Mist on Water (6 page)

I watched as the girls fearfully scurried out of sight. When they were gone, Douglas slanted an angry look at me that made the freckles on his face glow unattractively. He bent close and snarled, “Stay away from my sister.”

With his warning ringing in my ears, he stalked away.

I glanced around and saw a handful of people staring at me, accusingly, but of what, I had no idea. I just knew it bode ill for me if I continued to stand there alone. I quickly sought out my mother and begged her to go home.

Ostracized by the adults and rejected by my peers, I found my life unbearable living in the shadow of my impending doom. I refused to go to market. I stayed away from people, preferring the silence of the forest to their ignorant ideas. True to their word, my parents did not speak of the nix, but every time the mist rolled in, my mother’s gaze would grow haunted and my father would grow tense.

The winter of my fifteenth year, my mother took ill and I was forced to the village for supplies. It was late in the day, and I hoped most would be home preparing for supper. A misplaced hope if ever there was one. As soon as I stepped foot in town, startled glances followed me. If I kept my head down, going about my business, I would be done and gone in no time. Alas, it was just my luck that the widow Jens, who lived near Nari, stopped me on my way home only steps from the market corner.

She leaned heavily on her walking stick as her watery gaze questioned who she saw. “Is that you, Ryne?”

“It is.” I said, though I would have preferred to dart past now that my errands were over and done.

She patted along my arm, her fingers sizing up my growth, and smiled. “My, my. But aren’t you a nice fit lad for a lonely nix.”

She cackled, and I could feel my body tense at her words. I darted my gaze down the street, seeing other’s slow their steps to listen. Her breath wheezed in and out, shaking her body like a dried piece of leaf. “Obeying your parents, I see.”

“I am.” I hefted the items in my arms so that even she could see I was busy.

Her gaze wandered my face. “Such a shame you’re cursed. You would have made a handsome man.”

A tic found my cheek, and though I tried to hide it, the bite of annoyance found my voice. “Thank you.”

I wriggled free and slipped quickly into the nearest door which thankfully was a darkened pub. I stood at the frosted window and peered outside at the crowd milling near the widow. I could just imagine the gossip. The tale resurrected yet again. Did they never grow tired of it?

A hand landed on my shoulder, and I twirled around. The smiling faces of Gordie and Tait stared back. Gordie let go and held out his hand. “Ryne, it’s good to see you.”

I took it and offered him a smile. It had been a long time since I’d shared one with a friend.

“It is,” Tait added after taking a sip of his ale. “God’s truth, I didn’t know you were still alive.”

I cast an irritated look at him and turned to Gordie. “I heard you left.”

“I did. Our mule kicked Father and broke his ribs, so I’m helping with the crops until he recovers.” He leaned close. “Between you and me, I miss it here.”

I could not relate. If I were ever offered a position away, I would jump at it. Sadly, whenever a position opened, the villagers always managed to bring up the curse until even the smallest of opportunities open to my friends remained firmly closed to me.

“Come. Have a drink.”

The publican cast a jaundiced eye on me, but seeing as I was with Gordie and Tait, he said naught. We sat at a table and within the hour we were arm wrestling like we used to do when we were young. Though Gordie and Tait were eight and ten, I beat them both two out of three tries thanks to the back breaking work of hauling huge stones and splitting them all day.

Gordie laughed off his loss good naturedly, and we fell into an easy companionship. No mention of Nari passed between us. He seemed to understand the growing pains I continued to endure when it came to her.

Tait was another matter entirely. He wallowed in his loss, and his drink, until he slammed his tankard on the table. “How about a swim?” Tait lurched to his feet and yelled at the other patrons. “Would not we all like to see Ryne take a long swim in the lake?”

Gordie tugged Tait back into his seat and snarled at him to shut up, but Tait wouldn’t listen. He leaned forward, his breath a nauseous mix as he challenged, “Well, Ryne? How about it?”

