Hello! Haven't seen you in a while! For now it's just me writing because I can't get a hold of iluvdaisychain!! Please leave feedback and vote if you enjoyed and I'll make sure to upload more of this freaking fun to write story!! :DDD
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I was racing down the twirling pathway of the road, pop music blaring in my new Mini I had received excitedly for my birthday, with the driver's window wide open. My arm dangled out the side, brushing freely against the cool, pine tree and wild flower smelling air.
The song that was playing started to become static in the background, a sign that I was getting closer to my Grandma's large, isolated cabin out in the woods. Her house was beautiful, wrapped tightly with tall stretching evergreen trees and nestled in front with hand-cut rose bushes and wild berries around the gravel driveway. Her backyard was always filled with colorful plants year round; ripe tomatoes, juice strawberries, watermelon, pumpkins, blueberries, lettuce, and herbs she was yet to tell me the name of.
Because my Grandmother was younger than others, and practically raised her younger sisters growing up, she insisted on doing everything herself--one of the reasons she decided to live on her own and not with my family. Grandma use to go to church with us every Sunday, that is, until she began to tell stories to our family friends, stories that I thought would cease as I grew older. She was her own person, wearing hand-made jewelry and clothing that she found materials for at a local market, even though she had the . But she was strange at that, walking to her own beat. The reason she stopped visiting so often was because of the stories she would tell. They were of Gypsies, monsters of the woods-- our towns woods to be specific--that were marked with permanent drawings and etchings that nobody could really explain.
My Grandma had professionally been an explorer, assigned to dig in depth of these strange depictions. She had already been aware of the woods and it's mysteries, since she was born and raised into a family of adventure, hunting, and camping. One day, while she was hiking, she told me a story how she became lost--something that never happened to my Grandma. Ahead of her was a light, which she followed through the blinding heat of the humidity-licked forest. To her awe, she stumbled upon a cave, lit by an unknown source. Maybe was too blinded by the fairytales she had told me to overturn the reality that the pictures on the cave she had discovered were just drawings, not forthcomings, but the point of the matter was, she became obsessed with the source of the pictures. Without water or food, she studied those cave drawings the entire night with just a flashlight and a portable camera. She mapped down the cave and returned the next day, and the next. She actually dedicated most of her life to the cave according to her, that is, until she became pregnant with my Mother.
One time she had told me jokingly that she was content with living alone in the middle of the woods because she only had Mother Nature to deal with, not Church lovers who were narrow minded when it came to possible truths of the Gypsies. I laughed it off although I was just as concerned of my Grandma's sanity as everyone else. Heck, I couldn't even remember half of her bizarre stories off hand.
Now I wanted to know everything about them.
My Mini shook back and forth as it's tires hit the small rocks of an all-too-familiar drive way and my heart began to patter slightly. I cut the engine after I parked behind my Grandma's Jeep and sighed shakily getting out of the car. The woods around my Grandma's house were always intimidating to me, even as a child.
They were even more intimidating knowing he had to be somewhere in it.
I had climbed only a few wooden steps to the front of her house, observing her many potted plants at the entrance, when suddenly, the front screen door swung open, allowing a middle-aged shadowed black cat to leap out and rub against me.
Grandma had a ridiculously wide smile on her tanned, flushed face, whereas I almost had a major heart attack at her dramatic entrance. She had one of her favorite headbands pulling back her French braided graying hair and sported a ridiculously bold-colored outfit for her age.
"My beautiful Granddaughter is finally here!"
I narrowed my eyes at her for a fraction of a second, menacingly. Somehow, she had always successfully managed to scare me whenever we met. I broke into a smile. "Grammy!" We hugged for what seemed like hours with me trying to shake off the furry animal purring between my feet.
Grandma pulled away, her light grey eyes wide towards her driveway. "What the--bloody hell! What is that strange looking contraption trespassing in my driveway!"
I was still trying to get the cute cat off of me as I tried to look over my shoulder past her pointing finger. I frowned. "It's my car..."
Grandma put a hand to her chest over her brightly knit orange sweater. "Oh heavens, darling. I apologize thoroughly for your Father's poor taste in transportation."
I let out a giggle. My Grandmother loved to pick on my poor Father, who she never fully liked. I wasn't about to say anything about how it was my choice in getting the car in the first place, so I only shrugged.
Her bright grey eyes locked onto mine. They crinkled at the sides as they grazed over my face. "Well, Heather? Come on in! I'll make you some tea. We have much to talk about that I'm afraid we cannot speak of out here."
A sinking feeling began in my stomach. I forced myself away from my Grandma's eyes and looked down at my feet where the cat had locked my feet in their place with its body. "I can't move."
She bent down, shaking her head and patted the cat once on the head. "Mystic, get! Fetch me a fat mouse." As the cat instantly scattered away from my jeans, pouncing into the nearest pristinely cut rose bush.
I heard a change in the distant singing of birds above us. The branches made sounds as if they were fluttering away. My Grandma suddenly paused, lifting her head observantly to the trees.
"Is everything alright?" I questioned, as she tilted her head a little.
