Darkling
Authors: K.M. Rice
DARKLING
K.M. Rice
Copyright ©2013 K.M. Rice
Published by K.M. Rice
Cover by Alexandra Rice
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the author. To obtain permission to excerpt portions of the text, please contact the author at
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All characters and events in this book are fiction and figments of the author’s imagination. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
For those we have loved and lost
Chapter 1
T
he woods are dark and my mother weaves dried blossoms into my hair. They have to be dried because there hasn’t been a flower in over a year. Not since the darkness spread, veiling our valley in shadow. Which is why I am being readied for him.
I stand before my little brother Jasper who is clasping his hands and observing my mother’s handiwork. He is only seven but still he knows what I am about to do. I’m wearing my mother’s wedding dress. I was surprised it was such a perfect fit, for I am seventeen and she was twenty when she wed my father. It used to be white, but the lace has a tinged yellow quality from age, and there are a few holes in places where moths or mice have chewed. But it’s good enough, and we aren’t people who need much. Mending the holes would be too much effort when I’m only going to be in the dress for a short while.
Jasper shifts his weight, standing on his tippy toes for a moment, trying to see the top of my head. My mother has twined my blonde curls in the front, reaching behind my skull like a circlet.
I smile at Jasper. “Does it look pretty?”
Jasper nods. He is distracted by a knock on the door and moves to peer out the window. Our cabin is small, only one room, really, with some quilts hung up to separate Jasper and my sleeping area from the main room with the fireplace. The hearth glows brightly, the heart of our house, providing most of the light in the room. He used to sleep in my parents’ bed but started sleeping with me after what happened to Scarlet. She is our older sister.
Was
our older sister.
Jasper lets my friend Draven in. He is dressed in a dark green tunic and leather trousers, the finest he owns. His dirty blonde curls are pulled back into a stubby ponytail, but even then, a few are escaping.
“Good morning, Draven,” my mother says.
Some traditions never die. It would be just after dawn if dawn still existed. Now the only difference between night and day are the stars and moon.
Though lately it has been so cloudy and cold that it is easy to lose track of the time. I haven’t seen the moon in months.
“Good morning,” he replies to her even though his dark brown eyes are latched onto mine. “Willow, can I speak with you?”
I nod. There isn’t really anywhere we can go to find privacy so we step over to my bed.
“Willow, what you’re doing… is… is honorable, but I don’t think
it’s right.”
He’s the only one who knows my secret. Now I regret him knowing because the look in his eyes is making me feel guilty. His jaw is strong and dusted with brown stubble. Somewhere in-between the sun and darkness we grew up. “It has to be me,” I say.
“It’s not fair.”
“Why?”
“They’re here,” Jasper says, peeking out of the window.
Fixing my gaze on Jasper, I try to step past Draven but he grabs my shoulder. “Why?” he repeats.
I close my eyes for a moment because I want to turn around and hug him. I want to feel his stubble on my cheek. Smell the pine and leather that stain him. Hear his heartbeat and never go out the door. But I don’t turn to face him. I can’t. So instead, I rest my hand over his.
“You know why,” I whisper.
He pivots his hand to grab mine, to squeeze it. I wait for the words that might make me reconsider. The pledge that would admit we are more than just old friends. But they don’t come and I have enough fear of my own. I don’t need his cowardice to added to it. So I pull my hand from his and step over to my little brother.
Jasper pulls away from the window and before the curtain falls back into place, I can glimpse their torches. The villagers have gathered at my door. It won’t be long now.
Draven brushes past us all and slips outside. He is upset, and for a moment I wonder if I am making a mistake. But what I’m doing will save my family. We can’t continue in such a state of deprivation. It isn’t fair. And I can no longer stand by, watching the ones I love suffer when I know that there’s a chance I could help. I won’t say that I’m not afraid, though. I am afraid. I don’t know what will happen once I am his. Maybe I won’t be able to convince him to spare us.