The smirk on his face irritated me more than the fearful stares of those listening. I downed the last of my ale and stared back. The drink sat heavy in my stomach; its false warmth colored my cheeks, but unlike Tait, my brains remained intact. “No thanks.” I shot a quick glance at Gordie. “I should be getting back. It was good to see you again.”

“That’s right Ryne,” Tait called as I headed for the door, “Run home and hide. Maybe the nix won’t find you.”

As his laughter filled the pub, something inside me snapped. The small ripple of irritation grew, frothy and violent. I slowly turned around. On seeing me, Tait bounded to his feet. “Have you something to say?”

I had so much whirling in my mind, I was afraid to speak. Instead, I walked right up to Tait and placed my packages on the table. He leaned forward, his lips parted for another lie…and I slammed my fist into his jeering face. His head flew back, and like a rag doll, he folded onto the table in an unconscious heap.

I glanced around the pub, challengingly. The room grew still. No one said a word.

Gordie looked from his friend to me, the shock of what I’d done slowly registering. “Good shot, Ryne.”

It felt good. I nodded my respects to the gaping publican and left.

By that summer, Tait won an apprenticeship with a miller and left for a nearby village, finally garnering me peace from his teasing, while Douglas and Cyril were kept busy working on their family farms.

I continued to help my father with the masonry, cutting stone and affixing wattle and daub. The woods still held my interest, but not in that magical, mysterious way they did when I was younger. Now when I entered them, I took bow and arrow, and a sharp skinning knife. I developed a keen eye, a good ear, and a straight shot. Little escaped my aim. So good had I become, that the butcher ignored what he called his better judgment and regularly bought my game, though he made me promise not to tell.

In my forced solitude, I found myself at the lakeside pool, more and more. The pain in my stomach had morphed into a deep loneliness, one I couldn’t will away. My life had deteriorated into a tiny spot. I hadn’t the smallest hope of making a living, less hope of gaining a lasting friendship and even less hope in finding true love. I had become a ghost without ever dying. Tait’s challenge burned within me. I would never be accepted until I rid myself of the curse.

But how?

Sitting, I leaned against a tree and stared at the pool. The sound of falling water soothed me and I began to relax. Slowly, a vision of a world which lay beneath the water slipped into my imagination–colorful fish, strange rock formations and a system of caves, their labyrinth as intricate as any maze above ground unfolded as if I were swimming the lake waters myself.

My mind created a woman. Beautiful. Serene. Her dark locks floated freely in the current as she breathed deep the water as if it were air. With a gentle roll of her fingers, she beckoned me forward until an unnatural feeling of longing tugged at my soul.

My eyes sharpened back to reality. I sat forward, shaking my head clear, irritated by my imagination. I was tired of the fantasy my parents used to control me as a child. Raking my hair from my face, I glared at the quiet, empty pool.

“You are not real.”

Then what of the vision
? my innermost being demanded. It seemed so real.

The water beckoned me forward. A shudder swept my spine, yet I moved ever closer and stared harder into the pool’s depths. “Convince me you are real.”

Nothing happened. I slid even closer and stabbed at its surface, causing ripples to lap away from me. I grew angry at myself for ever having given in to the lie. “Come on. I am waiting. Take me if you dare.”

Still nothing.

I could resist the lure of the lake no longer. Keeping my knife with me, I waded into the pool, the water lapping at my knees, my hips, and then my torso. I sank deeper and deeper, until its coolness finally swallowed my shoulders in its lazy caress. I didn’t dare move out too far; I could still drown. I scoffed at my own timidity, and for the next hour, I taught myself how to float, and how to swim like a dog. I felt empowered. Enlightened. The burden of the nix was finally gone. When I eased myself from the pool, I held within my chest a sense of satisfaction.

Standing on the bank, arms akimbo, I glared down at the pool. “You don’t scare me anymore. You were never real.”

From that day forward, I couldn’t wait to get to the pool by the lake. I taught myself how to swim, not satisfied until my strokes were strong and my kicks churned the water into a frothy foam. All those years of worry evaporated. My smile came easier, my laugh freer.

