A Beginning

     Long shadowy fingers of night loosened their grip across the land and retreated to the dark gloom from which they came. Rays of light gave chase to the shadows and brushed away the dark from bushes purple-kissed with the promise of glorious flowers. Patches of blue-gray snow stubbornly held-fast within dark recesses of the thick forest, but the sun-caressed trails lay bare. Raindrops, from last night’s storm, glistened like diamonds in the morning light. The chilled air smelled clean and fresh as sun-dried linen. Songbirds filled the small wooded vale with their chittery melodies as they danced and frolicked among the bud-laden trees, snatching up last year’s berries from the mountain ash. A snow-swollen brook joined its babbling voice to the spirited song, as it wound its way around a tiny weather worn cabin nestled between two towering tamarack pines. Winter lost heart, heralding the way for spring with its promise of new beginnings and renewal.

     Flickering candlelight spilled from the open cabin door onto the rocky path. A tall lanky young man emerged in the doorway, his patched gray shirt tucked recklessly into shapeless brown trousers tied at the waist with rope. Sunlight glinted off his shoulder length wheat-colored hair. A leather strap caught up the wavy tresses at the nape of his neck, except one rebellious lock that preferred to tickle his peach-fuzzed cheek.

     Absently, he brushed the offending lock back over his forehead, before turning to look back at the single room that had been his home for the past three months. Cobalt-blue eyes sought out the pallet in the back corner, it was neat and tidy. The fireplace had been cleaned and set with fresh logs, ready for the next visitor. The depleted woodpile next to the fireplace had already been replenished yesterday. The crude table and chairs dominating the middle of the room stood dust-free. Everything within the hunting cabin, with the exception of the meager food supplies, was left exactly like he had found it. Just as his father had taught him.

     He tugged on a threadbare cloak and pulled it tight against the cold spring morning air. Shouldering a small knapsack, he blew out the tallow candle, placed it on the windowsill, and closed the door behind him. Without looking back, he started the long trek up the mountain pass towards the village of Braedon. Rafe was going home.

     Home. It’s been a long time… He thought as he picked his way up the muddy trail. His emotions surged with elation at the thought of returning to the family he left behind. The family he sorely missed.

     Momma was constantly busy. Not only did she have the usual household and farm chores, but she was also the town midwife and healer. She would wake up long before dawn and prepare the daily meals and make the house ready for the almost constant stream of visitors that found their way to the small home in the morning. After lunch she would either go visiting those too sick to come to the cabin or to hunt for herbs. Most of the time she took Elena with her to teach her the trade, but if she need to gather herbs in dangerous areas Rafe would go. Momma taught them what to look for, how to harvest, and protect the herbs until she could prepare them properly at home.

     His baby sister, Cinder, her wide ice-blue eyes full of mischief, always found a way to bring smiles to those around her. She never tired of finding ways to sneak the fresh-baked cookies that momma would knowingly place within reach of her pudgy three-year old fingers. Cinder crept to the counter while momma left for some other task. Just as her fingers closed around the cookie momma would come back. The crinkles around momma’s wise blueberry eyes deepened with laughter as she scooped Cinder up from behind and planted a kiss on her flour-smudged cheek. Once released Cinder would strut away, her golden curls bobbing with as much pride as a three year old could muster while cramming the cookie into her mouth.

     Elena, beautiful Elena, teetered on the edge between child and womanhood. Of the children, she alone had inherited papa’s coloring, which she wore as beautifully as a rose wore its petals. She spent most of her time following momma learning the secrets of being a good wife and mother. During the games momma played with Cinder, Elena struggled to suppress her childish giggles and maintain her sense of adult dignity. With a pop and a swish she would slide the needle laden with brightly colored embroidery thread through the taunt fabric on the hoop trying to ignore the two as they played. Momma, her age-thickened waist quivering with laughter, would inevitably scoop up the prancing Cinder and unceremoniously deposited her in Elena’s lap. The mirth Elena held back would bubble forth, and the three of them ended up in a tickling fest, filling the entire home with laughter.

