Kiss of the Devil

Chapter 1

 Genevieve was doing her chores in the barn when she heard a commotion outside. She finished scooping manure into a miniature wagon. Genevieve led the horse leading the wagon outside the barn, trying her best to ignore the disturbance. Her eyes betrayed her, and she saw three men and a woman nearby on horseback. They were unnaturally pale and spoke with a thick accent.

Just as she was about to look away, the woman set her eyes on Genevieve. Genevieve froze, terror gripping her for some unknown reason. She quickly turned her head and continued outside the village to dump the waste in the wagon. It took her an hour to get back to the settlement, and by that time, it was nearly dark.

She trekked back home and put the horse and wagon up before going inside to warm up. She sat in front of the hearth, shivering furiously. The sweat she'd worked up had been starting to freeze to her delicate skin. Soon her parents would walk through the door and help her make dinner for her little brother. Her brother was the last surviving boy as the twins had died two years ago from the flu. Her brother, Archard, was only three years old. Genevieve was sixteen herself.

"Genie," babbled Archard as he wobbled over to her. Being the baby of the family, he rarely walked. He was held mostly by Genevieve and their mother. Much to her father's dislike.

Genevieve picked him up and cuddled him for a moment, savoring his warmth, before setting him back down. Archard began to cry as he clung to her skirts, burying his face in them. As hard as it was, Genevieve ignored him and started a simple rabbit and potato soup. Her mother and father were late, which wasn't normal, but not a cause for concern. Perhaps they were talking with the newcomers. Her parents were the friendly type and always taught their children to be the same.

Genevieve stooped and played with Archard as she waited on the soup to finish. She kept one eye on the door, expecting her parents to walk through it at any moment. Finally, an hour later, the soup was ready. She got a bowl out of a basket and ladled some broth and potatoes into Archard's bowl. She quietly fed him, making sure each bite was cool enough to eat.

When Archard finished the bowl of soup and went back to playing, Genevieve made her way to the shutters and threw them open. The village was dead quiet; strange.

"Archard, stay here, and stay quiet!" ordered Genevieve as the young woman grabbed her cloak. She tied her bright-colored hair back and covered it with the hood. She picked up a candle holder that had a windshield on it before walking outside. The wind gripped her all at once, and the life was sucked out of her for a split moment. She struggled to put one foot in front of the other for a short while.

"Mother!" she hissed as she circled the house, hoping the wind would carry her voice. "Father?"

Finally, she made it to the barn, and an awful stench hit her, the smell of blood. Shakily she opened the door and waited for her eyes to adjust to the light. Her parents lay in the straw behind her horse. For a moment, they just seemed drunk. She saw the puddle of blood seeping out from underneath them. Her heart skipped a beat and began to race. She dropped her candle and the windshield shattered. The candle began to light the damp straw on fire as the girl ran back to the house.

Genevieve burst through the door to find a man and woman talking to Archard. The woman sat beside him, playing carefully with him, while the man looked at the soup, his nose upturned in disgust. Genevieve froze. They were part of the group of people who'd come into town late that afternoon.

"Archard," Genevieve gasped as she held her arms out for the boy. Before Archard had time to react, the woman scooped him up.

"Ah, ah, ah," she hummed, "we haven't finished playing yet. Your sister needs to have a talk with Warrick first."

Genevieve began to panic. "Give me my brother," she shakily said as the man she guessed was Warrick turned around.

"Only if you comply," said Warrick in his thick accent. "You'll be coming with us. The rules are simple, listen and obey, Archard lives."

"If I obey you, I get to keep my brother. He stays with me. Otherwise, we both die now," Genevieve stated, placing her hands on her hips. Her love for her brother gave her the courage to stand up to these strangers.

Warrick looked to the woman, and the woman slowly nodded. The strange woman let Archard go, and the little boy ran to his sister's arms. Genevieve collapsed to the dirt floor and enveloped her brother in her protective embrace. Silent tears poured down her cheeks as she began to put together that these people probably murdered her parents. What did they want with them?

The next day, Genevieve was shoved awake by another male. She recognized him as being with the other two strangers. Genevieve got up and, with permission, changed into a warmer dress and smock. When she finished, she put Archard's coat on him and buttoned it tight before picking him up. She drew the cloak she wore around them both before walking out of the house.

There her horse stood, saddled and picketed with the group's horses. She looked around, wondering where everyone was, the village still deathly silent. It was only then that she smelled the smoke. In the distance was a pile of bodies burning. Genevieve felt her stomach roll, and she quickly put Archard down. She stumbled to the side of her house and threw up the bile in her stomach, as she'd had nothing to eat the previous day.

Suddenly there was a blur of motion, and the woman stood beside her. "Are you sick?" the woman asked callously. It was clear she didn't care.

Genevieve wiped her mouth and shook her head as she trembled. She pointed in the direction of the bodies before turning back toward Archard. The woman seemed satisfied with that answer.

Genevieve put Archard in the saddle before climbing up herself. He sat in her lap and played with the horse's mane, hardly aware of what was going on. He probably hadn't even noticed that Mother and Father were gone. She hung her head and cried softly, not knowing how to explain to her young brother that their lives were in danger, that their parents were dead. How was she to raise him on her own and in captivity?

Over the next month, she and Archard traveled with the band of strangers. She slowly learned their names and bits and pieces of their language. Finally, one day they camped by the sea. When she asked, they told her they were leaving Ireland and heading to Kievan Rus. Curious and heartbroken, Genevieve stayed up all night staring at the stars. She was far too anxious to sleep. She wondered if the stars would be the same in Kievan Rus.

After another two months, their traveling ceased, much to Genevieve's pleasure. They'd had to leave the horses in Ireland, leaving the rest of the traveling on foot or in wagons. Over those months, Genevieve lost weight. She was skinny before, having been from a poor family, but now she was nearly skin and bones.

Genevieve looked up as the wagon entered a courtyard. She was in a large manor, the likes of which she'd never seen before. It was cold, far colder than it ever was back home. The courtyard should've been colorful and beautiful, alive with plants and people, but it was void of all those things. Dead trees and grass littered it, as though it hadn't been touched in centuries.

Warrick was the first out of the wagon, and he helped his brethren down before helping Genevieve. The young woman turned and lifted her brother out of the wagon before following the people inside. It was then that she was shown her own private part of the manor. She was shocked but suspicious. Why would they give this to her? After murdering her parents, no less.

Genevieve set down Archard and was about to try to start a fire in the hearth when a knock sounded at the door. She slowly opened it to find a maid pulling a small wagon. The maid curtsied before barging inside. The wagon carried wood and toys in one half and clothes in the other half. Genevieve began putting clothes away in the closet for herself and in the wardrobe for her brother. Again, she was confused. Why?

Soon the room was warm, and the young boy and girl were in fresh, clean, warm clothing. The maid waved a goodbye, obviously mute, and retreated out the door with the wagon. Genevieve sat on the dusty bed and watched her brother play with his new toys. She was so lost in thought that she hadn't heard him speak.

"Genie, where are Mama and Papa?" it was the first time he'd spoken since they'd left Ireland.

Genevieve sniffled and began to sob. "Oh, my sweet boy, I'm so sorry," was all she could say, for she had no way of telling him that their parents were murdered.