My parents noticed my altered mood. They dared to hope all would be well. And as my swimming became stronger, I hoped so, too. Living by deceit became my only regret, for I didn’t have the heart to tell my parents what I’d done. On more than one occasion, my mother eyed me with alarm when I came home with my clothes smelling of lake water. She never said a word, so I never had to lie…or tell her that the tale of the nix was just that–a make-believe story caused by my father’s over-active mind.

In the summer of my seventeenth year, I went to town on a special occasion. Gordie was to marry. I could as much ignore the event as I could my own foot. I had, to my surprise, successfully avoided thinking of Nari for nearly two years. And why not? I’d found peace with myself at last. I’d learned many trades, deepened my relationship with my parents and torn myself free of the curse. I was overjoyed to find that my doom was no longer inevitable.

Yet, a nagging sense that my time of peace had finally come to an end settled over me.

When my family reached the chapel, I slipped in after my parents, hoping to avoid the stares of the villagers.

No such luck. A restless wait had settled over the chapel, and as soon as I sat, the man in front of us turned and smiled. “’Tis good to see you, lad. You’ve been out of sight for so long, I feared the nix had finally come and claimed you.”

A loud snicker and snort followed his seemingly innocent interest as he winked at one of his friends sitting close by. For some, the superstition held an underlying jest. Surely if the tale were real, the nix would have claimed her prize. The nix’s tale had lost the worst of its bite, and in recent years, my family suffered looks of ridicule along with those of fear. I wanted nothing more than to sink down and pray this would all be over so I could go back into hiding.

Never one to take offense, my father quickly corrected the man. “We thank God for his blessings and his help in allowing Ryne to avoid such a catastrophe. It’s a certainty the nix still awaits him in the mist. But we have trained him well to stay clear of the water.”

He made me sound as if I were his favorite hunting dog. “Father, please,” I whispered. “This is not the time.”

“He is right,” my mother said. Her face suddenly flared to life at the entry of the bride. At that moment, all the women nudged their men and the buzz of boredom quieted.

As I watched the ceremony, I became aware of Gordie’s pale face and shaking hands. His bride, a girl from a village to the west, couldn’t stop casting loving looks at him from beneath her circlet of flowers.

“Is she not lovely?” my mother murmured in a voice gooey with sentiment.

“Gordie looks ill,” I whispered back as the couple faced the crowd, now husband and wife.

“And so do all grooms, for to take a wife is no small matter,” my father inserted.

“Then why marry if it is such a burden?”

“But a more pleasant burden I have yet to find,” my father quipped back.

My mother shushed us as the couple passed on their way out of the chapel. “He looks grand. A handsome groom for a pretty bride.”

My father and I exchanged a quick look over the romantic notions of my mother. “To you,” he said, “all grooms are handsome and all brides pretty.”

“True. But Gordie and his love are especially grand,” she said as we moved forward, awaiting our turn to follow the bride and groom from the building.

As we stood in the mesh of people, I caught a glimpse of a female out of the corner of my eye. A real beauty. When I turned to get a better look, she had disappeared. I bent and whispered in my mother’s ear. “There are many who have traveled from the bride’s village to be here.”

“She must be well loved.”

If I married, it may very well draw a crowd, but only because my family was an oddity and I the oddest male amongst a sparse collection of youth.

Once outside, the celebration began with music and dancing and mountains of food. It didn’t take long for the drink to loosen tongues and the tall tales to flow. My father’s exaggerated account of the nix soon became the favorite. I tolerated the stares and the whispers as the locals told the visitors all about my forthcoming doom.

Like a good son, I made my rounds, reacquainting myself with those who’d thought I’d died and meeting those who believed I soon would. I passed a group of women–those of our village as well as the bride’s–hovering near the table laden with sweet cakes, and I heard Gordie’s step-mother say with surprise, “Him? Ryne, the stonemason’s son?”