Chapter 1: Scene 3
The (tentative) final scene that wraps up Chapter 1. More dialogue in this one.
Disclaimer: Names are subject to change–I can't decide on last names for the life of me! I guess it's Joshua Stone for now.
“Leila!” Joshua squeaked. The inflection in his voice betrayed his racing heart.
Leila giggled with abandon, revealing a pair of symmetric dimples.
“How many times are you gonna fall for that, silly!” She punched him in the arm and told him to scoot over.
Joshua made room on the crate for her to sit, hoping his sudden giddiness wasn’t obvious.
“Good morning, Ms. MacGill!” Thomas said with a tenderness that only Leila could bring out of him. Joshua used to feel jealous of his father’s partiality toward Leila. Now it brought him relief; he knew he'd be spared any lectures when she was around.
“Morning, Mr. Stone!” Leila beamed.
Her smile, bright as sunshine, always made the list of conversation topics in the village. Hardly a day would go by without idle chatter along the lines of, '…lass could escape the gallows with that smile, eh?' He tended to agree.
Joshua snuck a few glances at her while she chatted with Thomas. It was hard to picture her objectively while her arm brushed against his. She wore a faded blue headband that could hardly contain her wild auburn locks. Her expression was light and joyful like she possessed some hidden treasure. It seemed to him Leila was always in a state of bloom. He blinked a few times, just to be sure she was really there. He still didn’t understand why she, Steward MacGill’s daughter, chose him of all people as a friend.
It all started a few years ago. He’d just stepped foot on the dunes of the western shore, shivering in the chilly remnants of winter, when he saw her dancing in the shore break. Frozen at the sight and painfully shy, he watched in awe as she twirled around in the sand without a care in the world, the icy saltwater washing up over her bare feet. The next course of action was decided for him. She’d spotted him and without hesitation marched right up the dunes and demanded to know his name. He remembered stumbling through that introduction with many stutters and awkward pauses, but she didn’t seem to care. They sat in the sand for hours chatting about everything from sharks to fairytales as the morning slipped by. His father had been furious when he showed up at the market two hours late with half his quota, but it didn’t matter.
Leila was more important.
“Where’d you go this time?” Leila’s voice brought him back to the present. Her attention was solely on him now. Thomas was busy tending to a few customers at the counter.
“At the beach,” he replied with a lopsided smile. It was no match for her radiance, but she had a way of bringing out his better moods.
“The King’s Knights are at it again,” he said, pointing out the two dueling children. They’d attracted quite the crowd. Right when Leila saw them, the rogue chicken, still committed to its escape, barreled into the children’s makeshift arena, darting between their legs. The chicken’s owner, chest heaving from the chase, made an ill-advised dive toward the animal. Chaos ensued. The old farmer and the children collapsed into a heap on the ground as the bird bolted away, screeching victoriously.
He and Leila shared a quick glance before keeling over in laughter. Leila’s hand found his arm the way it always did when she laughed. The touch was entirely too brief, but it was a thrill he learned to live on.
Joshua glanced toward the counter and his mirth vanished. Just as suddenly as it arrived, the pleasantness of the day was swallowed up by the dark cloud of reality when he locked eyes with his father’s next customer–Will Graves. In many ways Will was the envy of every boy in the village: Tall and handsome; a natural athlete; destined for prosperity on account of his father’s blacksmithing trade. Joshua knew the truth, though: Will was the embodiment of evil. Even now, Joshua could see the scheming malevolence in the other boy’s grey eyes. An uneasy feeling washed over him as Will approached the counter.
“Good morning, good sir!” Will flashed what he probably thought was a charming smile.
“Ah, the Graves boy! What can I get for you today, son?” Thomas asked, bracing his palms wide on the counter.
“I’ll take four mullet, please! Hoping to cook father a meal later.”
“Are you now?” Thomas asked, taking a knife and beginning to fillet the requested fish. “My son should take a lesson from you, boy.”
Joshua’s fists tightened.
Will pounced on the opportunity. “I try to teach Josh lessons all the time! He’s not the greatest student, are you Josh?”
“Don’t call me Josh,” he muttered through gritted teeth, gaze on the ground. His voice was only audible to Leila.
“Say, I’m not sure I’ve met your friend here, Josh!” Will made a beeline across the counter and approached Leila, his eyes never leaving hers. It was a lie. He knew exactly who Leila was.
“Don’t be rude, son.” Thomas called over his shoulder, still focused on carving up the fish.
“He already…Leila. Her name is Leila,” Joshua grumbled, unsure why he went along with the bit.
“Lovely to meet you, Leila,” said Will, gently bringing her hand to his lips and bowing slightly. “I must say, your eyes are most beautiful.”
“Why thank you, Will!” Leila’s eyebrow was raised in skeptical fashion. Nonetheless her lips curled up slightly in enchanted amusement. The two chatted while Thomas put Will’s order together.
Joshua felt betrayed. He wished Leila had never showed up at the stall today. Thomas’s lectures were paradise compared to the torturous scene before him. Will had been a nuisance for years, but he’d never hated him more than he did now. He despised the way Leila laughed at the taller boy’s stupid jokes, couldn’t stand their never-ending eye contact, loathed the faint blush that crept its way across Leila’s cheeks.
“Alright, boy. Here’s your fillets,” announced Thomas. “You’d best cook these quickly; the heat is bad today. Going to have to brine the rest of these fish.”
“Yes, sir!” Will replied, bouncing to the other side of the counter and dropping a few coins into Thomas’s waiting hand.
“Give your father my regards, would you?”
Will nodded politely and turned his attention back to Leila. “It was wonderful to meet you, Leila. I didn’t think Josh kept such wonderful company!”
With a wink at Joshua that suggested he knew exactly the damage he’d just done, Will turned on his heel and trotted away, whistling a tune as he went.
Joshua was furious. He could hardly see straight, let alone muster a response. Even Leila’s soft nudge failed to disarm him.
“Comical, wasn’t he?” Leila tried. “Why don’t you want him to call you Josh? It’s a nice name”
He bolted to his feet, mind racing. A shaky breath escaped him.
“Because it’s not my name!” He spat, refusing to look at her. Out of the corner of his eye he saw her shocked expression.
“Where are your manners, son?” Thomas demanded.
He didn’t reply. Feeling suffocated, he resolved to leave as quickly as possible.
“I know you don’t like him, but he seems harmless…” Leila said, visibly perturbed.
“Why don’t you go spend time with him then!” He turned and yelled.
Ugly, bitter regret coursed through his veins as soon as the words left his mouth. He’d never yelled at her before. A mixture of shock and hurt cast shadows on her sunny features, followed by a slow sigh, until a steady irritation set in.
“You’re forgetting that I came here to see you.” With a roll of her eyes, she slipped out the back of the stall as quietly as she entered, looking dimmer than usual.
It was time to leave. Now.
Abandoning his fishing gear, he hastily folded a few of the mullet into a strip of cloth and stormed off. Thomas didn’t try to stop him, nor did he say a word. With a cryptic shake of his head he turned his attention toward salting the remaining fish.
Joshua rushed through the crowded square once again, emotions a tempest. In the next moment he was through the northern entrance of the market and heading toward the forest. Instinctively, he reached in his pouch for the crystal–still cold and silent.
He had only one destination in mind–Percival’s.
Till next time!
Ethan Mark
