Shades of Grey

EASTMAN HOUSE; LONDON, ENGLAND— MARCH 1825

When I opened my eyes, I found myself in a nursery with light pink walls and dark wood panelling. Two tall support columns made of a rich oak stood at opposite ends of the room with two torches standing on opposing sides of a large bed. A pregnant woman lay on the bed, screaming in the throes of labour as two women and one man sat eagerly around her, awaiting the arrival of the child.

“Come on, Willania! You’re almost there!”

I looked to the man that gripped the woman’s hand, caressing her face delicately, and I saw familiar gray eyes reflected in the full moon light under his well-groomed dark hair. My breath caught in my throat as the wailings of the newborn filled the air. I now knew what had happened: using the power of the Caedes virus, the Letum were recreating my earliest memories. I would now see what I had struggled for so long to remember.

The young woman — whom I now knew for sure was my mother — gave one final push and the cries of the baby were suddenly audible.

“Yes! You did it, Miss Will! It’s a beautiful baby girl!” cried a young midwife. She stood up from her stool, carrying the child over to the exhausted mother.

I walked around the edge of the room, confident that they could not see me, and stood next to the new parents as they beheld their daughter for the first time.

“Oh Will, she’s beautiful!” cried my father, stroking my newborn face. I watched as my silver baby eyes opened for the first time. “And she has my eyes!”

“Your eyes…” my mother whispered placidly.

I tried to read my mother’s face but it was difficult. Instead of the natural maternal glow and happiness one would expect a new mother to exude, her tired face read of sadness and a sort of remorseful anger. I frowned. Why had my birth drawn such a reaction from her?

Suddenly the baby began to cry uncontrollably. The midwives reacted immediately, removing the child from the mother’s arms and placing her on a nearby table to investigate the cause of the child’s upset.

“What’s wrong?” My mother asked my father in a hushed voice. I leaned closer to hear his answer.

“I’m afraid there’s a full moon outside, Will.”

My mother closed her eyes: she had been expecting this and she was not happy about it. At the exact same moment, the midwives took several wary steps back, treating the baby as if it has somehow grown an extra limb. I crossed the room and got a clearer view of the screaming child.

A strange white mist was climbing in through the window and encircling the newborn. I leaned in closer and watched as it began to form a symbol, poised just above the baby’s heart. I then knew exactly what it was, clutching my own mark above my heart; the mark that the Elf Wizards who first set up the school used to identify and detect the children born on the cusp of a full moon: the children born to be Creature Hunters.

“Please leave us,” my mother commanded. Her voice was darkly sad and forceful. Neither midwife dared question her. They left immediately and my father lifted the child from the table, examining the mark.

“It’s no more than what we expected,” he said.

“Speaker, I did not want this for her. It’s not a good life,” my mother said sadly, staring at my crying form. She was now almost disturbingly reluctant to touch the newborn. I frowned at her disgust.

“It brought you a husband and a daughter, didn’t it?” he smiled, kissing her pale cheek. She bit her fingernails anxiously, not daring to take her eyes off of her baby. My father’s face fell in frustration.

“Will, she’s your daughter: Hunter or not. And we get eight years before she has to go off to school—”

“Then we move out of this house, change our names, our histories...she can’t know,” she interjected, crying like a madwoman.

“Will, she is going to find out when the mark begins to burn. She will have questions, she will be angry with us for not telling her,” my father warned. “What’s going on? Why does this upset you so much?”

“I can’t tell you yet. I just don’t want her to grow up in that world…it’s too dangerous…” My mother’s voice grew distant and she finally reached out for the young child, cradling her with a strange new genteel.

“Hello Grey Willania Echo! I’m your mother!”

They sat very still for a long moment, staring at their new baby. I smiled through my conflicting tears of confused anger and satisfied happiness as I watched them intently.

“Well then, if we must, what do you propose we change our names to?” My father asked after a while, gently gripping her knee.

“She will be Gillian Eastman. I will be Wendy and you will be Samuel.” My mother turned to look at my father; her hazel, calculating eyes staring darkly at him, forcing him to agree. “Just until the mark begins to burn, then we tell her the truth.”

