Ariel's Charm Read online

  Ariel’s Charm

  Marnie Lester

  Published by JoJo Publishing

  First published 2014

  ‘Yarra’s Edge’

  2203/80 Lorimer Street

  Docklands VIC 3008

  Australia

  Email: [email protected] or visit www.classic-jojo.com

  © Marnie Lester

  All rights reserved. No part of this printed or video publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electrical, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the publisher and copyright owner.

  JoJo Publishing

  Designer / typesetter: Working Type Studio (www.workingtype.com.au)

  Illustrations © Steve Howells, water colour & line artist

  Editor: Anne van Alkemade

  ISBN: 978-0-9925900-6-2 (eBook)

  National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication entry

  Author: Lester, Marnie, author.

  Title: Ariel’s charm / Marnie Lester; editor, Anne van Alkemade;

  designer, Chameleon Print Design.

  ISBN: 9780987463586 (paperback)

  Subjects: Young adult fiction.

  Other Authors/Contributors: Alkemade, Anne van, editor.

  Dewey Number: A823.4

  Digital edition distributed by

  Port Campbell Press

  www.portcampbellpress.com.au

  Conversion by Winking Billy

  About the Author

  Marnie Lester has always been an avid reader of all genres. She has written one novel, poetry and a variety of fanfictions for different websites.

  Marnie lives in rural Victoria with her husband and has many interests both at home and in the local community.

  She is currently writing the sequel to Ariel’s Charm titled Walhalla.

  For Fred, who believes in me

  Rain sluiced down in a merciless torrent as a dark-haired woman knelt on a country road. Her hand was clasped around her husband’s as she listened to his shallow breathing, the rain mixing with her tears. Over his shoulder she could see the pile of twisted metal that had been their car. She gasped as the gaping wound in her side seared with pain, a small cry escaping from her lips, she knew that her time was short. None of these things mattered because deep inside she knew that their girl was safe. Their legacy would continue.

  Through a magic crystal, in a far off land, an evil being watched the scene. As the couple expired the watcher clapped his hands in delight: now his plan could begin.

  The man Reynaldo knelt before the Keepers of the Gift, his posture determined.

  ‘Why have you come, Reynaldo?’

  Reynaldo started momentarily before the power of the voice, then straightened and remembered why he had come.

  ‘Our land is in peril Great Ones. I must use the charm; the time has come to find the girl.’

  Chapter 1

  Heavy grey clouds blocked the sunlight and in the distance the rumble of thunder could be heard. A stillness infused the humid air; it was the precursor to a major storm. The air was charged with electricity. Suddenly the silence broke as the huge clouds dumped their load of rain on the people in the street below. The air that had been still and silent only a moment ago now reverberated with booms of thunder which followed the sharp crackle of lightning. As with most summer storms, it had appeared with a suddenness that caught people unaware. The teeming rain forced them to dash across roads, holding newspapers over their heads, desperate to find shelter. Small groups who would normally never speak, collected in doorways exchanging remarks about the break in the heat. The thunder was soon an explosion of sound directly overhead, making windows rattle and people gasp. Dogs cowered and whined on street corners, covering their heads comically with their paws. People covered their startled gasps with nervous laughter, possibly fighting back memories of childhood terrors.

  Slowly the thunder moved off into the distance: a reluctant echo that reverberated in the humid air. Long shadows painted themselves over the floors and windows of a sparsely furnished room. Its sole occupant, a young girl with delicate features, gazed with unseeing eyes at the rain-washed windows. The room was stifling, its windows unopened for years, crusted paint preventing anyone from seeking fresh air. A monotonous drone hummed near her left ear and without taking her eyes from the window she brushed the fly away. The torrential rain sounded like a thousand drums pounding on the thin corrugated metal roof. A slow but steady drip could be heard coming from the corner of the room where, for many years, a hole in the roof had allowed rain to enter, the stains on the floor and walls dark and old. The girl was oblivious to the sounds of the storm; her attention focused completely on something beyond the scene before her eyes.

