Journey of a Girl

Journey of a Girl: Chapter Six

It was Josiah and not Josiah.

Gone were the frightened eyes of the child Credence knew as her brother. They were replaced with a severe, but wild, gaze.

As if a bear or wolf wore the likeness of Josiah, but was unable to conceal its true, feral nature.

But it didn't matter.

Her brother was here.

Josiah was alive.

It was too much to comprehend.

Credence fell to her knees in the sand.

She sucked in great, heaving breaths, and each exhale brought forth a long, pained sob. She keened into the sand, as elation and sorrow overtook the last thought in her head, until the air in her lungs became thin and it was difficult to breathe.

Her overwhelming emotions gave birth to a surge of magic that blew wind over the water. Clouds formed and pressed together, blocking the sun and casting shade over the hot sand. In the distance, the sky descended and the sea rose to form a thin, quickly-moving swirl. The cyclone was far, but its presence was nonetheless threatening.

Josiah's eyes grew wide as he watched it twist over the waves.

Strangely, the wind relented, and the infant hurricane died as quickly as it had formed.

Credence caught her breath, just as the clouds disappeared and the sun returned in full glory.

Her brother did not know she had been the cause, and he stared at the calm waves, marveling at nature's oddness.

She wanted to throw her arms around his neck and swear to never leave his side again, but she could not will her body to move from the ground.

Hands lifted her, pulling her into a tight embrace.

"No," she wailed, "you don't know it's me—I haven't said my word!"

Her ear crushed against a chest of stone, and she could hear a fierce heartbeat beneath it, as quick and loud as her own.

Something hit her cheek—

Josiah was weeping with her.

Credence answered the only way she could, and sobbed into the chest and arms that surrounded her. 

They remained this way for several minutes, listening to the story of despair told through each other's tears.

"I thought I would never see you again," Josiah said as he kissed her hair.

To anyone else, he would have sounded nothing like her brother, but Credence heard him, buried under layers of baritone almost identical to Pa's timbre—the frightened squeak of a boy.

"I thought you were dead," Credence whimpered. "I knew you were..."

For a fearful second she doubted he was her real brother. He might have been a changeling, belched from the woods to bring her fresh torment—

Josiah had died long ago, alone, in the cold mud where Credence left him.

She carried the guilt, sharp as a knife, in her heart ever since.

"You're a spirit," she whispered, too quiet to be heard. "You're not real..."

But the fear passed in a blink and she pulled away to look at him.

He was much bigger than she remembered—bigger than she could have ever imagined! He was taller than Pa, she thought, and his arms and legs were thick with muscle. His hair was a nest, uncombed for ages, and his face has lost its last trace of childhood.