Foreword:
The following is a story that I started at the age of eleven. As the years have progressed, so too has the story.
I have only ever shown this work to one person in five years and I was hoping to keep it that way (what with me having a near irrational paranoia about people plagiarizing my work), however, I am uncertain if not reluctant, as to finding a way in which to end the story and if the second part I have begun writing should be included in the first book or if it should be left as a second installment.
I have written a prologue for this story but I am not too sure if it detracts from the story’s beginning. Please let me know if it is too much history for the start of the story and/or if I need to add more information to the story line or keep the reader wondering.
Please, please let me know what you think.
Thank you,
AterRosa III
6 December, 2009 – Roses and Thorns Part 1
Prologue – (pages 1 - 7)
- 1678
A girl of about sixteen limped slowly up the cobblestone streets, her torn, bloodstained dress sopping wet and hanging haphazardly off of her grazed shoulders.
The respectable and wealthy could hardly spare a glance at the poor beaten creature yet one boy stood still, leaning on a filthy broom, watching her progress up the street and her efforts to attract someone’s attention with her startling silver eyes.
He brushed his long black hair away from his deep, dark green eyes and watched her in sadness. What sort of horrific force had broken down this poor young girl?
‘Do you think she is more than meets the eye?’
A voice behind him made him jump and he spun around to come face-to face with an old man. His old blue eyes held a sort of sparkle to them in the fading light of the evening.
‘Excuse me, Sir,’ the boy made a short bow, ‘I didn’t see you there.’
The old man’s smile spread through his wrinkled face and caught in the creases around his eyes.
‘I am not particularly surprised, Antonio. You haven’t blinked for a while now. You seem to see something in her that I do not. Would you agree?’
Antonio looked back at the young girl. Her curly brown hair was dripping, leaving a glistening trail of salty water that traced back down to the dock at the end of the road. Her silver eyes were bright but fearful as she glanced around, seemingly confused.
‘She’s familiar.’ he said quietly.
The old man nodded slowly. ‘A childhood friend, perhaps?’ he suggested.
‘I… I don’t know.'
The old man smiled again. 'I think you do. You've been staring at her ever since she appeared at the end of the street.’
‘Hmm,’ Antonio murmured softly. His head was filled with images and questions. Who was this girl, this messy, dirty, injured girl whose face was so achingly familiar to him…
‘Well, don’t just leave her to freeze in the street. I’ll get Alana to fill a washtub with water,’ the old man said and backed into the alleyway behind him.
Antonio carefully placed the broom against the wall and made his way across the street towards her.
Tripping on the torn remnants of her thin dress, she stumbled and fell to her knees on the hard cobbles. Antonio rushed forwards to help her up.
As he lifted her to her feet, their eyes met. Gazing into the pools of liquid silver staring fearfully back at him, he had the odd sensation that he had fallen into a dream from long ago, a dream that had grown up.
Her silver eyes seemed to light up and although her hair was knotted and wet, it still held a shine in the weak twilight of the evening.
‘Are you alright?’ he asked softly.
‘Zander?’ the girl murmured, her eyes growing wider.
Antonio’s heart leaped at the name, one he hadn’t heard in a long time. A sudden rage flew through him as his eyes glanced over her thin frame. Cuts, bruises and deep wounds infected what had once been an innocent young girl. He was brought out of this burst of anger by the sensation of her body dropping slightly.
The girl, allowing him to place her arm around his shoulder, watched his concerned expression. They walked back down the street and into the alleyway. The old man stood by a hole in the wall and one by one they went through.
They entered a cosy looking room with a fire burning in the fireplace against the wall. A large tapestry covered the hole in the wall, keeping out the cold.
‘Alana!’ the old man called up the small, narrow staircase. ‘Please take this young lady and attend to her injuries.’
Almost at once, a busy looking woman trotted down the stairs. Her red hair was streaked with fine strands of grey and her eyes were old and comforting. She clicked her tongue.
‘Goodness me, Mr. Matthews! You seem to be running a house for the unfortunate. I don’t think these poor girls would survive without you, do you?’ She asked in a doubtful voice.
The old man shook his head, a small, serious smile on his face and slowly walked towards the young girl. He held out his hand and after a few seconds, she took it.
‘Now, young lady. Do not be frightened. This is Alana and she’s my housekeeper. Go upstairs and she’ll remedy those painful-looking cuts.’ He led her towards a narrow staircase.
Alana stood back to let the girl pass and then followed her. At the top of the stairs, there was a narrow passage with four doorways leading off. The first doorway on the right held three chamber pots and a large stone basin, which contained steaming water.
