Messandra's Tears - Chapter One (TWB First Chapter Challenge Entry)

Ok, here we go, finally got this thing ready! Many many thanks to @negativer, @kd-neeley, and @fromage for giving me some pre-publishing feedback.

This story has been brewing, percolating, tormenting me for decades now. @thewritersblock putting on this contest has been just the kick in my pants necessary to get to work on it.

The cover image was created by myself with the Canva app, using images from Pixabay.

Without further ado, I give you the first chapter of my (hopefully upcoming) fantasy novel, Messandra's Tears. Enjoy!

CHAPTER ONE

“On the day that Oracle went up to her reward, the Voice of the Maker came unto Messandra, daughter of Barthel, and spake unto her, saying many things. She began to weep, and said:
'Such sorrow have I never known! Yet a seed planted in a desolate place will bloom with greater strength and beauty for all its suffering.'
And all the fey who heard her words marvelled at this new saying, and wondered at its meaning."
-- Voices 1:1-3

"Garden won't weed itself, dearie."

Anyssa winced. A little black beetle scurried away from her into the carrots, safe from a slow smothering by handful after handful of dirt. How fortunate. For him.

"Be nice if it did, hm?" Anyssa's mother worked amongst the potatoes, wielding a hoe. "Imagine all the lazing about we could do."

"I'm weeding, I'm weeding." Crawling along, Anyssa resumed her massacre of trespassing plants.

At the end of the row, she stood and brushed off her knees. She stretched her back and looked to the meadow, lush and green and dotted with sheep. "Is that good? Can I go?"

Mother sighed. "See to the chickens first. And the barn."

Surprise, surprise. Hiding a scowl, Anyssa shuffled away.

A great black dog stood at the barn door, yellow eyes intent on the forest bordering the meadow. "You're supposed to be with the sheep, Mink." Anyssa trailed her hand across his silky fur as she slipped by. She had just started climbing to the loft when he rumbled, low in his chest.

Anyssa frowned. Returning to the door, she squatted beside him and tried to follow his gaze. His hackles were up now, and he trembled.

"What is it?" Her fingers burrowed into the thick ruff of his neck.

He woofed once, a restrained challenge. Goosebumps prickled across Anyssa's arms. It didn't make sense. The sheep were calm upon the meadow, spread out and grazing in the late afternoon sun. "Is it a fox again?" Anyssa rose, laying a hand on Mink's head. He remained focused on the trees.

Ships, he was serious. "Go get it then." Without hesitation, he sped across the meadow, true as an arrow. She watched until he disappeared into the shade beneath the trees, then sighed and went back in the barn.

After a leisurely climb to the loft, she dropped haphazard bunches of fresh straw to the main floor. She flopped onto the heap and stared up into the darkness of the rafters. New-hatched swallows peeped their hungry demands. Before long, a swift shadow darted in the doorway bearing sustenance. Anyssa closed her eyes and soaked in the quiet.

It wasn't so bad here. There wasn’t really anything to hate. Peaceful. Beautiful. The snow-capped Bered mountains. The endless spread of Black Forest. Flowers, rivers, wildlife. A million stars at night.

Maybe if she were ever allowed sit back and enjoy it, she wouldn't need to dream about leaving it behind.

Anyssa rolled to her stomach, breathing in the dry sweetness of the straw. Even the dog had broader horizons than she did. The meadow and the barnyard, with an occasional trip to the village on market day, that used to be enough. Stars forbid she ever wander a few steps into that thrice-forsaken forest and see something new for a change. Stars forbid she wander a few steps anywhere.

A sheep bleated outside. It was not the mellow gurgle of a mother calling her lambs. Anyssa sat up, ears straining. A chorus of bleats came next. Not good, with Mink away. She scrambled down, dreading what might be coming. A wolf? A cougar? She missed the last rung of the ladder and fell. Get up, fumblefoot, call in the sheep. Her lips were too dry to whistle.

"Anyssa? What in the world are you doing?” Her mother stood in the doorway, hands on hips. “I told you to--"

"Mom. Mom, there's a--"

A roar of challenge came from the woods. A flurry of vicious snarling replied. A thousand birds launched themselves skyward, shrieking their alarm. The sheep gathered and charged for the barn.

"What on-- where's the dog?" Mother turned to the forest, shading her eyes with her forearm. Sheep flooded past her and trampled down the new straw.

