Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed! I love this story so much, I'm actually a few chapters ahead. Here's Chapter One, but don't tell my beta! I'll be reposting with whatever she has advised in a couple of days, but for now, here is my version of this chapter. Enjoy!
Chapter One
The village I grew up in was a simple fishing village, not too far from the coast. I had lived there all my life, never straying from the close-knit community where I knew every villager by name. It had never crossed my mind that I might want to leave. I knew that my father needed me on the fields, and in the house, too. As the eldest – and only – son, I was his solitary ally against a horde of females.
The eldest daughter – my younger sister, Marta – was sixteen years old, and sewed better than perhaps Madre herself. She liked to decorate her unadorned dresses with complicated embroidery, and weave wild flowers through her hair. She did not care for the young men in our village – the butcher's boy, the blacksmith's apprentice – but I knew by the looks they tossed her way that they cared for her very much. It was required on more than one occasion for me to stand up and shield her from their leering gazes and catcalls.
The second eldest daughter was Mercedes. At fifteen, she was Marta's opposite, detesting the dresses that were passed down to her. Instead of fashioning daisy-chains in the garden like her older sister, Mercedes preferred to stay inside with Madre and help with the cooking – occasionally venturing outside to watch the blacksmith work, watching his actions intently. She wore her blonde – and oddity for our Spanish family – hair cropped like a boy's and often came home with her pink cheeks smeared with mud. Sometimes I thought she was more masculine than me.
My two youngest sisters were twins – Conchita and Marisol. The twins – usually referred as to just that, "The Twins" – were often the source of Madre's stress, running riot through the house and refusing to participate in quiet drawing with chalk or learning to sew with Marta. They were five years old and a nightmare.
And then, of course, there was my dear Josefina. The middle sister, at just eight years old, Josefina was frequently left out of the loop – not quite boyish enough to wrestle with Mercedes in the mud, not quite feminine enough to learn how to crochet from Marta. Usually she sat under the large oak tree, watching Padre and I work on the fields, occasionally lending a hand when our father was too exhausted to protest. She clung to me like a monkey, insisting I was her only friend, and begging me to tell her the fairy tale she had fell asleep to most nights.
"Not now, Josefina." I collected my rusty spade from against the wall of our house and made my way to the open gate. She trotted after me persistently, blinking her large brown eyes at me as I bent down to tighten my shoes. "Chica, you know I have to help Padre."
"Please, Jesse?" she asked. "Why do you have to work every day? We sell everything we harvest… we hardly ever keep any of our crops."
"That's why I work," I explained, patiently. "So we'll have more to sell, but also more to keep." I stopped, and patted my sister good-naturedly on the head. "Please stop persisting, Josefina. I will tell you the story later."
She stopped at the gate, sticking out her bottom lip morosely. "Goodbye, Jesse," she said, waving forlornly. "It's going to be a long day." I turned around from where I had started to walk again.
"It will soon be evening, chica," I called, before joining my father on the fields and digging my spade deep into the uncooperative dirt, coughing as the rising dust got to my lungs.
We worked until the sun was at its highest, and then retreated to the shade of the oak tree, opening the parcels Madre had sent us along with. Taking a large bite of the chicken leg she had supplied, I watched my father sit uncomfortably beside me and ponder instead of consuming his own meal.
"You should rest, Padre," I said, concernedly. "You are too tired to work at the moment; the sun is too hot." He smiled weakly at me, and obediently opened his parcel.
He sighed, and unravelled his parcel. "You know as well as I do, Jesse, that we are behind with our harvesting. We need to work for as long as we can. Your mother and I need the money." I shook my head.
"No." My voice was firm. "Madre needs you to be healthy. She needs you to eat." He took a bite obediently, and then promptly finished it off, hungrily.
"Sometimes I wonder who the parent is," my father said, with a grin. I returned the smile, before his expression turned more serious. "Is Josefina alright, Jesse?"
"Why ask me?" I questioned. "I'm sure Madre would know better than me, or perhaps one of the girls." My father shook his head.
"No, you are her friend," he said. "Josefina doesn't get along well with any of her older sisters. And you know the twins only have time for each other." I nodded.
"She's lonely," I explained. "She asked me to tell her the story this morning, but I refused. I knew there was too much work to be done on the fields." My father smiled sadly.
"Go talk to your sister, Jesse," he said, and I wondered if I'd heard him correctly. He shook my shoulder, urging me to return to the house. "Go on, boy. Go and tell Josefina the story. I know you tell it so well."
I studied my father's expression. "Padre, are you sure? I can stay here for another two hours to help, if you need me to. I know that we are behind on the harvest, you told me so yourself, only two minutes ago." But he was adamant.
