Lila Doyle's eyes stung from the sweat dripping from her forehead. She strained at the weight of the bucket as she pulled it from the well in the middle of the farmyard. Grasping the handle with both calloused hands, Lila shuffled over to the barn door and elbowed it open, muscles trembling from the effort. Dragging the bucket inside, she slipped clear of the heavy planks as they swung shut, blotting the early morning sun out and casting the interior of the barn into dense blackness.
She could barely make out the shapes of the two great horses in front of her. She glanced at the lantern on the wall, unlit for seven years. The crackling of flames, the heat that blistered flesh, and the smoke that choked came back to her and stole her breath. Swallowing the lump in her throat, Lila tore her gaze from the lantern and closed her eyes tightly, as though to block the thoughts from her mind.
Suddenly a light bloomed through her eyelids, and she opened them in surprise. Looking down, she realized the bright bluish-white light was coming from her own hands. She dropped the bucket; it hit the ground with a thud and water sloshed in a wave onto the ground. Two small spheres of bright light glowed in the center of her palms, illuminating the space around her.
Lila stared in shock at the light. Where had it come from? What did it mean?
How do I make it go away?
Willing the spheres to disappear did nothing to dim them. Her breath became ragged; her heartbeat pounded in her ears. She plunged her hands into the waiting bucket of water. Instead of quenching the light, it magnified it, stretching out to every corner of the barn. Lila's shadow disappeared from behind her. The horses snorted and turned their heads away.
Lila lifted her shaking hands out of the water and the light subsided slightly. Gingerly, she touched one of the glowing spheres with a fingertip, but it simply laced through it, cool against her skin.
She forcibly steadied her breathing, clenched her hands into fists, and squeezed her eyes shut. The light did not seep through her eyelids, but she did not dare open her fists for fear it would still be there. Tentatively, she imagined the spheres growing smaller and smaller, until finally winking out.
Lila opened an eye and pried a finger away from the palm of one of her hands. They were back to normal, as though she had only imagined the light. She wanted to believe that, but in her heart she knew it was real. She knew she was unnatural. And she knew what that meant for her and her family.
Trying to wipe away those thoughts with the water dripping from her hands, Lila hastily rubbed her palms on the skirt of her kirtle and finished feeding and watering the animals. She spent some extra time with her own horse, Aristaeus, the large ebony stallion that her father had given her. He'd named them from the old books he treasured—too grand for a farm, but very much him. His brother beside him, Chiron, belonged to Lila's brother Thomas. Thomas would not see her the way others would.
Lila made her way back out to the intolerable heat of the farmyard. Glancing up at the cloudless sky, she sighed and vainly wished for rain. The crops were all suffering, and even the animals' water was running thin. If it did not rain soon, it would bode ill for them and all the farmers around them.
As though in response to Lila's musings, clouds swiftly began to form, almost directly above her, spiralling out to the horizon. She watched in awe as, in a breath, they grew thick, dark, and heavy with rain. Her skin tingled as the air changed in pressure and strength. It picked up her hair and flung it around her; it felt as though the sky had heard her plea.
No…this isn't natural…
Lila tried to stop it—to push away whatever was causing the relentless change in weather. A cold raindrop fell from the sky onto her face, shaking her out of her reverie.
"Just a coincidence," she murmured.
Lila dropped the empty bucket and dashed for the house just before the sky opened up. Fighting against the growing wind, she pushed the door shut and leaned against it, trying to catch her breath.
"Could I have done that?" she breathed, squeezing her eyes shut against the growing nausea in her gut.
The clicking of knitting needles, which Lila had not registered at first, slowed and then stopped.
"Done what?" a female voice asked from across the room, making Lila jump.
Her mother was staring at her quizzically from her place near the fire, knitting forgotten in her lap. Sandra Doyle looked older than her years, but Lila still remembered her mother as a relatively young woman, with flowing golden locks and deep brown eyes. Her hair was now streaked with silver and there were fine lines around those eyes and her mouth, but time had ravaged her temperament more than her looks. Grief had stolen what softness she'd had. Sandra's eyes narrowed and she began puffing herself up like a bird.
"What did you do now, Lila?" Suddenly her mouth went slack with shock. "And what—what is wrong with your eyes?"
