Jane of the Shadows: Chapter 5 -- The Planning

Once, when I was ten years old, I unknowingly got myself lost in the forest behind our farm house. It was the middle of winter and everything got dark quicker. I was bundled in my father’s old hunting coat and my hand-me-down booths which were so thin that as soon my feet started to feel heavy because of the cold which seeped into them. I was only planning on gathering fire sticks and some winter berries, but as my inherent bad luck would have it, I took the wrong turn somewhere and got lost.

For hours I forced myself to walk—to find my way back home. I was scared of the sounds coming from the dark. One part of me was convinced that I was going to die in that place. Especially when I passed by a mark that I made for the third time. I knew no one was going to come to my rescue. I couldn’t even ask for help. All I could do was cry quietly and imagine the worst.

She was probably glad that was out of the house. Maybe she even prayed that wild animals would kill me. I wouldn’t put it pass her.

But just when I thought that there was no hope—that I was finally going to die—I saw a faint light. Then it started getting bigger and bigger. Until, finally, I recognized it as a light from a torch. Soon I saw the shadowed face of my father filled with worry. He kept on turning his head and calling my name. I cannot fully explain the joy that I felt then. Even though she beat me later that night for getting lost, I couldn’t forget the feeling that I had when I realized that my father—my stepfather—came for me. I think that was the time I’ve fully decided that he’s the most important person in my life.

That feeling that I had then, it was almost the same lurching joy that I felt when I realized that Grey was there again. To talk to me.

Jane of the Shadows: Chapter 4--The Rider

It was almost day-break when my Mayor came back to the inn. Fortunately, by that time, I had already finished cleaning myself with the help of one of the innkeeper’s daughters who was either too naïve or too simple-minded to understand what had happened to me.

All she asked when she saw the bloody mess that was my dead child was, “Is it that time of the month, mam? I’d be! You be one of those gals who bleed a lot, eh?”

I just nodded at her which almost made me faint with the pain. I was just thankful that the girl didn’t mind talking to herself while she pocketed my coin—a bribe I gave her for her time and help. I called her when it was almost three o’clock but she still cheerfully entered my room. Thank goodness that she’s a late sleeper. I know this because I heard earlier when she was talking to someone in the common room that her father often left her in night duty for late visitors since she had trouble sleeping. And possibly for guests like me who encounters emergency late in the night.

“I’ll bring you clean linens if you want, mam. We seen this kind of emergencies before so I told my ‘Ma we should be ready. Yes, mam. Ready we are. I’ll also brung you some of the drink my ‘Ma makes for me monthlies. Would you like that?”

Jane of the Shadows: Chapter 3--The Learning

I don’t know how long I slept afterwards. The room was soaked in the smell of blood, hot as an oven, when I next opened my eyes. My body felt heavy, like it’s been ripped apart—and maybe it has been. My eyes kept closing as I didn’t have enough strength to keep them open. My mouth opened and closed—unable to articulate the pain that still lingered in my body.

Squeaks and growls. I was vaguely aware that they were coming from me.

My Mayor was still outside, just as I wanted.

Oh, God. I needed to move. But it…was so…hard.

Suddenly, the image of Grey flashed beneath my eyelids and I remembered his request—Kill my stepfather. It was obvious that he hated the man.

I understood hate. Hate helped  me live through the hell which was my life.

Jane of the Shadows: Chapter 2--The Road

I have learned that I do not like driving. In fact, I’ve fervently wished that I am the witch they call me I am so I could probably fly to the port rather than drive through the treacherous road southward.

My body hurts. Doubly on the areas where my Mayor’s hands held me a little too tight. Frightened of my leaving, he used me a little too hard before he allowed himself to drive me out of that miserable little town where I was born. He’s insisting he would drive me to the port. I do not like it. I want him gone.

But I didn’t try to dissuade him especially since I’ve discovered that my body does not agree with this long journeying. I ache. How I ache. Mostly on my bottom and my lower back. So I’ve decided to use him as much as he could be of use. Indeed, I question in hindsight my initial plan of having him drive me only to Wiltshire. I was too naïve and nice.

I told myself I would start using people, but there I was freeing a willing slave. It’s a good thing he hates to see me go. Poor, poor man. His appetite had brought him so low that now he would rather lick my feet than see me go.

When I imagine leaving him by the port, I find that the image… satisfies me. More than his warm touches and possessive kisses, the idea of leaving him broken buoys my spirit.

Oh, how I like this new me.

But enough about my lovely Mayor.

I am writing this, reader, to tell you of that miserable rider we happened upon two nights ago at a rugged posting inn.

He looked like a mean man. I do not remember much of his visage, but I remember that he frightened people as he passed by.  This made me curious about him. As I sat there at the farthest corner of the common room, eating my stale soup and dark bread, I stared at him.

I must have been staring at him for a long time, for slowly, as if he was looking for someone, he turned and scanned the room until his eyes fell on mine. I did not look away. No. I do not do that anymore. Remember, I have learned the power of my stare.

Jane of the Shadows: Chapter 1--The Beginning

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My inability to speak. My ability to scare people just by being. These things made me a creation of the Shadows. One can even argue that I am part of the shadows.

No. I do not exaggerate. I merely say these things because I am tired of knowing but not accepting.  I am good at that, too. Denying things. That I may call myself “normal” though God knows I am anything but. Besides, I do not want to be normal.

Normal… is so boring, isn’t it?

I’d rather stand on where I usually stand. Staring at people and making some uncomfortable. Swerving off unwanted attentions with my dark, almost black, eyes—Witch’s eyes my father used to say. He hated my eyes, my father. The same way she hated me. Well, I learned to live with it.

I learned to hate them back.