Where stars lie.

Chapter 1
The Manor House

The ground was moist and reeked of waste and rotting palm. The sun was clearing the woodland and darkness painted the skies. The scene resembled the consequential damages of the merging of heaven and hell. A mass of fallen trees created a patterned scar alongside a narrow river. Wind swept the open branches to a clearing, and cushioned a foundation for nesting. A gradual slope beside the clearing grew far above the fluid clouds and dawned as a nose upon the open Earth. Evidence of life appeared amongst the base of the mountain. Ancient hearts danced across the open sky and hand in hand burned as stars.
Romantic symptoms aligned against the surface and wide eyes intensified by the sight of the stars. Lullabies drifted from a plot on the mountain. A woman sat clutching a young child. Her voice sang with angelic intentions, tainted by the conditions of a moral society. Deepening cracks lined with dirt and mud scarred her sorrowing face. Her frail arms withered in the vast wind and heated cold. The woman's legs shook with ill intent and she continued to sing her lullaby. The child's cry did not disturb the creature. Her naked chest stormed words of paradox to melody. Fear fought with reason, her arms joined the dance maintained by her legs. She shook the frightened life and released it from her pounding chest.

A second voice hushed the creature and drew it back into a slight crack that lead deep into the mountain side. Surrounding the crack grew dark bushes that bare no fruit, but just dried twigs and brown thin leaves. The second voice was deep and in a hushed yet angry tone. 'What took you? We were suppose to be done by midnight-' the figure looked round towards the back of the cave of which flickered light onto his face. He soon realised that it was the image of the moon reflecting on a small puddle of water '-he warned us that they'd find us if we took too long'. The reluctant light uncovered the face of the second voice. The voice had certainly been male by the rusk harsh sound, however the face set the creature aghast as if it had seen a monster. Scars crossed the face of the man in spontaneous positions. He looked as though he had just lost a fight with the bramble bushes that suffocated the lining of the small cave.
The man's eyes were deep set in his skull and his flesh quilted the top rim of his eyelids so to give him the appearance of a bloodhound. From the neck downwards he was still engulfed by the darkness of the night and the sheltering cave, which gave the illusion of a floating head amidst the bushes. The creature of which was previously discovered by the light of the stars to be an old woman, crouched low by the foot of the cave, as if bowing to the floating head. The woman would not talk out of respect for the man, and aimed her lips at his bare feet. Before she could pursue the gesture, he walked forwards onto the edge of the mountain plot. The woman still seemed unable to speak. 'We should leave soon. I expect they are trailing us already-' The man looked around, no longer the image of a floating head as the sky light had discovered the remains of his body. He lowered himself to the crouching woman and drew his hand to her chin. She shuddered upon his touch and tears ran from her eyes onto her chin.
An accumulate of blood, tears and mucus ran onto the man's hand. '-You understand why she had to die. Malaika was not safe. They were coming...If they had discovered'. The woman's face turned from sorrow, to a deathly anger. Her face was hidden beneath the darkness of the cave. The man rose and stepped away from her so as to try and avoid any more of the liquid that was coating his heavily dripping hand. The man spoke to her with a patronising tone. It seemed he knew what was best for her. The constant referral to her name revealed her as 'Ina'. Though not once did she look up at him, as he uttered the word. It seemed that he saw her as an oddity or one enslaved by his own arrogance. This did not discomfort her much, but the manner in which she held herself during the obvious disregard for her feelings, showed that this was not the first time she had endured it.Ina's breathing became heavy and it quickened as she heightened slightly as the young man tried to convince her that the death was for the good of the two of them.
At once she drew to full length and her face whitened almost simultaneously. Ina was level with the height of the man's shoulders. Her eyes fixed upon his twitching hand, and then slightly south where his foot was shuffling forwards and backwards. The man was uneasy and still facing the view painted across the horizon. He had obviously not suspected the growing rage that had embodied the small woman.
The wind swept a sudden breeze which ran its hands through Ina's tangled hair. Her eyes held tight shut which added to the mesh of weeping wrinkles. Leaves clung desperately to the thick grey wires that spouted from her head, and all of a sudden, she was alone. Ina felt her hands out in front of her, and no longer was the man blocking the hideously beautiful scene that was cast before her pale blue eyes.
The lullaby that had once drifted solemnly from her tight blue lips had irreversibly turned to a deep sobbing cry of both relief and remorse. As she went to stagger forwards, her planned movement unexpectedly lead to a fall. Ina was facing the cave and her attention turned to the flicker of light that once announced the presence of the man who was up until this point, alive. The colour of her lips fled across her face like an infectious plague. She drew herself from the uncomfortable position that recent events had bestowed upon her, and looked once more upon the scenery that had been the situation of two horrific 'accidents'.