Her eyes were dripping with interest, even amusement as she looked to me. "Oh, nothing. I just thought I saw something watching us. Nothing out of the norm, here, darling."
I hesitantly walked inside after her after she said that shocking statement, eying the tall trees above.
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My Grandma's cabin was spectacularly clean and colorful. Two words she kept close to her heart. Light streamed in from all two stories of the massive cabin, dripping the room with brightness and comfort. Soft carpets lined every room and yellow tiles presented in every bathroom. She had three bedrooms, one a masters, two guest rooms with bright yellow walls that I used to sleep in back and forth over the weekend when I was younger.
She loved to paint, as did I, and so she dedicated an entire room to her art, with three canvases and window sills carrying hundreds of different colors my Grandma mixed herself from her garden and the woods. Her paintings lined the halls of her home. My favorite was of a large tree, that practically reached through the clouds of day. At it's base was a rotted out hole. The strangeness of the tree was that although it's center was hallow, it's canopy was flourishing with large emerald leaves. When I pointed up at the paining as a child, she let me hold it and said it was the tree that had lead her to the mysterious caves of the Gypsies.
Grandma had put on her baking apron and was taking a tray out of the oven. I sat quietly, staring down at the shiny mahogany table. I honestly was beginning to feel growingly awkward about what we would soon be talking about.
Before me set a plate of the most scrumptious, thick plate of double-chocolate chip cookies, steaming consistently in the cool air of the large cabin because they were straight out of the hot oven in my Grandma's kitchen. Those cookies were my absolute favorite; my childhood memory of them still remained, when I would come to this cabin every Sunday after Church to receive treats and milk as I played in the garden.
"Eat, luv-bug. Drink some milk and tea. I'll be right back."
Could I withstand my growing nauseous' after eating them?
My mouth watered. Of course I could! I could be on the verge of death and want those cookies! I didn't want to seem too messy in a cabin so clean, so I chose to engulfed three down like a vacuum after my Grandmother had left the room. The moistness of the cookies sent tingles throughout my body.
Oh yes!!
I had just gulped down half my glass of milk when my Grandma had called me from another room. Close. I set the glass down carefully and walked towards her voice.
When I found her, Grandma was sitting in her reading chair in the living room with the largest book I had ever seen placed in her lap. "'The Book of Wethrinaer'," Grandma announced softly to me when I approached her. She said it as if the title was the deepest secret to her heart. "Do you know what that means, luv-bug?"
I shook my head, utterly confused where she was going in with the conversation.
She looked at me over her glasses. "Wethrinaer means Deceitful. It's 'The Book of the Deceitful', Heather." Those bright, serious grey eyes stared me down.
I gave her a, And...? look.
Then you don't remember me reading from this?"
"I remember..some of it. I mostly just remember the stories you told me about yourself when you use to hike."
"That's only natural. For you to forget, that is," she said lightly. She patted the chair next to her, licked her fingers, and turned to a marked page, eyebrows furrowed as she read over the passage. "Sit," she directed without looking up, 'you will understand."
I stiffly sat into the chair next to her. The air grew frigid as she began to read.
"The Legend continues on that the mystical Gypsies were once human, she began in a narrators smooth, alluring voice. They lived as humans did, in packs--supplying themselves with natural resources at the edge of a forest. There was a particular group of humans, unnamed, that had begun to migrate to a river that was said to have the purest water to ever exist. A man, dressed in baggy materials had approached this village of people, explaining how the river could cure all sickness and that he was living proof.
Some didn't believe him--those without disease and illness, that is, which left only a fraction of people The believers followed the man and drank from this mysterious river, returning to the village as beautiful as he, as strong as he. But as they returned the small portion of the non-believers had vanished into thin air.
The believers had made a choice, yet were somewhat in a trance following this mysterious man into the forest and drinking in immortality through the river. They would live forever, but first, they had to make one more choice which would prove to be much more difficult. And to their horror, they soon discovered that some of the non-believers in their village, their family and friends, had been painfully turned into trees, or eaten alive. As the believers cried at the center of their village three more men approached the edge of the woods, all on horse, three times more stunning then the one before them.
One came forward, holding a dreadfully stunning silver talisman in one hand. The horse between his long legs was wild, with large black eyes and scars along it's legs. The man's hair resembled his horse, silver weeds of silk, and cascaded down to his shoulder flowingly. His eyes were the purest liquid silver at first, then melted into a coal black-- terrifying to stare into, like an approaching eye of the storm or hurricane. He wore a black riding cape along his back, leaking out with a silver mist. His talisman swirled with contents at his side, mystifying already some of the believers of the village.
He claimed he was Emelian , God of Iron, Rock, War, and Silver. A Morimaikarea, was what he truly was: a Dark demi-God. Emelian was the most cynical of the three men; a former warrior of the underworld, and said to the believers, "I will supply the few of you that will be my warriors and peasants in the land of the Unknown. Only the strongest, that received an abundant source of iron from the river, will follow."
A portion of the followers began to walk forward, following the man into the forest. Those believers either became Morier's; bloodsuckers, Nwalmaer's; tormenters, or Thaurer's; abominable monsters. The ones that had followed Ion had , in simpler terms, become the ferocious Shadow Gypsies of the forest; Tel'Sindavathar, The Shadow Alliance.
