Excerpt from Darkling - Taken from The Lights Went Out and Other Stories.
She slipped through
into woods with the agility of one well used to nocturnal ramblings, knowing
how to pick her way along the meandering path regardless of the moon’s milky
glow that shone through the thickets of hazel and birch. She hummed low to herself a verse that was
popular amongst the young girls in her village.
“Rose petals, rose
petals, red and white, he that I marry, come to me this night”. It was custom
for maidens on Midsummer’s’ Night to make potions to bind their admirers in
love and matrimony and Emma Loxley needed only one more addition to a
concoction she had ready: leaves that could only be harvested after nightfall.
She moved on further
into the wood, her thoughts on the son of one of her father’s friends, a
handsome boy who was much admired among her circle of friends, for his pleasing
manners and brilliant blue eyes. Emma
smiled to herself, pulling her cloak tight against the chill air. She was
dressed for concealment, she wore a grey cloak over a brown wool dress,
clothing she had changed into after her parents had retired for the night
before she climbed from her ground floor
bedroom window and slipped from the grounds .
As she wandered, the
path narrowed and disappeared in parts. She stopped at a gap in the trees, a
clearing of sorts. The area seemed strangely unfamiliar to her in the
moonlight. Emma had wandered further this night than before, she had missed the
church bells chime the hour. The sounds of the outside world failed to pierce
the dense canopy. Branches crossed above her head creating a network of tunnels
where even the moon light found it hard to penetrate.
As she turned to make
her way back to the more familiar path she noticed the dark pointed leaves that
she required and pulled a small knife from the pocket of her dress and
proceeded to cut several stalks low from the base careful to leave enough of
the plant behind. So absorbed was she in her task that she didn’t notice the
stranger until she was nearly upon him.
He walked upon the
hummock between the ring of gnarled and ancient rowan trees, where the ground
rose up to a point past the twisted branches to resemble a bald pate above a
broken crown. An old place, the heart of the forest it was said, a place she
had never trod as the light grew dimmer and the trees formed a ring that
scratched and pulled at the wanderer who had strayed from the path. It was an
area of the forest that local lore guarded against with tales of strange noises
and lights. Emma pulled herself up
smartly and half hidden behind the stout trunk of an oak she observed the
wanderer.
He appeared to be of
above average height with shoulder length golden hair that shone in the
moonlight as he moved about the hill. He looked to be well dressed, like a
noble man in his frock coat, waistcoat and breeches; each of a different
woodland hue, the greens and browns of bark and leaf.
He wore knee length hunting boots, the leather
bright as a new chestnut. A most
beautiful creature, he strode with what purpose she could not tell. His long
limbs moving with fluid grace. He seemed a part of the moss covered hill he
walked upon, as if he had appeared from the earth itself.
Unable to take her eyes
off the stranger, Emma moved from tree to tree until he seemed close enough to
touch until finally as if in a dream, she stepped out from behind the cover of
the trees to face him, a bird released from a trap with no choice but to fly
towards danger.
The walker between the
trees turned on his heel sensing her, he moved towards the slight figure of the
girl in the grey cloak whose wide eyes shone at his approach. The stitching on
his waistcoat glinted in the moon’s light as he neared. Her eyes were drawn to a
face of contradictions; ancient yet youthful.
His skin was white as
the light that the moon poured down.
White as bone bleached
in the sun.
Pale as the ice in the
village pond in midwinter.
Pale and cold as death.
