Chapter 2
The clan's shame

The sun had disappeared beyond the horizon but his light was still there when the boy brought back the sheep herd at the farm. Like every day, he had counted them before leaving the mountain, and did so again as they entered the pen. After making sure he had not lost a single one of them, he went back to the house.

He was planning to do like every evening, leaving the shepherd crook by the door, picking up the plate waiting for him on the floor by the stairs and rush to lock himself in his bedroom before he could come across one of the persons he used to call parents. He hoped not to see Jonathan, or else he would be force to talk to him, telling him everything went fine with the herd. He knew how much the farmer and woodcutter hated hearing his voice. If he was fast enough, they would barely have time to notice his return before he reached his bedroom.

It was his plan, at least, but it didn't happen this way. Indeed, as he approched the front door, he heard voices from inside. Three voices. He recognized Jonathan, Mary and… Nigel, the village's chief. His heart shrunk and his shoulders tensed in worry. Had Franc said something to his father ? Wasn't it enough for him to beat up the white-haired boy, he had to tell lies to his father too ?

Full of worries, the boy debated if entering the house was a good idea, so he took the risk to eavedrop them, try and figure out why the chief was there.

''I'm counting on you, they must not see him.''

''Don't worry, chief.'' Jonathan assured. ''He'll spend the day in the mountains with the sheep, like usual. Noone will know he's even here.''

''This commercial visits from Burgess are extremely important for our village. It's thank to them we can procure the tools and food we need to survive winter. Without these exchanges… I can't take the risk, who knows how they'd react if they see him.''

''I understand, I-''

''So find something, Jonathan. Anything. Lock him in, if necessary.''

''There'll be consequences if I do…''

''Make him stay home, then-''

''No !'' Mary shouted.

The smash of a breaking plate on the floor echoed in the house, and a booming silence followed her scream. On the other side of the front door, the boy felt his heart break just like the plate, hearing his mother object so vehemently to his sole presence in the house for one day.

''There's no way I'm staying in the same room as him !''

''Mary, I understand it must be hard on you and your husband but-''

''No, chief. All due respect, you don't. You're not the one who lost your children. You're not the one who has to face this demon everyday. You're not the one who, when you see him, don't manage to remember right away he's not your son. Every time, he tricks me. Every time, during the first seconds, I see my boy, I think he's still there, as well as Emma… Then I see this ice cold gaze and I remember it's not him, it's nothing but a monster tourmenting me ! And his voice… Oh God, his voice…''

She stopped talking as sobs replaced her voice, he boy outside crying too. He pressed a hand on his mouth to try and hold back the sounds. So that was what she was thinking of him ? He had hoped she was only troubled by grief and only uneased in his presence. He had hoped that, beyond the sadness, she was still seeing him as her son and that, with time, she would open up again to him and get used to what he had become. He had been so wrong. She was just like the others. Why had he been hoping, exactly ? It was obvious noone was ever going to accept him.

Refusing to listen anything more, sniffing and wiping his face, he pushed the door open. As expected, everyone went silent once the door started to creak. He closed it slowly and rested the crook against the wall, then rushed to the stairs. He only picked the plate by mecanism.

Without even glancing at the people in the living-room, he climbed the stairs by two and locked himself in his room, slaming the door behind him. Once safe in the small room, he rested his head against the door and bit his lips, holding his breath, trying to hold back tears. Sobs were tightening in his throat, making it ache, until salted water pearls started to roll down his cheeks.

Then the flood gates opened. He let himself fall against the door until he was sitting on the ground, his plate left untouched as he folded on himself, brow on his knees, arms wrapped around himself. Once again, he cried his heart out while trying all his might not to make any sound. The wooden floor around him started to get covered with silvery, sparkling frost patterns.

That night, like some others, the boy didn't eat anything and cried himself to sleep on the floor. Somehow, he dreaded the following day even more than usual.

The next day started with the same routine he had gotten used to since the accident. Getting up and dressed in silence, avoiding his reflection in the mirror, hiding his hair and face before exiting the room, going downstairs trying not to disturb Mary, waiting for Jonathan to get the permission to go to work…

Except that, when he reached the bottom of the stairs, he found the dark-haired man waiting there for him. The boy stopped in the middle of the steps, his head hanging lower to make sure his face was not visible. He didn't dare to speak and simply waited for instructions.

''There's a change of plans, today.'' Jonathan said. ''You won't be taking the sheep to the pasture. Instead, you're going to pick firefern in the forest.

The boy froze. He could understand why Jonathan was sending him in the forest instead of the moutain, chief Nigel's visit on the previous evening was clear enough. The village was having business visitors from Burgess, the neighbour city, and wanted to make sure the 'ice demon' was hidden. What better place to do so than the heart of the forest ? However, from all the excuses Joathan could have used to send him there, he had to pick the firefern. This medical plant was only growing by elm trees, and the only place within the woods to find some… was near the pond. The pond. The young teen started to shake from head to toes.

''N-Not there, please…'' He whisper-begged, his voice as shaky as his shoulders.

