Ulva

Chapter 2 - Under Attack

Ceyla's father was a large man. He was tall, wide and muscular, with a voice loud enough to fill a room and a laugh that could make the floor shake. Despite his size, he was not intimidating. His dark blue eyes were kind and sparkled with a good natured humour that never seemed to fade, and he was almost always smiling. He'd grown a beard that matched his brown hair for charity almost a year ago, and, after realising it rather suited him, decided to keep it. The family had forgotten what his chin looked like.

In comparison, Ceyla's mother seemed miniscule. Her figure was slender, a feature that Ceyla had inherited, and she was very petite – a full foot shorter than her husband. She grew her blonde hair out long as a teenager and never cut it shorter than her waist, allowing it to fall over her torso in elegant natural waves. When she straightened it, it almost reached the tops of her thighs. Like her husband, though, her voice, laugh and personality were loud. It was impossible not to take notice of the couple when they were together. They attracted attention like magnets.

Because of their parents' vibrant personalities, people were often surprised when they met Ceyla and her brother, Dewey. Both of them were very quiet. They weren't shy; they just didn't have a lot to say. They were comfortable with the silence that their parents constantly tried to fill. Even though her brother was twelve and there were five years between them, the two looked very similar. They both had their father's brown hair and their mother's green eyes, and both of them were slim and tall.

The family were sat around the table as usual. Dinner was always served by Ceyla's father at six thirty on the dot. If anyone arrived late, he'd joke that he wouldn't give them any of the food he'd 'so lovingly prepared', but of course he always did. In the background, the radio was on, though it could barely be heard over the parents' heated decision about whether the crinkly chips tasted better than normal ones. Ceyla was staring out of the large French windows into the garden, watching a blackbird at the feeder. An announcement of breaking news caught her attention.

"A body has been found by the side of a road with multiple lacerations on the torso and neck. The body was discovered earlier this afternoon, and human police noted at the scene that the wounds were unlikely to have been made by a knife. A member of the Ulva has confirmed suspicions that the damage was done by one of their own, although at the moment they have not identified the culprit, who is being described as a 'rogue individual'. Island residents are being warned to stay in their homes – as the killer is still at large."

The chatter had trailed off and fallen silent towards the middle of the report. The family listened in silence to the remainder of it. A long, frightened pause hung over them.

"It appears we are entering some dark times, my loves," Ceyla's father said softly. His wife reached over, placing a comforting palm on his arm. She understood his fear. All either of them wanted was to keep their children safe, but it seemed like that was going to become more and more difficult to do.

The rest of that evening was a blur. Ceyla had continued with her life as normal, except in a slight daze. She read the same page of her book four times because she couldn't focus on the words. She brushed her teeth and hair while her mind whirred, stunned by what she'd heard. For hours, she lay awake in bed, mind racing. That body could have been someone she knew; a friend, a family member. It could have even been her. Twenty-three people had now been killed by two members of the Ulva. The thought terrified her. When would it all end? Who would be next?

At around one in the morning, she heard a faint knock at the door.

"Come in," she whispered.

Slowly, cautiously, the door opened. Her brother's small feet hit the carpet, toes curling into it nervously. Dewey liked to pretend that he was all grown up, but she knew that he was easily frightened and easily upset. As a child, he'd had terrible nightmares and woken up most nights screaming or in tears. The only thing that seemed to calm him was sleeping in Ceyla's bed with her. Eventually, the terrors eased and that wasn't necessary anymore. He hadn't been in here for years, and now he was back he felt uncomfortable and unsure.