The Obsidian Pillar

Chapter Five

Willowheathe was smothered in the black shroud of night by the time I arrived at the farmstead. I stood facing the door, unsure of what lay ahead of me or of what to say to my aunt and uncle. I looked up to the bedroom window to see the expectant silhouette of Magda.

Rebecca's weight was becoming too heavy to support. I reluctantly lowered her down before the doorstep and, catching sight of the blood on each of our dirty, ragged dresses, remembered the three dead thugs. The vision of them lying prone and dead-eyed left me dizzy. I could not stop wondering what had happened to them in the moments that I had been unconscious, and I could not figure out why I had been spared. My reverie was broken by a deep chuckle that came from the side of the house. A silhouette leaned against the cold, stone wall in the darkness.

'Oh dear, sweetheart. Your aunt and uncle have been sick with worry.'

From what little light was filtering down from the crescent moon in the sky, I could see Brindt's eyes dancing with excitement. He had not yet realised that Rebecca's limp body at my feet was no longer in possession of life. I didn't respond.

'Have no fear, sweetheart. I have reassured your uncle that I shall take you off his hands immediately after your behaviour today.' He stepped closer to me and his features dissolved into the darkness between us. He raised his hand to my cheek, stroking it gently; it was warm against my cold skin but I instinctively jerked away, disgust frozen upon my face. In a flash, his arm slithered swiftly behind my back, grasping and tugging my braid and trapping me against him.

'Let me go.' I pushed weakly against him, but he pulled tighter.

His rage was evident in the way he struggled to keep his voice controlled. 'Where have you been, sweetheart? I can smell the dirt on you. You little whores have been having some fun, haven't you?'

I freed my arm and slapped him hard against the jaw, my aim slightly off in the dark. Brindt lifted me with that one strong arm banded around my back, before hauling me against the stone wall, sharp and cold against my back. I could feel the chill down to my bones; my dress was still damp against my bruised skin. I couldn't hide my shudder.

'Valla, come inside.' Uncle Avorr's cold, steely voice offered no discussion. Brindt soon released me and scarpered from the farmstead towards the village.

Avorr took a small step outside. I watched in dismay as the warm light that filtered through the doorway highlighted Rebecca's body. Her face was pale and her lips were devoid of colour. He fell to his knees and grasped at his daughter's face, searching hopefully for a sign of life. I could do nothing but stand feebly in the shadows, observing the raw anguish that clouded in his eyes and the rough, course skin of his hands against her soft, pale skin; experience and innocence - a father and his daughter. I bit my lip to stop from crying, but whether it was from jealousy or grief I could not tell.

Wordlessly, he lifted Rebecca, and carried her inside.

I listened from the doorway as my aunt screamed in horror at the sight of her murdered daughter. I couldn't bear to take a step within. I couldn't find the courage to face them. Magda's heartbreaking wails smothered me in sorrow. I had tried to stem my own grief, had attempted to deny what had happened, but hearing their slow and painful understanding broke me. I remained outside in the cold, allowing them some privacy, soaking in my cowardliness. Without Rebecca, my connection to the house had been severed.