"In the woods. He was acting all strange. I sent him after whatever it was." Anyssa waded through the flock, shouting over the panicky sheep. A yelp of pain echoed across the yard.

Mother chewed her lip for a moment. She glanced at the sun, the laneway, the sheep. "Lock them in. Chickens too. Give Mink some time to drive it off."

Anyssa heaved the door shut. "What do you think it is?"

"Bear, from the sounds of it. Mink will need a stitch or two when he gets back, no doubt. I'll go get things ready in the house."

The chickens proved no challenge, even for Anyssa's distracted version of herding them. Most of them had already taken refuge in the coop, and the rest were quick to join their fellows. She watched the tree line, listened as the battle drew nearer. Roars, and howls, and snarls, and--

Words? No, it couldn't be. No one else lived this far out.

Movement. Thrashing in the undergrowth. A sharp cry of pain. Mink bounded into the sunlight. A massive bear burst from the woods in pursuit.

Anyssa screamed.

“Anyssa!” Mother shrieked across the yard. “Get inside!”

Too far to the house. Anyssa dashed for her father’s workshop. The door slammed shut behind her. She stumbled through the dark to where the tools would be. Her fingers closed upon a hammer. It felt right, cold and heavy in her palms. It wouldn’t slow a bear down, but it made her feel a little better. Brandishing her useless weapon, she tried to settle her racing heart.

The growls and snarls ranged across the meadow, accompanied by the terrified bleating of sheep. How many would be found trampled to death in the barn when it was all over? Anyssa dragged her arm across her dripping nose. She didn’t remember when she had started crying, but now she couldn’t stop.

Then all in a moment, it was quiet. Quiet enough that she had to hold her breath to hear anything. Some nervous bleating. an occasional bark. That was all. A bird started singing. Still gripping the hammer, she cracked open the door.

Mother was peeking out of the house. “It’s gone,” she called. “Mink’s driven him off.”

Anyssa nodded agreement and emerged from her hiding place, hammer held ready. Her mother crossed the yard, still watching the forest.

“Are you alright?” Mother’s hand squeezed Anyssa’s shoulder.

“Fine.” Maybe.

“That’s never happened before. Not that close.” Her mother chuckled, breathless, eyes wide, cheeks pale. “Good old Mink.”

“Why hasn’t he come back yet?” Anyssa shrugged away her mother’s grip and set off across the grass.

She heard him before she saw him. Panting, whining with each breath. Following the sound, she found him lying at the roots of a spindly pine at the edge of the meadow. He lurched onto his feet before she could touch him, and limped several paces into the forest. A dark patch of blood remained on the pine needles. A lot of blood. Anyssa’s throat clamped up.

“Come on, now, let’s go get you fixed up. Come on, Mink.” Anyssa crooned to him, creeping forward. It was only a little ways into the woods, safe enough. Wait, silly dog, just wait. He stayed always a step or two out of reach. Further and further they ventured into the trees.

“Anyssa, stars above, don’t--don’t go in there.” Her mother stood the edge of the meadow, just where the shadows lost to the sunlight. “The bear--”

“The bear’s long gone.” Anyssa glared over her shoulder. “I’m not going to just let him bleed out somewhere, Mom.”

“At least wait for your brother, your father, they’ll be home any moment. Someone.”

“Aren’t you someone? It’ll be too late if we wait.” She ducked under a low branch, grimacing when Mink scampered a few more steps. Stubborn mutt. “I can’t carry him alone, come on.”

Mother’s voice was further away. “No, just wait for him. He’ll come out on his own. Come back! I can’t--It’s madness to go in there!”

Anyssa scowled. Of course there would be no help, not with something that really mattered. Leading her for another dozen paces, Mink shoved his way through a fern and disappeared into a mass of thick undergrowth. With a cry of frustration, Anyssa dove after him.

She tripped on a fallen branch, thick and spongy with rot. The hammer tumbled from her grasp, lost in the greenery. She landed, spluttering, in the leaf mould. Mink laid waiting for her in the earthy darkness, tongue lolling, eyes half-lidded with weariness. He licked frothy drool from his muzzle and rested his head on his forepaws, watching her intently. “C’mere, you rotten dog. I’m trying to help.” Anyssa reached out and caught a handful of the loose skin of Mink’s neck before he could get away again.

She started to kick her way free of the clinging ferns. Her foot connected with something soft and heavy. It grunted loudly. With a shout, Anyssa scrambled forward, twisting to meet his new threat, crowding into Mink’s reassuring bulk.

