Ashes of Iris
Copyright © 2014 Stephanie Poscente
All rights reserved.
The use of any part of this publication, reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means without prior written consent is an infringement of the copyright law.
This novel is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of names, characters, places and incidents to actual events, locales, or persons is entirely coincidental.
Cover art by DamonZa – www.damonza.com
For Jay –
Contents
Prologue 5
Chapter 1 7
Chapter 2 18
Chapter 3 30
Chapter 4 36
Chapter 5 52
Chapter 6 71
Chapter 7 80
Chapter 8 89
Chapter 9 103
Chapter 10 127
Chapter 11 135
Chapter 12 149
Chapter 13 167
Chapter 14 178
Chapter 15 186
Chapter 16 194
Chapter 17 200
Chapter 18 209
Prologue
Blood sprouted to the surface of her bare arms where they rubbed against the aging, splintered wood. The curve of the post pressed against the bones of her spine, pushing her into an unnatural arch. She tried to shift, to ease the ache it caused, but the bindings held her rigid. The wind, once welcomed and refreshing, howled in waves over her exposed scalp and she clenched her teeth. Rage bubbled near the surface. She opened her mind to its intensity, and closed her eyes to the rest.
Screams and jeers echoed in the open air, a building excitement that sliced through her ears like jagged, shattered glass. The pain only fueled her anger. Her bare feet rested awkwardly against the rough pile beneath her, and she heard a sound somewhere near but kept her eyes softly closed. A smile began to creep to her lips.
Smoke rose as the unmistakable crackle of fire filled the air. The whoops of the surrounding crowd grew louder. Someone, a stranger, whistled in the distance.
Damn them, she thought, the smile fierce now, damn them all.
Faces began to swim before her closed eyelids. She focused her energy on them, willed them into clarity. She saw pale skin, smooth, nearly flawless - blue eyes wide with naivety, a smile plastered on impossibly red lips. Rage burst through her at the sight, and she groaned in response to its power. The flames reached out with their blistering tongues, licking the soles of her feet, but she did not feel them.
Another face, dark and solemn, eyes locked on her with a foolish expectation. The familiarity pulled at her nerves. Not rage this time but pity crept into her heart. She cursed it away, screaming silent obscenities at her weakness. The smell of melting flesh and charring wood billowed in clouds around her.
A suspicious gaze manifested in the darkness, an aged and withering face, reigniting the anger with such startling force that she was momentarily blindsided by the physical pain of the fire climbing her thighs, of the smoke crowding her lungs. A scream escaped her tightened lips, the crowd hooting in response. She focused every ounce of energy on the face swimming in her mind’s eye, focused on her hatred and anger, and began to mutter quiet, unintelligible words.
The three faces flashed through her memory, spurring her on, as she continued to mutter, spitting words with such venomous hate that she could feel the thickness of them as if they were bile oozing from her throat. Black smoke, the smoke of fire and burning fat, began to choke her words, stifling them as they erupted through her teeth. Nothing but the act of speaking them mattered then, and she pushed each of them from her body with the last remaining dredges of oxygen, her eyes squeezing shut against the sting of heat.
At last, as she began to shout hoarse streams of a language unknown to the observers, a final face appeared before her. She watched it through closed lids, watched the dark hair fall over the darker eyes, watched the sneering lips pull back, watched as hands raised to keep her from getting too near. In those final moments, through the warm caress of the flames over her bubbling flesh, she felt her heart splinter – the pain shivered through her bones a thousand times over, the regret and resentment fiercer than flames could ever prove to be.
In that final breath, she released the last remaining words with meek surrender, slumping forward, held upright by the bindings at her bloodied wrists, and the deep black of death swallowed her.
Chapter 1
A burst of wind sent flyaway strands of hair into her eyes and swept the crumpled photograph on her lap to the floor. She let out a sigh and pulled the rogue hairs back into the knot at the base of her neck. The open window of her second story bedroom vibrated in the wind as she untangled her limbs and rose from her armchair, suddenly aware of the ache in her knees and tingle in her feet. She stooped to retrieve the photograph and place it gently on her bed before returning to the window and peering out into the semi-darkness. The wind rustled the leaves in the large oak tree that blocked her view of the street in the distance. With narrowed eyes she glared up at the darkened sky. The moon was blanketed with warning grey clouds.
“Sophie!” called a voice outside the closed bedroom door, breaking the silence. “Sophie, I need your help!”
With another sigh, Sophie turned from the gloom outside and hastened to the door. Pulling it open, she saw nothing out of the ordinary in the deserted hallway. It wasn’t until she heard a grunt from behind a towering pile of clean laundry that she discovered the source of the plea. A stout woman knelt on the wooden floor, plundering in the pile of clothing as though searching for treasure. Aunt Marilyn didn’t look up as Sophie approached, but shouted in a frantic voice, “I need my yellow blouse, have you seen it?”
“No,” she replied, “I’ll look for it, where might it be?”
Flustered, the woman waved a weathered hand in Sophie’s direction, “Never mind, never mind. Are you packed?”