  Her name was Ariel and although only thirteen years old, had spent most of her life in an orphanage. Her life inside Riverview condemned her to a future as bleak as her current surroundings. The drab, grey walls and worn pale green linoleum did little to alleviate her despair. The only means that she had ever had of escaping these horrid surroundings had always been to escape outside. In the sunlight Ariel became a different girl; she could play games and pretend, for a short time, that her life was different. She could imagine that she still had parents to care for her. She could imagine that she was loved and protected.

  Instead, her world consisted of cold surroundings that were devoid of colour or warmth. She slept on a hard, narrow bed that was stained with the terrors of previous occupants. Her daily meals were meagre and poor in quality. Although it was summer, the dark clouds and rain-washed windows added to the dullness inside Riverview. It was a dullness that compounded the oppressive humidity in the silent building. The children who occupied Riverview spoke in hushed voices whenever the orphanage supervisor was around.

  Mrs. Blackwell, the supervisor, had a manner as sharp as the angular lines of her face. She was a woman consumed by suspicion and anxiety. Her abundant iron-grey hair was bound mercilessly into a tight plaited coil that sat at the nape of her neck. The binding of her hair was comparable to her attitude to all those around her. It was something that needed to be subdued and harnessed. Her high necked starched blouses and dark serge skirts only added to her air of inflexibility and the only colour in her appearance was the string of beads that always hung from her scrawny neck. The beads’ bright, garish colours contrasted sharply with her otherwise dull appearance. She was a small woman with a bony build and, in many cases, the same height as some of the older children, yet she could inspire fear in any of them. Her almost permanent scowl haunted the dreams of her charges.

  Ariel had no memory of family life. She had been told that her parents had been killed in a car accident when she was only a baby. As neither parent had a next of kin nominated or who could be found, she was sent to Riverview. In fact her parents’ neighbors, the only people who had seemed to know them, did not even know their surname.

  Ariel had always been just Ariel; her uniqueness motivating in her the need to feel a sense of belonging. Growing up Ariel could not help but wonder if the information that she had been given about her parents was the truth. Part of her could not help but cling to the idea that there were people out there who she could call her family. This need to belong filled her nights and days. During the day she gave no sign of her overwhelming longing. It was only during the night that she gave in to her pain and allowed tears to roll down her face as she ached for the warmth of a family. Sometimes Ariel felt as though she could die from the need to know her mother and father.

  The name of the orphanage was deceptive. There was no river in sight and the only views afforded the children were more brick walls. The street on which the or
phanage stood roared day and night with traffic and often punctu-ated by the howl of sirens. The orphanage was located in an area that was known for its high unemployment, high crime rates and poverty. At the age of thirteen Ariel’s whole world consisted of life inside the orphanage. Yet part of her yearned for something she could not quite explain. For a long time Ariel had been consumed with a restlessness that made her yearn for freedom.

  Ariel was not sure that she could explain what she was feeling. The other children had accepted their lot in life and showed no signs of the yearning that Ariel felt. Although the orphanage created an unpleasant and harsh living environment for its occupants, the fact is that it was their home. It was the only home many of them had ever known and Ariel was a perfect example; yet she had never and would never see Riverview as her home.

  On the few occasions that the children were given books to read, Ariel would glimpse a wider world. The orphanage possessed a tiny library consisting of tatty and torn books that had been thumbed through by countless other inmates of Riverview. As Ariel had always had difficulty bonding with the other children the world of books gave her an escape from her own bleak world. The orphanage library was situated in the attic of the building covered only by a corrugated iron roof that, depending on the season, made it the coldest or hottest room.