     Papa normally relaxing in his chair by the fireplace, would run his hands through his hair making it stand in wild disarray like a madman’s. He would drop to his hand and knees and growl at the two girls, sending them scrambling with shrieks of pretend terror.

     Rafe chuckled out loud, the thoughts of his family warming him in spite of the chilly morning. Oh how he wanted to be a part of that again. His eyes closed with a deep sigh. Please, let them want me again. His mind screamed in anguish, and as often happened when he had these thoughts he went over the last day he had seen his family. Desperately trying to remember some forgotten detail that would give him a clue to what he did to anger his father so.

     Momma’s birthing day and the Harvest festival fell on the same day and the village celebrated. Life was hard for the families of Braedon, and any reason to forget the toils of daily life was seized. The fact that two events fell on the same day meant double the celebration. A large potluck and pig roast was planned, followed by presents and dancing. Rumor had it that Mayor Branson bought fireworks for the party.

     Bright ribbons and colorful paper balls, decorating the town square, fluttered and bobbed in the light breeze. A large bonfire illuminated the area and glinted off the deep blue-green waters of Emerald Lake. Further down the beach a whole pig spun on a spit over a smaller fire. On the other side of the bonfire an area was roped off for the dance later. Blankets covered the remaining grass and sandy area of the town park, like a patchwork quilt.

     Rafe and his sisters helped momma carry her famous mountain berry pies to the long table set up next to the roasting pig, while papa took care of the wagon and horses. Thick stews, fried chicken, meat pies, heaping bowls of steaming vegetables, and sweet desserts covered the table. The tantalizing aroma from the table and roasting pig made Rafe’s mouth water, and more than one stomach in the crowd growled.

     Friends gravitated toward one another laughing and joking. Rafe was no exception. As soon as the family settled Rafe slipped away to join his friends Trey and Wade. Trey Radly stood a head taller than Rafe, but carried the same weight. He enjoyed practical jokes and found himself more often in trouble than not. Wade brawny and stout was a serious, hard working young man who already planned on getting married late next spring. The trio dodged around people and ducked behind the inn.

     “What ya get her?” Trey and Wade impatiently prompted at the same time. Glancing around to make sure they were alone, Rafe reached into his woolen shirt and pulled out a small wooden box.

     Snatching it out of Rafe’s hand, Wade opened the box and let out a long whistle. “This musta cost a pretty penny.” Placing the lid back onto the box he casually tossed it to Trey.

     “’Bout halfa year’s pay.”

     “Whoa, ya sure ya got this for yer ma and not yer girl?” Trey asked after he caught a glimpse of the single rose made of pink quartz suspended from a thin gold chain nestled within the box. Trey’s eyes glinted with pleasure. “Let’s see…Its Annesta isn’t it? We’ll give it to her, won’t we Wade?”    Giving Wade an exaggerated wink, he tossed the box back to Wade making sure it was out of Rafe’s reach, when he lunged to take it back. Rafe twisted in mid-lunge, leaped and plucked the box out of the air.

     “Annesta’s not a girlfriend,” he said through gritted teeth. “She’s just a friend.” He added almost under his breath. Oh he had dreamed it was different. So had the rest of the adolescent male population of Braedon. The raven-haired beauty with her perky nose and pouty red lips had no lack of would-be-suitors, but the mayor’s daughter had yet to settle on a beau.

     “Aw come on Rafe,” Trey said. “Of all of us you have the best chance with her, at least she talks to you. You should ask her.”

     “Naw, really we are just friends nothin’ more.” Rafe said, but in reality he had yet to summon the courage to ask her. “Maybe if you would spend time doing odd jobs for her father, she would talk to you more.” He told Trey.

     “Ya, maybe, but I still think you have the best shot.”