Alana unfastened the back of the girl’s dress and slid it down her bloodstained shoulders.
She gasped as the girl’s bare stomach came into view. A large gash, clearly made by a knife, was revealed. The girl hurriedly turned so that her left side faced the wall and climbed into the soothing, warm water.
‘My dear child! Who did this to you?’ Alana asked, her voice a mixture of anger and disbelief.
The girl remained silent.
She walked to the other side of the bath and the girl immediately tried to hide her left arm but Alana got there first. She grabbed the girl’s wrist and lifted her arm out of the water.
The dried blood that had soaked her arm earlier melted in the heat of the water and fresh blood was already seeping from an oddly shaped cut that ran down the length from elbow to just below her wrist. It had obviously slit the vein in the girl’s arm and the cut began to bleed afresh, swallowing the pink flesh that surrounded it. Alana grabbed a small towel from the floor and wiped away the blood. For a few seconds the blood stopped and she took in an elaborately carved rose with two thorn-covered vines entwining themselves around the long stem before the blood engulfed it again. She let the girls arm fall back into the water.
‘I have to tell Mr. Mathews, he’ll notify the authorities and we’ll catch whoever did this to you.’ she said reassuringly.
Alana stared in confusion at the young girl who shook her head as tears streaked down her pale cheeks. ‘Don’t! They can’t catch him… he… it wasn’t his fault!’
Alana looked down into the girl’s frightened silver eyes. Her voice had sounded like the softest of breezes on a cold winters night yet there was a small tone like the chiming of a church bell far in the distance that told Alana that she was not accustomed to speaking with such fear in her voice.
‘Mr. Mathews has a right to know certain details about his guests. Who did this to you?’ Alana tried to keep her voice soft.
The girl shook her head again as the tears flowed freely down her cheeks. She reached forwards and began to gently rub at her legs and stomach until the water became a diluted crimson.
Alana helped her out of the tub when all the blood had washed away, leaving behind countless bruises and small weeping wounds. She dressed the girl’s wounds with squares of soft gauze then helped her into a small dress that hugged her slender figure.
‘What’s your name, child?’ Alana asked gently.
The girl took a deep breath before she answered.
‘Ashley Tremaine,’ she replied, her voice scarcely more than a whisper.
‘What’s making you so afraid?’ Alana asked softly, keeping the subject simple.
Ashley looked straight into Alana’s eyes.
‘Him,’ she whispered.
‘And who’s he?’ Alana asked.
‘Zander,’ she replied, her voice barely more than a breath of wind.
*
Ashley Tremaine sat on the dirty carpet, warming her hands by the blazing fire. Jonathan Matthews walked into the small room. Ashley moved to stand up but the old man shook his head kindly.
‘Do not get up, Ashley. You have been injured rather badly.’
‘Good evening sir,’ she said in a politely soft voice.
The old man inclined his head to her in a stiffly polite gesture but his warm smile reassured Ash that she was in no trouble.
‘Good evening.’ he replied softly.
She expected the old man to sit on one of the chairs that stood alongside the table and was understandably surprised when the old man sat on the floor beside her.
‘Alana told me exactly what you told her earlier,’ he informed her softly.
Ashley had no idea how to reply so she remained silent.
‘Would you like to tell me the story?’ he asked gently.
‘It is a very long story,’ she began.
Jonathan Matthews just chuckled softly.
‘My dear child, I have all night.’ He replied.
Ashley smiled slightly at his light-hearted tone. When she didn’t start her story, the old man gestured for her to begin.
‘When I was four years old,’ she began hesitantly, ‘I met Zander Black … and two years after, I befriended a boy named Jay Davies. The three of us were good friends for years.’
Ashley paused. The old man nodded once again for her to continue.
‘Zander’s father had never liked our family. When Zander was sixteen, his father set fire to the house. His mother was killed from smoke poisoning. He went with his father to sail the seas, hoping to leave everything behind.’
‘Less than a week later, Zander sent me a letter and I met with him at the house he had grown up in. Something was wrong though and he didn’t seem himself. He… he seemed so troubled. I just wanted to help him.
‘He tied me up –’ she said it as though it was a perfectly normal occurrence, ‘ – and brought me aboard his ship. His father had given him one after a successful battle with a merchant ship. After he cut the rose on my arm, he set me ashore.’ she finished.
Jonathan had sat straight backed throughout Ashley’s story. He stared straight into Ashley’s silver eyes and she held his gaze, determined not to show any outward sign of weakness, especially considering the fact that she had left out a large portion of her story.
‘Alana mentioned the rose shaped cut. May I see it?’ he asked finally.
