beginning to prepare for the day. The Merriman¡¯s dress shop, located on Eleventh Boulevard between the butcher¡¯s and the marketplace, was about to do the same. The candles were lit, and Mrs. Shelby Merriman had added a few logs to her warm fire after preparing a large mug of coffee for herself, with extra cream and two cubes of white sugar. She took a loud sip and placed it down upon the table.


    Her husband lay upstairs snoring in their bed in the small flat above their shop, so she might as well opened early. She was a tired, middle-aged woman, and was busy adjusting a petticoat upon a mannequin when she paused at the window. Startled by the crowd outside, she pushed back the curtain.


    Stacey trudged through the town, struggling to see through the snowfall, carrying a small curled up figure. He could make out faces. So many faces, people shouting and pointing, scattering away from him like ants. Staring at his blood soaked clothing, and his left arm dangling in an unnatural position, like a tree branch blowing in the wind.


    ¡°I need a doctor,¡± he frantically shouted. ¡°Please, someone send me a doctor. I have a child who is ill.¡±


    ¡°Murderer,¡± a woman cried out. ¡°We have a murderer in our midst.¡± There were murmurs spreading across the growing crowd. ¡°Go home, you drunkard. Go home.¡±


    People began to throw rocks at him, and a few struck his body, but Stacey made sure to shield the unconscious little girl. Despite the fierce cold, heat coursed through his body as his temper finally got the best of him.


    ¡±Someone help.¡± It came out in a roar, causing those near him to scramble back as he aggressively stepped at them. He was breathing heavily, long strands black hair hanging over his wide gray eyes. ¡°Someone help me.¡±


    A brief silence passed over the crowd.


    Stacey held the child as close as possible, while trying to keep her warm the best he could. He did not want to leave her alone at his shack¡ªhe didn¡¯t dare to. In the corner of his eye, he could see the councilmen exiting their homes, dressed in their warm fur coats and cloaks.


    ¡°I need a doctor,¡± he kept crying out, over and over again, until his throat was sore. His nose and cheeks were red with the cold. ¡°Send me the doctor, please. I need a doctor.¡±


    ¡±Whose blood is that upon you?¡± a farmer demanded.


    ¡±The devil¡¯s,¡± Stacey snarled.


    ¡°What is the meaning of this?¡± one the higher ranking councilmen¡ªPaul Stilton¡ªthundered. He wagged a finger at Stacey, recoiling in disgust at his bloodied clothing. ¡°You! I told you never to step foot in this town again. You ought to be¡ª¡±


    ¡±Send me the fucking doctor, or I¡¯ll make you wish that you still had yer own blasted foot.¡±


    Stilton¡¯s face grew red under Stacey¡¯s cold gaze. ¡°You disrespect me again and you¡¯ll spend the next month in a jail cell, Holloman,¡± he replied. ¡°I guarantee it. Not likely for you to be here in one of your drunken brawls is it? You are disturbing the peace, and these good people are all preparing for an honest day¡¯s work. I dare say that concept might be quite foreign for you. But given the blood on your shirt, I do believe you may have encountered a poor soul who has had the misfortune to pass by that dirty little hovel of yours.¡± Stilton tilted his head. ¡°Or was it the child¡¯s parents? Putting on a good act to cover up what you¡¯ve really done?¡±


    Stacey¡¯s gray eyes narrowed.


    ¡°Go home, you conniving son of a bitch,¡± Thomas Alden hollered, pushing his way through the crowd. He had a limp, and he spat at him, causing the crowd to jeer him on. A few nearby men chuckled. ¡°We have no room for such incompetent fools.¡±


    ¡°If I do not get this lass to a doctor,¡± Stacey said in a choked, tight voice, ¡°she¡¯ll die. And her blood will be upon yer hands. I beseech ye to ask to the doctor to come to me.¡±


    ¡°We will do no such thing,¡± Stilton coldly said, folding his arms. A few other councilmen already had their weapons drawn. ¡°Now off with you.¡±


    A broken expression crossed the young man¡¯s face. He then gave Stilton a long look, before readjusting the coat wrapped around the little girl, to protect her from the icy wind. Without a word, he turned around and continued to stumble the opposite way, leaving tracks in the snow. The crowd continued to yell slurs at him, but not once did he look back. Stilton smugly grinned as a few of his comrades patted his back and laughed.


    Shelby Merriman lowered the curtain from her window. After pondering for a moment, she reached for a large basket sitting directly on top of her shelf and selected four shifts, two nightgowns, and a crock of soap. She mumbled to herself, partially asleep, as she entered her small kitchen and placed half a loaf of bread and four large apples into a burlap sack. Just as she finished securing the top into a sturdy knot, she heard Sebastian Merriman coming down the steps. His stockings were mismatched, and his eyes were groggy with sleep. His gray hair resembled a crow¡¯s nest.


    Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.


    ¡°What is with all of the commotion outside?¡± he asked, stretching his arms. He squinted his eyes. ¡°It is far too early for such ruckus.¡±


    Mrs. Merriman threw her shawl around her shoulders and secured her bonnet. ¡°Your breakfast is waiting on the table, my dear,¡± she said. ¡°I shall only be a minute.¡±


    He gave her a confused look. ¡°Where are you off to at this time? And why are we opening half an hour early? It is not even seven.¡±


    The woman smirked and tucked a curl behind her ear. ¡°Why, with everyone outside, it is the most perfect time to have business going.¡±


    He opened his mouth, but before he could even get out a sentence, she had already slammed the door shut.


    * * * * * * *


    Stacey grunted as he sliced the log cleanly in half with his busted axe. It was far more difficult to keep it steady on the stump with only one arm. He had tidied up the best he could in his shack; scrubbed the blood off the floor and cleaned every spare blanket he owned. After stuffing his mattress with hay and grass, he made sure that the child was bundled up warmly in his coat nearby the fireplace, which he was working hard to keep going. His face was dripping with sweat.


    The good news was that the blue color on her was fading away, being replaced by a rosy pink, although she lay almost lifeless on the mattress. Stacey had mindlessly paced around, went outside, and chopped up some more wood. He needed to find food and another doctor for her soon, but his body was in such pain that he could hardly stand.


    As he bent down to pick up the split logs, the sound of hooves pounding against the ground made him look up. He stumbled forward at the sight of a wagon dragging through the snow, pulled by a frail horse. An elderly man and a chubby woman sat in front.


    Stacey took off his ragged hat as he slowly approached them, almost in a daze.


    The woman raised her chin. When she spoke, her voice was shrill, high pitched. ¡°Are you Holloman?¡±


    Stacey stared at her.


    The doctor politely nodded at him and climbed off the seat. He said nothing about the blood on the young man¡¯s stained clothing; his shirt in tatters. He said nothing about the ashes of the creature that it belonged to in the snow only a few feet away from them. Yet the look on his face told Stacey everything he needed to know.


    The horse loudly snorted, interrupting his thoughts.


    ¡°Good morning. You must be Mr. Holloman. My name is Dr. Anderson.¡±


    ¡°Morning,¡± Stacey hoarsely replied, although this morning had been anything but good. He threw his hat to the ground. ¡°I¡ªI ain¡¯t got any money on me, but perhaps I could¡ª¡±


    The man waved his hand. ¡°Nonsense. Mrs. Merriman here covered my bill. I would like to see the child as soon as possible.¡±


    Stacey studied the woman, who was lowering herself from the wagon. She brushed the mud from her skirts and held onto the basket and the burlap sack she clutched with her ringed fingers.


    ¡°I have brought victuals for the little one,¡± Mrs. Merriman stated. ¡°Some clothes and good food. I don¡¯t think you have any of your own.¡±


    ¡°Set it down over there,¡± Stacey stiffly said, fighting the urge to give her a piece of his mind.


    She gave him a sharp glance, before walking past him, carefully stepping onto the porch. The ribbons from her bonnet blew in the wind.


    Once the young man stood in the threshold, he watched as the doctor pulled up a stool next to the mattress and reached into his own satchel, taking out a strange device. Mrs. Merriman continued to march around the one-room shack, her polished shoes crunching against the dirt floor. She frowned at the sight of the cobwebs in the corners. Her presence alone made Stacey uncomfortable.


    Why the hell is she here?


    ¡±This is appalling,¡± she announced, dragging her index finger across the dust on the fireplace mantle. ¡°No wonder the young¡¯un is so ill. It is no place for a young lady. And you are incapable of raising any child.¡± When she turned and faced Stacey, she adjusted her bonnet. ¡°Surely, you have plans to send her to a reputable household, Mr. Holloman. I wouldn¡¯t mind taking her off your hands. My Clara could use a decent playmate.¡±


    ¡°She ain¡¯t going to Herskes,¡± Stacey said through his teeth. ¡°That shitty, worthless, good for nothing town ain¡¯t fit for¡ª¡±


    ¡°Mr. Holloman,¡± she coldly replied, placing the items she held upon on the table with a loud thump. ¡°Since I am showing compassion, I suggest you choose your words a little more wisely. It is not your decision to make.¡±


    Stacey glared at her, but remained silent.


    After examining the child¡¯s eyes, ears, and throat, Dr. Anderson lowered his spectacles and glanced up at Stacey. ¡°She has a very high fever. I ought to bleed her, to purge the pestilence from her body. We shall start the procedure the very next day.¡±


    ¡°Bleed¡ª¡± Panic rushed through Stacey as he took a step forward. ¡°No, no, no, now hold on. You can¡¯t cut into her. That¡¯ll make it worse.¡±


    ¡°Mr. Holloman, you need to not question my professional opinion. The child must be bled.¡± Dr. Anderson rose from the stool and closed his satchel with a loud snap. ¡°Now, let¡¯s see what we can do about that arm of yours.¡±


    ¡±Ye won¡¯t bleed that little girl.¡±


    ¡±I do not take orders from you. She shall be bled, and that is the end of the discussion.¡±


    ¡°Like hell it is.¡±


    Mr. Anderson gave him a hard look. ¡°You will not interfere. And if you threaten me, I will report you to the authorities. We both know that your reputation is at stake.¡±


    ¡°And I say you ain¡¯t bleeding her,¡± Stacey yelled. His voice filled the room. ¡°That¡¯s final.¡±


    Mrs. Merriman loudly sighed, causing both men to look at her. ¡°The child is absolutely filthy. Do you not have a basin I could use? A good bath could do wonders.¡± She rolled up her sleeves. ¡°My mother always told me that cleanliness is the first step to recovery. I shall boil some water.¡±


    ¡±Certainly,¡± Dr. Anderson calmly said. ¡°Mr. Holloman, if you would please wait outside?¡±


    * * * * * * *


    The thick white cast and sling around Stacey¡¯s left arm hurt him far more than his back. His whole body ached and the intense cravings for whiskey or bourbon were driving him mad. The large bandages around his torso only made the pain worse. Despite how every bone in his body rebelled against him, he found himself leaning sideways against the front steps, fighting to keep his eyes open. Dr. Anderson had gone out to smoke his pipe and¡ª


    A high-pitched scream filled the air, followed by a crash. It startled him awake, making him wonder how long he had dozed off.


    Lord.


    Stacey rushed to his feet and opened the door. Mrs. Merriman was drenched in water and soap suds, wringing out her soaked skirts. He could hear Dr. Anderson behind him, making his way on the steps. As he approached them, there was a small figure curled up in the corner.


    ¡±Well, I never,¡± Mrs. Merriman exploded. ¡°What a wicked, wicked girl.¡± She pointed her finger at the hysterical child¡¯s shadow. ¡°You ought to be ashamed. Here you have good people looking after you, and you dare attack me? Filthy animal you are. Filthy, rotten beast!¡±


    ¡±That¡¯s enough,¡± Stacey quietly said.


    Mrs. Merriman¡¯s eyes fell upon him. ¡°And you. I¡¯ve had it with you. This is your gratitude? You are indebted to me, and I expect full compensation within the next week.¡±


    ¡±I¡¯ll pay you yer blasted money,¡± he replied, trying to speak over the child¡¯s screams. ¡°Now get the hell out of my house.¡±


    ¡°Mr. Holloman, that is no way to talk to a lady,¡± Dr. Anderson interjected. ¡°You shall not defend such behavior.¡±


    ¡°I said get out,¡± Stacey snapped. ¡°Both of you. Ye scarin¡¯ her. She ain¡¯t gonna calm down till ye leave.¡±


    ¡°I scared her?¡± Mrs. Merrimann exclaimed. Her face turned red. ¡°She ought to be beaten. A good whooping is what she needs.¡±


    Stacey¡¯s patience was running thin. ¡°Just go.¡±


    A brief silence filled the room.


    The little girl continued to sob, tears spilling down her cheeks and nose. She had been scrubbed pink, and all the thick layers of ringworm crust upon her bald head were gone, leaving open red sores. She rushed near the bed, before yanking off one of the woolen blankets and wrapping it around her thin frame. With one swift motion, she crawled underneath a chair. Her large ears stuck outwards.


    Mrs. Merriman held out her right wrist, exposing a red mark. ¡°She bit me. How disgusting. Just jumped up and knocked over all this water right after I changed her.¡± She gave Stacey a dirty look. ¡°You teach her some manners, lest my husband press charges against you for what she¡¯s done.¡±


    The young man watched them make their way out into the cold morning air. With a heavy sigh, he slowly closed the door and leaned his back against it. He felt the child¡¯s large brown eyes on him; perhaps it was best that he wait outside to give her some space, but he had a lingering fear that she would run off into the woods again and stay hidden. Like a bunny, with those big ears, he thought.


    He waited for the child¡¯s wails to die down.


    As the little girl continued to stare at him, she slightly rocked herself, hiccuping loudly from time to time. Her small hands clutched the blanket she had wrapped around her thin frame, and her curled bare feet had left prints against the dirt floor.


    Indeed, Mrs. Merriman had cleaned her up well, and she looked much better than before. There were still droplets of water upon her bald head, and the white nightgown was so large on her that her bare feet were barely visible beneath the hemline. Her round brown eyes were wet with tears, and she wiped her nose with the back of her hand.


    The sight made Stacey break a little on the inside.


    ¡±Don¡¯t cry,¡± he whispered.


    She crouched behind the bed frame, peeking out at him.


    ¡± ¡®Tis alright, little one.¡± The aching was returning to his chest¡ªthere was nothing he despised more than seeing her so very frightened. Even worse, it was his fault. ¡°You don¡¯t have to be afraid.¡± His voice was quieter than the wind. ¡°Please, don¡¯t be afraid. And you don¡¯t have to hide from me.¡±


    The child loudly sniffed.


    ¡°Easy.¡± Stacey slowly knelt down to her level and glanced at the floor for a moment. Then he spoke soft, real soft. ¡°I won¡¯t hurt you.¡±


    A piece of wood broke off in the fireplace. The heat in the room was comforting, despite what events had occurred only hours ago. When she was ready for it, he¡¯d tell her about the beast he¡¯d seen. He knew that no one else in Herskes would believe him.


    ¡°I know yer scared. But I¡¯ll keep you safe. I won¡¯t let nothing happen to you.¡±


    She glanced at the cast he wore on his left arm, then back at him, before wrapping herself tightly in the blanket.


    ¡°Now, Bunny, you going tell me yer name?¡±


    Silence.


    He placed a hand on his chest. ¡°Stacey.¡±


    An awed expression crossed her face.


    ¡°Can you at least tell me where yer from? Mebbe we can see if we can get you back to yer ma and pa.¡±


    He rose again and took a step forward, but that only seemed to frighten the child even more, causing her to run to the opposite side of the room, nearly tripping on her long nightgown. Her bare feet made light tapping sounds against the ground.


    Stacey immediately sat down once more, quickly realizing that his height intimidated her. ¡°How about I stay over here, Bunny? Does that work?¡±


    The little girl gave a brief nod and began to suck her thumb.


    ¡°Very well,¡± he replied, crossing his legs. He wanted to ask her again about her parents, but realized that she most likely wasn¡¯t going to mention them any time soon.


    She remained still, watching him like an eagle. Stacey picked up the burlap sack that Mrs. Merriman left behind. He opened it, pulled out a bright red apple, and held it out to her. She flinched again.


    ¡±Ye need to eat,¡± he said. ¡°Here. You can work on this while I get some soup started.¡±


    The little girl took one look at him and vomited all over her clean nightgown and his blanket. She was shaking and crying, before upchucking some more dark fluid, hugging her knees tightly with saliva dripping from her mouth. Her large brown eyes focused on him again.


    A lump rose in Stacey¡¯s throat. He set down the apple, got to his feet again and he made his way around the room. It took him some rummaging, but he managed to find the doll. When he knelt down to her level, she whimpered. Immediately she scrambled away from his shadow and rushed to the wall, pressing her back against it.


    He paused before slowly holding out the doll, which looked much smaller in his palms. ¡°You remember her, yes? She¡¯s yours.¡± He paused. ¡°I think she¡¯s missed you quite a bit.¡±


    The little girl did not move, shielding herself as if she was expecting a blow. ¡°Steal,¡± she faintly said, her dark eyes growing big.


    ¡±No¡­¡± Stacey¡¯s voice trailed off. It took him a moment to speak again¡ªGod, he despised himself for ever saying that. It burned worse than hot coals against his flesh. ¡°No, Bunny. She belongs with you. It was very, very, wrong of me to frighten you off like that the other day, and yell and say all those horrible things. I didn¡¯t mean any of them, hear? I¡¯m sorry. Truly, I am.¡±


    She did not reply, just curled up tighter against the wall. Her lower chin was quivering.


    ¡°I¡¯m not going to hurt you,¡± he whispered.


    That was when he could clearly see the purple bruises and marks visible on her arms and legs. It destroyed Stacey inside, made him furious, and he cursed the people who had been involved. He cursed himself.


    He then placed the doll down on the ground and held both of his hands out towards her, strands of dark hair falling over his face.


    ¡±Please¡­don¡¯t be afraid.¡±


    The little girl backed away, clutching onto that blanket for dear life. She was shaking.


    To his surprise, Stacey¡¯s vision was getting blurry, the same way it had been in the cave. He didn¡¯t recognize his voice being so soft¡ªit seemed to belong to someone else. But it came out of him, flowing like a steady stream. This whole day so far had been strange, almost a dream.


    ¡°You can trust me,¡± he continued. ¡°I will not hurt you. I won¡¯t let anyone else hurt you. That is the promise I make to you, and an oath that I shall carry with me to the grave.¡±


    The child continued to stare at him.


    ¡°Now, you listen to me. If anyone bothers you, you tell me. You tell me. You let me take care of them. Ain¡¯t nobody in the world has the right to do such things to you¡ªespecially hit you. No one. You understand me?¡±


    A nod.


    ¡±Aye,¡± Stacey hoarsely whispered. ¡°Very good.¡± He slowly beckoned at her with his fingers. ¡°Let¡¯s get some water. All that burnin¡¯ up and carryin¡¯ on gotta leave you parched. Would wear me out.¡± He raised an eyebrow. ¡°And I know you are tired enough as it is, Bunny, so there¡¯s no point in pretending you ain¡¯t.¡±


    She shrunk away again, hugging herself.


    ¡±Now, now,¡± the young man murmured. ¡°Once yer good as new, we¡¯ll figger out what do next. But I won¡¯t have you in here, burnin¡¯ up with fever and with no fluids in ye.¡±


    The little girl took a few timid steps forward, before placing her much smaller palms on top of his, noticing the hardened yellow callouses that had formed below his fingers. She had never seen such gigantic hands, not even Hester¡¯s or the Headmistress¡¯s could compare. They looked like they could crush solid rock.


