WRITERS NOTE
I was initially going to post this story under crossovers, but realised it might severely impact its visibility, so I'm posting it here. The story features slight crossover with the videogame Assassin's Creed, more precisely some of the concepts and factions within it. Familiarity with it is not necessary at all to read this story, but it might add extra context.
The train hissed to a halt at Bright River station, its steel wheels groaning under the weight of the journey. It was half-past five in the afternoon, the late summer sun still high, casting a humid heat over everything. Inside the train, the air had grown stifling, and when the doors finally opened, passengers poured out like a flood, eager to escape the heat.
Among the last to disembark was a young lad, no more than fifteen, struggling with two large trunks. His face, flushed from the heat, was framed by tousled, dirty blonde hair. Behind him, a man with greying temples, leaning on a crutch, limped forward with an impatient air.
"Do get on with it, Thomas," the older man urged, his voice gruff but measured. "We haven't the luxury of time."
Thomas gritted his teeth and heaved the trunks onto the platform, beads of sweat dotting his brow. He shot a glance at his father, who had already pushed past him, heading towards the station doors without so much as a backward glance. The boy lingered a moment, stretching his stiff limbs from the long, uncomfortable ride. His back ached, and his muscles were sore, but he barely had time to relish the relief before someone bumped into him, sending one of the trunks tumbling to the ground.
"Sorry! Oh, I'm terribly sorry!" came the frantic voice of a girl.
Thomas turned to see her - a girl, about his age, with wild red hair braided into two thick plaits and a distracted look in her bright eyes. She dropped to her knees, hastily helping him pick up the fallen trunk. Her apologies came again, barely audible as she sped off toward the station, hardly stopping long enough to look at him.
He watched her go, eyebrows slightly raised, but shrugged it off. Grabbing his trunks again, he made his way to the front of the station, where his father was already waiting beside a horse-drawn wagon, his expression sour and impatient.
After hoisting the luggage into the back, Thomas climbed into the seat beside his father, and they set off in silence.
The journey was quiet, save for the occasional distant bark of a dog or the lowing of cattle in the fields. Thomas stared out at the endless stretch of green pastures, his mind wandering. Six miles had passed in this wordless silence before his father finally spoke.
"Not far now," the man murmured, rubbing the back of his head. "This place is called Avonlea."
A noncommittal grunt was all Thomas could muster in response. His gaze remained fixed on the horizon.
"There's a small manor by the creek," his father continued, his voice steady, as if savoring each word. "It once belonged to my uncle, before misfortune befell him... but it's ours now." He hesitated, casting a glance toward his son.
Thomas remained silent, his disinterest palpable.
"What's the matter with you?" his father asked sharply.
Thomas turned to face him, his expression flat. "Seriously?" His voice carried disdain.
His father's brow furrowed in displeasure. "You forget yourself, Thomas," he said, his voice cold but controlled. "You know quite well there was no other choice."
Thomas sighed, his gaze drifting back to the landscape. "You're right, father. My apologies."
But his apology was hollow. He couldn't bring himself to care. The countryside, while not unpleasant, was far from captivating - just rolling fields of grass, occasional clusters of trees, and the distant shapes of scattered farmhouses. But at least it was quiet. Thomas appreciated quiet.
It wasn't long before they arrived in Avonlea. The village was small, almost quaint, its main feature being the surrounding farmlands. There was a stillness in the air, a certain peacefulness that clung to the place. As they passed through the village, his father pointed out the various households, offering snippets of information about each. Thomas barely listened, his mind elsewhere. How did his father know so much about this place anyway?
They soon veered off the main road, following a creek that ran along the edge of a small forest. The wagon bumped along the dirt path, and soon the manor came into view - a modest, slightly worn house nestled in a clearing. It wasn't too large, but it stood taller than the simple farmhouses they had passed. The white paint on the exterior was peeling in places, and the stable beside it, though sturdy, had clearly seen better days.
His father pulled the wagon to a stop in front of the house, groaning as he dismounted with difficulty. Thomas followed, glancing around at the neglected property.
Inside, the house was dim and musty, the air thick with the scent of dust and disuse. The kitchen, with its large hearth, stood empty, save for a layer of dust that covered every surface. A draft whispered through the cracks, causing Thomas to shiver slightly. The stairway to the right led to the upper floor, and his father, seating himself at the kitchen table with a sigh, gestured toward it.
"Take our things upstairs and select a room for yourself," he instructed, his tone softer but no less authoritative. "There is much to be done, and we mustn't delay."
Thomas didn't argue. He lugged the trunks up the stairs, counting the steps as he went. Twenty-one in all, with the nineteenth one creaking beneath his weight. At the top, a hallway stretched out, lined with several doors. One by one, he explored the rooms, finally settling on a corner room that overlooked both the front yard and the stable. It was small, but the bed was in decent condition, and it had a view of the creek meandering behind the house.
He set his trunk at the foot of the bed and opened it, but before he could begin unpacking, a rapid knock came at the door.
His father entered, his eyes scanning the room briefly before locking onto his son. "In a few days, you will return to Charlottetown," he announced, his voice precise.
"What?" Thomas frowned. "Why?"
"There are matters that require your attention," his father replied. "You will act in my stead, as I have responsibilities here that cannot be neglected. Do not question it."
Thomas slumped onto the bed, looking defeated.
"Moreover," his father continued "after you have finished your tasks and returned, you will attend the local school."
Thomas raised an eyebrow "Any particular reason why?" He had been in and out of schools in his old home, mainly relying on homeschooling that was provided to him, so the idea of attending a middle of nowhere school wasn't thrilling.
"Because the less suspicions we raise, the better, wouldn't you agree?" his father gave Thomas a stern look.
Thomas knew arguing was futile. "Yes, father."
"Good. You'll need to step up. I wish it were otherwise, but.." his father glanced at his crippled leg. "You know the road ahead won't be easy."
It could have been a question, or a statement. Thomas didn't care, his gaze had drifted out the window again, to the creek winding its way through the trees. His father left without another word, and Thomas sat in silence, lost in thought.
Later, after unpacking, Thomas decided to explore the grounds. The air outside was cooler now, and the sun hung lower in the sky, casting long shadows over the property. He wandered the perimeter, noting the stable's sturdy structure, then ventured down to the creek at the edge of the property.
The water was clear and inviting, its surface glistening in the fading light. Feeling the day's grime on his skin, Thomas stripped down to his undergarments and waded into the icy water. The cold hit him like a shock, but he didn't flinch. Instead, he found a spot deep enough and submerged himself completely, letting the water wash away the dust and sweat of the day.
When he resurfaced, his reflection rippled on the water's surface - a pale face with traces of freckles under his eyes and along his nose, his dirty blonde hair wet and tousled. His steel blue eyes, usually sharp and alert, seemed tired, weary beyond his years.
He hardly recognized himself anymore.
His father's voice called from the house, breaking the stillness. With a long sigh, Thomas pulled himself out of the water, dressed quickly, and made his way back to his new home - Creekside Manor, Avonlea.