Plunge Into Darkness

Author

Plunge Into Darkness

By Kristin N. Spencer

(Plunge Into Darkness Book 1)

Plunge Into Darkness

Copyright © 2018

by Kristin N. Spencer

Cover illustration by Paraskevi Kourmpeti

Cover design by Kristin N. Spencer

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any electronic or mechanical means including photocopying, recording, or information storage and retrieval without permission in writing from the author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

On The Web:

http://kristinnspencer.com

Contact the author:

kristin.n.spencer@gmail.com

Do you possess the knowledge of the horror that accompanies a place of deep darkness?

It is a corner where your sorrow threatens to crash over and drown you.

Amidst this dark sea and its despondency you wait for even the tiniest beam of hope to shine through.

Though life is full of gloom there are undoubtedly moments of brightness.

Though there are many shadows there is also sunshine.

Though dark clouds choke out the blue of sky they will once again be broken apart by brilliant rays of light.

This book is dedicated to the ones trapped in darkness and the tiniest rays of hope alike.

Chapter 1

On one side of the Concealed Forest along the Eastern edge of the trees Velelorn stood alone, a tiny village famous for growing pikiro root; the most difficult crop to cultivate. Small houses dotted the landscape of the rock-pocked terrain. The naked droopy window frames of the two-room farmhouse owned by Graves and Crym Eisihi created the appropriate illusion that the house held a perpetual scowl. In direct opposition the Morena farmhouse, with its bright yellow paint and happy white window hinges, testified to the fact that not every family in Velelorn was wanting. Jeb Morena was one of the most successful pikiro root farmers in the dominion of man. He even owned four wooden beehives that housed the majority of the bees that pollinated the fields in Velelorn. Though that wasn’t enough to make him famous or even wealthy, it meant that his wife didn’t have the sharp edges of emaciation on her face that most of the residents in Velelorn wore.

Today was a joyful occasion as the village welcomed its newest occupant, Ever Morena. The Ceremony of Babes was a practiced celebration in even the poorest regions of their world. Old Lady Shaw knocked on the front door of the Morena farm, dressed in several layers of skirts with stacks of unfinished ruffles dangling just above the hems. She wore a traditional Healer’s bell around her neck. Shaw was short and had a slight haunch in her back. Her puffed bun sat atop her head wound with a thin braided cable of wool keeping it in place—a sign of her age, as no one else in Velelorn had worn wool in their hair for at least three decades.

Today’s the day, Shaw said when Jeb opened the door. Where are my ladies?

Hello, Shaw. They are in the bedroom awaiting your dressing advice.

Shaw swept past Jeb, her skirts held up in both hands, and left Old Justice standing there on the small wooden stoop that created a step up into the Morenas’ three-room farmhouse.

Hello, Old Justice. Thank you for leading the ceremony. Jeb held out his hand, and Old Justice slapped it away in the familiar custom of greeting.

It pleases, Justice responded. Over his thick frame he wore a long navy robe with white threads hanging down from a pleat where his shoulders met his chest. He was at least three hands taller than Jeb and four hands taller than anyone else in the village. The scowl on Justice’s face and the large leather covered book under his arm reminded Jeb why so many villagers feared Justice, the appointed Keeper of the Book.

Come in and have a seat if you like, Jeb said.

No, I gots the ceremony. Have you set up a table?

In front of the barn, Jeb responded.

Good enough as any other place, I suppose, Justice said while he walked away from Jeb.

Jeb! Gertrude’s voice came from inside the house.

Coming, Jeb shut the door and walked toward his bedroom.

Hold her, will you? Shaw is going to fashion my hair for me.

Ever, you’d love to spend time with your pa, wouldn’t you? Jeb reached out as azure arms and legs tried to wiggle free of their beige ceremonial swaddling. He held her close and looked at her tiny nose and generous gray eyes. They reminded him of his Gertrude.

Though several families, including the Eisihis, had spent generations farming the all but impossible soil, Jeb Morena had treasured the growing techniques and secrets his father had taught him as a small boy. Other families searched daily for mushrooms, nuts, and berries in the forest to supplement their income and food supply, but not Jeb. And though his wife, Gertrude, labored as hard in the field as any of the other wives did, those years of hard work had not stolen her beauty. In fact the only one to ever rival her attractive eyes and long curly hair didn’t appear until their daughter Ever was born. The moment Jeb first looked into Ever’s large gray eyes, he knew his heart had been divided in half. Or almost in half.

How do I look? Gertrude’s blue black hair had been combed to one side and tumbled down one shoulder to frame half of her face. As Gertrude turned, Jeb could see the half braids Shaw had made to keep the hair in its current shape.

Wow, Jeb said.

Tryin’ to butter up both ladies at once. Smart man. Shaw’s familiar voice rasped as she slapped Jeb on the back. You’re a blessed man, Jeb.

You speak the truth, Jeb said.

Of course I do… now give me the babe. Time for the ceremony. Shaw carefully took Ever, snuggling her close to her chest with one arm and opened the door with the other.