    ¡°It¡¯s alright.¡± He gave her own a soft, warm squeeze. ¡°Come. Let¡¯s get ye cleaned up.¡±


    Shyly, she continued to stare at him with her large brown eyes, trying to make sense of his facial features and the strange white sling he had on.


    Stacey slowly lifted her up and secured her in his right arm. She clung to him like a leech. The ground seemed so very far away from her, but she knew that he wouldn¡¯t drop her.


    She stuck her thumb into her mouth, shivering. Once Stacey carried her outside in the cool morning air, the sun was in the middle of the sky. He grabbed a wet rag and wiped her face and nightgown the best he could, she took several long drinks from the cold water he had in the barrel with a dipper. She had indeed been thirsty. Her eyelids were halfway open, and by the time Stacey gently lowered her on the mattress next to the fireplace and tucked a blanket around her, she had fallen fast asleep, her thumb still in her mouth.


    He placed the doll next to her.


    * * * * * *


    Stacey attempted to set up some traps for the next couple of days, the best way he could with only one arm. He was useless with a cast and sling.


    The lass was in a deep slumber, only waking up when he tried to get some water or willow tea into her. She ended up bringing it all up all over herself. The ordeal left her far more exhausted than before, but Stacey cleaned her up each time.


    In the back of his mind, he feared that she would pass in her sleep. He sure to keep his axe close to his side and constantly kept his eye on the door. He himself was incredibly fatigued, having only slept a couple hours each day on the porch, but his anxiety was stronger than ever when evening fell. He took a bite of bread while carefully rationing what little food they had, and continued to scout the area.


    Shivers ran down his spine when he spied bright green fragments lying amongst the charred ashes in the snow one morning. He bent down and picked one up, examining it between his thumb and index finger.


    Not too far from the shack, tracks led into the trees ahead.


    Fresh tracks.

 Chapter 9

    Elsie Whittaker¡¯s remains were discovered three days later. After one of the servants noticed a foul stench rising from the basement, he immediately rushed up the steps to vomit. Her death was ruled an accident. The castle, being immediately placed on lockdown under the orders of John Weston Tillamore III had many guards on constant watch in each room, both day and night. A week later, the body was given to the Whittakers, who received a small stipend to cover funeral costs. Elsie¡¯s mother had to be escorted out by the guards, screaming at the top of her lungs. She was inconsolable.


    From one of the stone balconies above, little Cassandra silently watched her as the woman was dragged out into the courtyard, her cries echoing and bouncing off the stone walls. The young girl¡¯s face was pale and withdrawn, and, even as the first rays of sunlight broke through the clouds, she did not join her sisters as they played in the garden outside and ran to catch butterflies. Every time she passed the steps leading to the basement, shivers ran down her spine and she would immediately rush down the hallway.


    John remained in bed for three weeks. Dr. Crowsley prescribed him laudanum drops, which only made him sleep heavily through the day and night. Whenever Cassandra asked to see her father, Gloria always scolded her, telling her that he was ill, and he could not be bothered any further.


    As a result, Thera settled upon the throne. She argued with the king¡¯s advisors, and demanded that taxes should be raised for the people. She spent quite lavishly, ordering that a new summer tea house be built, with furniture and paintings brought from Italy, France, and Sweden. In addition, she threw lavish parties and would dress extravagantly, wearing layers upon layers of jeweled skirts, laced petticoats, and a towering wig covered in pearls and bows and ribbons.


    Her skin was whiter than the sheets that Cassandra noticed that the maids would scrub clean, covered in the layers of paste that she applied every morning with a brush. The girl wasn¡¯t too fond on attending the galas that were thrown nearly every night, being forced to wear itchy stockings and heavy gowns that she could barely breathe in due to the corsets digging into her sides. She could hardly get a bite of food down without striking to breathe. She was a terrible dancer, often forgetting the steps. And she struggled to keep up with her tutor, Mr. Waters, during the day.


    The man was short and fat, with a large potbelly that hung to his knees. His wig was always poorly fitted, looking like it was about to slide off his forehead. He loudly rapped the end of his stick against the edge off her book one morning in the middle of their French lessons, causing her to startle awake from a snore, jerking back her head. Audrey and Anne quietly snickered, hiding their pink faces in their books.


    ¡±Your Highness,¡± he snapped.


    Cassandra blinked twice, the room about her a blur and mess of colors.


    Mr. Waters pointed to the page. ¡°Read this sentence aloud for me, please.¡±


    ¡°Forgive me.¡± The young princess rubbed her eyes. ¡°I don¡¯t know what it means.¡±


    Exasperated, the tutor placed a palm on his forehead. ¡°If I say to you, comment, allez-vous, ton altesse, how shall you respond?¡±


    Cassandra frowned. ¡°C¡¯est une journ¨¦e agr¨¦able?¡±


    The laughter of her siblings made a crimson shade fall upon the girl¡¯s face. Anne straightened her back and folded her arms, her posture just as perfect as a young lady¡¯s should be. ¡°It is je vais bien merci,¡± she proudly said, giving Cassandra a side glance.


    ¡°Excellent work, Anne,¡± Mr. Waters praised. ¡°Cassandra, you ought to follow your sister¡¯s example and pay more close attention. And you must practice conjugating your verbs.¡±


    For the rest of the lesson, Cassandra¡¯s shoes tapped against the chair leg. Her dark blue eyes settled upon the glass window, where she thought she spotted something below in the courtyard, close towards the palace gate. By the time Mr. Waters had her writing out new sentences on the page with her quill, it was empty again.


    * * * * * * *


    Around nightfall, the palace seemed to creak and groan. The steps were louder than ever, and although Cassandra could hear the footsteps and bussing around of the servants, it was mostly quiet in her chambers. Her lady in waiting, Charlotte, had just prepared her a warm bath, with plenty of bubbles and scented soap. After helping her get dressed her into a silk pink nightgown, the woman knelt down to her level and smiled, though Cassandra could see dark circles under her eyes. The young princess clung to her arms.


    ¡±Darling, you¡¯ll make me trip.¡±


    ¡±Please, can¡¯t you stay here with me?¡±


    ¡°Your Highness, you are old enough to understand that the help is always here when you ask. And you know that Delilah takes the night shift after me, so she shall tend to you.¡±


    The girl frowned. ¡°But I want you. Delilah is so very serious. And she is grumpy all the time. She won¡¯t sing or read to me like you do.¡±


    Charlotte hid her smile. ¡°I shall see you in the morning, your Highness,¡± she said. ¡°You have a good rest.¡±


    Cassandra shook her head, her freshly washed curls floating above her head and sticking out of her night cap. When damp, she had the loveliest waves, but the moment her hair begun to dry, the worst frizz would settle upon her. She wished she had hair like her mother¡¯s¡ªwhich was only slightly curly, and not too difficult to manage. ¡°I want you to stay here with me.¡±


    Charlotte kissed her forehead. ¡°My sweet child, you know the routine. I have little ones at home, who are waiting for me. I will be back tomorrow. And we shall both pick out the dress that you are to wear for the gala.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t go into the basement.¡± Cassandra¡¯s teeth were chattering. She shook her head several times. ¡°Don¡¯t go there, even if they tell you to. You should disobey that order.¡±


    ¡°I would rather not.¡± Charlotte fluffed the pillows on the bed and yawned. ¡±And why I on earth would I go there, Your Highness? You know my duties are up here.¡±


    ¡°You shan¡¯t go. That is what the Whittakers are telling everyone in town. I heard a couple of guards talking about it this morning.¡±


    If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    The maid raised an eyebrow. ¡°Young ladies should not eavesdrop on conversations. It is very impolite. And you are too young to even be concerned about such frivolous matters.¡±


    ¡±But they are not frivolous at all. If you go down there, you¡¯ll get hurt too.¡± Cassandra¡¯s voice grew small. ¡°Like Elsie. Please don¡¯t.¡±


    A slightly confused look fell upon Charlotte¡¯s face, but she took the young girl¡¯s hand and carried her to the bed, before drawing the silk covers up to her chin. ¡°Nothing is going to happen to me. There is nothing to worry about. Your father has everything under control. There are guards every inch of this place, and any intruders that come past the palace walls will be punished accordingly.¡±


    ¡±But you can¡¯t go¡ª¡±


    ¡°You need to sleep, darling.¡±


    The enormous pillows pressed against Cassandra¡¯s back. She struggled to sit up, clinging onto Charlotte¡¯s stained apron. ¡°You can¡¯t go into the basement.¡± She sniffed. ¡°You can¡¯t. If they ask you to go, they can¡¯t.¡±


    For a moment, the candles in the room flickered. Charlotte gently cleared a loose strand of hair that had fallen in front of Cassandra¡¯s face with a cold finger. ¡°You need not worry about anything, understand? Your father is working very, very, very hard to keep everyone safe. Now, go to sleep like a good child, and before you know it, morning will be here soon.¡±


    ¡°Do you believe it was an accident, as they say?¡±


    ¡±To bed, Your Highness.¡±


    A deep pit settled in Cassandra¡¯s stomach as Charlotte stood up and blew out all of the candles, with the exception of the biggest one, which she took with her. As the door closed, Cassandra drew the sheets over her head and closed her eyes, trying to ignore the creaking and groaning in the palace due to the wind outside. She longed for her mother, but Audrey had told her at supper that she had traveled to Ormon to get some medicine for Papa, because he was ill. When she had asked why she hadn¡¯t even bothered to say goodbye, Anne had told her to stop acting like a baby.


    Cassandra turned to the left side of the bed.


    A baby. That was what she was. She softly exhaled and curled up into a ball, not wanting to look at the shadows in her room, how her rocking horse, dollhouse, and toys seemed to take on a shape that did not originally belong to them. With how cold the room was growing and the increasing warmth of the sheets wrapped around her, the burden of the day finally settled upon her.


    * * * * * * * *


    The young girl¡¯s eyes slowly opened. It was still dark, yet her eyes were fuzzy with fatigue. As she raised her head from her pillow, a heavy thump echoed from within the walls.


    She could hear faint crying.


    Anne and Audrey¡¯s chambers were right next to hers. Fighting to get free from the blankets, Cassandra landed awkwardly on the rug. Her bare feet were silent against the wooden floor as she rushed to her bedroom door, her small hands wrapping around the door handle. The empty hallway was dark, but to her relief, she spied a candle sitting on a small table next to the wall, and grabbed it with her shaking hand. The crying continued.


    For a moment, Cassandra pondered whether it would be best to ask Delilah to come with her, as she was not particularly fond of the dark, despite running the risk of being scolded for being up so late. But she remembered Anne calling her a baby, and she was determined to prove her wrong.


    The young girl held the candle up, an orange glow illuminating her pale face. A cold wind traveled down the vast hallway, causing her pink nightgown to sway around her ankles as she walked. She found it quite strange that there were no guards in the hallway. After peeking into each of her sisters¡¯ rooms, she noticed that they were both fast asleep. She silently closed the door, rubbing her bleary eyes and preparing to go back into her own room, before a thought crossed her mind.


    Charlie.


    His nursery was on the floor above their rooms. After glancing behind her, Cassandra made her way up the steps, shielding the weak flame with her hand, not wanting it to blow out. It was unusually cold and windy, and she wondered if one of the servants had accidentally left the windows open. When she reached the top of the steps, she froze outside of her brother¡¯s room. There was a strange scent that met her nose, like moss and dirt and water.


    Charlie¡¯s cries grew louder.


    Her stomach began to churn as she opened the door as quietly as she could, praying it wouldn¡¯t squeak. The candlelight illuminated the furniture in the room, and she slowly made her way through, careful not to bump into anything. Her brother¡¯s cries echoed in the room, and she could see his shadow in his crib, his arms flailing and moving.


    ¡°Charlie?¡± she asked in a loud whisper. ¡°Charlie, I¡¯m coming. I¡¯m coming soon.¡±


    Cassandra set down the candle, but before she could take another step forward, her left bare foot brushed against something on the floor. She squinted her eyes as she bent down and picked up a wrinkled, torn piece of paper. Confused, she held it up to the light to get a better look. She gazed at a detailed sketch of a large ship. As she flipped it over in her hands, the wardrobe door swung open with a loud bang.


    Startled, Cassandra spun around, clutching the drawing to her chest. Although the room was still, she could make out a faint rattling sound, right where the doorknob of the plaster made a mark against the wall. She went to Charlie¡¯s crib and picked him up in his arms, who was crying uncontrollably. His chubby face was red, and she realized that he had wet himself. He loudly hiccuped once he saw her and began to coo, cramming his fingers into his mouth.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry,¡± Cassandra reassured him, kissing his left cheek. ¡°I will get you changed. I don¡¯t want to wake anyone else up, less they be cross. And then I shall read you some stories on the rocking chair.¡±


    As she bounced him up and down, trying to remember where his wet nurse kept the clean linens at, the candle blew out, leaving a trail of smoke.


    The room became pitch black.


    ¡°Mama?¡± Cassandra asked.


    That was when she noticed a shape against the wall. Charlie began to doze off in her arms. Cassandra tried to move, but she found that she couldn¡¯t. Her bare feet were plastered against the floor, like someone had glued them against the carpet. She could simply only stand there, clinging onto her baby brother. She blinked several times, trying to move her feet again. Her blue eyes helplessly stared at the door. She wanted to yell at the top of her lungs, but she couldn¡¯t.


    Something warm and wet brushed the back of her neck, leaving a stinging sensation behind, almost like a burn.


    A few rapid footsteps scurried across the floor behind her. There was heavy, shaking breathing, followed by the sound of Charlie¡¯s crib being knocked over, then split into a pile of wood. The rattling sound continued, although it was fainter, and Cassandra could not turn around, although she tried to. A drop of blood escaped down her left nostril and traveled down her chin, before staining the collar of her nightgown. Her hands shook.


    The atmosphere became static, and Cassandra¡¯s vision grew fuzzy. In the pitch black, something white formed in the darkness. A smile¡ª very broad and with teeth that seemed unnaturally large and white and sharp. Glass shattered, forming a giant crack against the large mirror above the dresser.


    The flame from the candle flickered back on.


    Gloria Tillamore hung from the chandelier above, slightly swinging side by side, her feet dangling midair. A creaking sound echoed in the room due to it supporting her weight. She had on her wedding ring, and her long, luscious locks hung to her waist, freed out of its usual braids. She was dressed in her evening gown, and her crown was placed high upon her head. A thick rope was wrapped around her pale neck, and her blue eyes stared at the wall. Her flesh was beginning to show signs of decomposition, bubbling and peeling at the edges, and her velvet slippers were scuffed at the bottom. Maggots formed around her blistered lips.


    Cassandra began to scream.

 Chapter 10

    Tace slowly opened her eyes.


    At first, she expected to see the stone walls of her hideout¡ªthe sting of the cold air against her bare arms and legs, the deep hunger in her stomach, blisters and sores present all over her skin. She expected the smell of fresh pine, earth, and moss to reach her nose, and to hear the sound of rain pouring down outside, causing a mist to blow through the opening of her shelter. She¡¯d tuck the dead leaves that she had collected outside tighter around herself to achieve a bit of warmth.


    Warmth.


    There was an abundance of it, far more than she was used to. It seeped from the top of her raw head to the bottom of her toes. She blinked twice at the orange and red about her, and the crackling of the flames in the fireplace that seem to grow louder at the moment. When she sat up, wiping her bleary eyes, she noticed Isabel next to her. Her purple dress was long and wrinkled, and one yarned braid dangled over her button eyes. Tace picked up the doll and hugged it close to her, before staring at her surroundings. Outside, the sky was dark and windy, causing the branches from the trees to shake.


    She did not remember how she had gotten here. She did remember being extremely hot, nauseated in her stomach, and then there was someone picking her up, someone holding her hands, someone telling her things, someone spooning broth and cold water in her mouth. She remembered being outside for a bit, although she wasn¡¯t sure why. She remembered hearing a lot of voices, her wanting desperately to get away from them, and then silence.


    A popping sound startled the child, and she jumped, turning her head to the side. There was a roaring fire in the hearth beneath a large metal pot, and the scent of burning wood met her flared nostrils. Something white and thick was bubbling at the busted rims.


    The shack was mostly bare inside¡ªand her memory came back to her.


    The giant¡¯s house.


    As she struggled to climb off the bed, her thin, knobby legs nearly gave up on her. She realized that she had on a fresh smelling nightgown, and that her beloved knife was missing. Clutching Isabel with one arm, she took a few steps across the dirt floor, her head spinning quite a bit. She didn¡¯t understand why she was here, but she knew that the grown ups were planning for her inevitable return to the Guadana House of Mercy, where she¡¯d be forced to face Melissa Collington. A lump rose in her throat when she imagined what kind of punishment would ensure.


    Tace crept to the door and peeked out, causing orange light to spill onto the frozen ground. Her breaths were visible in the air. An incoming gust of wind blew her nightgown, swirling it around her bare feet. As she stepped out onto the porch her heart stopped.


    The giant.


    He was seated on a wooden stump, smoking a tobacco pipe. Smoke rose over his black hair like a dirty veil. Next to him was a towering pile of logs and a dull axe, its blade gleaming in the moonlight. He turned his head at the sound of the creaking hinges. Surprise fell upon his large gray eyes as he slowly rose to his feet. He wore a large white cast, although the sling was dirty, hanging around from behind his neck. He had on a tattered coat, and his boots were covered in mud. He swallowed hard, as if he was trying to say something.


    Tace stared back at him, her heart thudding deep into her chest. He would certainly send her back within the following night, maybe within a few hours. She would be beaten, locked into the cellar, locked away from the others with no meals for the next three days. She would scrub the floors, the windows, all of the towering dishes and piles of laundry until her fingernails bled and fell off.


    The trees beckoned her, invited her. Although the darkness frightened her, she was used to it. It provided her with security¡ªaway from those who were much bigger and stronger than she. She knew where her den was, and she would gather what little food she had left there and move up further into the mountains, where no one would see her again. It was only her and Isabel. Isabel was with her. She¡¯d keep the ghosts away.


    Tace flew down the sagging porch steps and took off running as fast as she could, the warmth leaving her body. Mud and gray snow sloshed around her ankles, shockingly cold against her bare feet. Her lungs began to burn terribly.


    ¡°No, no, no, no¡ª¡±


    The giant¡¯s voice echoed behind her, but she didn¡¯t dare look back. She could hear his footsteps against the fresh snow, and his heavy breaths. She focused on the large fir tree on top of the hill, rushing towards it. Its branches seemed to reach out to her¡ªthe leaves almost glowing in a greenish hue.


    A rough arm suddenly snatched her off the ground, causing Isabel to fall out of her grip.


    Tace began to scream, her voice muffled by the blowing gusts of icy wind. She didn¡¯t know how she had been carried back to the shack, but the warmth of the fireplace only sent more panicked chills through her. She could hear the giant struggling to catch his breath as he slammed the door shut behind them, the scent of tobacco filling the air. He gradually sat down on the dirt floor with her still in his arms. Beads of sweat dripped down his face and neck, causing his skin to glisten.


    ¡±Alright,¡± he whispered. ¡°Alright. It¡¯s alright.¡±


    Tace released another high pitched wail.


    Isabel was lying on the ground.


    Using her tiny fists, Tace began to swing as hard as she could. She released another shriek, trying to break free from his grasp, kicking and squirming. Agitated that she couldn¡¯t weaken his grip, she vigorously tugged at his large fingers. Her large brown eyes were wet. She didn¡¯t want to go back into the cellar, where the rats bit at her flesh.


    ¡°It¡¯s alright, it¡¯s alright. It¡¯s alright.¡± His voice was quieter than the flames. ¡°I¡¯m here.¡±


    Tace delivered a kick with her left leg.


