This one's a little sadder. I pity Rachel... :(
There's no song for the whole thing, but when Roy is reading the diary, a good song is 'hallelujah' by Rufus Wainwright. Yes, his is my favourite version.
Enjoy!
As they made ready to leave, Bethany came over to talk to them. "We're sorely lacking of good trumpet players, I'm ashamed to admit," she said to them. "Less and less are put to our children every year. The children born now aren't quite the temperament for it." She looked at Roy. "You've got a beautiful sound on your trumpet." She smiled. "You'd be a good teacher. Perhaps you could return, and teach them."
"Maybe," said Roy, smiling back.
She waved goodbye to them, along with Melanie, who was holding Lilly, and Chrissy. "You'll always be welcome here," Melanie said as they left. "I hope we can have the pleasure of your company again some day. Come back if you need a rest."
"We'll remember that," said Marth.
Together, the group moved on.
They were in a better mood than they had been in a long time. People smiled, laughed, talked more than they had. Somehow, it felt like nothing could go wrong today. They couldn't help but succeed, and nothing would stop them. Music just did that to you.
The sun shone down bright, and a sweet scent came off of the grass. Roy smiled. He missed the music at Melodia's sanctuary, but he would return someday.
"Look," said Marth, stopping.
"What is it?" Roy looked up out of his thoughts. There was a gate, but it was clear mesh. Behind it was a one-person boat, with a pair of oars. A sign with Roy's face on it was on the gate.
"There's not two faces," said Roy. Then, he grinned. "Yes! It's finally my turn!" He ran to the gate and pushed it open.
"Take these," Ike said, handing him the bandages. "You might need them."
Roy stowed the bandages in his pack. He walked through the gate. "Hmm..." he said. "I guess I have to use the boat." He pushed the boat into the water, sat down inside, and picked up the oars.
"Do me a favour," Marth called. "Don't get yourself killed."
"I won't," said Roy, grinning at his friend. He paddled out into the lake. Suddenly, the boat was caught by a current of water, and sailed over the lake at a quick speed.
"Well," said Roy. "That kind of negates the need to paddle." he put the oars back in the boat and rested while he waited.
It was misty on the lake. Soon, it grew so foggy that Roy was unable to see either bank. He let the current pull him on, and he quickly reached a small island.
Roy got out of the boat, leaving it at the small dock. There was a good-sized house on the island.
"Well, that's probably where the key is," said Roy. He made his way toward the house, and knocked on the door. "Hello?" he called. "Anyone here?" No one answered.
He checked the door. It was unlocked. "Well," he said, "I guess I'll just have to go inside." He opened the door, and walked in.
It was a fairly old house, and he was immediately presented with two ways to go. There was a room, with a couch, a couple of chairs, and a table, and there were stairs.
He hard a thump up the stairs. "Hmm," he said out loud, breaking the silence. "Better check it out."
It was while he was walking up the stairs that he noticed wet footprints. He knelt down and smelled the prints.
"Smells like salt water," Roy said. "The lake, maybe?" But of course no one answered, since he was alone. He turned, and walked back out the door. There was island space all around the house. As he walked around, toward the back of the house, he got an intense feeling of loneliness. Don't be silly, Roy told himself. You've never really minded being alone before. But still, it did not disappear, only grew more powerful as he reached the back of the house.
There was a back door, and it hung open. There by the edge of the lake was a mostly-finished raft, with a wooden box on it.
Walking over to investigate, he became aware of an odour of fetid decay, coming from the wooden box. He drew closer and examined the box. Suddenly, he flinched back.
"A coffin!" he said. The wooden box was a coffin tied to the partially finished raft. So that's what happened to the occupants of the quickly left the raft. He walked toward the back door of the house.
Suddenly, wet footprints began to appear in front of him. Must be a ghost, Roy thought. He wasn't really frightened of ghosts. He'd heard of some before, and all they seemed to be able to do was moan. He was interested, though, so he began to follow the wet footprints. The led him through a kitchen, a dining room, up the stairs, and down the upstairs hallway.
Silhouetted in the dark of the last room, Roy saw a faint, wet person, seeming to be made of mists. Black hair hung, dripping, to her shoulders. A navy blue dress hung about the girl's frame. She stopped in the doorway, and turned slightly, to sneak a peek at the person following her. He saw dark eyes, dull with sorrow, and a thin, sallow face. She turned back, and continued on. He followed her into a cosy bedroom. There was a chest at the foot of a large bed, and a fireplace, and a rug before it. The there was a flickering fire in the fireplace, and the rug in front of it was becoming wet. The girl's misty outline was still faintly visible, seated on the rug before the fire, gazing into the flames.
Roy looked around. There was a book on the chest at the foot of the bed. He walked to it, gazed at the open page.