His eyes were already stinging from unshed tears, one even rolled down his cheek, but that only made Jonathan angry. He was always getting angry when the boy was expressing emotions.

''Don't play this game with me, demon ! I don't know why you're doing this, but I won't be fooled ! I know you're not my boy, and monsters like you are unable to feel, so stop playing already and be gone !''

The boy squinted his eyes and quickly obeyed before he could shed any more tear in front of the man who used to be his father. He didn't dare imagine what Joanthan would do if he really happened to cry in front of him, or even worst : if he happened to manifest the strange powers he had developed after the accident. The couple and the village were already scared enough, he couldn't afford proving them he actually had influence over snow and ice. They would certainly try and kill him.

He rushed past the tall man and bumped the door open so he could run away towards the forest. He ran as fast as possible so he could get as far away from this place that used to be so warm and comforting but had become so cold and distant. Tears kept on rolling down his face, drawing silver spirals of frost where they landed on the ground.

He went deeper into the woods without looking where he was heading, and ended up slowing down until complete halt. He caught up his breath while still trying to sooth down his sobs. Adjusting his hood on his head, he kept his pale hands on the collar, squeezing it around his neck, trying to find some comfort in it.

He didn't want to go near the pond. He didn't want to go back to this cursed place, full of dreadful memories and tragedy. Why had Jonathan sent him there ? Was he trying to punish him even more ?

He came out of his thoughts and turmoil as he slipped on moss. He barely caught himself on the nearest tree to avoid falling, and remained there. He hang to the bark and broke down in tears. That far from the farm, the people he used to call parents couldn't hear him, and he was sure noone was roaming the woods, especially if having visitors from Burgess. Everyone surely was too busy getting ready.

The boy remembered the last visit of the merchants. It was rare for them to come to the village, usually it was villagers going to the city. It was five years prior. He had helped for the preparation. Cleaning the streets, push the ploughs from the walking path, adorning the wooden houses with flowers and other decorations to make them look finer than they were… Everything was in appearances, every time. Back then, the boy hadn't paid attention to it, but now that he was part of the things that had to be hidden… he couldn't unsee it. Especially now that he was the first thing to hide.

On one hand, he could understand : who knew how their neighbours would react seeing him ? They could declare war to the clan for witchcraft. On the other hand, it was painful. Being rejected by everyone, by his own family, was painful.

The boy started as a bunny hoped next to him but quickly turned around to run away from him. A part of his mind tried to tell him it was just the bunny's instincts towards men, that it would have reacted the same way with anyone else, but it was hard to convince himself. He sighed and wiped his face with his sleeve before getting back to his feet. Glancing to the sky, he tried to estimate how much time had already elapsed.

The sky was blue, devoided of any cloud, the sun was bright without being blinding. He had already lost a few hours, but there were still time before noon. The boy took a deep breath in try to gather his courage.

He really didn't want to head to the pond, he also knew it was only an excuse to keep him away from the village, still he would get in trouble if he came back to the farm empty-handed. Jonathan only beat him once in his life, when a prank of his had turned bad and ended up burning a stock a food. It had only happened once, but the memory was carved in him. Granted the man had not dare hit him since the accident, but the boy didn't want to risk it. Maybe the man would not dare to hit him, but he would certainly find other ways to punish him, like locking him or starve him. Not that it would change much from his habits.

However the boy had left in such a rush he had not taken any basket or anything to pick the plants. There was no way he was going back to get some, so he had to make a new one. Resigned but still motivationless, he started a quest for long and solid herbs. He could pick and braid it without any tools, and there was plenty of it in the woods. Finding a glade of long grass didn't take a lot of time, picking it neither, but making the basket did. It kept him busy for hours.

Soon, his stomach started to grumble and reminded him he had skipped breakfast and hadn't bring anything for lunch. The troubled boy decided to ignore his insisting hunger and this cramp in his stomach, he wanted to finish the basket first. That's only then he started to search for berries or nuts. Without tools, he would only dream of hunting or fishing and didn't have the time to build something else, it was taking even longer than a simple basket.

When he finally found a bush full of eatable berries, he took his time to munch them, trying to convince his brain he was eating more hearty. He still knew it was not enough and he would still be hungry after finishing the last one. All the same, he went to work.

His grasp on the handle was tightening more and more, starting to distort the handle. The grass was too fragile for this kind of nervous use. The more he was nearing the pond, the more he doubted the basket would survive. The more he doubted himself would survive. His throat was tightening, making gulping as well as breathing difficult. His chest was getting heavier, to the extend another cramp hit him in the sternum. His hands were sweating as he started to shake.

He hoped he would find elms before he reached the pond, he chanted this prayer again and again while fighting back the memories trying to submerge him. Finally finding the trees he was looking for, he almost collapsed from relief, and even more as he saw the long reddish serrated plants at its bottom. The pond was still at a comfortable distance, he was saved… well, hoping he would pick enough fern so he didn't have to come closer.