    ¡°Ain¡¯t nobody coming for you. Ain¡¯t nobody going to do anything to you anymore.¡±


    She didn¡¯t believe him¡ªhe was a liar, like everyone she knew. Her eyebrows were knitted as she continued to punch at his sleeves, at his cast, which was beginning to fray at the edges. To her surprise, he remained silent, and when she looked up at him she gradually slowed down her blows and lowered her arms, startled by the expression on his face.


    ¡±Bunny,¡± he softly said, ¡°why are you fighting me? Don¡¯t you remember what I¡¯ve told you?¡±


    Tace continued to stare at him. Bunny? Then an idea crossed her mind. Maybe he didn¡¯t recognize her¡ªmistook her for someone else. She noticed a strange pendant dangling around his sweaty neck, peeking out from beneath the torn hemline of his shirt.


    The giant slowly caressed her in his arms. He had dark circles underneath his eyes. ¡°I told ye that I ain¡¯t gonna let nobody do anything to you. You remember.¡± He reached over and placed Isabel in front of her, his tone becoming more stern. ¡°I don¡¯t want to ever see you do something like that again.¡±


    Tace snatched up the doll. She didn¡¯t know why he called her Bunny.


    He put the back of his rough palm against her forehead. ¡°Fever¡¯s broke.¡± He stood up and carried her to the table, plopping her down on the wooden stool. ¡°Might as well get you to eat something.¡± With a heavy sigh, he took off his hat and moved to the giant pot hanging over the flames. His shadow spilled over the walls, right next to the pickaxe that sat by the doorway. Chills ran down Tace¡¯s spine when she gazed at it, her fingers digging into the fabric of Isabel¡¯s purple dress.


    The giant set down a bowl full of a steaming white substance in front of her¡ªoatmeal. He slowly sat across from her, wincing in pain as he placed a hand on his back to steady himself. Tace noticed that he walked quite stiff. The smell of the stuff in the bowl was quite strange, and it made her empty stomach turn. A wave of nausea fell upon her, and she glanced at the door.


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    It was partially open, revealing a dark split.


    As she began to rush towards it again, she released another agonizing scream as the giant scooped her up in his arms. Her thin legs were dangling mid air, and she beat down upon him again, her little fists drawn up.


    ¡°No,¡± he quietly said, carrying her back to the stool. ¡°We not doing that damned foolishness. If ye strong enough to run, ye strong enough to eat. I ain¡¯t lettin¡¯ you starve in this house.¡±


    Her dark brown eyes, filled with fury, glared into his solemn gray ones. She screamed as loud as she could again, attempting to squirm her way down to the floor so she could reach the door. For a moment, she gazed at him, before kicking with her feet. She sank her teeth into the flesh of his arm, but he hardly reacted, just continued to hold her. The bright red mark that the bite had left slightly startled her, but as the giant lowered her down at the table again, fierce heat rushed through her veins. He didn¡¯t even react to the now bleeding spot just below his wrist.


    She rapidly knocked the wooden bowl away from her, causing the thick oatmeal to spill and slosh everywhere. Some of it dripped off the edge of the table. Tace then stood up, kicked the stool over with her foot, and turned to face him, clutching Isabel. Her thin chest rose up and down as she stomped her left bare foot.


    The giant studied her.


    Tace waited. Waited for an outburst, for him to hit her, to shout and kick her out, to say that she was worthless, good for nothing. With her left hand, she picked up the mostly empty bowl and threw it across the room, where it bounced off the wooden wall with a clatter. She wanted to overturn the table, but it was much too heavy for her to do that, so she began to fiercely kick at its legs with her bare feet. The heat of the fireplace had left her face red and sweaty.


    Thump, thump, thump.


    Tace screamed at him again, but he simply sat there, watching her. He did not move or flinch when she ran to his other pots and pans, and scattered them about¡ªanything that she could get her hands on, she did. After pushing them all onto the floor with a loud crash, she then rushed to the mattress and climbed underneath the blankets, crossing her legs and peeking out from them. Isabel¡¯s braids dangled from the side of the wooden bed frame.


    She watched the giant, heavily breathing.


    Instead, he placed his elbow on the surface of the soaking wet table and rested his chin on his hand. To Tace¡¯s surprise, his large gray eyes had no anger in them, only a quiet sadness. He glanced at the wooden bowl on the ground, then back at the child¡¯s defiant face. She was gripping the doll so hard that her knuckles became white.


    Why wouldn¡¯t he just let her go to the woods? She couldn¡¯t stand grown ups. They never seemed to make up their minds. He clearly didn¡¯t want her here, anyway. Nobody wanted her. Soon, he¡¯d tire of her and send her off to someone who was bigger and meaner than he. She¡¯d save him the trouble¡ªalthough the broken expression on his face did make a pang of guilt go through her.


    Without a word, the giant rose to his feet and moved to the threshold. He patted the top of Tace¡¯s bald head with one of his enormous hands, before heading outside, causing another gust of wind to blow in, and closing the door. A few moments of silence passed, before the sound of him chopping wood echoed through the trees. It resembled claps of thunder that coursed in the sky above.


    Tace stared at the mess on the table, before climbing on top of the bed and pressing her nose against the mottled glass window. She placed her fingertips against the cold surface¡ªher breath causing a white fog to form on top. When he noticed her staring at him, she ducked down below the windowsill.


    * * * * * * * *


    She studied the wrecked room.


    After sitting by the fireplace, holding onto Isabel, the heat began to dwindle in her veins. The orange light settled upon her pale face. Time to time she wandered to the door, but stopped short each time. She watched the oatmeal bubbling on the large pot, before setting Isabel down and slowly lifting the stool upright. She glanced at the door once more.


    It took her a while, but Tace finally managed to clean up with a worn rag she had found. She scrubbed off the oatmeal splattered across the wall. She picked up the pots, bowls, and cups she had knocked over and put them back on the shelves. The surface of the table was quite sticky as a result, so she had gathered some melted snow from the window to get the extra layers off. She was on her tippy toes, straining to reach the edge of the table to wipe the last bit of it. Isabel watched her with approval, her head slightly tilted to the side.


    The stuff boiling above the fireplace made her stomach turn, but the child carefully used the ladling spoon to scoop some into a bowl. The steam and aroma met her nostrils as she walked across the room, clutching the warm wooden bowl with both of her tiny palms. She idled by the door, hesitating when she noticed the giant bent over and sharpening a long, curved knife. He spat on the surface and continued to grind it against the stone.


    His ears and nose were turning red from the cold, and, to Tace¡¯s surprise, a shadow of a smile gathered on his lips when he noticed her peeking at him. She drew back from behind the door again as he climbed the steps to the porch, his hair covered in snow. He slowly knelt down to her level, wincing in pain. Tace could see the dirt on his palms and face, and for a moment, he didn¡¯t look so scary. She wondered if he ever slept.


    ¡°That for me?¡± the giant whispered.


    Do giants whisper?


    Tace glanced down at the bowl she held. She then gave a slight nod, before roughly shoving it into his hands and running inside, slamming the door. She pressed her ear against it, but there was only silence outside.


    For the rest of the evening, she hid underneath the bed, wrapped in a warm quilt, with Isabel close to her side. She counted the number of glowing embers that fell from the fireplace, eventually turning into white and black ashes. Her eyelids grew droopy.


    * * * * * * * *


    Sunlight streamed through the window.


    Tace peeked out from below the quilt, her fingers tangled within Isabel¡¯s hair.


    The fireplace was still going, only a lot smaller than before. The giant was seated at the table, carving something between his hands. Wood shavings littered the floor, and his gaze was intentionally fixed on whatever lay between his large fingers. He was chewing down on a wad of tobacco. He did not look up as Tace crawled out from beneath the bed and slowly approached him. He applied a generous amount of force to the edge of the knife. She watched him for a moment, bound by curiosity, but too nervous to say anything.


    The red bite mark on his arm was visible.


    ¡±Morning. Ye slept well?¡± the giant asked, knocking over another wood chip to the floor. ¡°The wind gets awful loud here at night.¡±


    Tace gave quick nod.


    ¡°Ye feel feverish? Dizzy?¡±


    The child shook her head.


    ¡°Good,¡± the giant murmured. ¡°Very good.¡±


    A long silence passed by as he suddenly squinted, before dusting the carving in his hands. He then blew at it with a loud puff.


    Tace stood still.


    ¡°Today,¡± the giant quietly continued, ¡°we are going to the mountains. I need to find coal so we can sell it nearby.¡± His twinkling gray eyes met her. ¡°You been up to the mountains before?¡±


    Tace studied him.


    He softly smiled, then looked down again, refocusing on his task. ¡°There¡¯s a lot of animals out there. Foxes, rabbits, squirrels, deer, wolves¡ªall sorts of critters. Eagles, too.¡± He slowly held out a carved wooden bird that rested between his palms. ¡°Here.¡±


    Tace carefully reached out and took it, admiring the detail on its wings. She wanted to thank him, but her throat was filled with a giant lump, one that prevented her from getting a single word out. He put away the knife, before bringing a bright red apple and broke a large loaf of dried bread in half upon the table, crumbs mixing in with wood shavings.


    ¡±Finish that, child,¡± he ordered. ¡°All of it.¡±


    To Tace¡¯s surprise, she reached out and grabbed the fruit, taking an enormous bite. The sweetness and crunchiness filled her mouth, and juice ran down her chin. As she chowed down on it, chewing loudly, the giant motioned for her to sit down on the stool, presenting a small pair of worn slippers made out of deer hide. She gnawed on the thick slice of bread he gave her soon after, observing her newest treasure. Once she tugged the slippers on, the giant rubbed the top of his dark head and sighed.


    ¡°Ain¡¯t the best, but it¡¯ll do until I can get ye some decent shoes. Can¡¯t be cooped up here forever, can we? Fresh air is good for the soul.¡±


    Tace placed the remnants of the apple core upon the table. Once the giant wrapped her up in several blankets, she could make out the blade of the knife visible beneath his coat. She gazed at up at him, reaching out and holding his right palm with her sticky hand tightly as she could, the wooden bird directly in her other one. The fullness in her stomach was unfamiliar to her.


    When they stepped outside, the giant grabbed his pickaxe, despite the sling on his arm. He then picked up Tace with his good arm, humming quietly to himself. As the child continued to stare at him, he gave her a smile. His teeth were stained with tobacco. She didn¡¯t return it, but leaned her head against his left broad shoulder, snuggling into the crook of his arm, the wind cold against her ears and head.


    She heard his boots crunching against dead leaves on the ground. She could see each whisker growing on his face, the angry scars on his pale flesh. Warmth seeped over her once more, but this time, she did not pull away from it. She licked her fingers, the familiar taste of apple settling on her tongue.


    A noise caught her attention, and Tace abruptly tugged at the giant¡¯s coat sleeve. She raised her hand and pointed at the bushes as he kept walking.


    ¡±What?¡± he softly asked. ¡°What do you see?¡±


    ¡°Squirrel,¡± Tace faintly whispered.


    ¡°A mighty big one, ain¡¯t he?¡±


    She shyly nodded.


    Their shadows stretched out on the ground.

 Chapter 11

    As the ground began to thaw out, large earthworms began to rise to the surface. The piles of snow grew smaller until they were only puddles that reflected the clear, blue sky. It rained far more heavier upon the mountain tops, making many of its travelers seek shelter. Tiny green plants shot up from the snow¡ªfat yellow dandelions and four-leaf green clovers soon populated the once-frozen earth.


    Butterflies broke free from their cocoons and spread their wings, seeking nectar from the lilies and daisies that had soon become entangled within the tall grass. The lingering breeze and fierce cold kept many bundled up in their carriages. Icicles hung from the near by branches¡ªthousands of mirrors that seemed to reflect the world.


    The daily trips to the mountains took Tace some getting used to. Within the first week, the giant took her some of the way, but encouraged her to work her legs the best she could, as he gradually carried her less and less. The ground was incredibly steep, and sometimes, she¡¯d get quite frustrated with being unable to climb the higher parts, but his patience and encouraging words always seemed to bring her through. Once she reached the top of a small hill by herself, he was so proud he scooped her up in his arms and spun her around as fast as he could, causing her to laugh for the very first time.


    The giant taught her how to skin and hunt squirrels and rabbits and possums. On the days they were able to make a small amount of profit, the giant had brought cornmeal¡ªshowed her how to make a good, thick loaf of bread. Their afternoons were filled with laughter as Tace was covered head to toe in fine white flour that landed everywhere¡ªwhere her footprints were visible upon the ground.


    She ran in circles around the room, clouds of flour rising in the air. Her squeals echoed in the shack as she deliberately dumped a generous amount upon the giant¡¯s head, resulting in his hair becoming white. He abruptly sneezed, leaving Tace in stitches. She released a high pitched scream as the giant caught her just as she was about to pass him and scooped her up, holding her upside down on his left shoulder.


    ¡±Excuse me, Bunny.¡± His cheerful voice bounced against the walls. ¡°Excuse me. Excuse me.¡±


    Her face was pink due to her giggling so much.


    ¡±Alright now, what¡¯s this? I say on the table, not me! Why you gettin¡¯ it all on me?¡±


    The little girl continued to laugh. When the giant did smile, it was rare for her to see.


    ¡±Well? No answer?¡±


    Tace clasped her flour-covered palms over her mouth and blew a raspberry.


    ¡±Yer gonna make me look like a ghost,¡± the giant exclaimed, ¡°and it ain¡¯t even supper time yet. Lord. You think you could keep as much of it as you can on the table?¡± He chuckled. ¡°Here, lass. Help me add the yeast.¡±


    The little girl began to bounce on her feet after he set her down on the ground. Before she could reach for the mixing bowl, a brief shadow caught the corner of her eye outside the window. She turned her head, but only saw the trees swaying in the wind. As the giant handed her a spoon, she began to vigorously stir the contents in the bowl as he helped her knead the dough.


    * * * * * * *


    Tace had seen the mountains before.


    From afar, from the grime covered windows of the Guadana House of Mercy. To her, they were like the sky or the moon. Always being present but unable to reach, like a dream.


    The caves delighted her. Endless rows of stalagmites, stalactites, and columns met her eyes. They reminded her of the very icicles that she had seen outside, expect that these were made out of pure rock and crystal¡ªnever to melt due to the sun. The water that was there was always fresh; as it came from the melting snow, which both she would fill up the canteen that she had with her to the brim.


    ¡±Ye ever come across famine or hard times, this is what you do,¡± the giant told her in a stern voice. ¡°Ye find what resources the fancy people love up in the city. They pay you a fine penny for it. Know where to look, and you¡¯ll never have to worry about eating again. Ye don¡¯t ever depend on anyone but yerself. A good miner never goes hungry. You hear?¡±


    Tace nodded.


    ¡±Now, you listen to me good.¡±


    She nodded again.


    Their shadows illuminated the walls.


    The giant brought with them two lanterns, his pickaxe, a knife, and a large sack. He explained to her what kind of rocks that was valuable at the market¡ªquartz, limestone, dolomite, gypsum, marble, and iron. As Tace became more familiar with their characteristics, she became eager to seek them. The giant¡¯s arm had begun to heal, as he was to himself about it had it was itching him a great deal. She watched him as he swung his pickaxe to break down large chunks of stone.


    Eager to help, Tace climbed into tight crevices to reach and find pieces of coal and iron. Although the giant had insisted that she didn¡¯t need to do all of that¡ªhe did not want her to tire herself out but to simply watch, Tace¡¯s excitement could not be matched¡ªher small fingers felt across the stone wall for anything she could grab.


    When the sun was halfway past in the sky, the giant had filled their bag halfway with coal. He didn¡¯t say anything, but the proud expression on his face was something that had Tace skipping all the way back to the shack in the snow.


    * * * * * * * *


    Their trips to the mountains became more planned. The moment the sun began to set, the giant immediately had them prepare to leave.


    Tace didn¡¯t understand why he became so restless around nightfall, but due to her shy nature, she never questioned it. Once she had her supper and she was tucked in bed with Isabel, he would close the door. He told her to never unlock it under any circumstance, to never let anyone in, no matter what she heard or saw outside.


    When he opened the door in the morning, he¡¯d be covered in scratches and bruises, and his shirt was coated in blood. He gave her a weary smile as she ran towards him and scooped her up in his arms. Then they would have thick, plain oatmeal in front of the warm fire together.


    In the back of her mind, Tace wanted to ask him where he went. She had done once before, but the giant simply told her that she would have to wait until she was older. She despised waiting. It made no sense to her; kept her up at night when she was supposed to be asleep, pacing back and forth. Her worst fear was that he would never return, that he would be gone forever, and she would be left for good.


    ¡°You leave me?¡± she quietly asked one day as they were making traps for hunting squirrels.


    The giant looked up, surprised she spoke. He was in the middle of skinning one, blood staining the edge of the table he had it placed upon, sawing away at the fur and skin to get to the meat. His gray eyes fell on the little girl, whose face was downcast.


    ¡±You leave me?¡± Tace repeated. Her hand tightened around the tool she was using.


    ¡±Now then,¡± he softly asked, ¡°why do you think I would do something like that?¡±


    She did not answer. Tears formed in her eyes.


    The giant lowered the knife and knelt down in front of her. As he pulled her into an embrace, Tace buried her face into his left shoulder.


    Gently, he cupped her tear-streaked face with both of his large, rough hands. His gray eyes were clear, just a bit glazed over. ¡°No,¡± he whispered. ¡°I won¡¯t ever leave you.¡±


    Tace wiped her nose.


    ¡±I ain¡¯t gonna beat around the bush with ye, Bunny,¡± he quietly replied. ¡°Someday, I won¡¯t always be around to help ye. But that don¡¯t mean I won¡¯t fight like the devil to stay with ye as long as I can. ¡®Tis why you need to learn to stand on yer own two feet. So when I¡¯m gone, ye be just fine. Ye know how to take care of yerself, like I show you. Ye remember what I¡¯ve told ye.¡±


    Tace sniffed.


    ¡±But I¡¯ll never abandon you. Never. Don¡¯t you ever forget that. ¡®Tis a promise from me to you.¡±


    She blinked a couple of times.


    ¡°I be with ye every step of the way, long as I am on this earth,¡± he firmly said. ¡°Ye too young to understand such things, why I leave at night. When ye are ready, ye shall come with me then. For now, ye stay in the shack and do not leave until I return.¡± He fumbled deep into his pocket and pulled out a rough handkerchief. ¡°Now dry those eyes.¡±


    The girl took it and wiped her face.


    ¡±When you¡¯re ready, you¡¯ll know,¡± he said, and that was all. He patted the top of her head and moved back to the table.


    For many nights, Tace lay awake in her bed and wondered for hours what he could¡¯ve meant, Isabel tucked underneath her arms. She grew impatient, suddenly wishing she was big and strong. In her dreams, she imagined herself over a hundred feet tall, towering above all of the cities in the world.


    Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.


    And every morning when she awoke, the giant was sitting and smoking his pipe outside on the porch on the front steps, staring at the woods with a very stern look in his gray eyes. She¡¯d run straight into his arms, still in her nightgown. He silently held her as they watched the sun slowly rise over the black horizon.


    * * * * * *


    Gradually, Tace¡¯s stamina began to improve over time as she headed up to the mountains. She carried heavy buckets of rocks and tools to the top with ease. Her appetite increased¡ªher cheeks had a rosy color to them. Her hair came back in, thick and dark curls, falling just over her large ears. Her frail look had transitioned over to a sturdy, muscular build, and, given that she often went barefooted all the time, layers of tough callouses forming beneath her soles. When both she and the giant went to the outskirts of Belisaur to sell their goods, they would leave with an abundance of coins.


    As she became more skilled with the pickaxe, she was surprised to wake up the morning of her tenth birthday and find a brand new, but much smaller one, sitting on the porch. She gave the giant an astonished look, then gazed back at the tool. She then clasped both of her hands over her mouth in delight.