Lila suddenly realized her eyes—usually sky blue—were now brown. She didn't know how she knew. She hurried to the mirror hanging over the fireplace, a wedding gift from her late grandmother.
Eyes darker than her mother's stared out at Lila from her face, yet they were not hers.
My eyes are blue. Blue! Not brown!
She blinked furiously, hoping it would dispel the oddity. Her mother took a cautious step toward her. Lila opened her eyes again to find they were even darker than before. She shook. In the mirror, her mother's face twisted with fright—just like Lila's.
"What did you do?" Sandra whispered furiously as she stared in horror at her daughter.
"I didn't—I don't know! I didn't do anything!" Lila wailed as tears gathered at the corners of her eyes. She struggled to keep her composure in front of her mother.
Why is this happening to me? What is going on? What am I?
Lila turned to her mother, who stood rigid and silent. Suddenly Sandra raised her arm and struck Lila across the face, hard, bringing her unshed tears to the surface. Lila stared at her, stunned. Heat flared across her cheek; skin already swelling under her mother's handprint.
Her eyes were sky blue again, but it didn't blunt the shock from her mother's actions.
"What are you—"
"Witch," her mother hissed sharply as she began to back away. "You're a witch. That is the only explanation."
Lila flinched more at her mother's words than her strike. She had always dreaded hearing that word. If anyone accused her of witchcraft, Lila—and anyone tied to her—could burn at the stake. Even her own mother. But an accusation wouldn't necessarily spare her, either.
"Mother, I am not—"
"Just like her. You're just like that witch, Rose!"
"Mother, Grandmother was not—"
They both jumped as the door banged open, admitting her two younger sisters, Faith and Hope, both soaking wet from the storm outside. The twins smiled up at their sister and mother, but those smiles soon slipped as they realized the tension in the room.
"What's wrong?" Hope asked.
"Did someone get hurt?" Faith cried. "Is it Thomas? Is Thomas okay?"
"Everything is fine!" Sandra nearly shouted once she could get a word in. She glared at Lila but swept past her and hurried over to the two young girls.
"Both of you need to get out of these wet things, or you'll catch your death. Go on, go, change into something dry, and be quick about it. Supper will be ready soon."
"But Mama, we—" Hope began petulantly.
"I won't hear it. Now go," Sandra said. Her mild annoyance was enough to send the girls on their way.
Once the twins had disappeared up the stairs, Sandra returned to her chair. Lila couldn't seem to move, so she settled on staring into the fire even though it made her want to cringe. The silence stretched until she could no longer bear it.
"Mother, you know if you accuse me, you will only be condemning your—"
"I know, Lila," her mother interrupted. "I'm not simple."
Sandra returned to her knitting and for a while, there was silence again save for the clicking of the needles. After a long pause, her mother suddenly spoke; though softly, there was no mistaking the venom in her voice.
"I think it's time you found a husband and moved on, Lila."
Lila's head whipped toward her mother in surprise. "But I'm only sixteen years old!"
"And that's plenty old enough to find a husband. You know I was your age when I was betrothed to Deryc."
"F-father?" Lila whispered.
Sandra looked up from her knitting, and her expression was one of bewilderment. Had she not meant to say anything about Lila's father?
"Father?" Hope chimed as she bounded down the stairs.
"Oh Lila, you haven't spoken of Father in such a long time. Do you have another story for us?" Faith added, right on her sister's heels.
Lila and her mother exchanged glances—Lila's abashed, her mother's heated. But then Lila's shame suddenly melted away, as all the shocks of the day had seemed to embolden her. Or numb her. She managed a small smile for her sisters.
"I've told you what he was like. Brave, strong, caring. But Mother, you haven't spoken of Father in years. Do you not remember him fondly?"
Sandra was the picture of barely controlled rage, her hands knotted into her knitting as she glared at her eldest daughter.
"How dare you speak of my Deryc in such a way! Have you no respect?"
"Of course I do! You're not the only one who is still mourning him, Mother!"
"His murderer should not be allowed to mourn him!"
Her mother's words hit Lila in the gut like a blacksmith's hammer. Murderer. It was worse than witch. Faith and Hope stared at the two of them, wide-eyed. Once Lila was able to move again, she grabbed her cloak from the hook on the back of the door.
"I have to—I have to go," she said, and then swept out the door without another word, leaving her mother glaring at the fire.