Suddenly, the scene began to melt away and revealed a different house, one of the upper social classes living in high society Paris with homely wallpaper and several friendly gaslights in the front foyer. My mother and father were standing very close together in the oak stairwell, speaking in low voices and not daring to look at each other

“Her letter arrived today,” my father said gravely.

“When?” My mother asked breathlessly.

“By eaglet, early this morning.”

My mother took the letter in dreaded shock and read it over. I recognised the all-too familiar crest of the Greatheart Academy of Creature Hunting: a Flamesword and a Flesh Pistol crossed over a tall oak tree.

‘’This can’t be right! No one knows where we are. And she’s only three years old! We have five more years!”

“Will, please don’t shout. You’ll wake her and we’d have to tell her now.”

“Speaker, I just want to protect her,” my mother whispered. “It’s not a good life…”

“I know, but you can’t protect her from destiny. You heard the Council: what’s done is done.”

I watched powerlessly as the front room of the house changed suddenly into the hallway of the second floor. I saw my father and what appeared to be me at age six. We were both locked in combat, taking cover behind various items of furniture, each holding a wooden sword out towards the other in playful menace.

My father then lunged and I laughed to myself as I watched the six-year-old Grey stumble over the large wooden sword. I remembered making that exact same mistake in combat training with Lord Daryn in year five.

“Papa, I’m no good at this! I’ll never be any good!” whined the stubborn child, throwing the wood sword at the nearest chair.

My father laughed and swept the child grandiosely up into his arms.

“Yes you will, Gillian. One day, you will be the best swordswoman in the world! Just like Artemis!”

“How do you know?”

My father’s eyes grew large and mystical as he carried the child over to a window, where he propped her up on a windowsill and showed her the gleaming night sky.

“It’s written in the stars!”

“No it isn’t!” laughed the young Grey. “How can you read stars?”

“Just like you read a book, silly! Look, can you see that ring of stars there?”

I smiled as my small face scrunched up in concentration, studying the sky.

“Yes! I see it!”

“Good, now, follow my fingers...” My father gripped my young hand and used my finger to write into the sky. He spoke the words slowly aloud.

“Gillian Eastman is destined for greatness.”

The girl smiled and wrapped her small arms around his neck with the same love and devotion of Shakespeare’s Cordelia. He embraced her and looked back toward one of the bedrooms behind me before looking down again, suddenly uncomfortable. I turned around and saw my mother standing in the doorway with her arms folded. Her expression was one of disappointed defeat, as though she knew that fighting my fate was futile but she could not help but to fight it. My heart ached to comfort her, to tell her that I was fine...that it was all for the best…

I watched as the scene suddenly changed again to the parlour I saw when I had kissed Rodag: the same fire, the same dog, the same loving looks from my parents…I began shaking in terrified anger as I realised what I was about to see.

“Gillian, how is your scar today?” asked my father, casting a strange glance at my mother.

I looked down at my eight-year-old self as I smiled at him in childlike innocence and rubbed my Hunter’s mark, blissfully unaware of why it was burning.

“It’s better today, not so hot.”

I exhaled quickly, trying to keep my equanimity, when a sudden sound from just outside the door made me stiffen once more. I saw my parents tense as well.

“Annie!” my mother called urgently. Seconds later a young woman who looked to be a servant appeared at my mother’s side. “Will you take Gillian up to her room and keep her there, no matter what?”

My mother looked Annie deep in the eye, making sure she understood the context of the message.

“Yes ma’am!” Annie replied loyally. She quickly swept me up into her arms and ascended the stairs, fighting my protestations as she carried my young, protesting body.

“No! Mama! Papa! I want to stay with you! I WANT TO STAY WITH YOU!”

“Gillian! Please go with Annie!”

Something began scratching at the door furiously, followed by a low, irritated growl and the familiar sound of beating wings. My parents began working faster and I watched as Annie took me into my room, slamming and locking the door behind her. I heard my own protesting screams and my furious attempts to break through the wood of the door.

My father gave my mother a questioning glance. She looked at him decisively and nodded.

“I’ll get my weapons too. This has to stop,” she said, rushing over to a floorboard under the parlour table. She pulled out a very dusty Hunter’s bandoleer and tied it around her very formal, stylish toggery. The strange juxtaposition of the image made me smile. My mother was no ordinary lady…

The scene changed again suddenly, but this time it was a scene I did not recognise: a beautiful courtyard decorated with low hanging lights and tall torches, filled with laughing, dancing people. I then saw Rodag and I dancing, looking at each other with the same amorous longing we had developed on the island. Even through the masks we were both wearing I could see it, sense it...

