Read Online Belladonna by Anne Bishop - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Anne Bishop
Tags: Fiction, General, Fantasy fiction, Fantasy, Magic, Epic, Fantasy Fiction; American, Imaginary places, Dreams
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for freeing the other boy from the boulders.
The boys recovered from their misadventure, but no one in Raven's Hill forgot the story that Caitlin had been seen entering Darling's Garden. Darling, who, it was said, had been a mostly benevolent sorceress who could command the world to do her bidding. There had been rumors that women in her father's family had found the garden a few times, but no one had known for sure that the garden still existed until Caitlin Marie had stumbled across it.
After the incident with the boys, Aunt Brighid began talking about the White Isle and Lighthaven, a place of peace, of Light.
Maybe a place for a second chance, a new beginning — and, for Brighid, a return to the life for which she was best suited. For Caitlin, the stories about the White Isle were the seed that began a dream of friends and acceptance, of being part of a community.
Until the Sisters of Light, at Aunt Brighid's request, came to test her to see if she could be one of them.
She was not. Could never be. Wasn't welcome on their little piece of the world.
That she had failed the Light's test had been noticed by the villagers and had sealed her fate, branding her a sorceress.
And now ...
Setting the tin cup back in its place among the stones, Caitlin moved to the bed in the garden that usually gave her the most comfort. Sinking to her knees, she studied the heart's hope.
The plant hadn't bloomed for the past three years — not since she had failed the Light's test. Oh, it continued to survive even though it didn't thrive, and it produced buds each year. But nothing came of those buds, of those small promises of hope. Even now, when it was well into the harvest season and most other plants had spent themselves, it was full of buds, as if it were waiting for some signal to bloom that never came.
Like me, Caitlin thought. I can have my choice of professions in Raven's Hill — village sorceress or village whore. Take me out for a moonlight walk, tell me how lovely I am now that I'm all grown up, tell me my hair is so lush — like a courtesan in a story.
Courtesan! just because I didn't spend much time in school doesn't mean I haven't read the books Michael brought borne from his travels, doesn't mean I wouldn't know a fancy word for whore.
The pain of a lifetime of small hurts and snubs swelled up inside her until there was nothing left. There were plenty of people who were willing to use her in one way or another, but nobody really wanted her.
Swallowing down a sob as she remembered that young man standing in the moonlight, looking so romantic and saying things that ripped her heart open, she took the little folding knife out of her skirt pocket, opened it, and lifted it up to eye level. As she studied the blade, the breeze in the garden died, and it was as if the earth held its breath and waited to see what she would do.
"A whore needs to be lovely," Caitlin said. "A sorceress does not." Lifting the knife, she held the blade just above her cheek.
Imagining Aunt Brighid's horror and sorrowful acceptance upon seeing Caitlin's maimed face gave the girl a feeling of jagged pleasure. Imagining Michael's grief — and worse, the guilt that would live in his eyes ever after because he'd had to leave them in order to provide for them — made her lower the hand that held the knife.
"I can't stand this anymore," she said, staring at the heart's hope. "I can't stand being here, living here. If I wasn't around, Aunt Brighid could go back to the White Isle where she belongs. Then Michael wouldn't have to support anyone but himself and could have a better life than the one he has now. He deserves a better life." Tears filled her eyes. Her breath hitched. "And so do I.
Why can't I go someplace where I can have friends, where I'm accepted for what I am? Why can't there be a place like that? I'm so alone. It hurts to be so alone. Isn't there anyone out there in the world who would be my friend?"
As she curled her body over her
The boys recovered from their misadventure, but no one in Raven's Hill forgot the story that Caitlin had been seen entering Darling's Garden. Darling, who, it was said, had been a mostly benevolent sorceress who could command the world to do her bidding. There had been rumors that women in her father's family had found the garden a few times, but no one had known for sure that the garden still existed until Caitlin Marie had stumbled across it.
After the incident with the boys, Aunt Brighid began talking about the White Isle and Lighthaven, a place of peace, of Light.
Maybe a place for a second chance, a new beginning — and, for Brighid, a return to the life for which she was best suited. For Caitlin, the stories about the White Isle were the seed that began a dream of friends and acceptance, of being part of a community.
Until the Sisters of Light, at Aunt Brighid's request, came to test her to see if she could be one of them.
She was not. Could never be. Wasn't welcome on their little piece of the world.
That she had failed the Light's test had been noticed by the villagers and had sealed her fate, branding her a sorceress.
And now ...
Setting the tin cup back in its place among the stones, Caitlin moved to the bed in the garden that usually gave her the most comfort. Sinking to her knees, she studied the heart's hope.
The plant hadn't bloomed for the past three years — not since she had failed the Light's test. Oh, it continued to survive even though it didn't thrive, and it produced buds each year. But nothing came of those buds, of those small promises of hope. Even now, when it was well into the harvest season and most other plants had spent themselves, it was full of buds, as if it were waiting for some signal to bloom that never came.
Like me, Caitlin thought. I can have my choice of professions in Raven's Hill — village sorceress or village whore. Take me out for a moonlight walk, tell me how lovely I am now that I'm all grown up, tell me my hair is so lush — like a courtesan in a story.
Courtesan! just because I didn't spend much time in school doesn't mean I haven't read the books Michael brought borne from his travels, doesn't mean I wouldn't know a fancy word for whore.
The pain of a lifetime of small hurts and snubs swelled up inside her until there was nothing left. There were plenty of people who were willing to use her in one way or another, but nobody really wanted her.
Swallowing down a sob as she remembered that young man standing in the moonlight, looking so romantic and saying things that ripped her heart open, she took the little folding knife out of her skirt pocket, opened it, and lifted it up to eye level. As she studied the blade, the breeze in the garden died, and it was as if the earth held its breath and waited to see what she would do.
"A whore needs to be lovely," Caitlin said. "A sorceress does not." Lifting the knife, she held the blade just above her cheek.
Imagining Aunt Brighid's horror and sorrowful acceptance upon seeing Caitlin's maimed face gave the girl a feeling of jagged pleasure. Imagining Michael's grief — and worse, the guilt that would live in his eyes ever after because he'd had to leave them in order to provide for them — made her lower the hand that held the knife.
"I can't stand this anymore," she said, staring at the heart's hope. "I can't stand being here, living here. If I wasn't around, Aunt Brighid could go back to the White Isle where she belongs. Then Michael wouldn't have to support anyone but himself and could have a better life than the one he has now. He deserves a better life." Tears filled her eyes. Her breath hitched. "And so do I.
Why can't I go someplace where I can have friends, where I'm accepted for what I am? Why can't there be a place like that? I'm so alone. It hurts to be so alone. Isn't there anyone out there in the world who would be my friend?"
As she curled her body over her
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