It was a picture. The girl was standing before the lake. There was a boy beside her. His arms were around her, and she was snuggled up to him, a peaceful smile on her face. "Who is this?" he asked. She said nothing.
Roy closed the book. On the front, it said, 'Rachel and Tristan Forever'. Roy looked through the book. Everywhere, there were pictures of the girl who's ghostly form was now visible on the rug, and a brown haired, brown eyed boy, holding each other and smiling. In one, he was putting a ring on her finger.
"He proposed to you," Roy said. The girl nodded. "Did you ever marry?" Roy asked her. She shook her head, not looking back.
He continued to look through the book. A woman, older than the couple, was in the next picture. She looked enough like the boy who Roy assumed to be Tristan to be his mother.
Suddenly, the girl, Rachel, looked up, around, panicked. She disappeared.
A voice sounded through the house. "Rachel! Rachel, where are you, girl?"
The woman in the picture stormed into the room. Brown hair and green eyes, a thin face, wearing a teal coloured band across her forehead. She was most certainly solid. She saw him. "Who are you?" she asked. "What brings you to our little corner of Literois?"
"Oh," said Roy. "I'm just looking for a key. I was sent here to find it, and I saw the coffin, and wet footprints led me here to see this." he held up the book. "Is Rachel the ghost girl?"
"Did you see her? Did she say anything to you?"
"She didn't say anything," said Roy.
"Hmm..." said the woman. "Well, I suppose that's alright. Don't listen to her, if she ever speaks. She can enchant people to believe whatever she says. Run along now, and go look for that key. I need to get changed."
Roy left the room. In the hallway, wet footprints began to appear again. "Rachel?" Roy whispered. The footprints continued on their way. He followed them down the hall and into a tiny room.
It had a little pallet on the floor, a candle, a table, and a book and pen. The window was open, and a breeze blew the book open.
Roy sat down at the table. It was in a loopy, messy hand.
Dear diary
Tristan's mother has come to stay with us. I'm sure she's a perfectly pleasant person, but she seems not to like me at all. She's polite, even kind, when Tristan is around, but when he's not, she makes it clear that she thinks he can do better. She's probably right... I just hope he doesn't think so.
We are to be married in two weeks. If that doesn't convince me Tristan really loves me, what will?
I must go. I have a wedding dress to make. I'm getting married!
The breeze blew in again, flipping the pages. This page was stained with old tears.
Dear diary,
My life is over. It must be, for I cannot live without him. He is gone, Dairy. Dead. My beloved, my star, my knight, my everything. I cannot live another day. I miss him so much. Three days. In three days we would have been married.
His mother presided over his funeral. She tied his coffin to a raft, and sent him away over the lake, just out the back door. She says his body will follow the river to the sea, and his soul will follow the river to the spirit lands.
She had to hold me back from climbing on the raft and sailing away with him.
I will forever miss you, Tristan, my love, and I will remain here. I will wait for the day when I can sail away, and find you in heaven, for an angel you surely are.
The breeze fluttered several pages over, settling again on one page. It was headed, instead of 'dear diary', 'dear Tristan'.
Dear Tristan,
Your mother is staying. No matter how I told her I wanted to be alone, she insisted. 'Oh, dear, you'll need someone to take care of you'. She has moved into what was once our room. 'The bed is too big for you, dear,' she said.
I want to lie in our bed. I want to dream you're here so hard that I can feel you. I want to sing with you again, I want to hold you close.
I miss you.
The breeze skipped across a couple more pages. It stopped on another.
Dear Tristan,
She has put me in the servant's room. She is ruling over the house, and is about to be remarried. People come and go, none of them know me or recognise my grief. They all treat me like a servant, and your mother does nothing to tell them they're wrong. I clean the house, make meals, and cater to all these wretched people.
The breeze turned the pages again. The writing on this page was drooping and messy, worse than the usual.
Dear Tristan,
Soon I will be with you. I am sick, my dear, and I do not think I will survive. Then, perhaps, someone will send my raft down the river, and I can sail to the sea... to you. I love you, dearest.
I am too weary to write any more.
Goodnight, and goodbye.
~Rachel
She appeared more solidly than before. "The coffin is yours," Roy guessed. Rachel nodded. "You died of the sickness, and then Tristan's mother never sent you on the lake." Rachel nodded. "Did you... build the raft?" Rachel nodded again, sadly. "But you can't finish it." Rachel shook her head.
"That's a sad story," said Roy. "I'm sorry all of these things happened to you. Maybe I can help you. If I finish off your raft, and push it out, then will you be able to sail?"
Rachel nodded excitedly. She bowed as one would to a king, her once sad face now delighted.
"Then I will," said Roy. "Meet me at the raft, and I'll help you sail. You don't have to be lonely anymore."
"Not so true," came a voice. Roy whirled around.
Bye.