I then watched as my hand went to Rodag’s mask and I swiftly removed it, revealing not Rodag but the ever-present haunting visage of Evan the Vanguard.

“NOOO!” I cried, reaching to the dancing Grey. Evan then grabbed my paralysed dancing form, revealed his large fangs and leaned in to bite my neck before the scene faded once more.

This time, I found myself in a large stone room with no doors: only one window that displayed a countless number of captive, sickly children, varying in age and severity of malnourishment. They all saw me and began to bang on the window, pleading and crying out for my help.

“Aren’t they beautiful?” asked a smooth voice from behind me. “Our wonderful little children…continually providing us with sustenance…forever…”

I turned around and swallowed apprehensively as I saw him. The very tall, very handsome Simon stood waiting for me, looking as he would have if he had not contracted the Caedes virus: strong frame, black eyes, sharp ears and an expression of lascivious intent.

He then began laughing: horrible, awful laughter full of malice and slight perversity. I knew very well it wasn’t real, but that did not steady my shaking limbs at all.

“Release them,” I demanded simply.

“If you can defeat me, I will do just that. I highly doubt your chances, though.”

I looked at his challenging face darkly, not daring to even think twice.

“Let’s dance,” I said softly.

Not half a second later, he changed from his natural form into a huge bloodthirsty wolf and lunged for me. I reacted purely on instinct and leapt to the left, unsheathing my Flamesword and holding it out defensively as I recovered from the shock of his sudden attack.

“You are good, young Hunter; I applaud your quick reflexes. However, are you good enough to withstand the everlasting strength of one of the Letum?”

I would not give in to his taunting. He was trying to distract me, but it would only make me stronger. Ten years of schooling had trained my mind for just this sort of verbal assault.

He lunged again, this time armed with a long, sharp sword. We then began a long, nearly elementary battle, Simon’s teeth coming dangerously close to my skin on several occasions.

“You smell so good, young Hunter!” He said, bringing his nose to my neck, inhaling my scent…

I grunted in anger and kicked him off with all of my strength. He flew through the air and landed on his hands and feet.

“No one touches me!” I sneered darkly.

“Oh really? Well then, I shall have to obey your wishes.”

Simon flexed his fingers out towards me and I suddenly flew backwards through the glass window into the room that housed the ailing children. They backed away, shielding themselves as I landed on the hard stone floor in a shower of glass shards. I carefully stood and looked at them, their pleading eyes.

“Please save us!” whispered a pallid, thin little boy. “We’ve been here for so long!”

I looked at their hollow, sagging faces. They were dying in this supernatural prison. I had to liberate them. I had to free them.

“I swear to you, I will set you free!” I promised.

They gave me several doubting smiles, taking solace in my promise but sceptical of its validity.

“Watch out!” they suddenly shouted, pointing behind me.

I had no time to react, no time to turn and no time to grab any of my weapons before Simon’s venomous ghost fangs found their way into the skin of my neck, grossly infecting me with the Caedes virus.

There was a beat of horrified silence. The bite mark then began to burn, slowly increasing in intensity and travelling down my veins through my body.

“You will make a beautiful Creature, one day,” Simon taunted, keeping his iron grip on my stunned body. “So beautiful…”

“Never,” I managed to utter, quietly reaching into the compartment in my sleeve for my crucifix, one of the few weapons that could injure a Letum.

“On the contrary, my dear Tyro: it is written in the stars!” he whispered into my ear. My anger was now great enough to act upon and no sooner had my fingers clasped over the Flesh Pistol than I drove the crucifix into Simon’s heart and fired a final shot.

I slipped through his frozen hands as his scream of agony began to blend with my scream of adrenaline. He fell to his knees and I turned on my stomach, coughing as my body began to change. I stole a glance at Simon as black blood began to drip down the front of his chest and onto the stone floor. I then stopped as something unexpected began to occur. As Simon’s blood made contact with the floor, it sizzled and burned through the stone. The burning began to spread and eat up the entire room until a blindingly white light engulfed the children and me, leaving the ghost to die with undeserved dignity.