Scar

by Alice Broadway

  “But if the people knew…” I say in a voice so weak it barely carries.

  “If the people knew, so what?” he says. “When you have power, even your secrets are assets. Nothing you say can scare or control me. You are nothing – you aren’t even worth the hunt.” He stands aside, leaving my route to the door clear. “Go, Leora – leave. I have more in store for you; it would be a shame to capture you so quickly.”

  I begin to walk. When I am almost past him, he calls out, “Catch,” and I put out a hand and clutch at what he has thrown.

  Opening my hand, I see a small bottle – a familiar shape. A bottle of red ink. I study the label – it’s a brand I don’t know. My eyes meet Minnow’s and he gives a lazy smirk.

  “A new kind of ink. Great technological advances.”

  I examine the bottle again, frowning.

  “Imagine an ink made to degrade, ink that is designed to be broken down by the body. The tattoos from ink like this would vanish over a matter of days. It would seem… Well, it would seem almost like a miracle.”

  I look from the bottle, to Minnow’s face.

  “The mayor’s marks?” I say. My voice is numb.

  “You see, Flint. I am not afraid of you knowing my secrets. After all, who would believe you?”

  As I run from the room, all I hear is Jack Minnow’s laugh echoing in my ears.

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Once I am outside I see that there is another meeting gathering. Covering my face, I join the throng. It smells of sweat, the inevitable miasma created by a crowd of hot and anxious people stuck in one place. A trickle of perspiration makes its way down my back.

  You can see that people are frustrated – reluctant to be here, tired of having their routines constantly upset by public showdowns. The people want action; they want to know how Longsight is going to stop the attacks.

  When did it all change? He used to draw respect; there was only silence and awe when he stood before us. How can it be that after everything – his astonishing revival, his incredible feats – he is less impressive? Everything that was once so glittering now seems tarnished. How is it that power can be so easily lost? Fear is a potent brew, and Sana has been letting it simmer to perfection.

  I am still stunned from my face-off with Minnow. My fingers brush the bottle of ink in my pocket. All my muscles are tight – as though I’ve been running or readying myself for a fight. Adrenaline zings around my body, heightening my senses.

  When Mayor Longsight takes to the stage – arms outstretched, ready to embrace applause – there is absolute silence.

  “My people,” he says, and I think his voice falters. “My people, I have heard your cries. You are afraid, and you are hurting. Believe me, I feel your pain in my very core. You wonder why the blanks seem to have grown strong and you ask why we do not show them that we are so much stronger.”

  There are calls of agreement here, and to my ears they sound irritable. Longsight pauses and inclines his head as though studying the crowd – planning carefully what he will tell them next. I can feel their longing like a current – their fists are clenched, their feet firmly set. They want him to call for them to fight: they have never been so ready. I prepare for him to call out, to raise his voice and rally his troops. Instead he smiles.

  “We are at the cusp of something new, something great,” Longsight says, and his voice is gaining in confidence. “Have you ever watched someone die?”

  That catches their attention. The smile is still playing at his lips and I take an uneasy glance around.

  “The death of someone, or something … it matters not. If you have seen death, you may be familiar with what are known as ‘death throes’.”

  I shiver. I’m back in our little house, watching Dad, as Mum holds his hand. I’ve seen death.

  “The death throes are the last attempts of a human or beast to snatch back life. The body jerks, the breath catches, the fingers claw, the rasp of final agony.” And still he smiles. “Death throes can look for all the world like life – like a fight that just might be won – they are violent and have a kind of unworldly strength. If you see a person in the throes of death for the first time, you would be forgiven for believing that they are recovering. But those accustomed to death see these exertions for what they are: a clear sign that the end is moments away.” He’s got the people’s attention fully now – all eyes are on him, no one speaks, nobody even shifts their feet or coughs.

  “Do not let the blanks fool you, friends.” Mayor Longsight places his palm on his chest, as though he is paying us honour. “Their actions: stealing our skin books. Desecrating the sacred hall of remembrance. They are nothing but the frantic final grasps of a people who know their time has come. I admit, death throes are not pleasant to watch – some even find them frightening – but we should not fear these last desperate acts of a frail and useless people. They are dying. All we must do is wait.”

