Marked For Darkness

A Lesson In Boundaries

I ate lunch alone.

When I finished, I went outside and stared in the direction of the Fallen Oak, a massive tree that had been rotting since my earliest memories. It was barely visible through our orchid and the clusters of cedars and pines crowded between here and there. Mother always returned from that way.

I watched, waiting for a glimpse of her heart-shaped face and cloaked figure.

"She's late," I finally admitted with growing unease.

The shadow of our home now pointed ahead, by sunset it would reach the Fallen Oak.

Something's wrong, my instincts told me. Scenarios ran through my head of Mother bitten by a snake, gored by a boar, mauled by wolves, and many others.

I ran inside, beelining for my bed which was beside Mother's. We slept side by side at night. Standing at the foot of mine, I asked my dolls, "What do I do? Mother's not home!"

Luna, Mrs. Pompin, and Beamus were arranged in that order on top of my pillow. The other seven lay in a sprawl across my quilted bedspread.

"Go look for her! Don't delay!" Beamus declared, I deepened my voice for his voice.

In a nasally, crackly tone, Mrs. Pompin answered, "Don't be silly! You're overreacting. Your mother said midday, not lunch. She's a little behind, but she'll be back soon. Just be patient."

I glanced over my shoulder, gaze sliding to the right of the door where a small table stood. Mother's spare dagger lay there in its tree bark sheathe. My eyes shifted to my dark green cloak, then to my leather satchel, before returning to the knife.

"No." I shook my head, dismissing the notion. I would have to cross the Markings to search for Mother, and I had not asked her permission. That was against the Rules. If only I had asked this morning.

To distract myself from the increasing anxiety, I pulled weeds in the garden and planted seeds, then I fed the chickens and goat, and finally I hung out the floor mats, beating them clean with a heavy stick.

By mid afternoon I wanted to throw up. I felt sick with worry. The shadows of our home now covered the garden and most of the orchid.

"She's never this late," I said, pacing back and forth outside the door. I had donned my cloak, hood thrown back, slung the strap of my leather satchel across my chest, and stuffed the belt knife and Beamus inside. "She needs me. I can feel it. Something is not right."

"Go find her!" Beamus said. "She could be hurt."

"But what if she's just late. What if she gets upset?" I asked, biting my lower lip. There was nothing worse than Mother's temper.

"She'll understand." Easy for Beamus to say, he was an optimist.

"I can do this." I took in a deep breathe and balled my hands into fists.

I took off at a run up the grassy path that cut between the garden and orchid, pumping my arms and legs, trying not to trip on my dress, yet with every step my ankles felt heavier, as if an invisible tether tied them to the Door. I slowed the closer I came to the Markings. The black Ouroboros, a crude image of a snake eatings its own tail, symbol of eternity, grew more visible. It was bright and fresh on some trees, faded on others. Mother repainted the Markings every year.

I halted one step from passing two trees with Markings on their trunks, a pine and a cedar. How many times had I stood in this exact same spot, facing this exact same dilemma? I could no longer recall.

"Just another step," I begged my feet, trying to will them forward.

What were we afraid of?

I felt dizzy; it was hard to breathe suddenly.

The Fallen Oak lay a few feet ahead, its long body covered in moss and mushrooms, and its gnarled roots stuck out in all directions. The grassy path bent around it and disappeared behind. To this day I had never seen the other side of the Fallen Oak, but often imagined what was over there. Only Mother could go there.

"I can go there," I said aloud, my shadow bobbing as I shifted, lifting my left leg. "I can be fearless."

I swallowed hard, mouth going dry. All I could hear was the sound of my own heart thudding in my chest. The forest was quiet as it always was. There were animals, yet for some reasons they hardly made noise. There was something oppressive about our home. Something that nailed me to this place.

Since childhood Mother had warned that if I ever broke a single rule the demons would get us. There were other homes, destroyed by time, that littered the forest. I could see them from our home, but had never been inside one because they were outside the Markings. Every single one of them. But they reminded that Others once lived here, before the Mist and the demons. I had often tried to imagine what that was like, what nights without Mist and Fear were like.

Promise me, Jori. Promise me, Mother had said many years ago. You'll never break the Rules. You'll stay a good girl, won't you?

My palms felt clammy with sweat.

You'll stay a good girl, won't you?

Guilt weighed me down, and I lowered my foot. My vision blurred and I sank to my knees, bent my head forward, and sobbed into my hands.

"Why can't I?" I wiped tears away with my sleeve, but more slipped out. "I'm so weak."

You'll stay a good girl, won't you?

"Mother!" I shouted, cupping my hands around my mouth. "Where are you!"

My voice echoed briefly and died abruptly as all sounds did in this forest.

I hated this forest. Our home. The Rules. Most of all, I hated myself.

Tears dripped from cheeks as I despaired.

I would never be fearless like Beamus. I'd always be a pathetic coward.

You'll stay a good girl, won't you?

And my heart broke.