Hair pinches my scalp as my mother tucks the last dried blossom into my locks. She holds up a mirror in front of me, showing me her handiwork. I force a smile that I don’t feel. She really has done a beautiful job. The pale pink, purple and yellow pea blossoms enhance the gold of my curls. Though I am smiling, I catch my pair of green eyes staring back at me, sullen in my pale face. I blink, realizing that I’ll have to make my eyes smile, as well as my lips, if I’m ever going to convince my family that this is what I want.
“It’s beautiful,” I say then hug my mother.
The door opens and my father steps in. He is wearing his cleanest trousers and waistcoat and pulls off his knitted cap as he enters. He fidgets with it for a moment as he looks me over, a sad smile forming on his lips.
“Didn’t think I’d be giving you away so soon.”
Though I try as hard as I can to make my smile look real, I know it is tinged with sadness. Not the same sadness as his, but a different kind. I know he’s remembering Scarlet and thinking of me as a little girl Jasper’s age. Instead, I’m thinking of me as a woman my mother’s age, about to give her all for her family. His blue eyes are beginning to shimmer in the firelight and I feel my throat tighten in response so I look away. Now is not the time for weakness. Now is the time to hold my head up.
I have a plan. At five foot five, I am not the tallest girl in our village, Morrot. My curves often attract attention, for I can’t hide my cleavage in a dress, but I am not the prettiest girl in our village. Not the smartest, either. That was my sister, Scarlet. The one thing I am is a good listener.
People come to me with their problems. Strangers confide secrets that they have no business sharing. They each need help. They are drawn to me with instant trust.
Which is why I’m the only one in the village who has the potential to make him happy. I haven’t told any of this to anyone. If I did, my family would try to stop me. So I keep quiet, as I always have. I don’t share secrets.
Looking at the faces of those I love, I stand up straighter. The drums begin outside. I hold my hand out and Jasper takes it. I look back to my father and he nods. Jasper leads me to the door but my mother stops me.
“Willow, wait.” She grabs a white veil off of the table. It is made of an expensive, shimmering fabric, like spider’s webs, and was a gift from my father on her wedding day. Attached to an ivory comb, it might be the most expensive thing we have in the house. A trinket from a time long past. My mother gently sticks the comb into the back of my head. I feel the veil lightly brush my bare shoulders. “There.”
I smile at my mother, forcing the expression into my eyes. “Thank you.”
She kisses my cheek, holding my chin in her hands for several long moments while her blue gaze searches mine. “You have your grandmother’s eyes.”
I’ve been told that ever since I can remember.
Grandma Abella with the clear, sea-green eyes. Grandma Abella who always knew more than she should and argued with people who weren’t there. Grandma Abella who wandered off muttering to herself and was found dead days later. We are more alike than even my mother knows, for Grandma Abella was good at listening, too. Maybe too good. Keeping so many secrets drove her mad.
The drums are growing louder now so I pull my chin out of my mother’s calloused fingers. I nod to Jasper who tugs on the lever, opening the door. I am met with the darkness of our days, illuminated by torches and distant bonfires in the hills surrounding our village. With the trees dying, fuel will one day be scarce, but today is exceptional. The drumming is louder outside but I can’t see the drummers. The thumping is primal and scared, like my heart.
The villagers form two columns, illuminating the pathway between them with their torches raised high enough for me to pass through. I squeeze Jasper’s hand. Once I walk through the glowing tunnel, there is no turning back. Our traditions forbid it. I cannot falter now.
So I take my first step over the threshold, away from the light of our hearth.
Then another. Jasper leads me, his hand so small in mine. If I look to my left or to my right, I will be able to name every person that I pass. But I don’t. Because I can’t fake a smile for all of these people. Only my family gets that much effort.
Yet still I see Bram the miller and his daughter, Megan, one of my friends. Her red hair glows in the orange light, her face gaunt. The drums beat with my every step, like the pulse of the village. When I recognize Draven’s ponytail and see the quivering of his jaw, I force myself to stare straight ahead.