  Wait? I think. That is the last thing these people desire. And indeed, there is a low, angry murmur of dissent. He holds out his hands.

  “I want us to keep our focus. The people of Saintstone aren’t here to fight; we are here to live in peace and prosperity. Let me tell you a story.” Someone jeers; they are sick of stories. He ignores them and continues. “I remember our beloved storyteller, Mel, telling me once that she saw a future where there was unity. She saw a time when the blanks would return to us on their knees and beg forgiveness. She predicted a day when all blanks would repent of their obstinate rebellion and see the light. She saw, in her prophetic wisdom, throngs of those who were once blank, willingly coming to purge their sin and be inked. I believe I owe it to her to pursue that vision – we have the truth in our hands, we have the way of salvation on our skin. I am here today to tell you that a renaissance is coming; indeed, that it has already begun.”

  And I know then what he is planning to do.

  “Friends! Today I introduce you to … the future!” He speaks with a flourish and looks off-stage with an exhilarated expression on his face. I move even closer. The people are still quiet.

  Verity leads the way and behind her comes Gull, shrouded in cloth. Her shy, hopeful smile brings tears to my eyes. If I can just get near enough—

  This isn’t going to work. Longsight has misjudged the crowd. Please, no.

  “Many of you will remember the day Leora Flint returned to us – that traitor, still missing, still a threat to our peace.” I look around, waiting for someone to notice me and call me out. “However, you may not know that another young woman arrived in our midst that day. And, although with the return of Flint came a resurgence of darkness, there was a little light. Of course, initially we were uncertain – for the one who came to our town with Leora Flint was blank.”

  Voices rumble around me. It feels like distant thunder before the storm breaks. No, the voice in my head whispers. No. No. No.

  But she’s there. They’re both standing right there – a proud and faithful Verity and a brave, foolish Gull – skin hidden for now, safe only because of the fabric wrapped around her.

  Longsight keeps talking.

  “I am here to tell you that Mel was right – there is hope, and that hope can be found in unity. That the blanks will return, return to the land and the culture they shunned; and when they come they will kneel and they will beg to be brought into the way of truth.”

  “And we’ll destroy them!” one lone voice hollers.

  Mayor Longsight pauses, head cocked. He takes a breath. I am almost at the stage.

  “We will not destroy them, no.” He’s quieter now and all the more sinister for it. “We will test them.” There is a pause and he looks around. “Why has all this happened, now? My resurrection, my body becoming immortal? Because now is a new beginning. It is time for the blanks to call upon us for mercy and submit to the truth – confessing their evil ways and undergoing the inker’s needle. And then we will bring them in. A new, united community – the lost souls found.”

&nb
sp; It is as though he is impervious to the simmering rage and disbelief that froths through the crowd. The heat has been turned up – it is unbearable, oppressive. Faces that are damp with perspiration are ready to bay for the cooling rain of blood. And yet, Longsight takes the quiet as assent, as support – and he unveils his masterpiece.

  Gull removes her cloak.

  The chatter begins from the people farthest away from the stage. It is hard for them to see white on white – the cobweb delicacy of the ink on Gull’s pale skin. Their questions ebb forward and the answer flows back: “The blank is marked.” The roar hits as my foot strikes the stage. The people aren’t impressed – they see a blank in inked clothing, an imposter, blasphemy personified.

  And they will not stand for it. They surge to the stage, trampling those who move too slowly. A guard moves to prevent them using the steps, but he is punched mercilessly and falls under their feet. I have barely a second. I rush forward, barge Longsight out of my way and take the microphone off its stand. I am the only help that is going to come.

  “People of Saintstone!” I speak into the microphone but am not heard above the chaos. I yell. “People of Saintstone, stop and look at me!” It is like watching dominoes fall as one person sees who it is that addresses them and alerts their neighbour – the buzz passes through until all the focus is on me, the crowd still screaming in thirsty rage.