  Despite the library’s uncomfortable atmosphere Ariel spent a great deal of time there searching the world of books for answers to her questions. Perched on one of the hard wooden chairs and making sure that she did not wriggle so as not to get any splinters, Ariel escaped into other worlds. She devoured every word in the books with a hunger to know and explore something different from what she had always known. As she read, her imagination spun with dreams of brilliant colours, rich sounds and intoxicating fragrances. Ariel had read all of the books at least ten times or so she thought and, in fact, most of them she now saw as her friends. Opening them was like reuniting with someone cherished and familiar.

  The characters in her favourite stories became as real to her as the family that she had yearned for her entire life. Her favourite stories were fantasies — stories of witches and fairies and magical beings that could control and change their environment. She could only imagine how special this power was; to be able to be transported to green, beautiful places. This gave her a sense of control that she lacked in her real world. The enforced discipline and deprivation of the orphanage gave her no opportunity for individuality.

  Ariel had enough maturity to realise that Mrs. Blackwell saw her only as a number not a person. Her life would have been very different if she had the powers as described in stories such as Cinderella or Peter Pan. Her parents would not be nameless, faceless unknown entities. Sometimes, in her mind, she tried to create an image of her mother and father. Her imagination showed her blurred pictures of a handsome dark-haired man and a delicate featured woman and yet, just as she was about to see her parents’ faces, the images would slip away.

  The world in her mind was lush and green, dominated by towering trees, thick soft grasses and flowing rivers. In her imagination the predominant sounds were birdsong and the soft sigh of the wind. At times she could almost smell moist grass and freshly tilled earth. Although she had no idea where these sensations came from, they reinforced her hatred of her current surroundings. The only green that Ariel had ever seen was a stunted oak tree, as much a prisoner of its surroundings as Ariel herself. Occasionally the children were taken to the local park. The park was not a lush paradise; it was half a block of parched brown grass, with a few wilted trees scattered around. The children only went to the park if the staff were feeling particularly kind.

  The slightest infraction that the children committed was dealt with swiftly by Mrs. Blackwell who did not hesitate to exact punishment. The punishments ranged from the mildest, which were sharp smacks on the palm with a ruler to the worst, being locked in the small janitor’s cupboard for at least 24 hours.

  These children knew that no-one would come to their rescue. They knew that they must accept these punishments as part of the hard, lonely life that was theirs to endure. Ariel still had nightmares of once walking into what she had thought was an empty classroom. What she found there still haunted her dreams. In the centre of the room was one of the older boys named Steven, a boy who had always shown a brash cockiness that went well with a handsome face and an easy manner. Now he looked anything but cocky. He was on his knees in the centre of the room, his hands bound behind him. Ariel was shocked by his pale face that was streaked with tears, his shoulders shuddering as if he was cold and standing over him was Mrs. Blackwell; a long thin leather strap in her hand.

  What was more frightening than the strap was the expression of pleasure on her sharp featured face. Her eyes sparkled with a peculiar delight; spots of colour were high on her cheekbones. Ariel froze in horror at the scene before her. Fortunately, Mrs. Blackwell was too focused on the boy and did not hear Ariel enter. Ariel backed out of the room slowly, carefully placing each foot to minimise sound.

  Ariel had only seen the punishment of being locked in the closet enforced a couple of times, once when an older girl broke a window with a poorly aimed ball throw. The other occasion was Ariel herself when she accidentally tripped Mrs. Blackwell. She had been running to get outside one day last summer when, unexpectedly, Mrs. Blackwell emerged from her office. ‘The two collided and Mrs. Blackwell had fallen heavily. Ariel stared at the scrawny, grey-haired superintendent who was now sprawled on the floor in an unusual and undignified manner. Mrs. Blackwell hastily pulled down her skirt that had ridden up over her knees. Alternating flashes of embarrassment and anger chased each other across her face; Ariel knew that she would be severely punished for this accident.

  She heard a sharp hiss, which the children knew was Mrs. Blackwell about to explode. Some children called her the tea kettle, as this hissing sound often preceded much louder noises. Jumping to her feet she seized Ariel’s arm in a vise like grip, her voice as cold as the frost that covered the windows in winter.

