Droplets (DROPLETS Trilogy Book 1)

Droplets

Copyright © 2015 Meaghan Rauscher

All right reserved. Printed in the United States of America

ISBN-13: 978-0-615-92979-8 (hc)

ISBN: 978-0-615-92979-8 (ebook)

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner stored in retrieval systems, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical,  photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.  Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

First CreateSpace paperback printing, December 2013.

For my sister, Lauren, without your encouragement and patience this story would not exist

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

«»

     Enormous thanks to CreateSpace for giving me the ability to publish my work and share it with the world. To Kasey Kavanaugh, for her enthusiasm and generosity that has helped this series become what it is and for heading social media outreach. To Kjersten Johnson, for her wonderful and witty editing and funny comments in the margins. To Laura Gordon at Book Cover Machine, for the wonderful cover design. To Kayla Sanner, for her constant support and work.

     To my parents, grandparents and many siblings; thank you for your love and encouragement over the last few years. Thank you for being my first readers and critics. Your opinions matter the most.

     And to Lauren, words cannot express how much it means to me that over the past few years you listened and helped this story come to life. Thank you for talking about these characters as though they are real people and for providing suggestions that keep my mind working. You were there from day one on this story, and I could not ask for a better person to be Lissie’s number one fan
.

Contents

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Prologue

1. Murmur

2. Storm

3. Request

4. Change

5. Home

6. Visitor

7. Him

8. Unknown

9.  Refuge

10. Wondering

11. Company

12. Water

13. Sisters

14. Lathmor

15. Resentment

16. Discovery

17. Past

18. Worries

19. Returning

20. Truth

21. Confession

22. Reason

23. Love

24. Wedding

25. Hyvar

26. Trapped

27. Dungeon

28. Taken

29. Flight

Epilogue
                                                                       

Prologue

1277
,
England

Finally, it was all falling into place. How long had he waited for this moment to feel accepted and acknowledged as a man? His father may be a lord of great recognition throughout all of England, but he was nothing compared to his first born son. He knew he would be the greatest of the Walsh family to have ever lived.

Looking up at the stormy sky he turned and moved along the beach. His dark, heavy cloak tugged at his strong frame while the waves crashed severely upon the sandy shore. Droplets of rain created little divots on the grainy ground. With each thud of the rain he felt his heart skip a beat. His future was bright and clear.
Much clearer than this sky
.

Curling his lip, he whistled and Hector bounded towards him. The old hunting hound had found something interesting to smell a ways back and came prancing over to his master with a lopsided, panting grin. The dog knew he was supposed to stay by his master’s side, but what did it hurt to let the hound have some leniency in his old age?

“Come on,” he spoke softly, running his hand over the boney head of the grey dog who’d been his companion for the last eight years.

Sensing a change in the wind, Hector raised his nose in the air. Tail poised behind him, the dog pointed his snout down the beach, eyes fixed upon something in the distance.

“What are you looking at old boy?” the young man laughed, and rubbed the dog’s head once more. Nothing could keep his spirits down. Not tonight.

Turning on his heel, the sand scrunched beneath his boot and lifting his eyes forward he froze.
There she is
.

The picture of incarnate beauty perched upon a rock with the sea lapping up against its base. Her pale white skin shone brightly beside the dark dress that covered her slim frame. Long, dark tresses cascaded over her shoulders grazing the boulder upon which she sat. Her face was turned away from him, but he knew she was aware of his presence. She had been so acute the last time they met. At his side, Hector growled, his fur standing on end.  

Her head turned slowly, the black hair rippling in the wind with perfect ease. Once her eyes met his own he felt drawn to her, just like last time.
No, this is different. I don’t need her anymore and she never came back for me.

“I am happy to see you again,” her voice was like honey sucking him in. Everything about her enticed him and yet every part of his body wanted to flee. She looked the same as before, but something was different. An urgency coursed through her, some excitement that he didn’t want to name.

“I know, I promised you last time,” he said confidently, trying to override the mounting fear in his chest. “But I cannot help you anymore.”

Her lips curled back in a grin and she ran her tongue over her lower lip. “I was hoping that wouldn’t be the case. It’s time for us to go. I offered you a long life, and a place to conquer the world while ruling by my side. You agreed.”

Begrudging his foolish judgment from two years prior, he took a step back and shook his head. “Whether or not I agreed, I cannot fulfill your obligations anymore, my lady.”

A soft laugh escaped her lips and she brightened in complexion. A burning filled her eyes and swallowing hard he stepped back.
She looks at me as though she owns me, as though I belong to her
.

“You have a choice. You can come willingly or” she tilted her head to the side, “I can force you.”