    ¡°Don¡¯t stand there gaping, Bunny.¡± He kept chopping wood, but gave her a wink. ¡°That¡¯s yer very own. Made it myself. Figured you were ready for yer own tool. You¡¯ve shown me you are responsible so far with what ye have.¡±


    Tace didn¡¯t say a word, as usual. She broadly smiled and picked it up, feeling the edge of the sharp blade with a keen hand. It was slightly heavy. As she examined it with her palms, the wind blowing in her short curls, the sound of a carriage made them both look up.


    Before she could thank the giant, a middle aged, pudgy woman was sitting at the front of the wagon, which was pulled by a chestnut mare. She wore a bright blue dress with thin white stripes across the skirts, and she gripped the reins, slowing the animal down. Chills ran down Tace¡¯s spine when the woman¡¯s eyes fell upon her¡ªfilled with astonishment. The horse pawed its hooves against the ground.


    ¡±My goodness. She is quite tall for her age.¡±


    Tace did not move. Am I ready now? she wondered.


    ¡°Mr. Holloman,¡± the woman continued. ¡°I hope you are doing well this lovely spring morning.¡±


    The giant picked up a log and set it on the stump. Without a word, he cleanly sliced it in half like it was butter. Tace stared at her bare feet, suddenly wanting to go back inside. She had not seen another human being for a while, but the sight of the woman gazing at her for such a long time caused a deep crimson shade to settle on her face. Her black fingernails suddenly tightened around the pickaxe handle.


    From the window, she could see Isabel sitting inside on top of her bed, watching them.


    ¡±Pardon me for my disruption.¡± The woman stepped the carriage and stumbled a bit awkwardly in the mud. ¡°I am here¡­.here¡­about the girl. The child.¡± She picked up her skirts and made her way around a large puddle, fanning away flies with her hand. ¡°Paul Stilton is requesting that you send her to the school in town.¡±


    ¡±Blast yer shithead town.¡±


    The woman¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°Pardon me?¡±


    The giant slammed the axe so hard it sank halfway into the wooden stump. His chest was rising and falling heavily. ¡°Mrs. Merriman,¡± he softly said. ¡°I am giving you until the count of three to get off my land.¡±


    ¡°You can threaten me all you want,¡± the woman said through her teeth. ¡°You don¡¯t scare me. If you refuse, they¡¯ll take her away. You can¡¯t deny the girl her education. It¡¯s the law, and I don¡¯t think you want to get yourself in any more trouble with it.¡± She took another step forward. ¡°It is not good for the child to be away from other children her age. She needs to be trained in how to be a proper lady.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t you pretend to know what¡¯s good for her,¡± the giant snapped. ¡°They sent her away when she was on the verge of dying. Can¡¯t you see Stilton trying to get under my skin, even after three years? He don¡¯t give a damn about that child, and she ain¡¯t going nowhere near that godforsaken town. Or near any of those despicable people. I won¡¯t have her poisoned by them. Or you.¡±


    ¡°Poisoned?!¡± Her voice suddenly grew shrill, reminding Tace¡¯s of an eagle¡¯s cry. She began to sputter over her next sentence. ¡°Why¡ªyou¡ªyou out to be ashamed¡ª¡±


    ¡°Lady, please. This area ain¡¯t the best for you, and I don¡¯t think yer husband would like it if you were out here.¡± The giant paused to lit his corn pipe, causing smoke to rise in the air. ¡°Might think yer up to something else. That don¡¯t sound too proper around you folk, do it?¡±


    ¡°For heaven¡¯s sakes! How dare you. My Sebastian is quite fine, thank you. I¡¯ll not have you meddling in my affairs,¡± Mrs. Merriman snapped. ¡°You wretched man. You and I both knew this day would come. He sent me out here to talk to you. Figured you would listen to me than if he did so himself.¡±


    ¡±Well, he was wrong. Go home.¡±


    ¡±Come now, Mr. Holloman. Be reasonable.¡±


    The giant spat out a wad of tobacco on the ground, causing the woman to flinch in disgust. ¡°I sure as hell am.¡±


    ¡±If I paid for her education, would you reconsider?¡± Mrs. Merriman clasped her hands together. ¡°I can cover her books, any additional fees¡ª¡±


    ¡°Over my dead body.¡± The giant raised his arms behind his head. ¡°You wantin¡¯ me to owe you things like her doctor bill? Nature is the best teacher. She don¡¯t need damn schooling. She has all she needs¡ªtwo strong hands, a sharp mind, and a good tool. Book readin¡¯ ain¡¯t helped a damn soul. It ain¡¯t helped me, and it ain¡¯t helped you either, clearly. And why do you keep comin¡¯ out here alone?¡±


    Ignoring him, Mrs. Merriman sighed and squinted her eyes, shielding them against the harsh light. ¡°My, she has grown quite a bit, I shall say. Last time I saw her she was a sickly little thing. At least you are feeding her well, though she could use some proper dresses.¡± She paused. ¡°What¡¯s your name, child?¡±


    Tace avoided eye contact with her.


    Mrs. Merriman gestured with her fingers. ¡°Come here, won¡¯t you? I would like to speak with you.¡±


    ¡±She ain¡¯t a dog,¡± the giant snapped. ¡°You leave her be. Now take yer horse and go.¡±


    ¡°How unbelievably rude.¡± The woman placed her hands on her hips, almost in disgust. ¡°Good Lord Almighty. Is she deaf?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± the giant replied, stretching his back. ¡°Bunny just quiet, that all. Been that the same way since I find her. But there ain¡¯t nothing wrong with it at all, and I won¡¯t have you going around makin¡¯ her believe that there is. Now please leave. I got some things I need to take care of.¡±


    ¡°You ought to have taught her some social skills,¡± Mrs. Merriman said, attempting to hide the disappointment in her voice. ¡°She is a mute, for heaven¡¯s sakes. And Bunny? That shall not do in school. What is her name?¡±


    ¡±She ain¡¯t going to that shithole.¡± The giant picked up another log. ¡°Now go away.¡±


    ¡±And why on earth are you giving her such a dangerous tool?¡± Mrs. Merriman gestured to the pickaxe Tace held. ¡°Mercy. She could hurt herself. This life you have set out¡ªit¡¯s not fit for her.¡±


    ¡±Herskes ain¡¯t fit for her. Guadana sure as hell wasn¡¯t either. Y¡¯all abandon this child, then suddenly care about her best interest.¡± The giant smirked as he wiped his sweaty forehead with a dirty rag. ¡°Ye want to do me a favor? Tell Paul Stilton to go to hell when you get into town, eh? It¡¯d be a proper greeting for the first time in three years.¡±


    Tace placed down the pickaxe.


    ¡°I will not. You think I agreed with how he turned you both away?¡± Mrs. Merriman¡¯s face turned pale. ¡°That doesn¡¯t give you the right to deny her a proper education. Every child deserves to learn and go to school.¡±


    The giant rolled his gray eyes. ¡°They ought to be teaching young¡¯uns how to be useful in society. Ye can¡¯t eat books. They need to learn a trade to sustain themselves.¡±


    ¡±If you wish to continue having custody over her, then I suggest you listen to me. The spring session begins in two weeks, Mr. Holloman. You have plenty of time to enroll her. I can even have you meet the teacher beforehand. The schoolhouse is only two and a half miles from here, on the outskirts of Herskes. She won¡¯t even be in the¡ª¡±


    ¡±Have a good day, Mrs. Merriman.¡±


    The woman sighed, before giving Tace a quick smile and a wave. The child moved behind the threshold and watched as the carriage grew smaller and smaller until it disappeared in the distance. Once it was gone, she rushed to the giant and threw her arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace. He knelt down and placed both of his hands upon her shoulders, making her face him.


    ¡±It¡¯s alright, Bunny. It¡¯s okay.¡±


    Tace studied him with her large dark eyes.


    ¡±Don¡¯t worry about that silly old woman,¡± he said. ¡°Forget all of that, okay? Let¡¯s have breakfast.¡± He smiled. ¡°How does cornbread and molasses sound? I think that¡¯ll do.¡±


    She nodded, then picked up the firewood that he had chopped and placed it on a neat pile on the ground. In a few moments they sat together on the sagging steps, tin plates of freshly baked cornbread on their laps, still warm from the fire. The giant continued to smoke his pipe, smoke rising in the air. As Tace used a piece of cornbread to scoop up the remainder of the sticky molasses on the edge of her plate, her long legs dangling from the edge of the worn wooden porch, she suddenly felt as if she was being watched.


    When she glanced at the trees, there was nothing. Chills ran down her spine.


    She was startled to hear the giant¡¯s voice. ¡°Don¡¯t worry about the plates, I¡¯ll wash ¡®em. Go on and play, now. But not in the woods.¡± He pointed out to the trees. ¡°You know what I¡¯ve told ye. Stay out in the clearing and close to the shack, so I can see you from here. I¡¯m going to get some more wood, yes? I¡¯ll be back as soon as I can.¡±


    Tace¡¯s mouth was sticky with molasses. She looked up at him as he smiled and stood up.


    ¡°Go on, now, child.¡±


    She handed him her plate.


    * * * * * * * *


    Tace began to skip across the dirt yard, mud clinging her bare feet. She jumped into the puddles, delighted at the splashing sound it made. Clutching Isabel in her left arm, she proceeded to find a long, twisted stick on the ground at the right side of the shack.


    With her sticky hand, she began to draw shapes in the thick mud. She bent down, the wind blowing the torn hemline of her skirts, as she drew a squirrel. The tail didn¡¯t look right, and she frowned, erasing it with her palms. As she was about to make mud pies, scooping out a few generous handfuls, a shadow suddenly spilled over her from behind, causing her to immediately turn around and accidentally drop Isabel.


    It was a warm day, and the sunlight nearly blinded her eyes, causing Tace to squint in the sky. The giant had always reminded her to be aware of her surroundings, especially in the mountains¡ªmost likely because coyotes and bears and wolves resided there. She glanced at the ground, a slight shiver going up her spine.


    A robin abruptly landed on the branch above, startling her. Tace¡¯s fingers dug into the mud as she glanced at the trees.


    In the distance, a faint thumping noise met her ears. The young girl got to her feet and picked up Isabel, slowly backing away for a moment. Her heart was thudding in her chest.


    From the corner of her eye, she could make out a shadowy shape observing her in the bushes.


    Tace took off running across the dirt yard. She could hear rapid footsteps behind her. As she rushed up the porch, she reached the front door of the shack and slammed it shut just as she saw a shadow coming up the steps. Her hands fumbled with the handle before she latched it, backing away slowly, gasping for air.


    Bang. Bang. Bang.


    The thumps on the door grew louder, heavier.


    A large, gaping crack vertically spread down the surface of the door. Tace scrambled backwards on the ground, shaking and holding onto her doll as she crawled underneath her bed. She could hear some more heavy breathing, then the shadow moving across the ground. Her brand new pickaxe was lying next to the threshold.


    Tace waited until it was silent. There were loud creaking sounds on the steps, like an old door¡¯s hinges being ripped off. After a few agonizing moments, she finally had enough courage to drag a stool across the room, climb upon it, and peek out the foggy window.


    The porch was empty.

 Chapter 12

    Cassandra noticed colors.


    It wasn¡¯t the normal kind that she had seen throughout the palace, or outside behind the gates, where the thin green vines crept up above the walls. Nor the clear, distinct blue in the sky when there wasn¡¯t a single cloud above, and the yellow glow of sunlight fell upon her hair.


    These ones were muddled together, similar to what the royal artist¡¯s palette looked like when he had painted her portrait, in which she had to sit still for a grueling six hours. They gradually became a murky, dark brown color, blurry, quite hard to see. The saliva in her mouth was sour, and a dull headache had settled at the back of her skull. No matter how many times she blinked, the colors worsened until they fell apart and crumbled into dust.


    For several hours, Cassandra remained huddled in a thick blanket, shivering uncontrollably and curled up into Charlotte¡¯s arms. Her throat was raw and sore, and despite her lady-in-waiting attempting to get her to drink some hot liquid in a mug, she could not move, let alone barely raise it to her lips. She heard her sisters¡¯ sobs in the distance, her father¡¯s bellowing tone, guards swarming in the hallway like ants¡ªso many men, Grandmother in tears, begging them to cut her mother down, for a servant to get a knife in the kitchen and saw the rope.


    In her nightgown, the drawing was folded deep into her pocket, the edge of the page poking against her knee. She remembered being carried to her bed, and, despite all of the noises she heard outside, she soon drifted into a dreamless sleep, one that she she wasn¡¯t sure she was prepared to wake up from. She tightly held onto Charlotte¡¯s hand.


    When she awoke, she found out that Delilah had been sentenced to the gallows.


    * * * * * * * *


    The burial ceremony occurred on a cold, rainy day, when the sky was weeping and the trees had become lopsided, like melted candlesticks.


    Thousands of people swarmed outside the palace gates to pay their respects to the Queen, and the valued members of the king¡¯s court solemnly stood by the coffin, one by one, all clad in black.


    In the background, several musicians played on the violin, their music filled the cold air, which only partially covered the sound of the rain pattering against the stone walls. Dressed in bright blue justaucorps, their shoe buckles brightly shone, like glittering gems¡ªa shocking contrast against the snow white wigs they wore.


    Cassandra, dressed in a long black lace gown, focused her gaze on the lit candles in the room, the spots of saliva that flew from the priest¡¯s mouth as he spoke. Her curly hair had been forced into tight braids and ribbons that only make the pulsing behind her skull worse beneath her crown¡ªGrandmother had ordered Charlotte to make her presentable. She had not approached the coffin, but she could just make out the tip of her mother¡¯s velvet shoes from where she sat, the jewels that glittered around her ears and neck. Anne was silent, her face even more pale against the black dress she wore, but Audrey¡¯s eyes were red rimmed as she sobbed into Grandmother¡¯s arms.


    For the first time in over half a year, Cassandra saw her father. She barely recognized him, but when Grandmother motioned for them to stand up in his presence, as with all of the other guests, a knot grew in her stomach.


    He was frail, extremely thin, much taller than Cassandra had remembered, and he looked to be unwashed. Stains were visible on the plain white shirt and breaches he wore, and his hair was chopped short. Uneven whiskers marked his face, and his crown was nowhere in sight. Grandmother expressed disgust at his appearance, and she glanced at Cassandra, was solemnly staring at her shoes. Her sisters had stopped crying.


    ¡°Come and greet your King,¡± she demanded.


    Cassandra gave her a quick gaze, before running out of the church, her shoes echoing against the stone floor. She didn¡¯t want to look into her mother¡¯s coffin, or see them lower her into the ground. Despite her grandmother¡¯s shouts, she continued to run until she reached the east garden, where the rain had begun to fall much heavier and quicker. Her shoes caused her to slip and fall in the mud, dirtying up her gown, but she kept going until she hid in one of the stables, the fresh smell of hay burning her nose. The pregnant mare that had just been brought in the week before nudged her palm with a wet nose, and Cassandra bent down and scooped up a handful of oats to give to the animal. When she silently stroked the mare¡¯s coat, her face soaking wet, she found that the hay had no color.


    * * * * * * * * *


    As the shapes around her began to change within the following months, Cassandra found that the blurriness seemed to follow her everywhere. No matter how hard she rubbed her eyes until they stung, how her tutor yelled at her for failing to keep up in her French lessons, or how Grandmother scolded her again for accidentally knocking over food at the table, items kept disappearing in front of her. Time to time, she wondered how no one could see how they vanished into thin air.


    She was not aware of their presence until they suddenly brushed up against her hand. Most days, she would wake up and wonder why her bedroom was so dark, and be startled by the sound of Charlotte¡¯s concerned footsteps as she tripped and fell due to walking straight into a chair, resulting in a bruised knee. She kept calling out for Charlotte, wondering why she had left as well, although she could only hear the woman¡¯s voice, feel her arms pick her up to comfort her as the princess began to break down and cry.


    People had started to disappear, too.


    One morning, after Cassandra had breakfast in her room ¡ªGrandmother had ordered her to stop taking meals in the dining hall with her sisters because she always made such a mess¡ª she heard the front door squeak and turned her head to the side. Food stains lined the sleeve of her favorite pink nightgown as she set slowly down her fork. Her fingers dug into the lace tablecloth as she was apparent of the man¡¯s presence in the room. Immediately, the child stood up, but Charlotte¡¯s voice calmed her down. She felt her rough hand squeeze her palm, and she exhaled with relief.


    ¡°Cassandra, do not be frightened, my dear. This is Dr. Hilvesberg. He has come to examine your eyes. Your father has sent for him. And please stop rubbing them.¡±


    My eyes? Cassandra wondered, but she had hardly sat down when the man pulled out a strange tool. After raising her eyelids with both fingers, he asked her many questions, and she tried her best to answer them. There was a heavy silence in the room as both adults stepped outside, talking in low, quiet voices. When the door opened again, Cassandra heard soft sobs.


    ¡°Charlotte?¡± the child asked. With her hands, she felt around the edge of the table, causing a teacup to loudly rattle. ¡°Charlotte?¡±


    She felt two strong arms wrap around her, pulling her in an embrace.


    ¡±Why are you crying?¡± Cassandra whispered. ¡°Was it something I did?¡±


    ¡±No. Not at all, darling,¡± Charlotte replied, attempting to hide the shakiness in her voice. ¡°Just a bit overwhelmed, that is all.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re¡­.you¡¯re not going home, are you?¡± A sensation of dread filled Cassandra. The past few weeks had indeed been terribly lonely for her, and she longed to go and play with her sisters, whom she had not been around with since Mama¡¯s funeral. If her only friend left, she wasn¡¯t sure if she would ever survive. The thought made a lump rose in her throat. ¡°Please, don¡¯t leave!¡±


    ¡±No, no, no,¡± the maid softly replied. ¡°No. I am here. I am going to be here with you.¡± She gave Cassandra¡¯s hand a soft squeeze. ¡°You do not have to worry about that.¡±


    Don¡¯t go to the basement, the princess wanted to say. I don¡¯t want you to disappear.


    ¡°The doctor can¡¯t help us,¡± Charlotte continued, ¡°so we¡¯re going to have to help ourselves, Your Highness.¡± She quietly exhaled, quickly wiping her cheeks with her hand. ¡°And that is all there is to it.¡±


    Water spilled down the princess¡¯s face, collecting around the bottom of her chin. ¡°Grandmother knows I can¡¯t see anymore. She doesn¡¯t want me around her. I¡¯m a cripple. That¡¯s what she tells me. Anne and Audrey call me that too.¡± Her voice shook. ¡°I¡¯m a cripple, aren¡¯t I? And it is my fault that Mama is gone. If I was watching Charlie before, I¡ª¡±


    Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.


    ¡°Stop it!¡± Charlotte fiercely said, grabbing both of her hands. ¡°You stop it, right now.¡± Using the edge of her apron, she cleaned Cassandra¡¯s face. ¡°Do not blame yourself for your mother¡¯s death. You must not believe the words that fall out of your grandmother¡¯s mouth. You mustn¡¯t listen to her. I don¡¯t want to ever hear you say something like that about yourself again. Do you understand me?¡±


    Cassandra sniffed.


    Charlotte scooped her up and carried her to the windowsill, before sitting down sideways against the large painted ledge. Cassandra could feel the warm heat coming in through the glass, the sunlight on her face. ¡°You are no different than anyone else, and do not let others treat you as such.¡± The maid gently pushed a curl out of the girl¡¯s face, before gently waving her hand in front of her cloudy eyes. ¡°Now, tell me. Can you make out an object in the room? Anything will do.¡±


    ¡°Shadows,¡± the princess whispered.