"No." He pointed towards the house. "Go." I shrugged and grabbed the spade, running back down the dusty path to the wooden gate. I pushed it open and made my way through, making sure to lean the spade up against the wall again before I went inside.
"Josefina?" I called her name as I rinsed my hands in the wash basin my mother had left by the door. "Josefina? I'm back early. Do you want to hear the story or not?" My sister appeared in the doorway, beaming excitedly.
"Do you mean it?" she asked, her eyes shining. I nodded, and she rushed towards me, throwing herself into the air. I caught her, and scooped her into my arms like she was a baby. She rested her head beneath my chin and breathed deeply. "Tell me about the Mediators," she whispered.
I carried her into her room – the room she shared with Mercedes. Marta had the pleasure of sharing with The Twins. "You know the story," I said, as I dropped her onto her bed. Her eyes grew dark with desperation. "You made Mama tell you every night before you went to sleep. You must know it better than I do." Her large pink lips shrunk into a pout. "Why do you want to know anyway? The Mediators are dark creatures – you don't want anything to do with them-" She reached up and pressed a cold finger against my lips.
"Ssh," she told me off. "They'll get you if you say anything bad about them." She released my mouth slowly and cautiously.
"I told you that you know the story better than I do," I reminded her. She laughed, and buried her head into my chest. I kissed the top of her head affectionately. "O.K, I'll see what I can remember." Josefina closed her eyes. "There's another world out there," I began, mirroring the exact words of my mother. "One that not everyone can see – one of the deceased, of the spirits. The join between the worlds is an undetectable one…"
"And those can slip through the join are called the Mediators," Josefina whispered religiously. "They can see the spirits, and solve their problems."
"So they say," I corrected her. "I'm not too sure."
"They can," Josefina insisted. "I believe they can."
"O.K, chica," I laughed. "They can solve their problems. They travel from town to town, solving the spirits problems, and relieving their townspeople of their dead ancestors." I grimaced at the morbid tale. Josefina, however, was more absorbed than ever.
"And then the village gives the mediators a reward," Josefina recited, breathlessly. "Like gold, or food."
"That's right. It's all rubbish, of course-"
"Ssh!" Josefina repeated, and she struck out her finger again. "Stop it! They'll get you!"
"Yes, yes," I replied, absent-mindedly waving a dismissive hand in the air. "Well, what do you want to do now?" She leapt off my lap and rushed to the other side of the room. "I don't know why you like that story so much; it's hardly an epic novel…" She was making her way towards me again, carrying a metal bucket. She thrust it into my lap and jutted out her lip.
"Hopscotch," she declared, and I looked down into the bucket to see several colours of chalk. "Can you draw one for me?" I sighed.
"I can try," I replied truthfully. "Though you know that this time, Madre is definitely the one to ask."
I awoke early the next morning, before the sun had properly risen. Nobody else in my house was awake yet – it was Sunday, the day my father rested for a few more hours in the morning, on my mother's command – and I crept outside, stretching at the gate.
Despite it being the day of rest, the town was humming. Chickens clucked in the front yards, and the path through the village leading past my house was busy with people scurrying back and forth. There was a buzz of chatter as I made my way to the butcher's; a fresh wave of gossip had evidently made its way to the town. I tried to catch words as I passed – as an avid gossiper, Marta always begged me for the latest scoop as I went out every morning – but I could get none. I pushed the door to the butcher's and collected coins from the purse Madre had left out for me for the week's meat, ready to hand them over.
"Hello there, young Jesse," said the butcher, looking up from where he had been working. I bowed my head respectfully in acknowledgement. "How is your father doing?"
"He is fine, thank-you sir," I replied. The butcher smiled.
"What can I do for you?"
"I'm here to collect the week's meat, please." I made an effort to be polite – if I was anything else then I was sure to receive a scolding from my mother. He dealt me the meat and I pressed the coins into his palm. He nodded his head, and I made to leave, even opening the door slightly, before he stopped me with just four words.
"They're here, you know."
I turned around. "Who are?" I asked. The butcher kept his head down, as he diced the meat before him.
"The Mediators. They've set up camp in a nearby field. They came last night – it's the talk of the town." My mouth dropped. The mythical Mediators – the Mediators I'd taken to be nothing more than a silly story – were here? In my town? I found this almost impossible to believe. Nothing ever happened here. It was a sleepy village, and it was fiercely determined to stay that way. Nobody here would ever anticipate such visitors.
I left without another word, rushing back to the house so that I could wake Josefina. She would be so excited. I pictured her shining face as I ran, my heart in my mouth.