On any other day he would have laughed if a woman had ever dared to threaten him. He was the most skilled swordsman in the county, upheld by all with knighthood in his future. But here and now he felt the weight of her words. The gleam in her eyes told him that there was more to her than what met his eye.

“I will not go.” He said with more force this time even though his insides were shaking with fear. Her responding laughter irked his pride and made him angry. Once more he stepped back, Hector followed his lead. The way the dog’s fur ruffled warned him further of what kind of danger this woman withheld.

Looking down, the darkly clad woman reached out her hand and touched something behind the rock. Obscured by her body for only a moment, a child stepped out into the open. The boy’s face was pale, as pale as the skin of the woman sitting in black. He watched as the young boy’s hair rippled slowly and noticed how the sharp, grey eyes of the child were aged with time. Stepping forward, the boy came closer.

Pulling out his sword, the young man waited, unsure of what to do. Hector growled loudly, lips curling back over his teeth and nose twitching in anticipation.

He stood resolute, waiting. The boy walked close ignoring Hector and strode around them in a circle.
Who is this child? Certainly not hers.

In response to his thoughts, the boy looked back at the woman and she nodded her head in approval. Still holding the sword tight in his hand, the young man shifted closer to Hector. But the boy reached out and snatched the dagger from the belt at the young man’s own waist. Before he could move, the boy plunged the sharp medal into Hector’s chest. With a howl of piercing pain, the dog crippled to the sandy shore.

A silent scream issued from his mouth. The hand that held his sword shook violently as the little boy yanked the bloodied dagger from the old dog’s body. Still frozen, he watched the young boy and then the dagger was in his own flesh. It sliced deeply across his thigh, crippling him to the ground. With a cry of pain, he held his hand over the wound as oozing blood pulsed through his fingers.

The woman was suddenly standing above him. She reached for the dagger in the boy’s hand and replaced it in its sheath. Her pale fingers moved swiftly as she grasped him underneath the shoulders. He struggled, but as if from nowhere a blade appeared at his throat. He froze.

“It’s time to go.” She said into his hair and dragged him heavily toward the ocean.

His mind clouded. Eyes taking in everything, the shore, the boy, the woman, his leg, and his dog lying dead upon the ground next to his fallen sword. The waves crashed louder, pounding in his ears until they ran over his legs. He bit back a shameful cry of pain as the icy water flooded into his open wound.

“It is time,” the smooth voice spoke gently above him, the urgency evident. “The future waits.”

A wave smashed over his head and took his breath away. He felt himself being pulled into the depths of the water, moving faster than he could have ever believed possible.

But his only thought was for the dagger in his belt.

He would wait for the right moment.

1. Murmur

It was my favorite time to be on the ocean. The sun was just meeting the horizon and bright brushes of rosy oranges and pinks splattered across the sky.

Ever since I was a little girl I had thought it was the most beautiful thing anyone could witness. I liked to watch the colors unfold across the sky as the sun sank lower and lower—eventually completely hidden from view.

“Still watching the sunset I see.” The familiar voice came from behind me.

     I knew what would come next: it would either be an annoying hug, a pinch on the shoulder, a smack on the back, or a knuckle to the head. These sorts of “greetings” were passed out by my nineteen year old twin brothers who continued to greet me this way even though I had turned seventeen last month. For some reason they refused to see me as anything but a little girl and I had long since given up trying to understand it; it must have something to do with their older brother instincts.

A pair of muscular arms came and rested along the railing beside mine. “It’s always amazed me how you can look at the sunset for so long.” Derek, who was older than his twin Sean by two minutes, waved his hand toward the skyline. “I just don’t have your patience.”

“Like I didn’t know that,” I said sarcastically and rolled my eyes.

We both laughed. It was common knowledge that Derek didn’t have much patience for anything; he took after our father in that way. They were both always on the go, never stopping.

Sean, the other twin, was different. He was more like me: able to slow down and take in the world without worrying about what needed to be done next.

We continued to stare out across the open sea, each lost in our own thoughts in the companionable silence.

We were on the deck of my father’s yacht which was only used on rare occasions because vacation was not a word that often fit into Dad’s vocabulary. The yacht was named after my great-great-grandmother: the
Lady Marie
. She was the wife of my great-great-grandpa, the founder of the Darrow family fishing business. The boat, which was fairly new, had four bedrooms and a small kitchen. Over the past few years, the Darrow fishing business had exploded into a company which contained ten lobster boats and a large crew of men, along with a restaurant in town. With the business growing, my dad was able to purchase the yacht to use for family use.