    ¡°How far are they? Can you see mine?¡±


    ¡±I can make out yours. But ¡®tis only a shape.¡±


    Charlotte pursed her lips for a moment, before glancing around the bedchamber. She suddenly got to her feet, and began to push tables and chairs to the side, the bottom of their legs squeaking against the floor. Cassandra frowned and scooted towards the edge of the windowsill. Her face was wet. The heat was on her back now, making her dark hair appear golden around the edges.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± Cassandra asked.


    Charlotte exhaled and tucked a few strands of hair underneath her cap. Beads of sweat gathered on her forehead, and she placed her palms on her hips, glancing at the exposed carpet.


    ¡±Your Highness,¡± she said, ¡°I want you to come over to me. Come here.¡±


    Cassandra froze. Her small hands tightened around the window ledge. ¡°I can¡¯t. You¡¯re too far. Can¡¯t you come over here?¡±


    ¡°No, my dear.¡± There was a slight pause. ¡°You¡¯re not always going to have someone to help you move from one place to another. You need to be familiar with your surroundings. We can start with your room first.¡±


    ¡±But¡­I¡­I can¡¯t!¡±


    ¡±Why?¡±


    The little girl frowned and folded her arms. ¡°Grandmother said a Tillamore can¡¯t be a cripple¡ª¡±


    ¡°What have I told you about listening to that woman? You shan¡¯t know until you try.¡±


    ¡±I don¡¯t want to.¡±


    ¡±Sometimes, we have to do things we don¡¯t want to. It¡¯s a part of growing up.¡±


    A deep red haze fell upon Cassandra¡¯s cheeks. ¡°I¡¯ll fall off the windowsill. It¡¯s high.¡±


    ¡°And how do you know that?¡±


    The young princess sighed. After feeling around with the curtains, she gripped the ledge of the window with her sweaty palms. Shivers ran down her spine, but the moment her toes touched the ground, she slowly held her arms out, startled by nothing to grab.


    ¡°Charlotte,¡± she loudly whispered. Her heart was thudding heavily in her chest. ¡°Charlotte.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m here, Your Highness. You need to listen to where my voice is coming from.¡±


    ¡°But I don¡¯t know where I am. Please, can you hold my hand?¡±


    She could almost imagine Charlotte¡¯s smile. ¡°Surely, you remember what your room looks like. Your dresser, your bed, your desk. You are not too far from either of those things. Now, walk towards me. Slowly. That¡¯s it.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll bump into something,¡± Cassandra replied.


    ¡°You won¡¯t. Trust me. Come forward.¡±


    Trust me.


    It was those words that Cassandra could never really understand. Words that she had heard so many times by others, but had never really seen executed. She recalled Papa telling Mama that very same thing, when he was attempting to convince her that he needed to be alone for a while to sort things out. Her eyes burned again, and she attempted to shift her thoughts from her mother. The wooden floor was smooth against her bare feet, but as she took another step forward, she was surprised by the soft material of the carpet beneath her.


    Slowly, she knelt down and felt the texture with her palms. The soft crackling sound of the fireplace caught her attention, and for a moment, she remained still. A bird landed on the windowsill outside, breaking out into a warbled tune. The sound of the servants¡¯ footsteps echoing in the hallway outside of her bedchambers filled her ears, and she could hear their voices bouncing off the wall.


    Cassandra stood up and took a few more steps. The lack of something to hold onto nearby still made her nervous, but a warm smile broke across her face as she found herself in Charlotte¡¯s arms, pulling her into a strong embrace.


    ¡°My sweet child. You¡¯ve only got to learn how use your memory,¡± the maid told her. ¡°We shall practice a little bit every day, yes?¡±


    The floor became cold again. Cassandra clung to Charlotte¡¯s skirts as a fresh gust of air fell upon her face, blowing her curls back. She shivered, but continued to walk forward. Charlotte stopped, although she never let go of Cassandra¡¯s hand.


    ¡°Where are we, Your Highness?¡±


    Cassandra pondered for a moment. Then, she perked up. ¡°The hallway!¡±


    ¡°Why do you think so?¡±


    A grin broke across Cassandra¡¯s face. ¡°Because your voice is echoey. Much more than before. And it is a lot more colder.¡± She ran her hand across the wall, each individual stone rough against her fingertips.


    ¡±Aye,¡± Charlotte quietly said, placing a kiss on top of the girl¡¯s head. ¡°Good. Very good.¡±


    * * * * * * * *


    A few weeks before the triplets¡¯ ninth birthday, Thera Tillamore took over the throne. Due to John¡¯s absence, the Cumbrians had grown increasingly agitated over the rise of taxes, a new law that she had passed over time. With her son¡¯s whereabouts unknown most of the time, Thera began to spend lavishly, hosting grand balls nearly every week. She wore gowns adorned with diamond and jewels, and painted her face with makeup every day.


    When she did go out on public, she always made sure to do so in style¡ªher large, colorful skirts and ostrich feathers a distinct contrast against the streets of Ormond.


    She often ignored her advisors, and continued to raise tax prices. Anyone who was unable to pay or fell behind in debt was immediately thrown in prison, and his property was seized by the new Queen. She signed this law into effect the following spring of 1724, three years after Gloria¡¯s death.


    Although being forty-five years old, Thera¡¯s natural beauty was one that still attracted many gentlemen of the court. She spent many nights with several men that she had met, sometimes days at a time in her chambers, tangled up in her sheets with them. During this stage, she felt as if she was almost eighteen again, she, a young French princess preparing to marry an English king. Marriage, she had hoped, was an escape from her overbearing mother, one that constantly critiqued her, no matter what she said.


    In her dreams, she saw Elsie and Gloria.


    She didn¡¯t want to sleep at night. One particular evening, as she was in bed with a lover, there was a faint knock at the door. At first, she didn¡¯t hear it¡ªthe mattress was creaking loudly. Her delicate fingers gripped the wooden bed frame, her hips aligned with the man she was with. She didn¡¯t know his name, but he had some slight gray in his hair, with a thin, slender figure. When he had first kissed her, the sensation made her gasp, but it had blossomed into something sweet, like the dark red wine she would enjoy most nights at the galas.


    She sighed and pressed herself closer to him, secretly hoping that he would stay around a little bit longer than the last one. Her long hair was down to her waist, and she could feel his hands on her breasts.


    Thera arched her back. Please, she thought. Don¡¯t run off like the others. Stay with me. I can give you whatever you want if you stay.


    But of course, these thoughts were fleeting, similar to his stamina. When the man rolled over to the side of the bed to fall asleep, Thera laid on her back, breathless against the pillow, unable to shake off her great disappointment. She exhaled and briefly closed her eyes. There would always be tomorrow night.


    The knock on the door continued.


    Agitated, she threw her silk nightgown on and flung it open, ready to give a guard or a servant who dared to disturb her so late in the evening, a piece of her mind. Instead, to her surprise, she noticed John¡¯s figure slumped against the wall. She hadn¡¯t seen her son since the funeral, and he had lost a great deal of weight, resembling a skeleton. He wore civilian clothing, and his stockings were torn, his shoes scuffed.


    Thera wrinkled her nose. He stank of liquor.


    His face slightly lit up.


    ¡°Mother?¡±


    Thera¡¯s cheeks burned. How dare you show your face to me now, after leaving your responsibilities to me, she thought. It¡¯s been three years, where on earth have you been?


    He struggled to his feet at the sight of her presence. His large blue eyes were bloodshot, and he was covered in bruises and cuts, like he had been in a scuffle. He weakly took a step forward to her, slightly surprised at her rejuvenated appearance, the scattered grays in her hair, the lingering passion in her eyes.


    ¡°Mother,¡± he hoarsely said. ¡°The voices. They¡¯ve come back.¡±


    A smirk gathered across Thera¡¯s face.


    ¡±Please,¡± John whispered. ¡°Help me.¡±


    The Cumbrian queen folded her arms over her chest, ignoring the lingering pain between her legs. Without a word, she slammed the door in his face and locked it, before climbing into the bed with her lover and blowing out the candle in the room.


    Thera hooked her legs around his hips. She smiled, her hair covering half her face. When she settled up on top of him, bunching her nightgown around her thighs, her searching hands felt for his face in the dark.

 Chapter 13

    Tace tried to close her eyes.


    She¡¯d grown quite accustomed to the sounds within the small shack at night, which were far more louder within the daytime. She hadn¡¯t told the giant about the large crack that rested in the middle of the door like a twisted road, gnarled and curled at the edges. He¡¯d grumble about it quite a bit, but Tace was used to his moods. They went to the mountains less. Many days he spent coughing a storm, making strange etchings upon a faded piece of paper, ink staining his gnarled fingers. Smoke rose from his pipe. He still continued to chop wood to keep the fire going, although most of the time he would cough so violently it startled Tace. He¡¯d give her one of his weary smiles, pat her on the head and tell her not to worry.


    But she did.


    The giant was fighting a bad cold, his nose quite stuffed up and red, but every night he¡¯d tuck her in, before heading out into the pitch black night with his reliable axe and rifle he had purchased from a merchant when they had gone on one of their road trips. The previous week he had sharpened her good knife, the one that she had taken from the Guadana House of Mercy. Before he had given it to her, he had made her promise to only use it in an emergency, and she had sworn to do so. This night was no different like the others¡ªshe despised it whenever the sun went down because she knew that he would be gone, alone with the shadows.


    The wind caused the branches to bang against the window. Despite the creaking of the wooden walls and the floor, the child could make out crickets chirping on the porch. She¡¯d caught one before, and the giant had explained to her that they produced that noise with their wings¡ªan instrument attached to their body. That evening, they had collected fireflies together too, before releasing them into the warm evening air. Supper was cornbread and jerky; the saltiness was still present on the back of her tongue.


    It was eerily quiet. The giant¡¯s tools were set on the table¡ªnearly arranged and prepared for the next day. Her sharpened knife and pickaxe laid near the corner, the stone blade gleaming at her in the dark shack.


    Slowly, the fireplace was beginning to die, coals glowing like orange and red embers. The young girl shivered. She knew that there was more wood on the porch, but didn¡¯t dare think of opening the door, not for a minute¡ªnot for a second, especially after the other day. Her fingers tightly clutched the worn cornhusk doll, and she squeezed her eyes shut, hoping that when morning arrived when she opened them. She drew the quilt above her head, her heart beating. She did not want to face the darkness outside, although sweat had begun to gather on her forehead and neck. Her breaths were shallow and quick.


    There was a faint thump.


    Tace turned to the right side of the bed¡ªthe quilt becoming entangled around her legs. Her head sank further into the worn pillow, and she turned to count to ten in her mind; a small trick that she had taught herself when she was afraid. After a few more silent moments, drowsiness began to win over. A gigantic yawn overtook her, and her eyelids began to droop. Just as she was beginning to doze off, the sound occurred again, this time, much louder. And heavier before, like someone had dropped a big rock. It came from the side of the cabin.


    Tace blinked. The cabin was pitch black¡ªshe hadn¡¯t noticed that the fire had gone out. She couldn¡¯t even see any shadows, let alone her palm when she held it across her face. Once again, sleep had begun to overtake her when the strange noise occurred a third time. This time, it was directly on the porch. Tace did not move, just remained as still as she could. She threw the quilt over her head again, trying her best to fall asleep. She curled up in a ball.


    Something fell on the floor, like a pebble.


    With great agitation, Tace flung the quilt to the side, the sudden rush of cold air a great shock to her body. Carefully, she felt her way to the table in the dark room and lit a candle; the yellow glow suddenly illuminating the room. Rubbing her bleary eyes, she turned to face the door. She could feel the gust of wind collecting at the bottom, causing the hem of her nightgown to sway. Just as she took a step forward, a hard item suddenly dug into the sole of her left bare foot, causing her to wince in pain and nearly drop the candle. With a shaky hand, she bent down and picked it up.


    It was a piece of licorice, wrapped in some sort of paper, with a strange name on it that she couldn¡¯t read. Tace frowned, but before had the chance to further examine the candy, there was another small thumping sound. Another one, wrapped with a different colored¡ªpaper, rolled out from beneath the doorway. Tace slowly set down the candle on the table and knelt on the ground, turning her head sideways to best catch a glimpse of the shadow.


    Chills ran down her spine. Two large dark brown eyes met hers¡ªblacker than the night.


    Tace quickly scooted backwards, clutching the leg of the table with her right hand. She wanted to get up and run, but couldn¡¯t, due to her unable being to move her legs. It was as if someone had attached rocks to her feet. Then she pinched herself, dismayed at the sensation of pain shooting up her left hand. She had to be dreaming. This was no dream, although she wasn¡¯t sure what it was. She didn¡¯t care. All she wanted to do was to wake up. A faint ringing settled in her ears. The black eyes continued to observe her.


    On one of their mining trips, the giant had told her that if she ever encountered a wild animal, such as a bear or coyote, to remain as still as possible. To give them a chance to get used to her presence, before then moving away slowly. Let them know who is in control, Bunny, he said. To not look it in the eyes, but to breathe as carefully as she could. She immediately tore her gaze away from the inky, swampy black pupils that were fixed upon her, which were expanding like ripples in the pond she used to skip rocks at near the orphanage.


    Stolen story; please report.


    Something scratched the roof.


    Tace remained under the table. She longed for her doll, but did not dare step out, as the shape hovered over her bed. Something sticky and wet dripped on the ground.


    A cold wind filled the cabin, causing the fireplace and candle to die out. In the sudden darkness in the room, she could make out a figure hanging upside down in the corner, just above the table, contorted and bent out of frame. She rubbed her eyes with both hands, keeping her eyes closed. Something was directly in front of her¡ª-just inches away from her nose and face. She struggled to breathe.


    The shadow slipped to the ground. Its feet were motionless against the surface, and it glided forward, almost like it was floating. Tace squeezed her eyes tighter, much tighter than before. Something cold and wet touched her left cheek; the smell of pine and moss and mud overpowered the shack.


    A very raspy, wet whisper, barely audible within the dark met her ears. She didn¡¯t know what it said. She sensed a hand wrap around hers, cold and wet and slimy, the nails digging into her skin. Fighting back a scream, her eyes nearly fluttered open.


    Tace yanked her palm away and scooted further below the table, hugging her knees while wanting to reach for her knife. The shadow remained still, and for a moment, she thought it could have been her imagination. She reached over, still keeping her eyes closed, and threw the pieces of candy into the fireplace, listening to them burn and dissolve into ash in the smoldering embers. A sudden wave of fatigue fell over her, and as she laid down on the ground, she felt Isabel being gently placed in her sweaty hands.


    There was a faint sigh.


    When she slowly sat up, the sun was streaming through the window, and she yawned and stretched with both hands. Birds loudly chirped and sang on the branches above. Realizing that she had spent all night lying on the dirt floor, she had begun to sit up when the door roughly swung open, causing a gust of cold air to fill the room. She quickly looked up.


    The giant wearily stumbled through the threshold, leaves stuck in his dark hair. Bags rested under his swollen gray eyes, and he loudly sneezed before pressing a hand against the wall to support himself. Dirt streaked his coat, and he had hardly set down his rifle when Tace had flung herself into his arms. He chuckled to himself, scooping her up as he usually did every morning, attempting to get down on his knees but wincing in pain. He smelled like the pine trees and tobacco and gunpowder.


    ¡±Papa.¡±


    The giant froze at the word that had escaped Tace¡¯s mouth, the smile slowly fading from his own. He didn¡¯t say anything. Tace held her breath for a moment, expecting him draw back in disgust, but he instead gently caressed her in his big arms. His large gray eyes became damp, and they stayed in that embrace. He swallowed hard, before burying his face on top of her curls¡ªhis arms wavered a bit. He drew in a shaky breath.


    ¡±Papa,¡± she quietly repeated, this time, it was a bit more timid than before. But she meant it with every fiber of her being. The deep heaviness that had settled upon her had dissolved. He no longer looked like a giant to her, and she waited for him to rebuke her, to not ever call him that, if she had directly ever addressed him as anything before.


    He did not.


    The child released him, her eyes beaming as she led him by the hand to the fireplace. The two silently sat side by side, and she was surprised to see him shivering. The only thing he said to her that day was to not get too close to him, as he did not want her to catch anything. He then mumbled something, and, still wrapped in his coat, wearily laid down sideways on his pallet, which was much too small for his frame, on the ground near the window. He was very still, and every moment, Tace would check on him to make sure that he was breathing. With all of her might, she yanked the quilt from her bed and dropped it upon him, then stepping back. But he did not move, already lost in a deep sleep. His swollen eyes were shut; muddy dark hair plastered to his pale face.


    To Tace¡¯s delight, he did not depart that evening, due to him sneezing uncontrollably and coughing. She continued to poke at the fire and add small pieces of wood to keep it going. As he loudly snored on his pallet on the ground, wrapped tightly in the quilt, his nose mostly blocked due to congestion, a rattling sound escaped from his chest due to the phlegm that had built up in his nose.


    Tace poured out some milky tea in two mugs, just the way that he had showed her how, so he would have something to drink when he awoke. As she set down the busted kettle, she softly began to sing to herself a small nursery rhyme she had heard at the orphanage. She pushed the stool to the side. The air was unusually heavy, static, despite her father¡¯s snores, which resembled thunder rolling across the sky.


    ¡±The itsy bitsy spider,


    Went down the water sprout.


    Down came the rain and


    Washed the spider out.¡±


    Tace faintly hummed the verse again, reaching for a steaming mug of tea. A soft whisper echoed in her ear, so close that it made the hairs on the back of her neck stand. She turned around again, but there was no one behind her, just the door.


    Her father had stopped snoring.


    outcamethesunand


    dried


    Up


    all the rain.


    Tace¡¯s face became pale, and she jerked back when she noticed a large dead cricket floating upside down in the mug, its wings began to dissolve like ash. She accidentally knocked it over, causing tea to spill all over the table. A cold sweat overtook her as she studied the closed door. Something wet and thick had gathered at the bottom, like the dark black ink that stained her own father¡¯s hands.


    and the it


    sy bitsy spider


    went up the


    water


    Sprout


    again


    again.


    At the corner of her eye, a shadow was visible on the table next to her pickaxe.

 Chapter 14

    ¡±Papa.¡±


    The whisper echoed in Stacey¡¯s left ear. His vision was foggy, and he blinked a couple of times. He couldn¡¯t recall the last time someone had called him that¡ªthat word¡ªit had been years, nearly a decade. Never had he considered himself so unworthy for a title. The coal miner blinked several times, before realizing that he was standing outside. The pain that remained in his knees and back was gone, and he pondered how had gotten to this place. In his hands was not his trustworthy pickaxe, but a shovel. The scent of warm dirt and flowers and plants met his nostrils. Stacey deeply exhaled, sensing the warm sunlight on his face. In front of him was a large garden filled with squash, okra, tomatoes, potatoes, radishes¡ª-


    Am I at my father¡¯s farm? he wondered, and then shivers ran down his spine. He half expected to see the worn-down house, his mother perhaps knitting at the front in a rocking chair, sewing and darning clothes, as she always did. His brothers were either working or fighting or playing cards, the younger ones playing in the dirt; his sisters collecting fruits from the dying trees or scavenging the garbage in the road to perhaps find some glass bottles that they could sell for their next meal. But to his great surprise, the land around them was green and bright. The warm sunlight revealed only shrubbery and grass.


    ¡±Papa.¡±


    Stacey turned around at the sound of the quiet, still voice. A butterfly flew out in front of him, and he could make out a small figure, barefooted, dressed in a long, thick cloak and hood that casted a heavy dark shadow on its face. The young man knelt down in the tall grass. He couldn¡¯t make sense of Bunny¡¯s features because it was blurry, like the windows when the rain would pour on top of them. But he could see a few dark brown locks peeking out from beneath the hood, slightly blowing in the warm air.