     A stab of pain shot through Rafe’s hand, and he realized he was gripping the box way more than necessary. Now that he was focusing on the present the turning in his stomach instantly calmed. Holding it up as if mesmerized, he said. “Naw, this beauty is for momma. The trader said all of the noble women fight over trinkets such as this. Momma deserves somethin’ as nice as them noble women…”

     The ringing of the dinner bell pulled Rafe from his thoughts, and he realized that Trey and Wade were staring at him. “Annesta will just have to get her own.” He said with a lop-sided grin. Turning he raced for the dinner tables. “Come on, I’m starving.”

     As the sun left the sky in a fiery blaze, the villagers gathered around the bonfire, as much in anticipation of the gift giving as well as to ward off the chill of the autumn evening. Traditionally on a person’s birthing day, a small gift was received from the other villagers. Most of the time, the gift consisted of a bouquet of flowers, homemade goodies, or a promise of help on a certain project. This year was going to be different. Rafe had started working on the widow Wickham’s farm after her husband died. With the money that she had insisted on giving him, he had bought the delicate necklace. A necklace that had reminded him so much of his Mama. It was with great pride that he watched his mama open the box in gaze upon the rose for the first time. Her eyes opened wide in surprise, and she threw an astonished almost fearful gaze of papa.

     “I hope you like it, Momma,” said Rafe, his chest bursting with pride.

     Someone in the crowd shouted “Well let us see.” A hush fell over the group followed by ooo’s and ahhh’s when mama lifted the necklace with trembling fingers and held it up, the rose colored crystal dangling, for all to see.

     Papa took one look at the necklace and exploded. Pushing Rafe aside, He snatched it from momma’s hand. His face contorted with rage as he turned back to Rafe. Shoving the necklace into Rafe’s face he shouted. “You’ll be the death of us yet, lad. Have ya got no brains?”

     Papa’s face turned scarlet and veins bulged on his forehead, as he continued to rant and rave about death being brought onto the town. The townsfolk’s earlier gasp took on a harsher quality as the starred in surprise at papa’s unexpected and unusual outburst. Continuing to fume, papa left the gathering, a path opening up before him as the stunned crowd melted away. He stormed down to the dock, not pausing in his ranting nor looking to see if anyone had bothered to follow him. He had yet to relinquish hold of the necklace.

     Rafe, swimming in confusion followed his father. He was to the end of the dock when Rafe finally caught up to him. Papa’s arm was cocked back, the necklace held tightly in his fist. He was screaming at the night stars. “I’ll not let you harm my family, my friends. We’ve worked too hard.”

     Papa brought his arm back even further preparing to hurl the necklace into the deep blue-green waters of the lake. Rafe, seeing the present he worked do hard to obtain, lunged at his father desperately grabbing at the necklace.

     In a blink, he found himself sprawled out on the wooden dock, his cheek stinging and a trickle of blood snaking out from a cut in the corner of his mouth. His father towered over him fully enraged.

     “First ye endanger the lives of yer family and friends, now ye be attacking yer ol’ man huh? Well boy, I’d be rethinking things if I were ye. No matter how much ye have growd, I kin still kick ye arse.” Papa growled, his eyes wild with a strange madness.

     Rafe picked himself off the dock, his face hardened with newly hatched rage. He dove clumsily for the necklace. His vision exploded in blinding pain, which quickly fled as he hit the icy water. Sputtering and gasping Rafe surfaced. Red faced with rage and humiliation, he felt himself being pulled onto the dock, by the village men who had rushed forward to break up the fight. He blinked the cold water from his eyes and tore free from the restraining hands of those who had fished him from the lake. He frantically searched the throng for his father, but he was nowhere to be found.

     “Where is he?” He demanded, but the crowd had no answer because papa had slipped away while Rafe was being rescued from the frigid lake. He knew then that he wouldn’t find his father this night. Bitterness and hatred set in. He had to get away from all the onlookers.