For the men in my family, lobster fishing ran in their blood. My father had lived in Coveside, Maine for his entire life and was a lobsterman just like my grandfather, great-grandfather, and great-great-grandfather. My dad carried on many great family traditions including running the family restaurant the “Darrow’s Catch.” This business was his pride and joy, and both would pass onto my twin brothers someday.

The Darrow family followed old customs. Being a female I had never worked on one of the fishing boats. Instead, I was a waitress on the weekends at the restaurant. In the restaurant, everything on the menu was made from scratch and only the women, who had been born and raised a Darrow, knew the recipes. These recipes had been passed down from generation to generation. You could ask me about any appetizer, soup, entrée, or dessert and I would be able to spout off all of the ingredients from memory.

I could even recall my aunts teaching me how to make the lobster chowder, our specialty, when I was barely able to talk.
They
taught me because my mother had died in a car accident when I was five years old. At the time, Dad was unsure of what to do with me and my brothers. For the most part we lived with our relatives while he was gone on extended fishing trips, but this came to an end when I was seven and he married my stepmom Jillian. She was as much a part of our family as the rest of us, and through her our family grew. There have been five additions to our family, ranging from eight to two years old, with one more on the way. We make a large group, but it works; the love I feel at home is unlike any other feeling in the world.

Startling out of my thoughts, I scanned the horizon and noticed that the sun was only half visible: just a soft orange arch gently grazing the ocean surface. I couldn’t believe how fast it had set, much like how quickly the past three days had flown by.

Each year as a tradition, my brothers, father, and I would go on a one week getaway aboard the
Lady Marie
just before school started. I always treasured these moments I had with just my brothers and Dad, for they were the most important people in my life.

There were too many memories tied to the ocean, weeks spent in the sun, fishing, talking, and laughing. I remembered playing cards, jumping on the bunks below, helping steer one of the lobster boats through the waves, listening to Dad tell his tales of the sea—and the memories kept coming, each one precious in its own way.

“What are you smiling at, Lissie?” It was Sean who spoke.

I had been so lost in my thoughts that I hadn’t seen him join us at the railing. His eyes searched mine curiously.

“Nothing,” I shrugged, “Just thinking about how nice it is to finally spend some time with you guys. It’s been forever since we’ve been able to do something like this.” I waved my hand as if the movement described the past week.

“That’s true, we don’t see each other as often anymore,” Sean said as a sly grin crept across his face. “Especially now that you have dates every weekend with—”

He broke off in a grunt when I elbowed him in the ribs.

Both Derek and Sean knew I had no romantic life. Aside from Jonathan, who I sat next to in most of my classes, I had never really been involved with the other sex. Sure I had had my crushes, but what girl hasn’t? But they had never really amounted to anything. I decided that when I fell in love I wanted it to be special, and with someone who would love me unconditionally. My hopes were a bit above par for being in high school, and so I chose not to worry about it and instead kept my head focused on more important things. 

“Whoa, I think someone just got touchy! Don’t you think, Derek?”

“You know what? You couldn’t be more right!”

I opened my mouth to protest, but Derek grabbed me about the waist and I shrieked instead. He held his fingers in midair above my ribs, taunting me with the fear that he would get me in my ticklish spot.  I started to laugh despite the indignity of it all.

“Now come on, Lissie. Tell us who the handsome devil is,” Sean prodded jokingly.

He leaned over and squeezed my leg right above the knee; I yelped. It was another one of my very ticklish spots.

“Hey! That’s no fair!” I said, laughing so hard I could scarcely breathe, “You know that spots just as bad as my ribs!”

“Oh! Really?” I shrieked again and ducked beneath Derek’s arms, laughing as I stumbled away from them on the deck.

“What is going on out here?” Dad spoke from behind me with a soft chuckle in his voice.

“The usual,” I shrugged, “I was being tormented.”

Dad smiled, “Well remind me to beat them up later.”

The twins grinned at one another. Dad’s challenge was exactly what they wanted. They believed they could beat him in a wrestling match, but I knew better.

“Please do,” I waved towards them and was rewarded with identical devilish smiles, which made me giggle. My brothers couldn’t look evil even if they tried.

With dimples in their right cheeks, light blonde hair, and blue eyes, they looked more angelic than devilish. They had inherited these looks from Dad, and even had his stature along with similar mannerisms. Aside from Dad’s rough blonde beard, they looked like younger versions of him. 

I, on the other hand, was sort of unique.

I shared their golden blonde hair, but my eyes were a mystery. No one related to me had my color eyes; they were a sort of greenish-blue—almost a turquoise. Dad liked to call them sea-green because I loved the ocean so much, and he told me that when I was younger the water had changed my eyes because I swam as much as a mermaid.