  ‘You stupid, clumsy girl!’ she screeched as she dragged Ariel to the cupboard.

  Ariel quaked in fear as she repeatedly stumbled while being dragged along by an unforgiving hand. The following day when she was released her eyes stung at the sudden burst of light. Mrs. Blackwell stood outside the door, bouncing her keys in her hand and gazing at Ariel as if she were an insect, her nosed turned up as an unpleasant aroma assaulted her.

  Ariel hated the realisation that she had soiled herself. She could not help but think that Mrs. Blackwell took some pleasure in humiliating her charges. Ariel felt even smaller and more insignificant than usual; she could almost picture herself as an ant about to be crushed by a giant shoe belonging to Mrs. Blackwell. It was only later after cleaning herself and changing her clothes that a deep and abiding anger arose in her for the life she now endured. As she wiped hot angry tears from her face she decided that somehow, someday she would find a way out of this unbear-able situation.

  Chapter 2

  Since that time the hunger to escape the orphanage burned in Ariel night and day. But how, she agonised? She knew that she was too old for adoption; the few prospective parents who came to the orphanage were only interested in babies. Although she didn’t know it when she had been a baby the opportunity of being adopted had passed. Ariel had been a tiny baby with her features oddly disproportionate. Her huge, slightly slanted grey eyes and tiny nose gave her an exotic elfin look. Her unruly, short, black hair capped off this look. Also, Ariel was small; poor nutrition meant that she stood at least a head shorter than most girls of her age. Her thin waif like frame added to Ariel’s fragile appearance. Possibly, her features and diminutive size gave her an otherworldly quality that prospective parents found off-putting.

  It always seemed as though the cute babies, with blond hair and large blue eyes were the children of choice. Now Ariel knew that the possibility of leaving this purgatory was less likely each day. Year after year Ariel watched
other children being liberated from Riverview; children wreathed in smiles as they were lead from the orphanage by eager new parents. Somehow, Ariel knew that she should feel resentful about being passed over so many times, though part of her could not help but feel relieved each time she was rejected. If asked, Ariel could not explain the feeling that she was waiting for something; waiting for something or somebody better than the jovial, ruddy faced strangers who found her unsuitable to be their daughter.

  It was orphanage policy that the children were sent out into the world as soon as they turned fifteen. They were discharged from the orphanage regardless of whether they had a place to go or not. Ariel eagerly awaited and feared this inevitability. As each day passed, she felt a clutch of fear that her time was inching closer. What would she do? She asked herself repeatedly, where would she go? Although part of her was excited at the prospect of leaving Riverview, a bigger part was terrified.

  The few glimpses that she had seen of the outside world, through the orphanage windows and on their walks to the park, seemed forbidding. Roads choked with cars, people rushed everywhere, sirens wailed, dogs barked, people shouted — all these things filled her with dread. Yet part of her longed for the chance to walk on cool, thick grass, to stare at wide skies and to see oceans and the horizon. To actually see the places that she had only seen in pictures. To see the places that haunted her dreams and her imagination. To feel the sense of belonging for which she had craved for as long as she could remember. How she could achieve this wish was beyond her.

  Ariel’s one positive gain from her life in the orphanage was her new friendship with a boy named Marco. Marco had come to the orphanage only three months ago and yet, for reasons that she did not entirely understand, had gravitated toward her soon after arriving. He was a tall, pleasant faced boy, only a year older than Ariel with laughing green eyes and tousled blond curls. Initially she was confused, as she always had trouble bonding with the other children. It seemed incredible to her that this cheerful and likeable boy began to regularly seek her out. Ariel was wary and a little suspicious of this boy’s eagerness to be her friend. During her thirteen years at Riverview other children had seemed reluctant to become friends with her. Finally Ariel had let down her guard as Marco’s natural affability encouraged her trust. She had often wanted to know the acceptance and warmth that came with making a close friendship. So much so that in a short time Marco became her trusted confidant and the most important person in her life.