Let the Darkness In

The hand let go of me in an instant. The rest of my face burnt brighter than my vivid mark. Hissing, I tried to back away but I bumped into something solid. I was completely and utterly surrounded.

“WITCH! Someone yelled and a stone whistled past me. A woman crouched down and picked up my basket which had been strewn out of my reach. I winced as she picked at the pots and jars, grimacing at the various liquids and creams. Sniffing a potion made of the deepest blue, she recoiled.

“This is what killed my cattle,” the woman fixed cold eyes on me.

That’s lavender. Your stupid cow probably just died of fright when it saw you.” I received a vicious backhand.

“We’ll take her to Towiss.”

My hands started to tremble. I recognised the word as something similar to leader. Ysymay had taught me that communities always had a leader, a voice to guide them. Whatever they said was law.

Strong hands grabbed me once more as the crowd swelled into shouts and curses. A shower of stones and veg assaulted me, some hitting my body. I was manhandled past them towards a hut larger than the rest. Two beasts of men stood outside, holding crude hunting spears.

Silently, they watched us approach; the drooping girl touched by the devil and the crowd out for violence. With the smallest of nods, the beast on the left whipped aside the curtain of animal cloth. We passed through. To my relief, the crowd remained outside although a few tried to follow.

My eyes struggled to adjust to the smoking interior. A huge fire cracked in the center of the large room, belching forth huge clouds of thick smoke. Some vanished skywards through the hole in the roof but most lingered in the room.

I was maneuvered around the great fire, nearly tripping over benches and bundles of cloth set in a circle around it. As we moved towards the back of the room, I could make out a figure sat on a chair. On his head he wore a mess of feathers and beads. My breath caught in my throat as his face became clearer. A pair of glistening obsidian eyes watched our approach. His cheeks and forehead were streaked with scarlet paint.

I was thrown to my knees, my weight catching on my foot. Biting my lip to stop crying out, I felt the well of warm blood. I glared up at this man who was regarding me with interest.

He stood up, his head cocked to one side. He knelt and stared into my face, eyeing the red mark.

“It’s her foot as well Towiss,” the man to my left mumbled. Before I knew what was happening, I was on my back with my foot being prodded and examined. I finally saw the damage I had done; the foot was puffy and pink and already, I could see the faint stain of a bruise. Rough hands poked and prodded, bringing the tears which I refused to let fall.

After a few minutes of prodding and poking, I’d had enough and spat a huge gob of spit into the chieftain’s face. He leapt away, clawing at his face as if it had been burnt. Throwing a kick at my stomach which hit its mark, he began screaming and hissing.

His hands moved in wild flurries and his fingers pointed at the door. The familiar feel of unsympathetic hands grabbed me. That was going to sting in the morning. To my dismay, the crowd had been huddling as close to the hut as the guards would allow. At my reappearance, they roared.

When I was younger, Ysymay had brought me little dolls. I would spend hours pretending they were popular, that beautiful and incredible performers, like in all the books I had read. Right now, I felt like one of those pretend performers, except there was nothing spectacular about it, apart perhaps, from my shame.

I was hauled past them, into a corner of the settlement. A row of mounds faced me. As we drew nearer, I saw they were cells. Woven wicker formed the doors. One was thrown open and I was chucked into the darkness. The last thing I saw before the door snapped shut was a mass of pinched faces.

Damp earth filled my nostrils, sending a pang through me.. Ysymay would wake up to an empty cottage. She would know what I had done. A few hours spent searching and calling my name, and she would know where I had gone.

It would be too late.

Muffled bangs and cheers filtered through to me in my prison. I could hear the hack of an axe on wood and the clatter of wood being thrown on top of the wood. I wasn’t an idiot. I knew exactly what lay in store for me.

As the day wore on, I could feel my stomach rumble and twist. What I wouldn’t give for some bread or some hot stew...at the thought, my tummy gave a plaintive wail and I shut out all thoughts of nourishment.