“Alright, kids, I’m starving. Let’s go eat some dinner.” Dad placed a protective arm around my shoulders and pulled me toward the cabin that would lead us to the kitchen below.

_______________

Later that night, after throwing a gray sweatshirt over my head, I paused to look in the little mirror hanging on the wall of my bedroom. My suitcase was open on the floor, its contents spread out in a great radius. I had to balance myself while putting up my ponytail as the gentle swaying of the boat rocked the mirror from side to side.

The girl looking back at me was the same as she had always been: plain. I had never found myself to be pretty, only decent-looking. There really was nothing special about me; my hair was simply golden blonde, and it fell about my shoulders in wavy ringlets.

My sea-green eyes stood out from the rest of me if I wore certain colors, especially lavender, but I normally avoided these because they would attract attention. Maybe it was because when I was young Derek and Sean had made fun of me, saying I looked more like a fairy than a human. Whatever the reason, I tried to blend in with everyone else wherever I went—never doing or wearing anything to make myself stand out.      

Shaking my head from my thoughts, I hurried out of the room and climbed up towards the deck. Stepping into the night air I smiled to myself: it was a perfect night. The stars were shining brilliantly without any man-made light to pale their existence, and a soft breeze blew gently, lifting strands of my hair over my face. Shaking them out of the way, I walked to the bow of the
Lady Marie
, my favorite spot.

I sat down with my back to the point of the boat, forearms resting on my knees, and breathed in the fresh smell of the ocean. My eyes flickered up to the stars once more and gazed at their beautiful patterns and shapes. I began to hum a soft tune to myself and before long was singing out loud.    

It was almost eerie to hear my voice mix with the rhythm of the waves hitting the
Lady Marie
. Its rhythm changed the tune of the songs, and I found myself making up simple rhymes to go along with the slap-slapping of the waves.  Time passed as I sat there at the front of the boat singing to myself; I was in a world of my own.     

Gradually as I sang a sound reached my ears. It was different from the sounds of the thudding water, or the soft wind as it whispered by. It was strange and beautiful, a soft murmur, just barely noticeable.

I continued to sing but a little bit softer trying to figure out where the noise was coming from. My ears told me it came from over the edge of the boat, but my mind wouldn’t let such a crazy thought take root. 

The soft murmur moved in and out, and up and down with my voice. A sense of foreboding began to pound in my veins. I felt as though I was not the only one breathing in the silence; as though
someone
rather than something was singing along with me. Though I was petrified with fear, I couldn’t stop. There was a deep curiosity that made me want to continue this strange duet.

Cautiously, I began to sing louder—coaxing the murmur to join me. When my voice reached a new pitch the murmur joined in, and yet I still couldn’t tell what it was exactly. It was beautiful and hardly above a softly spoken conversation.

The murmur spoke no words; its voice mumbled softly as it danced in intricate patterns around the lyrics. Sometimes it would match my tune and follow along, other times it would go off into its own rhythm.

I moved from one song to the next, hardly speaking the words, voicing both jaunty melodies and mournful ballads. The slow songs caused the murmur to join in with a stronger voice. In a way I felt that it enjoyed these slow and beautiful tunes more than the fast, upbeat songs. I don’t know how long I sang, but eventually I couldn’t think of any more songs.  My voice stopped abruptly, as did the murmur’s.

The peace that had come while I was singing with the murmur disappeared. I had a strange feeling that whatever had been singing with me was not natural or safe. My ears strained for any noise that would give whoever or whatever it was away.

I could hardly hear anything above the loud, quick beat of my heart. My hands were cold as if no blood was reaching them. I didn’t want to move a muscle for fear of missing a sound; for a long time I sat barely breathing above a whisper.

With the fear came logic; I must have been kidding myself. Common sense told me I was just imagining the murmur and it had not been there, but the other part of me knew I was lying.

It was probably just an echo, or it could be my brothers pulling a prank on me. They were probably watching my horrified face and about to yell, “Got you!”  This was an assumption that I could live with. I was satisfied with it and stood to make my way back inside.

Trying to act casual, to show Derek and Sean I was unafraid, I paused to look out across the sea. Then, because my mind had to know, I leaned over the side of the boat just to prove there was nothing there.

A loud splash resonated from the water right beneath me. I strained my eyes, seeing large ripples in the water. My eyes scanned the black liquid frantically, trying to find where the thing that had been the murmur went.

Finally I saw something. Out in the distance, there was a bright and shiny rippling pillar in the water. It continued to move back and forth, as if in perfect rhythm with the waves. It was a strip, no longer than a human body but, it undulated as if it had no distinct form.