    ¡°I¡­I fell, Papa. It hurts.¡±


    Stacey noticed a deep gash on the child¡¯s right knee, where it was leaking blood and covered in mud.


    The tiny figure suddenly sniffed, wiping their nose with their sleeve.


    ¡°Now, now,¡± Stacey said, gently scooping the child up. ¡°No need to fret about it. Ye just got to be more careful, that¡¯s all.¡± He began to whistle as he walked across the tall grass, where the ladybugs crawled on the flower stems. As he approached the shack, he noticed that drops of water were falling from the sky, landing on his head and shoulders. It looked brighter, and the wood appeared shinier, definitely not the good pine that he had selected. He had never seen it such good shape, not since Eliza and his¡ª


    ¡°Papa?¡±


    Stacey glanced down, startled at Bunny¡¯s voice. ¡°Yes?¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡±


    ¡°Nothing, I¡­¡± Stacey frowned for a moment. ¡°Could¡¯ve sworn my place was a bit rougher looking than this.¡±


    There was a giggle. ¡°You forgot, didn¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°Forgot what?¡±


    ¡±You fixed it, Papa. And I helped you. We fixed the walls, and you showed me how. Don¡¯t you remember?¡±


    For a moment, Stacey stared at the shack. There was no firewood on the porch, which was empty.


    ¡±We must¡¯ve done a pretty good job,¡± he murmured. Then he chuckled. ¡°Come on. Let¡¯s take care of that cut.¡±


    The child quietly exhaled, somewhat curling themselves in his arms like a ball, grass blades still clinging to the bottom of their bare feet. Their heartbeat was quick against his.


    Stacey felt Bunny¡¯s wrapped arms gradually lock and tighten around his neck, almost like he was being suffocated. He winced in pain. The child¡¯s face was buried in his left shoulder. As the coal miner entered his home, he couldn¡¯t make out the walls, but there was the fireplace, his sturdy table, and a bed against the wall. But Isabel was missing from her usual spot on the pillow, and in her place was a storybook, though he see what the cover said. Not that he was very good at reading either,


    The child released their grip.


    As Stacey set the Bunny down on a stool, he bustled around until he found a clean rag and a small basin of water. He cleaned up the wound, carefully removing the dirt and debris that littered the gash, before securing it tightly with a large white bandage. A smile fell upon his face as he patted their knee and straightened up. The child rose to their feet.


    ¡°Good as new. It may sting some, but don¡¯t you no mind to it. Now, no more climbing trees and doin¡¯ cartwheels, yes?¡± Stacey chuckled. ¡°You go on and play now. I¡¯ve got to finish up some work in the garden, and then we shall have supper soon.¡± He was about to turn and step out to the door when he felt the child¡¯s right hand immediately grab his own. The grasp was stronger than he expected.


    Stacey looked down, startled.


    The tiny hooded figure gripped his palm with their other hand, the long sleeves of their cloak almost covering their small palms. The child¡¯s gaze was focused on the door, which was open. It had stopped raining, and sunlight flooded the porch.


    ¡±Can you play with me?¡±


    ¡°Not now,¡± Stacey released a deep sigh. ¡°Ye know I have to finish up my work. Go ahead and run along. I won¡¯t be long.¡±


    ¡°But I can help you in the garden.¡±


    ¡°How about we play a game in a little while?¡±


    ¡±What kind?¡±


    Stacey paused, rubbing his chin. ¡°Hide and seek?¡±


    There was a crackling sound in the sky, causing sudden rainwater to splash harder against the roof tiles. As Stacey looked at the window, he saw that lightning forked the sky.


    ¡°Well, once the rain stops.¡±


    ¡±Are you leaving, Papa?¡±


    ¡±Leaving?¡± Stacey asked in a bewildered tone.


    ¡°I¡­I don¡¯t want you to go.¡± The child¡¯s grip was so tight that pain was shooting up the coal miner¡¯s hand. ¡°I want you to stay here with me. Please, don¡¯t¡­.don¡¯t go.¡± Their voice fell into a whisper. ¡°You¡¯ll stay here, won¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°I ain¡¯t going nowhere at the moment,¡± Stacey replied. ¡°Just to the garden. No need to worry.¡±


    ¡°Will you push me on the swing?¡± Bunny timidly asked. ¡°Please?¡±


    Stacey hesitated.


    ¡±Please?¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± Stacey said, although he wondered when was the last time he had built a swing for Bunny. But as they walked through the tall grass together, there was one hanging from a looming apple tree, with a long thick rope from the lowest but sturdiest branch. It was a massive one, with roots that seemed to hover over the colorful earth. The rain had disappeared, replaced once more by a bright blue sky and an emerging yellow sun. The scent of rain was still visible in the air.


    The child¡¯s dirty fingers curled around the ropes.


    ¡°Papa, I¡­I don¡¯t like hide and seek.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°Because¡­¡± Bunny¡¯s voice trailed into a whisper. ¡°Because I¡¯m not very good at that game.¡±


    ¡±Me neither,¡± Stacey replied.


    The figure¡¯s cloak blew in the wind, and the sound of Bunny¡¯s bare feet against the ground was almost nonexistent¡ªthey were sliding across the surface of the earth. As Stacey gently lifted Bunny up on the swing and moved the rope back and forth, the child¡¯s giggles filled the warm air, amongst the aroma of sweet apple, of flowers falling below. The child held their arms out to catch the wind, but the hood remained on their head, the dark locks of hair floating above.


    ¡±Higher, Papa! Higher!¡±


    A fuzzy sensation took over Stacey.


    He blinked, and realized that he was standing at the table, ladling out two plates of steaming hot food. Bunny was seated across from him, pouring a pitcher of milk into two glasses. They set it down with a thump, and despite Stacey observing the child¡¯s shadowed face, he could not make out the eyes, nose, cheeks¡ªthere was only a black space, cast over by the hooded cloak they wore. They were focusing on cleaning up a small spill with a handkerchief, wiping it up as carefully as they could.


    ¡°No worries, Bunny,¡± Stacey said. ¡°I got it.¡± He placed the plate in front of the figure. ¡°You work on that, now.¡±


    The child took a bite, before clapping their small hands together. ¡°Mhmmm! Chicken.¡±


    ¡°Didn¡¯t know you were so fond of it.¡±


    ¡±I love chicken. I wish we could have this every night, Papa.¡±


    The coal miner laughed as he sat down and picked up his fork. ¡°I don¡¯t know about that. I¡¯d get sick eating the same thing every day. And so would you. Even if it¡¯s nice at first.¡±


    ¡±But I really do mean it. I like cornbread too. And one day, I want to cook just as good as you.¡± The hooded figure leaped out of the chair and rushed to the bed, clutching their book in their hands. ¡°Will you read to me, too, Papa?¡±


    You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    Stacey hesitated. ¡°Well, my readin¡¯ ain¡¯t so¡ª¡±


    ¡±Please?¡± The word came out softly. ¡°Please.¡±


    The coal miner sighed. ¡°Only one chapter, then.¡± He glanced at the window. ¡°It¡¯s getting dark, and it¡¯s almost time for you to go to bed. Alright. Bring it over, and let me see.¡±


    With a giggle, the hooded figure rushed forward. After Stacey had lifted them up sideways on his right knee, he frowned as he flipped through the pages. It had been a while since he had read anything. As he smoothed out a couple of creases on the page, the hooded figure leaned their head against his shoulder, their tiny fingers landing on a page number. Once more, they began to hum.


    Stacey yawned, rubbing his bleary eyes. The figure¡¯s quiet humming filled the air, though Stacey couldn¡¯t recognize the tune. He searched for the words but could not find them, as there were only strange dark lines dotted on the surface of the paper. The illustrations on the pages appeared to be hand drawn with pencil, not printed. All he could see was the top of the hood, frayed at the edges, the hair taking on an orange golden glow, due to the roaring fireplace in the cabin. It was pitch black outside the window, dotted with multiple stars. Their shadows lingered against the wall, the hooded figure¡¯s becoming gradually as tall as Stacey¡¯s. The humming suddenly stopped.


    The coal miner could not move. He could only gaze at the wall¡ªwas there a wall anymore? It seemed to morph and change and bend, and the trees were closer around them, the sound of crickets grew louder in the hot air.


    The fire went out, leaving the shack pitch black. There was a heavy silence. Stacey struggled to breathe as a deep rattling sound filled the room. Beads of sweat dripped down his forehead, his nose, collected behind his neck. Then something metallic built up in his mouth. He wanted to scream, but his throat was filled with rocks.


    A shaky whisper settled in his left ear.


    ¡°Please¡­.don¡¯t leave me.¡±


    * * * * * * * * *


    Stacey leaned over to the side of his sleeping pallet and threw up. With the burning sensation of bile bubbling behind his throat, he retched multiple times into a bucket he managed to snatch up. Once he was able to catch his breath, he blinked, attempting to make sense of his surroundings.


    ¡±Bunny?¡±


    He shivered and wiped his moist mouth.


    The symptoms of alcohol withdrawal had left his stomach a wreck¡ªa result of him being sober for several weeks. His nose was less congested, and he scrambled out of his blankets, stumbling blindly through the shack. The fireplace had recently been replenished, and Isabel sat on the pillow, watching him with her button eyes. The gray sky suggested it was early morning, and Bunny must¡¯ve went out to grab some wood¡ªwas she hungry? When was the last meal she had? He had only dozed off for a moment yesterday evening. Surely he couldn¡¯t have been asleep for that long.


    The sheets on her own empty bed were rumpled. His stomach sank as he struggled to get up, nearly falling over. The room shifted for a moment as he gazed at the door.


    How long had he been knocked out?


    ¡°Bunny?¡± he whispered.


    She wouldn¡¯t have left Isabel. She never went anywhere without that doll.


    She had called him Papa.


    He pushed aside the table, knocking over his tools, looking under it, repeatedly calling her name. He turned over everything in the room. His head was still spinning. Even though he was in his nightshirt, he rushed out in the pouring rain on the porch, raising his arms over his head. Coughing uncontrollably, he tripped down the steps, shivering as the rain started to make his clothing cling to his body. His bare feet sloshed against the muddy puddles as he began to circulate around the shack again.


    There was nothing but trees, gray sky, and rain. The effects of Stacey¡¯s nausea were still present, and as he gazed into the wilderness, his chest tightened. She knew better than that, to go off by herself so far to find some wood. She hardly strayed from the yard, where she often played with squirrels and critters in the mud. He was about to make his way through the trees when the sound of hooves pounding against the ground made him turn to the side.


    ¡°Mr. Holloman!¡±


    Stacey froze in his tracks, standing in the downpour. Mr. Sebastian Merriman came rushing towards him¡ª-her horse and carriage was only a few feet away. The horse appeared jittery, tail swinging back and forth like the hand of an old grandfather clock. His wife sat on the driver¡¯s seat, clutching the reins. She had a large patterned umbrella over her head, the patterns more visible in the rain. She avoided eye contact with Stacey and shifted her gaze to her husband, who attempted to place both of his hands on the disoriented young man.


    ¡±Bunny.¡±


    ¡°Listen to me, listen to me¡ª¡± Sebastian began, but Stacey easily pushed him off and attempted to head down the muddy road. With a grunt, Sebastian managed to hold onto him, to prevent him from taking a step forward. ¡°Get a hold of yourself!¡±


    ¡°Where is she?¡± Stacey¡¯s deep, raspy voice echoed through the trees. There were black dots forming at the edge of his vision. ¡°Where did you take her?¡±


    ¡±You need to¡ª¡±


    Stacey suddenly grabbed Sebastian by the collar and lifted him up in the air. Despite Mrs. Merriman¡¯s screams, his gray eyes remained fixated on the much shorter man¡¯s panicked look. His boots helplessly dangled in the air.


    ¡±Don¡¯t you tell me what I need.¡±


    ¡±Take it easy!¡±


    ¡°Where the hell is my daughter? What have you done with my child?¡± The words slipped out of Stacey¡¯s mouth. ¡°Where is she?¡±


    ¡±Please,¡± Sebastian wheezed.


    Stacey narrowed his eyes. ¡°I¡¯ll snap yer neck like a chicken if ye don¡¯t say. Where is my daughter?¡± The words rolled out of his tongue, and he hardly recognized his voice.


    My child.


    ¡°Herskes,¡± Sebastian managed to choke out.


    ¡° ¡®Tis P-Paul Stilton¡¯s doing. That¡¯s all I know.¡±


    A deep heat flushed across Stacey¡¯s face. He tightened his grip, causing Sebastian to squirm in pain. ¡°Where did they take the girl?¡±


    ¡±I don¡¯t know.¡±


    ¡±Try again,¡± Stacey snarled. ¡°He pay you something to keep yer mouth shut, yes?¡±


    ¡°I¡­I swear! I don¡¯t know which part of town.¡±


    Stacey didn¡¯t say a word.


    Sebastian wrapped both of his hands around Stacey¡¯s scarred wrist, attempting to break his grip. ¡°They took her into town real early this morning,¡± he wheezed. ¡°They¡¯re going to find a place for her to work in Guadana. Paul Stilton¡¯s orders.¡±


    Stacey released him as Sebastian collapsed to the ground with a heavy thud, taking a couple of steps back. Beads of water gathered at the ends of his black hair. He weakly sank to his knees in the mud, trying to comprehend the sudden ringing that had descended upon his ears. After catching his breath and motioning for his wife to stay put in the wagon, Sebastian knelt down in the mud next to the coal miner, who had buried his head into his dirty hands.


    Despite how hard he attempted not to show it, Stacey was deeply startled to find that he was fighting back tears¡ªhis eyes were stinging something fierce, and he was desperately blinking them away. He couldn¡¯t remember the last time he had ever cried; even when he had buried Eliza and his girls he hadn¡¯t shed a single tear, only paid the priest a few copper coins and headed to the tavern that very evening. He replayed the moments in his mind when Bunny had asked him to take her with him before he left for the evenings¡ªhow he had wanted to but knew that she was far too young to understand the nature of the things he had to do, or why. He released a shaky breath¡ªhis body was badly craving a drink, but he knew that he couldn¡¯t numb this away, as he had several times before.


    No more of this foolishness, he told himself. The child can¡¯t be far. Pull yourself together.


    ¡±Where is this place?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t¡ª¡±


    ¡±Tell me where, damn it!¡±


    ¡±Holloman,¡± Sebastian began. ¡° ¡®Tis just an orphan out of many. She was sent back to where she belonged. You can¡¯t change that.¡±


    She was gone.


    Just like his two other children.


    Stacey began to repeatedly to slam his fists in the ground, over and over again, until his knuckles were bruised and swollen and bleeding. He felt Sebastian¡¯s hands firmly wrap around his wrists in an attempt to stop him, but he wanted to break all of his fingers.


    ¡±Look at me.¡±


    His grip tightened, then relaxed.


    ¡°Look at me, Holloman.¡±


    The coal miner lowered his sore arms.


    Sebastian¡¯s voice echoed in his ears. ¡°She is in good hands. I assure you.¡±


    ¡±Ye let them come and take her.¡± Stacey¡¯s gray eyes were bloodshot as he finally looked at the other man. ¡°Ye and that blowsabella wife of yers. If I come down there and see a single bruise on that child¡ª¡± Stacey¡¯s head was spinning, and he stumbled to his feet. ¡°Ye all dirty rotten pigs, ye bloody, worthless, filthy, despicable¡ª¡±


    ¡±You¡¯re incapacitated.¡± Sebastian interrupted. He lightly touched the now dark red ring around his neck with his hand and winced in pain. ¡°This is for the best. And you know it is.¡±


    No, no, no.


    ¡±Mr. Holloman.¡±


    ¡±Get away from me,¡± Stacey whispered.


    ¡±You can¡¯t interfere. You let the authorities handle this. The main thing of the matter is that you ought to count yourself lucky that Paul Stilton hasn¡¯t sent you to a jail cell yet. But I believe he¡¯s inclined to change his mind at any moment, so you need to remain put.¡±


    ¡±They took my daughter.¡±


    ¡±You have no papers proving that the child belongs with you. She is a runaway from the orphanage, where she is to be immediately returned. Afterwards she shall be sent to a stable home in Guadana, where she will receive a proper education. That decision has already been made.¡± Sebastian took a step forward. ¡°Be reasonable, lad. You did all that you could. The best thing you can do is put this behind you. Let it be.¡±


    Stacey¡¯s chest rose and fell.


    ¡°Paul Stilton won¡¯t allow you in town.¡±


    ¡±The hell with him,¡± Stacey spat.


    ¡±It¡¯s quite obvious that you need the child more than she needs you. She is in good hands, a place with people who mean well. She can begin to work, mayhaps a scullery maid or a servant in an established household.¡±


    ¡°She is only ten years old.¡± A dark expression fell over Stacey¡¯s face. ¡°She is but a baby, and you let those people take her away from me.¡± His voice grew louder as he took a step forward, causing Sebastian Merriman to slowly back away. ¡°The same people who left all them bruises on her arms and legs, the same people who left her out in the snow, who nearly killed her. You¡¯re going to bring her back to those people?¡±


    ¡°She belongs to the parish.¡± Sebastian struggled to see in the rain. ¡°If you had taken my advice, this would have gone a lot smoother. You can¡¯t fight the law.¡±


    Damn you all.


    ¡°My wife and I, we tried to warn you, Holloman. You wouldn¡¯t send her to school. You leave her alone here at nights.¡± He took off his soaking wet hat. ¡°You¡¯re not fit to raise a child, and it¡¯s about time you accept that.¡±


    ¡±What, and do you think the people there who beat and starved her nearly to death are capable of doin¡¯ so? They should be near no child,¡± Stacey yelled. ¡°Ye gonna give her right back to those people? That what ye gonna do?¡± He sank his fingers in the mud. ¡°Ye get away from me. Ye make me sick.¡±


    ¡°She will get into a good home. Rest assured.¡±


    Stacey slowly looked up, his large gray eyes wide and bloodshot. His left fist was trembling. He was a light sleeper¡ªhow had not awakened? Bunny must¡¯ve screamed, hollered as they lifted her out of that bed¡ªhow could he have slept through it all? He closed his eyes, not wanting to imagine it.


    ¡°Do you understand? This was inevitable.¡±


    ¡°I promised I would never leave her,¡± Stacey whispered. Beads of water dripped from the ends of his hair. ¡°I promised I wouldn¡¯t. I ain¡¯t. I ain¡¯t letting no one take her away.¡±


    Sebastian glared at him. ¡° ¡®Tis the best for the young¡¯un, Holloman. You need to know¡ª¡±


    He had only gotten a few words out as Stacy rushed to his feet. The coal miner went back to his tiny shack, picked up the axe lodged within the wooden stump, his rifle lying on the porch. He reloaded it with gunpowder, dumping it in with his shaking fingers. After securing the weapon around his shoulder, he gave Mrs. Merriman one long, hard look, before turning down the road.


    The woman¡¯s eyes were swollen from sobbing, and she was weakly dabbing her cheeks with a laced handkerchief, shivering under her frilled green umbrella. Stacey pointed at Sebastian with the edge of his axe, who was watching him with great disbelief.


    ¡°You come on my property again, I¡¯ll kill you.¡±

 Chapter 15

    Four days.


    That was what the Headmistress had said when Tace was first dragged through the courtyard into the familiar stone building of the orphanage, biting and kicking¡ªthe one that she had tried her best not to remember. Four more days until Tace was to be sent to the workhouse, either to be hired out at a factory or a household for labor. She received a blow against the ears, and then a harsh warning from the Headmistress.