The pain in Jeb’s chest was a mixture of intense joy and immense sorrow at knowing that Ever would be the only child to which they would pass their physical traits and name.

Are you feeling okay? Jeb walked toward his wife.

Better today, Gertrude said.

Better how?

Stronger.

Are you sure you don’t want us to carry you out in a chair?

I’m sure. I’m up for this, Jeb. I promise.

On my arm? Jeb waited until Gertrude’s hand wove through his elbow.

Always, Gertrude said.

:: :: ::

Exactly one month after the Ceremony of Babes for Ever Morena, another welcoming ceremony was planned to take place on the adjacent plot of land otherwise known as the Eisihi farm. It was the first and probably the only ceremony to which Graves Eisihi had ever agreed. Even his wedding to Crym had been a private affair.

Dressed in her multi-layered skirt, Old Lady Shaw knocked on the door of Jeb and Gertrude Morenas’ home again. The bell strung around Shaw’s neck jangled with each pound.

I don’t think she should come, Shaw said the moment Jeb opened the door. She’s still too weak.

She refuses to stay home. Says it would be rude, Jeb explained.

Crym didn’t come to Ever’s ceremony. She was expectin’ herself of course, but still. And Graves surely didn’t. Thank Yacov.

You know how stubborn our Gertrude is, Shaw.

They’re only doin’ it for the gifts. I can take yours on ya’ll’s behalf.

No, Shaw. We’re going. Do the short version, Gertrude said as she leaned on the doorpost of her bedroom.

Hadn’t planned on doin’ anything else, Shaw said. Justice is already there. Let’s get.

Gertrude limped next to Jeb on one side while he held Ever on the other side. Ever was swaddled into a piece of cloth that he had slung over his shoulder. Holding her up with one arm was made much easier that way. He was one of the most able farmers in the entire region, but carrying a babe with one arm for an hour was something that made even his lean shoulder and arm muscles burn with fatigue.

Graves and Crym stood next to Old Justice on the side of the table where the book sat, propped open. Three cream candles sat there unlit. Crym had a small knot in her middle where Dawn had been, but besides that she was made of sharp edges. Graves was the same, but it was less dramatic since he was mostly covered in deep purple brown hair with white splotches spread throughout. His beard and hair combined to create some sort of collective shrub that made him appear half man half crazed-animal. Jeb looked away when Graves made eye contact. The large pupils overtook the small sliver of silver in Graves’s eyes. He was drunk again. The babe, Dawn, was too still and too quiet, almost unmoving in Crym’s arms. When she made a small noise, Gertrude and Jeb winced as Graves reached down and pinched the babe’s cerulean leg. They noticed violet welts wherever the babe’s limbs were exposed. Jeb peered down at Ever and shuddered at the thought of quieting his daughter in such a reprehensible manner.

Shaw set the Morena’s gift of a jar of honey next to her own gift of swaddling cloths before facing the small crowd of villagers that chose to show up, either out of curiosity or terror of offending the frenzied and unstable Graves Eisihi.

Let’s begin, Shaw said. We gather here to celebrate another babe, Dawn Eisihi, joinin’ our little village, the village of Velelorn. We hope that her passing years and contributions to our community will be pleasant and plenty.

Gertrude squeezed Jeb’s arm more tightly.

:: :: ::

As days and weeks and months passed, Ever grew. The top notch in her kitchen door frame had the number ‘4’ etched next to it, the knife marks cutting through the crisp, white paint. Each morning when Jeb Morena went to check on his plants, Ever followed him out the door and reached for a hug before planting a firm kiss on each of her father’s cheeks. She pointed to each side of the field in the same order every time, watching her father as he nodded in agreement. Ever’s squeals of pleasure filled the morning air at her father’s pleasure and approval when she chose the correct planting order.

Across the way in the adjacent house, Dawn squinted hard enough to make out her neighbors’ silhouettes—moving smudges of shadows against the bright morning light. She watched in stillness through the only window in her living room as the first rays of the sun spilled in, wondering how it felt to be hugged and kissed. Dawn couldn’t remember ever having felt a single instance of affectionate touch from either of her parents. And so every morning Dawn crept with reticence off of her pad on the floor and out of the single bedroom. The window in the first room offered her a short escape from her dismal reality. There she gazed at the loving interaction between the father and daughter that lived just across the way from her parents’ dilapidated pikiro field, looking into what seemed to her to be an entirely different existence.

Little did Dawn know that at that very moment, Ever was thinking about her. Ever knew that her neighbors had a daughter, Dawn, who was the same age. Though Jeb had warned Ever with insistent repetition to stay away from the Eisihi property, that same luminescent morning her curiosity overcame her desire to please her father. For the first time Ever witnessed Dawn Eisihi stepping outside of the Eisihi home. Before then, Ever had never seen Dawn. The dainty child emerged wearing a tattered shawl and carrying a large basket.

I’ll sneak over just once to get a closer look, Ever thought.

There were no other children in their section of pikiro root farms, and Ever knew she