Page 28 of The Darkland

“Mara!” she scolded. “What is the matter with you?”

Mara’s face was white with fear, her breathing rapid from having mounted three flights of stairs in a panic.

“Misha,” she grasped her sister by the arms. “We have got to leave this place. Now!”

Micheline could see the terror in her sister’s eyes. “Why, Mara? What has happened?”

Mara couldn’t answer. Releasing her sister, she ran to the massive wardrobe and threw open the doors. Grabbing the worn satchel that had once belonged to her mother, she began stuffing garments into it.

Micheline went to her, struggling to calm the hysterical woman. “Tell me what’s the matter, darling. What has upset you so?”

Mara dropped the satchel in her haste. Growling in frustration, she turned to her sister, both hands clutching the clothing she was trying so desperately to pack.

“This place,” she hardly knew where to begin. “Do you remember when Sir Corwin called it The Darkland?”

When Micheline nodded, Mara swallowed hard before continuing. “It’s called The Darkland because young women die here. These dresses that were brought to us are from those dead ladies. Do you remember Lady Valdine and Lady Wanda explaining how the garments had been left behind? With hesitance and uncertainty, as if they did not want us to know!”

Micheline wasn’t any better at masking her horror than her sister. “Are you certain?” she hissed. “Who told you this?”

“Children of a servant. They have lived here for a very long time and explained the evil of this place to me,” Mara shuddered involuntarily, struggling to go on. “Thank God someone had the courage to enlighten us.But Kirk… they say he is cursed. Every young woman who died had eyes for him.”

Micheline gasped. “But… Mara! He is so fond of you and…!”

There was a sharp rap on the door. Mara shrieked, dropping the garments in her hands. Frozen with fright, the sisters stared at the panel as the caller rapped again. And a third time. Finally, a voice echoed from the opposite side of the door.

“Mara?” It was Kirk. “Lady Micheline? Are you there?”

Micheline gasped again and Mara shushed her sternly. Her entirely body trembling, she moved swiftly to the door, making sure it was bolted before replying.

“Go away, Sir Kirk,” she half-demanded, half-begged. “We do not wish to see you.”

In the corridor, Kirk’s brow furrowed at the sound of Mara’s voice. She sounded so… weak.

“Mara?” he tried the latch; it was locked. He rattled it loudly. “Mara, what’s wrong? Open the door.”

The sound of his deep, soothing voice was enough to drive her to tears. Terrified and confused, Mara sobbed softly against the old, scrubbed wood.

“Please,” she whispered loudly. “Just… go away. Leave us alone, Kirk.”

He rattled the latch again, more firmly this time. “I will not. Open the door or I shall break it down.”

“Nay!” she knew he was fully capable of carrying out his threat. “Do not break it down. Please do as I ask!”

Hand still on the iron latch, Kirk was distressed by Mara’s attitude. But he was even more distressed by the quaking of her voice. To become angry would only inflame her, so very calmly, he leaned against the seam where the door met the frame.

“I won’t break it down, love,” he murmured, knowing she could hear him. “But please open the door. Why are you so upset?”

He could hear her sobbing. “I am… I am simply fatigued. Micheline and I wish to be left alone.”

“I will leave you alone if you open the door and prove to me that you’re well.”

“Do you not trust my word?”

“When I do not know the reason for your tears, I must say that I do not.”

Mara stared at the latch a long, long time. Finally, and very slowly, she released the bolt. And after another lengthy pause, she cracked the panel open.

Kirk’s stone-gray eyes were staring at her. Mara sniffled, meeting his gaze and struggling not to crumble.