Fan Fiction ❯ Lamia ❯ Chapter One ( Chapter 1 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

'The french summer sun of 1764 bore down on the small village of Siren. In the center of the village a group of children found entertainment in daring fate on the rail of a wooden bridge. One sat apart from the others - Valentine, the son of the village blacksmith, would see his fifth winter this year, and he fixed his blue eyes on the elder children in awe as they walked across the bridge railing. All of the children had often been warned against such sport, as the long fall into the outskirts of the village meant certain death. However, while the elders of the village worked in the fields, the unsupervised children found their way to the bridge and tested their daring by frolicking along the weathered wooden beam. Valentine desired nothing more than to join the others; he could feel his adventurous spirit rising to the challenge. He knew that soon he would muster the courage to walk along the dangerous wooden rail. After some time, the children slowly began to depart; eventually, only Valentine was left.
'Valentine felt his moment upon him. He looked around quickly to be sure that there was no one to interfere with his sudden ambition, then slowly, cautiously went to the wooden rail. He looked down at the village as he ran his hand along the wood and didn't notice the splintered fragments running through the beam until it was too late. A yelp of pain escaped his small lips and he jerked his hand away from the wood. He cradled the wounded hand to his chest to soothe the pain, then pulled it back into the light to inspect the cut. He glared at the broken fragment of wood that stuck into the fleshy part of his palm. Blood trickled down his hand and dripped onto the wood, followed closely by tears of pain. If the blood was a warning sign, Valentine ignored it. He determinedly swung himself onto the rail and carefully began to rise onto the cushiony balls of his bare feet. He took a step forward and his foot slipped on the spilled blood; he quickly regained his balance. Maybe this was another warning for the boy to leave but he persisted althought death loomed in front of him.
'From there, Valentine's dangerous trek went along smoothly until he reached the halfway point on the bridge and Valentine stopped to view the village from this new vantage point. As his young eyes swept the terrain, he spotted his father; the boy threw his head back and laughter spilled from his rose petal soft lips. He felt like he was on top of the world; his father couldn't beat him now, nor could his many brothers torment him.

'Valentine had made a serious mistake; his small moment of glee was broken by a sudden sense of displacement as he teetered dangerously to the left. He swung himself sharply and tried to right himself, but to no avail. His large eyes widened even more as instead of finding wood to place his foot on he found only air. The rush of falling filled him with dread - he knew he would not survive. In his village, even a boy of five years understood the concept of death. Death was not something unusual to him. You live, you die, you never come back. You never see those you love again, ever. He knew he was at Death's door.

'Darkness would not claim him that day. Warmth encircled him like a mother's embrace; a sense of peace overtook him and he wondered if he was in Heaven already. Impossible, he thought, I don't remember hitting the ground he thought. He...was alive? He opened his large eyes and gasped as he found himself face to face with a pair of molten silver eyes. He shook his head some he realized that the grey pair belonged to a pale face he could barely make out in the fading light, the figure did not move into the setting sun's light but instead seemed to draw away from it.
' The figure appeared worried. "Young lad, are you injured? Your hand!" The figure exclaimed. It pulled his hand forward. A queer expression passed over the pale face and it took Valentine a moment to realize "it" was a "she" with long, black hair held in a loose braid. Long skirts and a tight bodice made up her ensemble, and Valentine could clearly see she was rich and of high upbringing. Countless rings adorned each of her hands and he suddenly realized he was in her arms. He shivered as her hand grabbed his wounded one; her touch was like ice on his skin. To him she seemed unnatural, outlandish, and he knew his mother wouldn't approve of her silver eyes or pale features. His mother believed that all outlandish people belonged to the devil, he was never to associate with them. He remembered seeing a dead body once, and how pale it was. Just was just as pale - if possible, the corpse had even more color to it.

'She held his small hand in her even more delicate one and her fingers moved to the wood lodged in his hand. She looked at him silently and he felt himself drawn into her eyes; purples and blues seem to swirl with the silver. The boy became dizzy and soon he sank into unconsciousness but not before he felt the wood leave his skin and the pain faded.