'Is that her?' spoke an unfamiliar voice. He gazed down at what looked like a tangled corpse. 'Yeah i think so. They all look so similar' replied a second voice. The moonlight revealed the first voice as a tall pale man. He was the slightly younger of the two, yet had a reek of power and arrogance about him, not unlike the man who now lay at the foot of the mountain. He had a short red beard that reached the tips of his shoulders. His height made him slightly lanky. However, a small belly that protruded at mid-waist drew attention away from this. He was dressed in a brown shirt that split at the collar, which revealed a dirt-stained white t-shirt hidden beneath. His trousers were pulled high above his stomach, and he wore a belt loosely around the rim. As the man moved into the light he revealed the belt as snake skin.
The second man was wearing similar clothing but a tie hung sagging beneath his neck. Unlike the first man, his face was slightly worn and had a distinctive birth mark that lined his squinting left eye. Both men turned towards each other, eyeing the seemingly lifeless women, for signs of movement. They each plunged to the ground and clutched onto one of her cold frail arms. They lifted her up and turned her so that her back leaned flat up against the mountain side. Breathless, she remained still. One of the men released her arm and checked for life. 'George. She's still got a beat. Should we leave her? No doubt she'll be dead soon anyway' spoke the second voice.
'You know the orders. What if she didn't die? Who'd be dead then aye?' replied George in a fiery tone.
'She can barely stand. How are we going to get the thing down the mountain?' He spoke with anger and let out a short sigh. 'The sooner we get going. The sooner we're back in London. Stop moaning Peter'. George replied with an air of annoyance. Ina's released arm dropped so that her body was now lopsided. Both George and Peter grabbed her by either side of her rag, and dragged her down the mountain as if clutching a diseased animal, attempting desperately not to touch her dark, wrinkled skin.
The golden moon sank into her eyes and an eerie mist swept the mountain as the two men dragged her silent body from height to height. The gentle skies wept and began to break. Drops of rain ran down Ina's face as if they were her own tears. Her nature was understandable and her unconscious mind was not able to gather enough will to resist the grasp of her two masterful enemies. A horse drawn carriage awaited them at the bottom of the mountain. The sounds of the forest crowded the small patter of the horses. Though stationary, the creatures were impatient in there temptation to walk. The trees were more alive tonight than they had perhaps ever been. The wind had almost completely stopped, and then sun was rising, yet still, the voices that echoed from the woodland, were so great that George and Peter stood still, aghast as if waiting for something large to approach them.
They hoisted the body of Ina onto the carriage without much care, and hurried onto the platform of which they spent little time rearranging themselves to a comfortable position, before they flew the reins and urged the horses backwards away from the forest. 'What's happening? Iv not one seen the forest like that during sunrise' spoke a curious, but more frightful Peter. 'During sunrise...or ever. It must be wolves. What else?' replied George as if trying to reassure himself that there wasn't something more dangerous than wolves lurking behind the dense woodland. 'You don't think its..you know, what they talk about? They said she would be with the child.' replied Peter, looking more scared than he had at the prospect of wolves. 'They said that she would have hidden the girl. I'm not going back to find her. How do you expect a child to have created an uprising of such calibre. Absurd. Why do they make me bring you on these trips?' he replied knowing the answer to his question and desperately still trying to reassure himself that the sounds were not at all dangerous. They were nearing a clearing away from the forest but still could hear its deathly screech. 'Have you not heard the stories. Heard what they're sayin'. Its meant to do stuff. Bad stuff.' Peter spoke with curiosity, turning towards George and leaning into his face. 'Exactly, stories. That is all they are, and it they will ever be. Its a child for Christ's sake-' George turned to see Peter glaring into his eyes. They were past the clearing and well away from the forest now '- besides, do you really think that filthy nutter back there could give birth do something like that? Its probably in the genes.' He laughed and found himself apparently funnier than Peter had, because Peter simply turned back in his seat and grunted with disbelief.
As they rode out of darkness and into complete sunlight, they panted as the terrible heat burned their pale skin, and dried their sandy hair. They began to miss the cool night air that they had rode in just three hours before. The carriage approached a large manor house that slumped in the sand that surrounded it. The manor was pale white, and looked almost like a Church as the gleaming yellow sun stared towards it's direction. All around the building, nettles grew, so as to contradict the innocence of the white with a harsher brown colour. Displayed upon a fence that guarded the manor house was a sign. The sign was marble black with gold writing engraved: 'British embassy: No black Africans permitted without British authorisation or guidance'.