     Rafe pushed his was through the mob, and stomped home on tense and trembling muscles. At the cabin, he grabbed a change of clothes and threw them in to a knapsack. He stormed out of the cottage and into the darkness as the first few flakes of snow started to fall. Rafe headed for the mountain pass, his destination the small hunting cabin nestled in the valley on the other side. The lightly falling snow cooled his enflamed face. He needed to get away; he needed to think, and to cool off. Little did he know that the light snowfall heralded the worst winter storm anyone could remember. The pass was completely sealed off by the next morning. It hadn’t reopened until just a couple of days ago.

     The memories that had filled his vision to this point fled. His clear eyes were suddenly sharp. Something was wrong. The sun stood high overhead. The trees had thinned here at the top of the pass, and it was becoming fairly warm. Green grasses and wild flowers peaked through the yellow-brown remains of last year’s growth. An unnatural quite settled over the area as if the wild-life had suddenly fallen asleep. The slight breeze playing through the trees gave Rafe the only indication that he had not suddenly become deaf. Even the mosquitoes had ceased their strafing runs at Rafe’s bare skin.

     He hurried his pace eager to escape the spookiness, his eyes scanning overhead and the distant country-side for any sign of life. So intent was he on his search, that when he tripped over a stick in the path, he barely kept himself from falling flat on his face.

     “Strange,” he voice out loud, “Cyril’s Blazers should be on the job by now.” The Blazers were a group of young adults who cleared the trails for the message runners. Each spring, as soon as weather permitted, they struck out on the trails to clear the winter debris. This should have been cleared a couple of days ago, unless they’re just being lazy. He thought. Although knowing ol’ man Cyril, that would never happen.

     Last spring Trey was a Blazer. Cyril followed Trey one day. Trey had left a stick on the trail no bigger than a toddler’s arm. Nothing that would be a serious threat to any of the runners, but the tongue lashing that Trey received upon his return is one that most in Braedon would not soon forget. In fact, Rafe would not be surprised if many of the words Cyril had used were illegal in the entire civilized world. Cyril made sure the whole town was present just to make poor Trey an example for future Blazers.

     Rafe shook his head at the memory and snickered. Poor Trey, it was shortly after that lecture that he had found his true calling as a miller, then again as a stable boy at the inn, and at the time Rafe left he was contemplating becoming a trader. I can’t wait to see him and everyone else. Rafe thought, his anxiety calming instantly at the memory.

     “No sense having someone else go through the same thing.” He said with a shrug and returned to kick the stick off the trail. As the stick rolled from its resting spot, the smell of rotting meat assaulted Rafe.

     “By the gods!” He swore as he looked down at what he had thought was a stick. A brown covering fell away to reveal a white wiggling mass of carrion worms, swarming around the remains of a human hand. Recoiling in horror Rafe backed away. Light glinted off something on the limb. Rafe gulped a couple of times to calm his queasy stomach, then carefully eased forward to investigate. The sun glinted off the signet ring of Mayor Branson, worn on the thumb just as the mayor did. Rafe tumbled backwards, fell to his knees and emptied his gut. Panic swirled through his head scrambling his thoughts and threatening to close off his breathing. He collapsed to his knees and emptied his gut.

     It was when he sat back on his knees gasping, that the breeze shifted. It carried the faint whiff of smoke and decaying/burnt flesh up from the valley below. Panic stilled his pounding heart. With agonizing slowness, he raced across the flat to the overlook of his valley home.

     Heart pumping madly and lungs screaming in pain, Rafe reached the viewpoint. A cold fist closed over his heart as his worst fears were realized. The village was gone. Mounds of blackened goo showed where some of the buildings had once been, the others had simply vanished into nothingness. Black covered knocked over trees. Debis turned the beautiful blue-green waters of the lake to a murky brown. Nothing moved not even a breeze lifted the ash coating from the destruction. Rafe screamed once and flew down the trail to his home.

Author's Note

My fist attempt at writing let me know what you think