He started his harvest by searching for the largest elm leaf he could find. The firefern was an efficient cure for several diseases, especially flue and hypothermia, but as long as it was not peeled and boiled, it was toxic. If someone was to touch it with bare hands, their skin would turn red and swollen. The easiest and quicker way to avoid that was to use elm leaf to avoid touching the fern.

The young boy gathered several of these reddish plants and made sure to pile elm leafs inbetween them inside the basket as protection. He didn't know how much he was supposed to bring back, he just knew he didn't want to face Jonathan's wrath, so he gave himself the goal to entirely fill his basket, which was an appreciable size. He just wished he would find enough elms without having to come closer to the pond.

Going back to that glade was the last thing he wanted. He had not returned there since the accident because he was too scared. Scared of the memories, scared to find in the water some proof of what had happened that fateful day. But most of all, he was afraid he would see ghosts there. Either his little sister… or himself.

Truthfully, what was really scaring him was to find a proof confirming what everyone was saying out loud. A proof that he was not himself anymore, but a demon which had possessed the dead corpse of a boy. As he slowly made his way towards the pond, his fears turned real as he heard laughter.

It was coming from the pond, undoubtedly. What kind of sorcery was that ? No one was daring coming there since the accident, people were saying it was the demon's den and that it would possess whoever dared to come too close.

Sickenly worried someone else could undergo the same curse as him, he forgot his fears and quickly ran to the glade. The more he was nearing, the more he could discern the voices. There was two of them, maybe three. It sounded young and girly but older than him.

He stopped dead in his tracks at the tree line, frozen by the sight. Just seeing the pond flooded him with sensations he had wished to forget. He could almost feel the biting cold on his skin and inside of his throat. He could almost hear his sister screaming his name, along with splashing water engulfing both of them.

He blinked and, all of a sudden, the gruesome sight of two chestnut-haired kids ice-skating got replaced by something completely different. The pond was no longer frozen, a warm authumn sun bathing the whole area, and there was not two, but three persons playing in the water, splashing each other. The boy couldn't believe his eyes, he found himself unable to move, and all he could do was watching them, gaping.

The young ladies were all dressed in humble clothes, long dresses with aprons. Their hair was braided, as the last Burgess fashion. Their colorful dresses proved they were from the city, not the nameless village in the woods. It explained why they weren't afraid of the pond, because they didn't know what had happened there. The village had kept the secret.

The three young women, who seemed to be friends instead of sisters according to their lack of physical similarities, were splashing each other and laughing, playing water war. It was very joyful and warm, the complete opposite of what the pond was making the boy feel. The laughter, the high-pitched squeaks and splashing sounds were echoing in the glade, and ended up getting mixed with those still remaining in the boy's memories.

''-a-, you're too fast ! Ha ha !''

''Try an' catch me , come on !''

''Wait for me !''

''The first on the other side gets double-dose of dessert !''

''It's gonna be me ! Me, me !''

A painful pinch bloomed in the boy's chest, but it also filled with a soothing warmth he had not known for months and months. Years, actually. Since the accident. For a moment, he swore he had just been brought back then, before that tragedy. He could almost feel his little sister's hand in his, pulling his arm to drag him towards the pond they used to play in all over the year. The faintest of smiles appeared on his face, but it vanished as he heard a shout.

He blenched and noticed the young ladies had stopped playing. Another woman was standing by the shore, screaming at them with panic.

''Get out of this pond, you fools ! Get away from the water, you shouldn't even be here !''

''We were just playing. We're not doing anything wrong.''

''Get out before it's too late !''

The three eyed each other quizzically before stepping out of the water, trying to dry off their skirts. Once they reached back the shore, they gathered their shoes, hats and satchels before joining the woman. She checked them in an almost motherly way, but it was obvious she was not their mother. The white-haired boy recognized her as a villager. She was the baker, Ludivine.

''How oblivious are you, exactly ? Don't you know this place is cursed ?''

''Cursed ?''

''Two kids died here, noone must go back near this place. You girls areextremely lucky ! Now hurry up and go back home ! Luckily he wouldn't know you came.''

''Who ?''

Ludivine didn't answer and pushed them towards the path. The boy hidden by the tree line watched from afar, disappointed their joy had left this ominous place. He heard them complain and grunt, wondering what was wrong with that woman, talking about Ludivine. The boy had the answer. What was wrong with her was what was wrong with everyone else in the village : fear. Even if he could understand this fear, because he was feeling it too. He didn't know either what had came out from the pond, that night.

As the young ladies had left, silence crept back, gloomy and oppressive, forcing the boy to leave too. He still had firefern to pick, still his attention got caught by the pond as he saw something move. A soft gale had just blown and lifted a piece of paper which was now swirling above the grass, towards the water.

Only by reflex did the boy rushed to catch it before it was wetted. The three young ladies must have lost it in their hasted departure. He wondered if it was safe to follow them to give it back to them, but the idea vanished as he looked down at the paper. It was an advertisement, and the message on it piqued his curiosity. A travelling circus had stopped by Burgess for three evenings of performance. Some of the acts were listed to attract customers. There was pyrotechnics, stunts, knife throwing… and dragons.