    If she tried to run away again, she¡¯d be sent there immediately.


    Since then, the young girl hadn¡¯t made a sound.


    Tace dumped a bucket of soapy water against the creaky wooden floor of the hallway, before getting on her knees and beginning to scrub. Strands of her curly hair viciously stuck out of her mob cap, and a thick ring of sweat settled around her forehead in the hot humid air. She could hear the faint laughter of children through the shabby walls, mostly the younger ones being outside in the courtyard, beating the dust out of the rugs¡ªthen Melissa Collington¡¯s sharp voice silencing them all.


    The Guadana House of Mercy had not changed, as Tace had remembered. Each room still had peeling paint greatly visible on the walls, and the smell of urine and lye filled the air. The windows were so dirty she could hardly see them. Her eyes were wet, but she wiped them from time to time with the back of her raw pink hand, lest anyone dare see that she was crying. She had only been here for a a week, but it had seemed much longer. She did not eat at meal times, nor say a word to any of the children. And no one said much to her either; with the occasional barks from the Headmistress, she found herself in an empty, silent world as the familiar cloud of loneliness descended upon her. She longed for the tiny shack she had finally called home, the smell of fresh pine in the air about her, the snowflakes that would fall upon her nose and eyelashes in the cold winter months.


    Did I make a mistake? she wondered. Did I say something wrong?


    Her first punishment in two years was a beating for running away. Her second one, no supper for three days, and the third one was to clean the orphanage from top to bottom, without a cobweb or a speck of dust remaining in sight, lest she be punished again. She did not recognize any of the staff or the children around her. She did not look at anyone¡¯s face, because they all resembled empty porcelain masks.


    He didn¡¯t want me. He sent me back.


    Tace wrung out the rag with both hands, ignoring the lump developing in her throat. She scrubbed a bit faster, welcoming the burning pain shooting up her left arm as she watched the floorboards become covered in a soapy lather, white as snow. She had been asleep in her bed, the next moment, she had been hauled up into the back of a wagon, surrounded by unfamiliar faces. It was pitch black outside, but she had watched the giant¡¯s shack grow smaller and smaller in the distance, until it was no more. He hadn¡¯t heard them enter his home, didn¡¯t even stir.


    What was I thinking? I shouldn¡¯t have called him Papa. That was why he sent me back.


    A hot tear escaped down Tace¡¯s nose, but she wiped it away with the back of her hand and moved down to a dirtier section of the hallway floor. Her hand gripped the rag tighter. She only looked up when she saw the Headmistress¡¯s polished shoes echo against the floor, the neat hem of her silk striped gown. Melissa Collington¡¯s dark green eyes met hers¡ªalmost glowing behind her smudged spectacles that balanced on the top of her crooked nose.


    ¡°Quit dawdling. You are much too slow with that,¡± she snapped. ¡°There is still dishes to be washed and laundry to be done. And you have to help the older girls start the supper and set the table. I won¡¯t tolerate laziness in this house from anyone. Hurry up.¡±


    As she stormed away, she left muddy footprints on the ground with her shoes, her cane tapping against the wooden surface. Tace stared at the floorboards with great annoyance, before wearily getting on her feet to refill her bucket. Outside the window, beyond the city of Guadana, she could make out the mountains, and it hurt too much to look at them, so she turned and slowly made her way down to the well, fighting back the intense stinging building in her eyes.


    * * * * * * * *


    It seemed like nightfall would never come, but Tace wearily climbed onto her pallet. All of her bones ached from the day¡¯s labor, and tomorrow would only be worst. Dark circles had gathered under her eyes. She had accidentally burned the stew while making supper, so she had spent the entire evening scraping out the burnt bits stuck at the bottom of the pot with a large wooden spoon. The pain lingered in her left shoulder, and she drew her tattered blanket over her head, letting sleep take over her for a moment.


    A few moments later, she squirmed with discomfort. After rising out of bed, she quietly made her way through the dark room as to not disturb the sleeping girls, out into the warm summer air, half asleep. Once she had done her business in the privy, she reluctantly began to turn back to the sagging building, trudging through the tall grass. Her bare feet dragged against the dirt in the yard¡ªmoonlight settling upon her ragged dress and pale, sunken face. Her dark curls settled over her eyes and nose, and before she could reach for the rusted doorknob, a cold, sharp wind suddenly brushed against her.


    The child turned around, observing the dark yard. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. There was not a soul present in the roads, nor near the grass or underneath the trees. Although she could see nothing but the pitch black in front of her, she could sense warmth tightly pressing into her right palm, almost like someone was holding onto it.


    Tace wearily sat down upon the worn grass, before folding her knees placing her head into her arms. The crickets grew louder about her. She wished that this was just a dream¡ª but it was one that she wasn¡¯t quite sure she could awaken from. She squeezed her eyes shut.


    A hand gently rested on her shoulder.


    With an abrupt start, Tace rose so quickly to her feet that she nearly lost her balance due to the sudden dizziness that had settled upon her. Taking a few steps back, she noticed another child sitting next to her. He was a slim boy, with dark curly hair and freckles, although Tace couldn¡¯t exactly make out his eyes in the dark, nor tell whether he was looking at her or not. The boy remained seated, although he didn¡¯t seem bothered by her reaction at all.


    ¡°Are you alright? Have you taken ill?¡±


    Tace clutched the hemline of her filthy skirts, wondering how she had not heard him approaching from afar. Lately, she had such a difficult time hearing things lately, probably due to the soft wax within her ears. It had definitely not eased the Headmistress¡¯s voice.


    But this boy¡¯s was soft¡ªmuch more quiet than she expected. It didn¡¯t seem to belong to him. When he stood up, she noticed that he was about a foot taller than her, yet didn¡¯t appear to be no older than twelve or thirteen. He wore well-tailored pants and a shirt, and while he was barefooted, his face and hands were clean, which was an uncommon factor for many of the other children at the Guadana House of Mercy. Was he an orphan?


    She just wanted to get back to bed. The Headmistress had assigned her for dish duty tomorrow, and she had been looking forward to perhaps snatching bits of food off the dirty pots and pans to fill up her stomach some.


    He took a step closer, but Tace moved away, preparing to take off. She had not forgotten her encounter with those boys on the streets, and this time, she knew she was able to run much longer and faster than before. During her trips to the mountains, Papa had said¡ª


    The boy gave her a crooked smile. There was a smattering of freckles across his nose, like someone had dashed brown sugar on his face. ¡°Nay, you¡¯re just hungry. But hunger is a disease itself.¡±


    Tace bit her tongue. She had no patience for this.


    After giving the boy a hard look, she began to head to the steps leading towards the Guadana House of Mercy, wondering why he was out here. Wasn¡¯t he worried about being seen? Then they¡¯d both be caught and receive a thrashing. But before she reached the rusted railing, she felt his hand wrap around hers, nearly jerking her backwards.


    ¡±W-wait.¡±


    Tace slowly turned around.


    ¡±I¡­I¡¯m not here to harm you, despite what you may think. I only wish to help.¡±


    She wanted to perhaps scream, kick, bite, do something¡ªbut she was so exhausted that she struggled to keep her eyes open. She felt him come closer, wrap his arm around her shoulder, and the gesture was indeed comforting, despite the caution she usually held against strangers. The boy¡¯s hand tightened around her own, his sweaty fingers seeming to expand. Tace briefly closed her eyes, then opened them once more. She noticed that when he spoke, he was missing a front tooth. He faintly smelled of stale urine and sweat, and the thick night air caught into his throat.


    ¡°My folks be fighting awful bad,¡± he whispered in her ear. ¡°I take walks to get away from it all. You look mighty hungry, and I don¡¯t think you want to go back in there.¡± He then pointed towards the dark road. ¡°It¡¯s quite a bit away, but my house is close to the edge of town, not that far between Herskes and Calibee. Why not come by for a good meal and rest a spell? My parents are asleep now. And you shall be upon your way by morn. Come.¡±


    Tace yawned, before mumbling something. What was supposed to be words came out as incoherent, and she couldn¡¯t figure out why. She wrinkled her nose and wanted to pull away from him¡ªthe brief aroma of urine was much more prominent than before.


    ¡°Shhh,¡± he murmured, ¡° ¡®Tis alright.¡±


    Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    The young girl blinked and rubbed her eyes.


    ¡°Don¡¯t be afraid. My name¡¯s Stephen,¡± the boy said in a hushed tone. ¡°My folks won¡¯t mind.¡± He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. ¡°Don¡¯t burden yourself, now. Come.¡±


    Did you say Herskes? Tace wanted to ask, but their footsteps fell in sync with the dirt below, and it almost seemed as if she wasn¡¯t walking, but gliding, her long skirts swishing about her muddy bare feet. He began to softly hum a familiar tune that she had once heard, but couldn¡¯t pinpoint exactly what it was. She could still feel the weight of his arm supporting her, and as she unconsciously leaned her head against his shoulder, still fighting to keep awake, she thought she heard him faintly whisper one more thing before she slipped into the darkness.


    ¡° ¡®Tis alright. I give you my word.¡±


    * * * * * * *


    Melissa Collington leaned back into her chair and stretched her sore back. She placed her reading spectacles down on the table after setting her ink-covered quill down. With a heavy yawn, she studied the scrawled numbers on the page, then the meager savings that she had accumulated for herself. A scowl fell across her face as she pushed aside her dinner plate, which consisted of cold veal and mutton. With how much the children were eating each day, she could barely keep up with food, let alone clothing. And a staff member had the nerve to ask her for a raise the other day. The donations from the church would only hold up for so long, as the copper coins would seem to slip right between her chubby fingers once she opened the white cream envelopes covered with red wax seals.


    The ungrateful little brats, Melissa thought, rapidly waving a fan beside her sweaty face. This heat was only making her all the more cross, and she recalled how she and her twin sister Susan grew up by the river with their mother, how they could swim whenever they wished or go ice skating in the winter. The bolt of nostalgia made her left eye slightly twitch at the memory¡ªshe had recently gotten into a terrible fight with her within the previous week. Melissa had sent her a letter asking for her pardon and to aid her with running the Guadana House of Mercy. She wasn¡¯t exactly sure what had made her snap. Perhaps it was the news of Susan getting married that stuck a nerve, and good riddance to her, for hardly being there when she needed her.


    ¡±Blast it all,¡± she muttered to herself. She set down the fan and stumbled to her feet, grasping her cane.


    The silence of the orphanage slightly unnerved her. For as long as Melissa could remember, it had always been loud. The children probably were more exhausted than usual, as she was used to sending night owls back to their quarters after catching them either attempting to sneak a bite from the kitchen or go outside. Her shoes echoed across the clean wooden floor and double checked to see that the front door was locked. She quietly peeked into their rooms, just barely opening the door a creak, where their soft snores echoed against the wall.


    How on earth are they sleeping so soundly? she thought, wearily trudging back down the hall. Her sweat soaked petticoat clung to her large stomach. Even the little ones are still.


    Melissa carried the candle out of her study and caught a glimpse of her reflection in the small glass mirror hanging upon the cracked wall. She cleared a strand of red hair from her face and tucked it behind her stained mob cap, observing her worn features for a moment. Her twenty-seventh birthday had recently passed; she found it to be the cursed features she inherited from her mother that kept her from securing a proper husband. Her dark green eyes fell, before she stiffly reached for her cane. There were a few spirits down in the cellar waiting for her. May haps a bit of brandy could clear her head, distract her from this wretched heat, from the lingering pain in her ankles and back.


    It was a common habit; this night out of many only weighed heavier upon her shoulders.


    With a relieved sigh, Melissa Collington entered the cellar. The door swung halfway open behind her, the rusted lock dangling in the air. She set down her cane and rummaged past the potato bin before finding a glass bottle with a brown liquid behind a few wooden boxes. Beads of sweat dripped down her face as she struggled to pry open the lid with her grubby fingers, the candlelight illuminating her shadow, twisted and out of shape. She did not notice as the dark shape rapidly skidded across the brick wall.


    A clicking sound startled her, causing her to drop the bottle onto the ground. It shattered into a million pieces, but she found herself so weary and hot, that she hardly reacted Pressing a hand against the brick wall, the Headmistress wiped her sweaty forehead.


    The door remained open, revealing the empty, dimly lit hallway.


    ¡°Hello?¡± Melissa asked, surprised to hear the shakiness in her voice. It was probably just a frightened little one¡ªlonging for a staff member who had gone home for the day.


    A wave of dizziness came over her. She wanted to bend down and pick up the broken pieces, but her stomach churned, and she regretted eating supper. She just needed to step outside for some fresh air.


    As the room in the cellar continued to warp, Melissa stumbled forward. She just had to get to the door, get some fresh air. The thirst in her throat was one that she had to quench. But the door grew further and further away until she was a hundred miles afar and it was nothing but a glowing rectangle of white light. Through it, she could see two little girls playing by a small cottage, near the cool, bubbling river, the large pine trees. Their red hair glowed in the warm light, running to catch the flowers on the hill. Undeniably sisters, holding hands, laughing, smiling, dancing by the clothesline.


    Melissa could smell the river. She wanted to dip her toes in, and suddenly, there was a deep pain in her chest¡ªshe could sense tears spilling down her cheeks. One of the girls stopped¡ªthe tallest one¡ªwas it Susan, despite her being born only a few minutes early? She wore a yellow homespun dress, stitched exactly the way their Mam used to.


    Suddenly, her neck split in two, her head hanging down, despite her body remaining completely still. Her eyes were not green. Melissa held her breath as the shortest one stopped to stare at her. There was a giggle, then a burning, fiery itchiness that ripped through her veins. Thousands of tiny holes formed deep into her skin¡ªthrough the holes, she could make out whiskers, teeth, and fur. Rats, as big as cats, racing up and down her arms and legs and skirts, chunks of flesh and fat and hair sprayed everywhere.


    Melissa started to open her mouth, but a rat¡¯s claws ripped out her throat. Her green eyes filled with tears as she kept attempting to scream, Susan, Susan, Susan, over and over again, her dismembered limbs loudly thumping against the ground, the pain worsening each second, until she the last thing that she would ever see would be a bright white smile form in the pitch black, and then nothing. Her cane was broken into two.


    Slowly, the candle Melissa Collington had left on top of a sack of a potatoes dwindled, before extinguishing in the air, leaving behind a twisted trail of gray smoke.


    The children in the Guadana House of Mercy peacefully slept in their tiny wooden cots that warm evening, all of the meager belongings they had in the world tucked in Melissa¡¯s desk drawer. Two rickety wooden floors below, there was a faint banging against the closed cellar door. A large pool of dark red blood slowly seeped out from below, splattering against the steps and completely soaking the walls and rugs that they had worked so hard to clean out. The banging stopped; leaving the hallway silent once more.


    A large rat curled up in the corner, gnawing on a piece of meat between its sharp claws. It released a squeak, before rushing into the darkness, following a faint green glow.


    * * * * * * *


    Tace slowly sat up.


    The room and bed that she found herself in was unfamiliar, smelling of mothballs. To her, it resembled the home of a wealthy person, with portraits hanging on the wall of people whose eyes seemed to follow her wherever she went. A shiver ran down the young girl¡¯s spine, and with horror she noticed sunlight spilling through the window. She flung aside the blankets and rushed to the door, but stopped once she noticed that she was in a small hallway in the kitchen.


    The boy was hunched over, knocking at something in the bucket. Upon closer look, she could see that he was chipping away at a large block of ice in a wooden bucket. His hair appeared light brown, and Tace was startled to see that his eyes were a hazel color. His dirty fingernails dug into the handle of the small pickaxe he held, and he turned around, he gave her a small smile¡ªthe one tooth missing from his upper jaw.


    Crack, crack, crack.


    ¡°Morning,¡± he cheerfully said. ¡°Did you like the guest room?¡±


    Tace scratched the back of her head, unsure of what a guest room was. But she was too nervous to ask. Her dark eyes lingered at the front door.


    ¡°You¡¯re at my place, remember?¡± The boy broke off a large piece of the ice block and placed it on a plate. ¡°You fell asleep, so I had to carry you here on my back.¡± He beamed. ¡°It wasn¡¯t bad at all. You¡¯re quite light, yet you snore some. You were very, very tired. And you remember my name, don¡¯t you? ¡®Tis Stephen. Yet my full name is Stephen Thomas Alonzo Rowe. After my pa.¡±


    Crack.


    He tilted his head to the side. ¡°You¡¯re awful quiet, aren¡¯t you?¡± Then he chuckled. ¡°No need to worry. I¡¯m much of a talker, so you must pardon me.¡±


    ¡± ¡®Tis a very long name,¡± Tace whispered.


    ¡±Aye,¡± he exclaimed, his large hazel eyes glowing with pride. ¡°That it is! And did you know that his father had the same name as well? It¡¯s quite nice, I shall say.¡±


    A long silence passed. Tace stared at the large fireplace¡ªit was much bigger than the one at home.


    ¡±You¡­you never really told me yours,¡± the boy said. ¡°You do have a name, yes?¡±


    Tace hesitated.


    Stephen gazed at her for a moment, before giving her a warm smile. Up close, his white teeth were extremely crooked¡ª a great deal missing from the bottom of his jaw. He came a bit closer, and extended his wet, dripping palm to her. Tace drew back a little, but as she gazed into his large hazel eyes, a calming sensation washed over her.


    He slowly lowered his hand.


    ¡° ¡®Tis alright if you don¡¯t want to.¡±


    Tace began to tug at the edge of her sleeve.


    ¡°I hope we can be friends. I¡¯ve never had a friend before, not even back at Calibee.¡± Stephen looked down for a moment, his smile fading. ¡°I get so lonely here, when Pa is at work and Mama is asleep during the day. I¡­¡± He paused and turned back to the bucket. ¡°When they fight, that¡¯s when I go on my nightly walks. I sneak out the window and imagine all sorts of things. I usually go very far, but always find my way back. By then, Pa is off to work. And I have the house to myself.¡± He released an exasperated sigh and began to break into the block of ice much faster. Crystal shards flew in the air¡ªhis knuckles were bright red.


    Crack, crack, crack.


    ¡±But it¡¯s not all that bad. Sometimes, Pa brings home sweets from work. When he¡¯s asleep, I can help myself to as much as I want. Do you like candy? I have plenty to share.¡± He patted his thin stomach. ¡°My favorite are the chocolate squares with almonds in them. I could eat three bags of them.¡±


    Tace held her breath.


    ¡±I¡­.I don¡¯t like being alone,¡± the boy quietly said. His enthusiasm fell, clearly disappointed by the lack of her response. ¡°I don¡¯t like it when Pa leaves me.¡±


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t your mother get worried?¡± She was surprised by how easy it was to get the words out around him. Her muscles were tensed up with shyness, but his gentle expression made her blurt the question out.


    ¡°Nay. She is very ill, so she¡¯s always asleep half the time. I make sure to empty her chamber pot. Pa tells me that if you want to have friends, you must be one yourself.¡± Stephen drummed his fingers against the surface of the table, his voice dropping down to a whisper. ¡°I¡­.I¡­I want to be one.¡± He then slumped on a chair. ¡°I hope I am being one.¡±


    Thwack!


    ¡±Where are my manners? You¡¯ll stay for breakfast, won¡¯t you? You must be starved. Pa always told me to never let a guest leave the house hungry. ¡®Tis a downright sin. Come, sit down.¡±


    Tace gazed at the spacious kitchen.