'He awoke sometime later when the sun was high in the sky. The child opened his eyes and rubbed them with tiny fist when sudden fear struck through him; he did not recognize his surroundings. From the silken bedding to the paintings on the dome ceiling, from the dark wood to the rows upon rows of books, worn and well read. A figure moved toward him from the shadows and in that one moment he remembered the stories of evil beings who would appear from shadows and strangle or hurt the sleeper who laid paralyzed in bed. As it was only the young woman appeared but she still stayed away from the sunlight. She could be no older then seventeen winters in the child's eyes and she held herself with wisdom and compassion that made her small frame seem almost ancient. Her eyes radiated a power that frightened Valentine, she seemed almost non-human.

' "My poor child is your hand well? Tis only a simple cut I hope, may it not cause you discomfort. You are so weak, do you not feed regularly child?" she asked him her dialect was old but her very aura seemed ancient and the boy did not worry, she was unique. She shook her head negatively to her own question and made a sweeping motion to a large plate with a cover to the child's side. "Of course you do not eat well, look at the state of your clothes."

'At this remark the boy colored and looked at his clothes only to find himself in a pure white nightgown.

' "O do excuse me! I did not believe you wished to remain in your garments, spoiled as they were. I also gave you a bath - you remind me so of my brother I could not stand to see you in such disarray. I bandaged your hand also; it was infected, but the infection is gone now along with all the slivers of wood that were left after I rid you of the larger portion. It may itch for some time until the wound is completely healed. O my dear, you must be starving and I have bored you with mindless chatter! Forgive me." The girl looked down in shame, but still caught his eye,"What are you waiting for? Eat."

'The boy Valentine wasted no time in eating and he quickly lifted the cover from the plate, gasping in delight. The warm heat hit his face and he breathed in the aroma. Slices of turkey, chicken and ham waited for him to taste, red and white wine waited for his lips to sip, pasteries waited fro him to pick at and sweet fruits were his to sample. He took a bite out of the turkey and gasped in delight which rewarded him with a giggle from the lady and the boy knew he must of had a sated apperance to him which was quickly devoured as hunger smarted him.

' "Easy young one, do not eat so fast, for you shall be ill. You are not used to such large portions of food, Valentine." She quickly realized her mistake and covered her mouth with one lace covered hand.

'She was too late; Valentine had heard and his child eyes blazed with fury and some amounts of fear. "How did you know my name? I certainly did not tell you! You're a sorceress and you're going to eat me! That's why you are trying to feed me so well, you wish to eat more meat! You witch! Hag! Help! Help me, somebody!" He exclaimed. He quickly shed the coversand ran around the room as he looked for the door.

'Anger bloomed in the girl and she smacked the boy so hard that he feel to the floor. She towered over him and look down in disgust and unchecked anger. "Witch, you call me! Hag, you shout! I'll show you witch! I give you food, shelter, clothes, a bath, and I healed your wounds and you have the audascity to call me a hag! You scoundrel! Ungrateful brat, get the bloody hell out of my house!" she roared at him. The woman pointed to the door which slammed open. The echo followed through the entire estate. "Get out, you evil, evil boy!"

'Valentine wasted no time in departing the room and fleeing the large castle, when he got to another door it would slam open entirely of it's own accord. His feet carried him to the village swifly, running into the village just as his mother began to scream franticly at the elder to gather a search party for her boy. His father had beaten him badly that night, fear of losing his youngest son clear on his face. He had looked everywhere in the village for Valentine and as dread filled the blacksmith so did anger, at his son and himself.

'As Valentine reflected on that fateful day where he had meet the woman he could not stop himelf for being ashamed. She was right after all; she had given him food, shelter, and healed his wounds. Guily ate away at his soul and he remember his mothers words - apologies are the best soluation to guilt, the child made up his mind. He would find the woman and apologies for his rudeness. He remembered how to get to the castle but it would take him a good hour or more.

'When he reached the looming castle he found nothing to show it was ever lived in and he could find no one inside. Perhaps, he thought, it was their day off. He returned the next day yet still no one answered his pleas. After a week he began to wonder if it was all a dream. He began to wonder if his savior was ashamed of him and rudeness; tears splashed to the ground at his feet and he rubbed his eyes in a childish gesture.

'O how he wept that day, but he was not the only one to shed tears - because in the shadows of the dying apple tree molten silver eyes watched as tears slid down pale cheeks.'