The day was not at rest. There was still a portion of the believers and the two mysterious men that still lingered at the edge of the winding woods.
The second man came forward on his horse, his baggy, mud-colored clothing resembling the man who had originally lead them to the river. The horse he rode was a copper shade, and if one looked close enough, it's nostrils flared out bits of pure fire. The man's eyes were pure gold like the sun and his hair looked as if it was on fire it was so glittering with reds and oranges. Around his neck he wore a necklace from leaves of The Tree of Life, the source of all energy for mankind.
"I am Plamen, God of Fire, Sky, Secrecy, and Wind," the man said. "Come with me, and live peacefully through the Mother Rivers lasting currents. It's source is from the roots of the Tree of Life, your creation."
Dirtier than dirt, and fiercer than the wild, those believers became nature itself that followed Plamen through the forest that day. It is said they can mimic the sounds, creatures, and planes of the earth, awaiting incoming prey, although they cannot become it completely.
The last man of the two was by far the most beautiful, yet dangerous, with shockingly white eyes and skin like stone. With a direct look into his eyes he could turn fire to the purest of ice, bend matter, and make himself merge into anything. Ashen hair flowed freely down the center his back and he wore a coat of a Polar Bear draped over his muscular frame. His horse was as white as snow, it's eyelashes laced with frost as it's rider, and it eyed the believers with an equivalent amount of pure frigidness as the man situated at its back.
He was God of Ice, Magic, Voice, Illusion, and Poison.
And the third beautiful man spoke dangerously low like a predator. The believers straightened immediately as the last man eyed each and every one of them with sallow eyes. They had had expected a voice so coldly sharp. But it was only expected by one strangely resembling ice. "I am Wen, God of Ice. The rest of you are to come with me, for you are the ones whose heart and mind are bitter and sinful enough to handle the authority of my dark magic."
The rest of the believers followed Wen into the forest. His believers became the Helkaer's; the Icy one's, better known as Ice Walkers. The Ice Walkers were the first of the Gypsies to create chaos, for they thrived on fear and dominance. Their song was more alluring then a Siren's call, their eyes more passionate than a roses bite. With just one touch they can craft the deadliest of circumstances.
The Gypsies are said to be the protectors of the forest; the watchers. They are seen when they shall be seen, heard when they shall be heard. There is one, and only one reason a Gypsy appears to humans--"
She stopped reading.
I felt like a child again, waiting impatiently for her to begin reading again. But suddenly as she looked she was about to begin again, I sat up straighter. "Why do they appear to humans?" I asked her, deep down not truly wanting the answer. I subconsciously gripped the snowflake at my neck, hoping greatly she wouldn't ask me of the man in the woods. But it was the reason I came to her, afterall.
Grandma slammed the book shut, taking off her glasses in a rush. She then looked up at me and her bright grey eyes slightly watering. My stomach sunk as she slowly shook her head, eyes closed.
She down at the book in her hands then handed it to me, leafing through it's warn out pages and motioning to the section where she stopped. I read out loud:
"There is one, and only one reason a Gypsy appears to humans and it is because of their sinful nature. It is their distrustful, powerful urge to lure humans within the arms of the forest and feed on their delicate heart that separates them entirely from humanity. They will forever do this task for the river of life as the three beautiful men did hatefully onto the human non-believers, thus cursing them to the forest--"
I broke off, touching the necklace at my neck. "-forever," I finished, looking up at my Grandmother. I shut the book with rapidness and stood up. "I need to go. I can't--I can't this is ridiculous. I'm sorry. I'm just seeing stuff. It's not...it can't be!"
I turned towards the front door. I needed air. Oxygen was only a few feet away. Grandma reached up and grabbed my arm. Her hand was comfortably warm, calm against my icy skin but her eyes were wild.
"Please, Heather! Before it's too late--"
I yanked away viciously, backing away from her. She was blocking the front door and so I hurried to the sliding back doors of the back yard. "No, Grandma! I'm sorry, it's a great story but I don't--"
I turned towards the sliding back doors of my Grandmother's cabin and I froze. The glass was frozen solid. The handle wouldn't budge as I went to reach for it. My mind cried out for me to run far from the cabin I was in.
I turned around. My Grandmother had her hand out, palm flat against the air, towards the door, and her eyes became so vividly white that I could barely see her pupils. Her hair had changed until it matched their unnatural shade of snow and was moving, although there was no movement of air her house. Her features had drastically changed until she looked at least twenty years younger, with pallid, flawless skin. My heart pounded violently in my chest as the creature that looked so terrifyingly close to my Grandmother took a step closer. I pressed myself against the freezing surface of the door, hyperventilating.
Gypsy.
"I'm so sorry you had to see this, luv," she said, practically crying. "But I can't let you leave this house because the second you step out that door, is the second he steals you away from me."
"W-w-who s-s-teals me?" My absolute shock, combined with my chattering cold lips sent my every word stuttering.
Frost, she mouthed.
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