I dropped the meat I had collected onto the table that sat in the middle of our main room, before making my way quietly to her room, careful not to disturb Mercedes, who slept soundly beside her. I shook her gently, lowering my breathless voice to a whisper.
"Josefina," I said. "Josefina, wake up. I have a surprise for you."
She roused slowly, groaning groggily as she sat up. She frowned confusedly when she saw me. "Jesse?" she asked loudly, and I shushed her hurriedly, glancing at Mercedes, who merely yawned and rolled over. "What are you doing here?"
I went to tell her all about the Mediators' arrival, but at the last second changed my mind. I shook my head, and stood up from where I had been sitting on her bed. "Never mind, querida. Go back to sleep."
I realised now that it had been foolish even to consider telling her. I realised now that she would have demanded to visit their camp immediately, and who knew what awaited her there? Whilst the story had enchanted her, it had spooked me, and now the initial excitement of hearing the story was true had worn off, worries started to creep into my mind.
No, I told myself. I wouldn't tell her. She didn't need to know.
I banned both Mercedes and Marta from saying anything they had heard when they were out in the town aloud, and I tried my best to keep Josefina indoors, or limit her just to the field my father and I worked on. I learned from the blacksmith's apprentice – a boy around my age, who liked to gossip perhaps more than Marta – that the Mediators would just be staying the one week, before moving on.
It was the seventh day of the week – the following Sunday – that my seemingly good luck suddenly ran out. Josefina came rushing into the kitchen – a lapse of concentration on my part had allowed her outside – declaring that she had seen tents in a neighbouring field. Marta, who was sat at the table opposite me, groaned.
"You're going to have to tell her, Jesse," she said, and Josefina glanced suspiciously at her.
"Tell me what?" she asked, innocently. I pulled a face and quickly weighed up my options, before sighing and surrendering.
"The Mediators," I replied. "They're real, and they're here. Those tents in that field belong to them." Unsurprisingly, my sister burst into excited peals of delight. "But please, Josefina…" I trailed off desperately. "Stay away from them." Her ecstatic expression disappeared.
"Why?" she demanded. "Why can't I see them, Jesse?" I looked at Marta for support, but she offered none. Josefina stood, with her arms crossed, her young face marred with a frown.
"…because it's unsafe," I answered. "You don't know anything about the Mediators, chica. You don't know if they are dangerous-" Josefina became impertinent.
"You don't know if they're not," she retorted impudently. "Please, Jesse. You'll be there to protect me, won't you? And they probably won't be here for much longer, anyway." I sighed.
"That's true," I replied. "Today's their last day here." Josefina started tugging at the bottom of my tunic urgently.
"Please, Jesse!" Her eyes were wide now as she begged. "Please? Before they move on and go somewhere else?" I crouched down to her level.
"Fine." I had surrendered.
Josefina gave a triumphant yell and raced out of the house at top speed, heading straight for the field. My stomach lurched, and I was upright and chasing after her within seconds. "Josefina!" I barked, my heart in my mouth.
I lost sight of her in the crowd, but I knew which direction she was heading, and that scared me. Anything could be awaiting her, and I could never forgive myself if something happened.
I pushed myself faster, my feet kicking dust into the air. "Josefina!" I yelled again, pushing people out of my way. I had no time to be polite. "Josefina!" I attracted many strange looks as I weaved through the crowd, but I didn't care. She was surely in the field by now… My stomach flipped at the thought.
As I reached the field, the large wooden gate had already been undone, and I slipped the gap just as my sister had. Before me stood a grand wagon, and the curtain draped across the entrance was flailing in the light breeze. I took a deep breath, and started to climb, knowing almost definitely that she would be what I would find once I got inside.
"Josefina-" I began, ready to scold her, but instead I was met with an empty interior. Glancing vaguely at the décor – it seemed to be the sleeping quarters of a young girl, shown by the feminine quilt thrown across the mattress and the occasional splash of pink and lace – I was sure more than ever that this would have been Josefina's first stop.
I turned to leave again – hop down from the wagon and rush to find my still missing sister – but before I could, my plans were interrupted as the wagon gave a huge jolt.
It was moving.
"Wait!" I cried, pulling back the curtain. The wagon behind the one I was on was close behind me, and the horses that drew it even closer – it was impossible for me to jump without getting hurt.
I spotted Josefina over by the gate I had passed through only minutes ago, and she saw me too. "Jesse!" she yelled, chasing after the wagons. "Jesse, where are you going?" Her little legs carried her as fast as they could, but she was not quick enough.
The wagons turned a corner and she was out of sight. I stepped backwards behind the curtain again, and sank to the floor in despair.
This was not good.