Ashley pulled back her sleeve and bent forwards. The wound had stopped bleeding for the moment.
‘This is an engraving. Do you know why he engraved this particular mark on your arm?’ he asked.
Ashley shook her head.
‘I’ve never understood him. Nothing Zander did ever made sense after his mother was killed.’ she answered softly.
Later that night, Ashley still sat by the fire. She heard soft footsteps on the carpeted floor and looked up to see the boy walking towards her.
He held a tray with two plates of food and half a loaf of bread. He set the tray down in front of her and gave her a comforting smile.
‘Alana wanted to know if you’d like some dinner.’ He said softly.
Ashley smiled back. ‘Thank you.’
Antonio held out his hand to her and said pleasantly; ‘I am Antonio Silva.’
‘Ashley Tremaine,’ Ashley replied, taking his hand.
Antonio took a seat opposite Ashley. He cut a thick slice of bread and nudged it towards her. She took it uncertainly, her eyes weary.
‘Alana made me promise to make you eat,’ he explained kindly, cutting himself his own slice of bread as he did so. ‘She may only be Mr Matthews house-keeper but she is undoubtedly a formidable force when she has to be.’
Ashley tried to smile but her mouth couldn’t quite finish it. Antonio’s green eyes caught the smile before it faded and he sighed softly.
‘I haven’t been sent here to make you talk or to pry answers from you,’ he said. ‘I was only told to keep you company and to make sure you don’t starve yourself, but if you ever need a friend, I’m here.’
Ashley managed to smile properly this time.
‘Thank you.’
*
It was almost a year after the day Ashley had first appeared upon the cobble-stoned street. Today she was turning seventeen.
Antonio appeared out of nowhere from behind her and pressed his hands firmly over her eyes.
‘Ani, what are you-’
‘Hush, I have a surprise for you.’
Ash complied and fell silent, allowing Ani to lead her along the small dirt path that wound through the small hillocks of a vast green field. It was nearing sunset and the air had a warmth to it thanks to the fact that winter had been over for a month already.
Small daises had grown over the field in the past month, covering a large majority of the green grass in beautiful white and yellow flowers. Antonio led Ash through a small patch of trees and along a small stone bridge that crossed a steadily flowing stream. He knew that his timing would have to be perfect.
He led her down another narrow dirt track through a much smaller field and then over a small fence that led to a cliff that dropped at least thirty feet straight down. He stopped a metre from the edge and quickly surveyed the scenery. He was just in time.
Slowly, he removed his hands from her eyes. She let out a breath of shocked delight that put a smile on his face.
‘What do you think?’
‘Ani… this… this is just…’
Her voice faded away as she stared, awestruck at the glorious sight before her.
The sun was about to set, lighting the sky and it’s clouds brilliant shades of orange, pink and purple. The light of the sky flooded into the valley below, casting shadows beside the trees and bushes, turning the landscape into a work of art, a masterpiece of natural simplicity in its most magnificent form.
It was then that Ash’s eyes found the small cloth laid out on the edge of the cliff and the basket of freshly baked breads and treats.
Ash turned and threw her arms around Antonio’s neck. ‘Thank you so much, Ani.’
Antonio smiled and hugged Ash back. ‘I thought you deserved something special for your birthday, seeing as how you never really got to celebrate your last one.’
He was referring, of course, to Ash’s sixteenth birthday. On that day the governor Amores had summoned the Tremaine family to the large manor house atop the hill that lorded over the small village in which Ash had grown up, to – once again – attempt to pry the Tremaine fortune from Catherine Tremaines delicate hands. That had been the last time the governor had tried to get the treasure from Catherine, who had given him the same answer that she had a hundred times before; the treasure is hidden, it belongs to the Tremaine family and no Amores has ever been related to a Tremaine.
Ash looked down at the basket again. It was such an overwhelming feeling, after everything that had happened, to know that she didn’t always have to be the one making everyone else feel better.
She and Antonio spent the evening watching the sun setting, eating, drinking and laughing together. They sat alone on the cliff in the warm spring air and watched the stars that shone brightly in the sky, a midnight blue ocean glittering with millions of tiny diamonds, the mirror image of the sea at the opposite end of the dock.
Meanwhile, Zander Black stood at the helm of his first ship, the captured prize, the rewards of months of hard work. He was captain, commanding his own crew and doing what he loved most in the world – sailing the seas.
He pushed all other memories from his mind… Thomas and Alistair, Catherine Tremaine… even Ash, though she crept into his mind in those rare moments when he allowed himself to sleep.
! guilty!
)
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