A chill crept in, heralding the arrival of dusk. I could smell roasting meat on fires and my mouth watered. My body had shut down now, going into survival mode. For hours, I had sat, contemplating how I could get out of here, finally understanding why Ysymay had hidden me all of these years.

These were my kin but they would never be family.

They would pay for what they had done.

When silence fell, save for the hoot of an owl and a bark of a half - starved dog, I knew it was time. From an earlier inspection using my fingers, this wood was fresh. A week or two, no more. Much of its vigour had been lost, but I could still feel its faint thread of life. Moss had already grown into the cracks. A nuisance to some. Today, it became my favourite growing thing.

Placing my hand on the bouncing moss, I willed its life to latch onto mine. I felt the connection; the starburst of light and the taste of grass. It was mine.

Using everything I had, I manipulated the moss. The energy flowing from me moved into the wood which began to creak softly. My hands guided the moss to the lock, and I moved it through the cracks. Using the power of both wood and grass, the latch the other side was gradually pushed upwards. It gave almost without a sound and moonlight streamed in. I breathed in the rush of fresh air.

Keeping the door partially closed, I peered out. Under the silver moon, the village was silent. A few puffs from chimneys revealed the inhabitants were all huddled around their fires. It was the dogs I would have to watch for; I could see a few mongrels sniffing about. One final check and I stepped out, keeping close to the shadows. I pulled my hood up as I skulked through.

I moved as quietly as I could, using the protection of the looming fence. Most of the houses were turned inwards so I made it to the gate with no problem. A lone figure sat on a stool whistling to himself. He was carving something out of wood with a sharp knife and tapping his foot. It was only him between me and freedom. The gate was old - there was no memory of a life so I would have to lift the bar the manual way. It was huge.

I crept slower, moving closer to the man. My mind raced through all the possibilities , trying to decide what I could do. My eyes fell to the stool. It was sturdy enough and the legs just dense enough. In a moment, I made my move. I half-tripped, half-stumbled into him, using momentum to push him off. He fell with an “ooof” onto the ground. I lifted the stool and hurled it at him. It bounced off his back, not enough to injure him as suspected, but with enough force to snap. One of the legs cracked off, leaving a wicked shard of painted wood at the end. If I had to…

Snatching up the wooden leg, I moved on my prey. He let out a cry and my hand moved up and down frantically trying to silence him. I felt nothing, I was only fixated on the prospect of freedom beyond the gate. I saw red as my hand moved up and down, up and down. I heard squelches and felt a warm spray but I couldn’t stop. He deserved this, he was one of that nameless crowd who had taken one look at me and decided to shun me.

Finally I felt him go limp. For a moment, I sat on top of him, my breath heaving in my chest. The bludgeon dropped from my hand and in light it was dark and slick. Whether the man beneath me was unconscious or worse, I couldn’t tell. I felt sick and a surge of emotion rushed through me. What had I done? Then the other voice spoke and told me there had been no other choice.

Trying to calm my ragged breathing, I hauled the man upright so he was sat against the pillar of the gate. I chucked the biggest shards of wood behind him. Then I set to removing the bar. The weight as I heaved it off slowly made my arms ache. I edged it up in tiny movements, then caught it as it fell. Huffing and puffing with bent knees, I edged it away and laid it on the floor.

By the time I was finished, I was drenched in sweat.

Using the last reserves of energy, I hauled open the huge iron gates. The iron seemed to blister my palms as I pulled with every ounce of strength I had. The wood parted, looking into the blackness beyond. An even deeper shadow lay beyond. My home. Where I truly belonged.

My feet fled the filthy village and my punishers. The more distance I put between them and myself, the better. I could feel the tantalising freshness of the clear night skies and the call of the forest. Night air tore through my hair and over my cheeks. When I finally felt my feet crunch over dead leaves, I slowed and turned. Sucking breath back into my lungs, I faced what I had left behind. The gates were still wide open, game for any wild creatures. Perhaps I could have a few words with the wolves….

No. I would find another way. A way to make their regret linger for generations.