Sophie glanced over her shoulder at her cluttered bedroom. The ornate wooden bed frame – handmade by her late uncle – took up most of the far wall; a vibrant white bedspread lay in a heap at its foot. Nearly seven years ago she had come to live at her aunt and uncle’s estate, only a few days after her sixteenth birthday. She remembered the first time she had seen her uncle's handiwork, the delicate details and smooth surface, and felt a heavy swell of sadness fill her chest, as it had many times in the previous year. She tried not to think of him often, because of the pain it caused her, but sometimes his face floated through her mind unexpectedly.
With a shake of her head, Sophie seized the handle of the suitcase she had packed and left waiting by the door the previous day and turned back to her aunt still rifling through the piles of clothing in the hall.
“Yes, I’m ready. Are you sure you-”
“Aha!” exclaimed Aunt Marilyn, seemingly unaware of Sophie’s reverie or response. “I knew it was in here!” She waved a handful of yellow fabric at Sophie with a victorious smile. “Let’s get moving or we are going to be late.”
Following her aunt’s lead, Sophie struggled past the overflowing basket and down the staircase at the end of the hall, her suitcase bouncing along behind. Coming to a sudden stop at the foot of the stairs, she couldn’t help but be surprised by the neatly lined row of luggage waiting by the front door. Suddenly her lone suitcase felt shrunken and inadequate.
“How can you have so much to bring for only ten days?” she asked, trying to stifle the anxiety welling up inside her.
“Only ten days?” Aunt Marilyn replied with raised eyebrows. “I have only packed the necessities. It is inconceivable to go to Europe with only one suitcase. Especially for ten days! And your little sister is getting married, Sophie. You have packed some nice things to wear, haven’t you? Oh, I should have checked before you shut your bag.”
Glancing with a frown at the suitcase beside her, Sophie shrugged and forced composure. Her sister would be furious if she showed up with nothing proper to wear, though she had been sure to triple-check before sealing her bag.
“Yes, Aunt Mar, I’ve got enough. I have packed a suitcase before. I guess I just don’t need as much as you do.”
With a smile meant to be sympathetic, Aunt Marilyn patted Sophie on the shoulder and turned to open the front door.
“Oh,” she turned her head back, “I’ve left my camera on the dining room table. Be a love and fetch it for me? I’ll start loading the car.”
Without a word, Sophie released the handle of her suitcase and headed for the dining room. Uncle Gus’s bright green eyes smiled down at her from the portrait over the hall table. The sight of his face brought with it a tremendous feeling of loneliness which she struggled to repress and find the excitement that should have been there instead. Biting her lip, she inhaled deeply and forced herself to smile.
I’m going to enjoy this trip, she thought. There’s no reason I shouldn’t.
But she knew there was a reason. As much as she tried to hide it, Sophie could not deny that the idea of spending ten days with her immediate family, regardless of which part of the world they were in, frightened her. It had never been easy to relate to them.
Her mother and father lived a vibrant lifestyle in the bustling city of Toronto – a lifestyle that Sophie had never found comfort in. Her younger sister Katie, on the other hand, reveled in the constant activity in their home. The fact that the twenty-one year old had recently gotten engaged to a forty-something business mogul proved that she aimed high and expected nothing but the best in life. She was exactly what their parents wanted in a child.
It was not until she decided to live with her father's brother and sister-in-law that Sophie discovered the kindred connection between herself and the uncle she hardly knew. It was a connection so foreign in its depth that she tried in vain to avoid his presence for several months, but he sought her out, pressing her for opinions on books and music, asking her questions only for the benefit of making conversation. He understood her in a way no one else had before, understood that life did not always appear to her the way it did to others. He felt the same, he said, and made a point of sticking by her side in situations he knew would prove trying.
Her sister’s wedding was the first real challenge Sophie would face without him, and her heart ached at the thought.
Reaching the end of the hallway she entered the kitchen, pulled the camera bag off of the large table and, being careful to keep her eyes straight ahead, walked past the smiling face on the wall and out the front door, slamming it shut behind her.
“Sophie! Let me.”
A tall boy wearing a faded plaid shirt came striding up the sidewalk with his hands outstretched. As he approached, the smell of newly mowed grass wafted through the air. His extended hands were tinted green and she could see, even from where she stood, the dirt caked under his fingernails.
“It’s alright Marshall, it’s not heavy,” Sophie replied quickly, tugging her suitcase behind her and out of his reach. Seeing the disappointment on his face, she backtracked and added, with a friendly smile, “You can take the camera, if you want.”
Handing him the bulky camera bag, she was relieved to see a smile light up his young features.
Marshall and his family had lived next door since the year after Sophie arrived. Despite his promising height and charming personality, not to mention the prodding from her aunt and uncle, she had always regarded him as a child – though he was only three years younger. Lately, though, she had a sense that his frequent visits to her home were not merely to borrow an egg or offer to mow the lawn.
“It’s sure going to be great for you in Switzerland, Sophie,” Marshall was saying as she trailed behind him. “Wow, what a place. I’ve seen pictures of some of the castles there. They’re so big, I always wonder how people built them without the technology we have now. It’s like those Egyptians, you know. I still think it's pretty cool that your sister found a place to rent for her wedding. You must be getting excited. I bet you'll look great in that dress you got.” He turned to her, his eyes scanning her from head to toe.