    The boy lowered the pickaxe, before leaning against the table and popping the ice chunk in his mouth. He chewed for a moment, rolling it around his teeth, until there was nothing but clear slush. With a skinny arm, he gestured at the bucket. ¡°Would you like some?¡±

 Chapter 16

    The wrinkling sound of a small paper bag filled the enormous kitchen. Normally, Tace would¡¯ve assumed that such a place would echoed with the banging sound of pots and pans, like the giant ones that she scrubbed out at the Guadana House of Mercy. But as Stephen made his way around the table towards her, water still dripping from his shiny palms, the hairs on the back of Tace¡¯s neck slightly rose. She fixated her gaze on the door as his shadow loomed over her. A hint of eagerness fell upon his large hazel eyes as he extended the paper bag out to her. His long fingernails were lined with dirt, accompanied by peeling skin and blisters.


    ¡°Here,¡± Stephen said.


    Tace hesitated. A small voice lingering at the back of her mind told her not to, but as she anxiously peered inside of the paper bag, she was surprised to encounter the pleasant aroma that met her nose. Several pieces of gingerbread¡ªnot ice cubes¡ªstill warm from the fire, were squashed at the bottom. At first, she only decided to have one bite, but the taste was so heavenly that she began to devour one piece after another, cramming them into her mouth. Chewing loudly, she savored the piece in her hand, surprised at the large spices getting stuck between her teeth. She met Stephen¡¯s gaze. Water dripped from the melted ice bowl on the table, creating a puddle on the floor.


    ¡±Good, yes?¡±


    Tace nodded, still chewing.


    ¡°If you¡¯re still hungry, you can take some with you for the road,¡± Stephen continued. ¡°Mama made many yesterday. She loves to bake, when she¡¯s not on the laudanum drops.¡±


    Slowly, Tace licked the crumbs off her fingers.


    The boy smiled. ¡°Would you like to see her?¡±


    For a moment, Tace froze. She wasn¡¯t sure if it would be good idea, given that she had broken into a stranger¡¯s house. It was nearly as big as the orphanage, with its painted walls, clean wooden floors, and stiff curtains. But she hardly had a chance to process this question, because Stephen had already grabbed her hand and was leading her out the doorway through the hallway. Tace couldn¡¯t help but glance at the chandelier hanging on the ceiling, the glass pieces twinkling and glowing in the early morning light. As they made their way past the polished furniture, their bare feet silent against the fine carpeted floor, Tace wondered where the servants were to help keep this place so tidy. She hadn¡¯t seen any, as she doubt that Stephen and his parents alone were able to do any housework.


    Perhaps they were in their quarters.


    They went down to the last door to the right on the hallway. Stephen¡¯s hand slightly tightened around Tace¡¯s, and he placed a finger against his lips as he faced her.


    ¡°Shhh,¡± he whispered. His hazel eyes grew even larger, if that were possible. ¡°We mustn¡¯t make much noise. Mama has a headache.¡±


    Tace nodded.


    The hinges of the door loudly creaked as Stephen pushed it open. A sour stench met Tace¡¯s nostrils, so overpowering that it made her eyes sting. The bedroom was bare in sharp contrast to the hallway, with only white painted walls. It was mostly dark, with the exception of heavy curtains covering the window, letting only a few lines of light sit on the dust covered floor. The bed and mattress itself, covered in an old, musty quilt, was practically the only thing in the room¡ªno furniture, besides the chamber pot underneath her bed. As Tace¡¯s eyes adjusted, she nearly took a step back over the threshold.


    Stephen released her hand as he entered the room.


    In the shadows, a very thin, pale woman sat on the side of the lumpy mattress, on top of the sheets. At first glance, Tace thought that she was quite pretty, much more so than the Collington sisters. Her white nightgown matched her skin, which had brown stains around the collar. The woman did not react to children¡¯s presence, nor the creaking sound of the door¡ªher cheeks were sunken in, dark strands of black hair hanging over her hollowed clavicles, snaking down to her back. She was as still as a statue. Her bare feet were flat against the wooden floor, and her large, bloodshot eyes, which were the same hazel shade as Stephen¡¯s, directly stared at the wall. Freckles dotted her broad nose.


    Tace could see a purple bruise visible on her right wrist.


    For a moment, she thought the woman¡¯s gaze fell upon her, just for a second, but she wasn¡¯t sure. When she slightly tilted her chin to the side, Tace could make out a large bald spot on the crown of her head. Unlike the rest of her skin, she could make out tiny red holes on it, angry and blistered, where the follicles used to be. Her hand had a few strands of black hair clenched between her white, bony fingers.


    ¡°Mama?¡± Stephen quietly asked.


    She reached out and viciously tugged at a long, dark lock. When the sleeve of her nightgown fell, Tace noticed angry scars across her flesh. The boy rushed forward and grabbed at her arm with both hands to pull it away from her hair, shaking his head.


    ¡°No! Mama, you promised you wouldn¡¯t do that.¡± His voice was shaky. ¡°You promised. Please, stop doing that. Come back to me.¡±


    The woman did not look at him. She kept her gaze on the same peeling spot in the wall.


    ¡°Mama,¡± Stephen whispered, ¡°I brought a guest.¡± He gave Tace a quick smile, who slightly shrunk behind the door.


    Silence.


    A distressed expression crossed the boy¡¯s face. He let go of his mother¡¯s hands. ¡°Why aren¡¯t you in bed?¡± he asked. ¡°You know what the doctor said. Pa won¡¯t be so happy when he gets home. You are supposed to be taking your laudanum drops.¡±


    The woman did not answer.


    Stephen reached over and picked up a wooden item. He suddenly turned and smiled at Tace. His eyes shone in the dark. ¡°I like to brush her hair,¡± he whispered. ¡°That always calms her down after her fits, you see. She has so many knots, and it leaves her scalp raw and bloody when I don¡¯t get to do it often. So it¡¯s very important that I try.¡±


    Tace knew it was quite rude of her to stare, but she couldn¡¯t tear her gaze away. A line of drool slowly escaped from the left corner of the woman¡¯s mouth, gradually collecting at the bottom of her chin in a pile of foam.


    Stephen gave his mother a tight hug after raking the brush three times through her hair. The woman didn¡¯t even flinch. When he set it down on the bed, Tace could make out a chunk of red on the frayed bristles, but Stephen grabbed her palm again and led her out of the dark bedroom. He paused; placing a hand on the threshold.


    ¡±I¡¯ll be back, Mama.¡±


    No response.


    * * * * * * * *


    The heat of the sun beat down upon their backs as Stephen led her out through the front door of the house, which seemed to be coated in fresh paint. Chickens pecked against the dirt on the mostly bare front yard, leaving feathers floating in the air. Tace¡¯s stomach was full from the gingerbread that he had given her, and she had an extra bag of gingerbread tucked into the sewn pockets of her ragged skirts. The summer blaze immediately made beads of sweat form across her forehead. A small garden consisting of bright red tomatoes, pumpkins, and potatoes met her eyes.


    Tace kept glancing behind at the silent house. She wanted to ask a bit more about Mrs. Rowe, but didn¡¯t know exactly how.


    Stephen went to the right side of the yard and lifted a heavy bucket of water from the stone well. After practically dunking the entire thing over his head, drenching his shirt, he smiled with glee. Mud clung to his bare feet.


    ¡±Refreshing,¡± he announced.


    The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    A giggle escaped from Tace¡¯s mouth, which she attempted to hide with her palms. However, a delighted look came over Stephen¡¯s face, water glittering like diamonds from his soaked hair and round, wet cheeks.


    ¡°See?¡± he exclaimed. ¡°You do have a voice.¡± He set the bucket down with a thump, his smile fading. ¡°You don¡¯t have to be so shy.¡± Suddenly, he picked up a large brown chicken nearest him, causing it to release a loud, aggravated squawk. He winced when it pecked at his arms. ¡°We all say stupid things time to time. I have my fair share. Here.¡±


    ¡±I don¡¯t understand.¡±


    ¡±This is Lucy. You can bring her with you once you leave. As a farewell gift.¡± The animal clucked and jabbed at his wrist, causing Stephen to squirm. ¡°Alright, old girl. No need to fuss.¡±


    But Tace wasn¡¯t listening. She slowly wandered over to the garden, feeling the earthworms crawl between her bare toes. Gently, she reached out and touched the tomato plants, in awe at the sight of the ones that were fully ripe, those that were orange, and the tiny, small green ones. To her surprise, Stephen came up beside her and yanked the largest one from the plant, causing the thick green leaves to rustle. He held it out to her. ¡°Here. Take it.¡±


    Tace¡¯s eyes widened. He gently placed it into her hand, before curling her fingers around the bright red fruit. The weight of it against her palm startled her. She tried to speak, to say that she wasn¡¯t trying to steal from his garden, but a smile tugged at the edge of Stephen¡¯s mouth. She couldn¡¯t help but admire the plants. She had never seen such a sight, not even at Guadana. Overcome with shyness, she glanced at her bare feet, before gathering enough courage to ask the question.


    ¡±H..H..how d-do you grow them?¡±


    Stephen set down Lucy, who eagerly scampered away, while kneeling beside Tace and patting the rich soil with his freckled hand. ¡°Seeds. You water them and let nature take care of the rest. And you have to watch out for critters. Bugs and weeds too.¡±


    Tace nodded, before glancing at the tomato. Her full stomach rumbled as she handed it back to him. She reluctantly glanced at the woods.¡°I..I¡­ I ought to be best on m-my way.¡± She gave a quick curtsy before she prepared to turn. ¡°Many thanks for your hospitality.¡±


    ¡°Oh¡­no¡­.wait¡­¡± A crushed look briefly passed over the boy¡¯s features as he immediately moved in front of her, dropping the fruit in the tall grass and blocking her path. His bare foot smashed it as he stepped forward, leaving a bloody red mess on the ground. Yet he hardly reacted. His freckles looked brighter in the sun. ¡°But¡­.you won¡¯t mind staying for one more day, do you? One more. Maybe I can guess your name, then.¡± His shoulders sank. ¡°I don¡¯t even know if I¡¯ll see you again.¡±


    The young girl frowned, trying not to eye the crushed tomato and its juices staining the dry grass. ¡°I should be going.¡±


    ¡°Wait¡­don¡¯t¡­don¡¯t leave yet.¡± Stephen reached out and gently touched her arm. Despite how hot it was outside, his fingertips were still cold, probably from that ice cube he had been hammering away. ¡°I didn¡¯t get to introduce you to the rest of them. Would you like to see?¡±


    Tace gave him a confused look. ¡°Who?¡±


    ¡±My¡­.my chickens,¡± Stephen replied. He made his way around the yard, pointing to each brown, black, yellow, and white one. ¡°Titus, Helen, Rosie, Ezekiel.¡± He spun around before pointing at a few more of the squawking creatures, who were making their way towards the tomato on the ground. ¡°And that is Philip, Malachi, and Benjamin II.¡±


    ¡±What happened to Benjamin I?¡±


    Stephen gazed at the sky. ¡°We had him for Thanksgiving this year. But Papa made sure that we saved his bones, gave him a proper funeral.¡± His hazel eyes widened. ¡°With prayers and everything. It was the worst day of my life.¡±


    ¡°Oh,¡± Tace softly said. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    ¡°If you want, I can show you his grave.¡± A long silence passed, before the boy spoke up again. ¡°You¡­you can stay a while little, yes?¡±


    Tace¡¯s face turned red. ¡°What about your pa?¡±


    ¡°He won¡¯t see you. He won¡¯t see us,¡± Stephen replied. Flies began to buzz around the tomato carcass. ¡°You won¡¯t have to worry.¡±


    The young girl tilted her head to the side. ¡°Why?¡±


    Stephen gave her a hopeful smile. ¡°I can¡¯t tell you unless you promise to stay until tomorrow. I¡¯ll give you some more gingerbread. I can get you Mama¡¯s recipe.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t read,¡± Tace replied. ¡°Won¡¯t your ma mind?¡±


    ¡±No, not at all! She¡¯d love to see you again.¡± Excitement came over his face. ¡°We can all bake together!¡±


    ¡°But I can¡¯t¡ª¡±


    ¡±I¡¯ll teach you,¡± Stephen quietly said. ¡°And how to grow your own garden. But you have to promise to come back for lessons. Please?¡± His voice trailed off into a whisper. ¡°You¡¯d come back, won¡¯t you?¡±


    For a moment, Tace hesitated. She was normally wary around strangers. Despite how much she loved his home, she longed for the little shack in the woods, one that she couldn¡¯t help but think of for the past several months while at the orphanage. However, the problem was that she didn¡¯t know how to get back to her beloved mountains. Given the large amount of trees that surrounded the area, she wasn¡¯t exactly sure where she was. None of the land looked familiar to her.


    ¡±You wouldn¡¯t mind being friends, do you?¡± His hazel eyes looked a little watery at the edges, and he seemed to hold his breath. ¡°I can give you gingerbread everyday. And I promise I won¡¯t talk too much. That was Papa said to me once, that I need to stop rambling all the time.¡± He rubbed his skinny arms. ¡°I¡­I can¡¯t help it. I¡­I talk a lot to myself because there¡¯s no one here to listen. You¡¯d be my first one.¡± Stephen took a step forward. ¡°Ever.¡±


    Tace hesitated.


    ¡±We can be,¡± Stephen softly said. ¡°But you don¡¯t have to. I don¡¯t want to force you to do anything you don¡¯t want to.¡± He sighed. ¡°I could really use one. It¡¯s only me and Mama here. And the chickens. I hardly see anyone else. Papa only comes in the evenings.¡±


    ¡°I want to be your friend,¡± Tace solemnly said.


    ¡±Really?¡± The word came out loudly, and Stephen awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck. ¡°You¡­you mean it?¡±


    Tace nodded. ¡°You are the second one I¡¯ve made so far. Isabel is my very first.¡± She wanted to mention the giant, but his name was stuck at the back of her throat.


    ¡±Who¡¯s Isabel?¡± he quietly asked.


    The young girl looked away. ¡°My doll.¡±


    Stephen smiled at her. ¡°You can bring her here.¡± He paused. ¡°When you visit.¡±


    ¡°If I stay here another day,¡± Tace slowly replied, ¡°then you can show me where Herskes is. You told me last night that your home is on the outskirts. So we can¡¯t be far.¡±


    To her surprise, a foreign expression passed over Stephen¡¯s large hazel eyes, but it happened so quickly that she was sure she must¡¯ve imagined it. He slowly smiled.


    ¡®¡®Tis a deal. You have my word.¡±


    Tace nodded.


    ¡°But you have not told me your name.¡±


    ¡°Tace,¡± the girl awkwardly responded, smoothing out her skirts. Bunny was one that was sacred to her, a part of herself that she did not want to give away. ¡°Now, how are you so sure that your father won¡¯t see us?¡±


    Stephen glanced over his shoulder, before lowering his voice. ¡°I have a secret place. And you can¡¯t tell a soul. It¡¯s between you and me.¡± His hazel eyes narrowed. ¡°You must swear it. If anyone else found out, it¡¯d be ruined.¡±


    ¡±I do,¡± Tace replied. ¡°I swear.¡±


    A twinkle set upon his sweaty, red face, as he suddenly tapped her arm. He was smiling so hard, Tace could see all of his teeth. ¡°Come on,¡± he eagerly said, suddenly scampering out towards the trees. ¡°I¡¯ll race you there.¡±


    ¡±I don¡¯t even know where it is,¡± Tace called out after him. ¡°How am I supposed to race you to a place I¡¯ve never been at before?¡±


    ¡°All you have to do is follow me.¡± Stephen replied. ¡°I¡¯m only pulling your strings. But I still think I can make it there before you.¡±


    Tace rolled up her sleeves. Clearly, he hasn¡¯t been up in the mountains. ¡±In your sleep.¡±


    ¡°Is that a challenge I hear?¡±


    Both children grinned at each other.


    ¡±Try to keep up,¡± Stephen said, beckoning with his arm. He stopped at the foot of the hill. ¡°But I¡¯m sure that I am faster than you,¡± he teased, before winking at her. ¡°So I shan¡¯t go too fast. I wouldn¡¯t want you to get lost.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll see about that,¡± Tace replied.


    The boy pointed at the nearby tree with a knobby finger. ¡°How about we start here, to each have a fair chance?¡± A glow descended on his sweaty face. ¡°Although, I could give you a head start. All you have to do is ask for it.¡±


    Tace smirked. Without a word, she joined him under the twisted oak tree, the leaves falling upon their hair. Stephen got down on his knees and spat at the ground, before clearing the acorns off the path. Tace sank her bare feet halfway into the hot, soft soil.


    ¡±Now, on the count of three, we go. Our hideout is not too far from here. Don¡¯t worry, I¡¯ll lead you there,¡± Stephen said, licking his chapped lips. He hid a warm smile as he noticed Tace gathering up her long skirts around her muddy shins and forming a knot.


    To her surprise, Stephen suddenly reached for her hand. She looked at him, but he would not meet her own gaze. The boy¡¯s hazel eyes focused on the large trees in front of them, their solemn presence sending chills down Tace¡¯s sweat soaked back.


    ¡°One.. two¡­¡±


    His palm gave hers a warm squeeze before breaking away from hers as he began to head for the trees. Tace glared at him in great annoyance, picking up her skirts.


    ¡±Oy!¡± she called, her voice echoing in the air. ¡°You are nothing but a cheat. Get back here.¡±


    Stephen laughed uncontrollably. ¡°I was about to say three. Honestly.¡±


    Tace took after him, as he began to dodge her upcoming shadow. Their giggles echoed in the trees, through the branches and quiet leaves, before disappearing behind the branches, leaving the gentle clucking of the chickens.


    In one of the front windows out looking the house, a curtain slowly dropped.

 Chapter 17

    14 August 1716, Calibee, Cumbria


    Dear Mr. Elijah Holloman,


    I write to you with great concern I have for your eldest son. He <em style="font-size: 0.9em">has shown tremendous improvement in his studies within the past winter; including science, geography, Latin, history, reading, and maintains a deep hunger for the Arts. In addition to having a sharp mind, your son is incredibly gifted in mathematics, having received the highest marks in my class. I have no doubt that, with your support Sir, he shall excel and reach his full potential.


    However, I beseech ye attend a Meeting in regards your child¡¯s recent behavior around his Peers. He is a very quiet student; he is one to remain diligent in completing his assigned tasks, and rarely engages in conversation with the other pupils. I have rarely, if ever, heard him speak.


    You and I are both aware that the boy has struggled to socialize with his Peers during his first six months at our Institution. I understand that you had recently taken the child underneath your care only two years before, which has led to a difficult adjustment to his new environment. He often keeps to himself during the noon meal and recess, and it brings me great heaviness to bring the matter to your attention, as I must.


    Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.


    This past Week, on Wednesday morning, Barry Verson, one of my pupils, had spoken a few words to your son moments after we had begun our reading lesson. I was not made aware of the nature of this conversation, as my back had been turned throughout the exchange. I was selecting a few pages from our book for the class to discuss when Barry had started screaming uncontrollably, clutching his left eye in agony. His face was coated in blood. Due to the extent of the damage done to Barry¡¯s eye, he must have it removed, according to the doctor. The Versons are seeking further compensation and do intend to press charges. I strongly suggest that you find legal representation.


    Mr. Holloman, your child did not say a word when the authorities or I questioned him about his motives. He is to receive expulsion from the School Grounds, as decided by the Board. We will also discuss further disciplinary actions at our Meeting, in which I shall inform you and Mrs. Holloman of the pre determined date.


    I apologize for conveying these news to you in such circumstances. It was no decision on my part, as your son has never exhibited acts of violence before; however, the gravity of the situation cannot be ignored. I will put forward my best effort in ensuring that Both parties are to reach an acceptable and civil agreement. In the meantime, I shall continue to provide further details that the Board will have for you concerning the upcoming Meeting.


    Thank you for your cooperation,


    Amos Fitzgerald