“Who’s there?” She pawed at the ground around her, heartbeat thudding loud in her ears. Where was that damned hammer? A dozen cautionary bedtime tales clamoured in her mind. Mink whined and shifted against her back.

Another groan, some feeble movement in deep green shadows. Somewhere far away, her mother was screaming her name. Anyssa massaged Mink’s velvety ears and asked him, whisper-soft, “What have you got me into, old boy?” The dog nudged her hip and paused his panting long enough to lick the inside of her forearm. How very reassuring.

Sucking a great breath, she patted Mink’s shoulder, then crawled toward the sounds. Pushing away the drapery of greens, she exposed a pale face spattered with freckles. The panic racing through her chest subsided. It was a man, or a boy who was almost finished becoming one. He had one arm pressed tightly over his chest, where a dark stain of crimson was spreading through his tattered shirt.

Breath sticking in her throat, Anyssa brushed coppery curls away from the stranger’s sweat-damp forehead. “Hello? Wake up.”

His eyebrows twitched and he mumbled something, too low for her to hear.

Biting her lip, she squeezed his shoulder and gave it a little shake. “Hey. You--you gotta wake up.” The stranger didn’t respond other than to whimper with pain.

“Anyssa?” Her father’s voice, questing nearby.

Thank the Queen! “Here! Over here, Dad.” Hampered by brambles and branches, Anyssa struggled to her feet. “There’s, well, a man here. He’s hurt.”

“A man? Are you sure?” Dad was closer, she could hear his steps crunching through old leaves.

“Yes! I know what a man looks like, Dad.” She batted a spiderweb away from her face and tried to clear space through the shrubbery.

Her father’s face came into view, creased with worry, softening when he made eye contact. “There you are, thank the stars. You should have waited for us!" He surveyed the slumbering woods. "Black Forest doesn’t take kindly to visitors.”

Anyssa resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Yes, I can see that. Are we gonna get this guy out of here, or just let him die?”

Dad gave her a pained look, but tore away handfuls of the fern, exposing the stranger’s long legs. “Help me get him up.”

Together, they levered the young man’s body out of the undergrowth. He cried out several times, eyes fluttering open once or twice, but never focusing. Anyssa wrinkled her nose. A bar of soap in the last few weeks would have done wonders for his fragrance. Dad scooped the thin body up in his arms and started back to the meadow.

Anyssa was about to follow when her mind caught up with her. Mink. The hammer. She crouched down, crawling back into the shadowy undergrowth, whistling for her beloved hound. “Mink? You did good, boy. Let’s go.”

There where she had left him stood the hammer, balanced on its head. Blinking in surprise, Anyssa picked it up. A thin layer of drool coated the grip. A terrible cold feeling settled into her stomach. She burrowed through the leaf mould, calling and calling, but seeing no clue, not even a blood trail.

Desperate, she quested through the trees, shouting, pleading for him to return. For all her bravery, she kept the meadow within sight, leashed by her ignorance of the woodland trails. He’s only gone off after a rabbit, perhaps. He’s resting somewhere else, in a clearing in the sun.

Her father came back several minutes later, and carried her, defeated, out of the forest. He settled her on a great white boulder, and together they whistled and called for Mink into the evening. Mother brought them supper, and spoke quietly with Dad a few steps away. Anyssa ignored the food, whistling through chapped lips, watching the trees for the slightest change. Her voice had turned into a scratchy crackle, and her throat was too sore for swallowing, even if she had been hungry.

Dad returned. He sighed and she allowed him to pull her into his arms. “I’m sorry, love.” He whispered into her ear and held her tight.

“I shouldn’t have let go of him.” The words scratched their way out of her. New tears burned on her cheeks. “I should have brought him back first.”

“Maybe he didn’t want to be brought back, sweetheart. He was old, you know. Very old, for all he didn’t act that way. Almost fifteen years.” He rubbed at his eyes.

“I don’t remember a day without him.” Not until today.

Dad kissed the top of her head. He sat there with her for a moment before scooping her into his arms and carrying her toward the house. “Sometimes a dog just knows when it’s their time.”

She had known it too, for a while, but when she saw the moon hanging crisp and white in the eastern sky, she finally believed it. Halfway across the meadow, she squirmed out of her father’s arms. The cold, lonely feeling that had kept her company all the evening changed into something harder, sharper.

Mink was never coming home.

And it was all that stranger’s fault.