Stifling a groan, Sophie turned to her aunt, who stood by the driver side door with an amused smile on her face. Catching on quickly, Aunt Marilyn clapped her hands together and exclaimed, “Time to go, my dear! Good-bye Marshall, keep an eye on the place while we’re gone.”
“Sure thing Mrs. Iris! See you, Sophie.” Marshall shot her a wink, smiling broadly.
Sophie scrambled into the passenger seat with more haste than was necessary and slammed the door behind her, waving meekly so as not to seem rude. She pulled the seat belt across her chest and jammed it into place, concentrating on keeping her eyes focused straight ahead instead of rolling them toward the ceiling.
Despite her discomfort, she knew she would never confess to him she didn’t see him in any other way than a friendly neighbor. Confrontation was a skill she couldn’t seem to master, although she had tried many times. Usually, it ended with her in tears and the one she had meant to confront in utter bewilderment. That was precisely the reason she would be stuck, one week from now, surrounded by people who crushed her meager self-esteem as if it were fresh dough and celebrating a union she couldn’t quite understand.
“I guess it could be worse,” she murmured.
“What was that?” Aunt Marilyn asked as she turned onto the main highway heading for the airport. The first few drops of rain pattered on the windshield.
“I said, this is going to be great,” Sophie replied quickly, “really great.”
Settling into her seat, Sophie gazed out of the rain splattered window, scanning the blur of passing houses and cars, and tried to think positive. She was excited to travel somewhere new, and the castle they were staying in sounded fascinating and beautiful. There were rumors it was haunted, though she wasn’t one to believe in that kind of thing. She’d also thought of hiking one of the many mountains surrounding the small Swiss town, though Aunt Marilyn hadn't approved of that idea.
“Bears, Sophie, or mountain lions,” she had exclaimed, shaking her head. “Can you imagine the upheaval if you were to get eaten?”
Despite the promise of adventure, however, it was difficult to maintain even the slightest flicker of hope. Her mind incessantly reverted back to the negatives.
She might be on her way to a new place, but the people would be the same. Drama never failed to make an appearance when her family congregated, and Sophie was convinced that the location mattered very little. Her hope of stealing more than an hour or two at a time before the wedding was unrealistically optimistic.
“-and then we’ll check our bags and maybe grab a coffee. We have some time until our flight leaves.”
Aunt Marilyn’s voice brought Sophie back to reality and, looking around her, she noticed the familiar entrance to Halifax Stanfield International Airport. The rain had been short-lived, the last straggling raindrops hitting the windshield with a faint tick.
Aunt Marilyn talked animatedly.
“It's going to be quite the trip, Sophie. So much to see and do, I'm sure Katie is just dying with anticipation. What a beautiful place for a wedding. And who knows, maybe you'll meet a nice boy.”
Sophie shifted in her seat and tried to focus on anything but her aunt’s babble. Her stomach churned and she swallowed, wishing she had skipped the heavy meatloaf at dinner. Before long, they would be confined to the belly of a plane and she would have eight torturous hours to contemplate what awaited her in Zurich.
Aunt Marilyn was practically vibrating with excitement as they made their way through airport security. Her hands twisted and untwisted the strap of her leather purse with a dull squeak that made Sophie cringe. Every minute seemed to dredge by with the speed of thick molasses, every movement exaggerated by nerves and inhibition. They wandered the bright halls in search of co
ffee, though she knew caffeine would only worsen her building anxiety.
Her mind wandered freely, settling with unpleasant anticipation on the upcoming days and the role she would be expected to play. It was no secret that Katie and Sophie related to one another more like reluctant neighbors than sisters, and the part of excited sibling and daughter would be difficult to play.
Resurfacing from her daydream for a moment, Sophie caught the last few words of her aunt's sentence.
“...never thought you would get up in front of all of those people and make a speech!”
Sophie felt the blood drain from her face, and her stomach tightened like a vice.
“No one said anything about a speech,” she spluttered.
“Sophie, honey, you are the bride's sister,” Aunt Marilyn replied in a tone fit for a belligerent child. “Of course you have to make a speech.”
“I… but… what am I supposed to say?”
“Say something nice about Katie,” explained Aunt Marilyn. “Say how happy you are that she's found someone like Brian. Just speak from your heart, you'll do fine.”
Sophie laughed uncomfortably. It felt like more than she could bear on top of everything else. Last time she had tried to speak publicly, she had ended up fainting from nerves. And now, even if she managed to speak at all, speaking from the heart was sure to get her thrown out of the reception.
Aunt Marilyn eyed Sophie over the rim of her paper coffee cup.
“You will do absolutely fine. Don't fret over it or you will ruin the whole trip.”
Taking several deep breaths and another sip of what was now cold coffee, she swallowed her excuses and nodded weakly.
“Yes, I suppose you're right,” she said, though her voice sounded shaky and muted.
With a brisk nod of her head, Aunt Marilyn turned to inspect the monitor displaying the departure times, squinting because of the distance.