Men were sitting beneath palm trees, attempting without any success of keeping their pasty white skin cool amongst the white heat that drowned them in sweat and dried blood. Ina was stirring in the back of the carriage, but lied motionless as if she had just woken from a long coma. Her legs seemed unable to support her still, as she began to climb the inside walls of the carriage in the hope of being able to stand. She was, like the white men, unsuccessful in her attempts.
George and Peter had obviously both heard her rummaging in the back and so halted before she could drift back into her motionless form. As Ina heard the voices and the carriage dipping from side to side, by the great weight that had just been relieved of the carriage, she shut her eyes in the hope that they would not notice that she had woken and maybe believe that they had been mistaken in what they had heard and felt. 'We know your awake. Stop wasting our time! Get up! Get up! Get up!' roared George. He grabbed her from the foot and dragged her seemingly sleeping body from the head of the carriage. He pulled out a long wooden stick that he had found upon the mountain top as a kind of souvenir for his journey. A souvenir of course that he intended to use later in the manner that was being witnessed by Peter and several of the other white men that had now arisen from their shade, just to watch George beat and slash the now more lively Ina.
George's hand was tight around Ina's ankle like a snake constricted its frightful prey. He dragged her from the carriage up to the door of the manor. Her dark skin protected her from the heat of the sun. It shun down on George harder and harder, slowing him down until he was almost crouching by the floor panting for breath by the time he had reached the manor door. The door was arched and already wide open. Ina lay on her back looking upwards at a man of whom was standing with his legs a foot apart, over her head. 'This here is Rufus Wainwright. You should be honoured just to look in to his face. Not much of your kind get that privilege. Now stand up and show him some respect' commanded George. Rufus leaned down, offered his hand and pulled her to her feet. 'That'll be all George. Thank your second man kindly for his input. It is much appreciated' Rufus spoke with a gratitude, yet somehow felt that the task could have been handled more delicately. Wainwright was tall and broad shouldered, unlike the lanky George of whom looked as if he was about to topple over under the lack of support from his twig-like figure. His hair was long as shabby and stood still on his head as if an animal was perched upon the top of his head. Rufus' eyes were large and brown and had a look about them that neither George nor Peter had possessed. His attire was formal and plain, yet not unwelcoming. She stood before him, like she had no other white man. 'I would like to invite you into the manor. If you would be so kind as to follow me, i would be most grateful if you would answer a few questions'. Rufus spoke in a way that Ina had never heard before. Never had a white man asked for her permission. She attempted a smile but carried on looking utterly bemused by his presence, and walked through to the room that he had gesticulated. The hall way was broad and pale, like the exterior of the manor. There were no wall hangings, memorabilia, or exquisite paintings. Though Wainwright upheld a warm, inviting manner, his embassy was cold and lifeless.
The corridor was long and seemed as if it was growing in length. Ina walked to the room that Rufus was pointing, but she never seemed to get there. She fell to the ground with a hard thud that shook the building . Her eyes still open in daze and confusion, as water leaked, obscuring her view of the door in which she was so desperate to reach. A sharp pain scowled her stomach as though she was being attacked with a large axe. She was in a field, her mind though in a thousand places. Screaming tongues bellowed in her ears. Her face was pressed against one hundred piercing needles. The screams grew louder and louder. Her mind skipped from one scene to another. Ina cried in pain as she looked down to see her bursting chest. Blood gushing from her bosom as she desperately scrambled in attempt to save her own life. She took one last breath in this relief and her eyes flew wide open. Staring into the face of Wainwright, her body still desperate to keep herself from death. Shock derived from her and echoed as she found herself lying beside a lengthy brown leather couch, of which she was not sure whether she had just fallen from.
'Shhh. Don't try to move. Your back with us. Listen...are you listening?' Ina nodded slightly and then lowered her head, checking her body for any scratches or wounds. '-Are you currently taking any medication? Have you had any recent shocks? I think you just had a fall because you haven't eaten. Would you like some food?' Ina looked towards him. She knew that he was right and that she was in shock, and hadn't eaten in over a fortnight. Her frail arms and legs and her protruding ribs had made this quite obvious. Though still she seemed as if she must resist the food. Ina shook her head to the offering though trying not to seem ungrateful she spoke 'No thank you sir. I am not hungry.' The words came bitterly to her mouth because she was in fact painfully starving. 'Here you must try and eat something.' Wainwright handed her a large patterned plate bearing buttered bread and a small pot of strawberry jam. 'I have questions to ask you. However, you are very weak, and have obviously undergone a quite serious shock. You will stay here tonight. I promise to look after you. Will you take my word as guarantee?' Rufus spoke in a soft tone that Ina had remembered from their first meeting, just an hour ago.