  “Do not be hasty. Do not behave in a way that would shame your ancestors.” I’m having to scream every word. “Whatever you do today will be on your conscience and in your soul for ever.”

  Sensing a tiny shift in the tension of the crowd, I risk a glance over my shoulder. The people who were storming the stage are held back for now. Gull looks bewildered and her eyes meet mine, silent, screaming terror. I see a glimpse of the friend she was – the friend who was always afraid, the one who always wanted to get it right and yet even her own people called her a curse. She stands here rejected again. She’s followed the rules, she’s got it right – done her best – but it is not enough.

  More guards pour into the square from the government building and now that the crowd is under control their focus switches – to me.

  I unwind the shawl that covers my face.

  “I am Leora Flint. Your traitor, your fugitive.” The guards on the stage edge closer, like dogs being told to wait by their master. Mayor Longsight looks on, his bafflement turned to delight, gloating and gratified that he has smoked me out. “I don’t ask for you to believe me – I only beg that you hear me.” A shift behind me; a guard is distracted. “I am not here to ruin you or betray you – I am here for the truth. The truth is that you cannot trust those who lead you. You are being lied to every day. The mayor’s marks that disappeared, his resurrection – they are a lie!”

  And that’s when they pounce. It feels like ten, twenty guards have all descended as one to subdue me – as though I am a bear, a wolf, a witch. The microphone slams on to the ground, the percussive blow cracks through the speakers like a slaying. My head is held against the wood of the staging platform, and between legs and clomping feet, I see something that gives me one tiny beacon of hope.

  Gull and Verity are gone.

  Chapter Thirty-six

  So much for being in control of my own life. Sitting in a prison cell with only a mattress and a bucket for company doesn’t feel much like autonomy. But if this is what it takes to keep my friends safe, then I would do it again and again.

  I am in a cell next door to Connor’s, with Obel diagonally opposite me and, as I sit cross-legged with my forehead resting heavily on the bars, he starts to talk.

  “I’ve not been a good man, Leora.” I don’t look his way, just let his words come like the buzz of a fly trapped inside. “When I came to Saintstone I thought I saw my chance to be free. Here was this town where I could fulfil my dream of being an inker – I achieved my greatest ambition the day I opened the studio. But every day I was terrified.” I lift my eyes at this. “All it would take was one person discovering my secret and everything I’d worked so hard for – everything I had earned – it all would have been lost. I thought I’d found a place I belonged, but the only way I could live was by lying every day. When I was trying to be the real me, it meant I didn’t belong in Featherstone, and when I found a place that felt like home, the only way I could be safe was by covering up the real me in paint and lies. A precarious state, but I thought it was freedom. I heard the news coming from Featherstone. I knew what was happening – the suffering and misery – but I couldn’t stand up for them without risking all that I’d worked for. So, when I met you, I saw an answer.”

  “Oh don’t, Obel. I can’t listen to another talk about me being the special one. Look where it’s got me.”

  “That’s the thing, girl. I didn’t think you were special, not at first. But I thought that if I could make you believe you were – if I convinced you and pushed you – then maybe you could do the work that I was too afraid to do. You, the perfect candidate: a blank in marked skin, a marked with blank blood. Who better to send a message of hope to Featherstone and to fight for their freedom? I told myself it was true. I didn’t lie – I just controlled some of the ways you found out your story. I told myself that for the sake of my family at home, it was OK – that this is what your dad would have wanted anyway. But it wasn’t my story to tell. I should never have pushed you the way I did. I made you go to Featherstone, when really, I knew the responsibility lay with me – it should have been me going back to help my people. I manipulated you and I knew I was doing it.”

  Was it manipulation, I wonder? All I wanted was to please my teacher and become good at the job. It didn’t feel anything like coercion – it felt like I was special: finally, finally in the role I had yearned for and feeling like I was in a secret club. And then, knowing he trusted me – enough to let me in on his secrets and mine. Well, it just felt good.

  “I let you take risks that should never have been yours to take. I was a coward – and I still am. But, girl, you did everyone proud. You’re the bravest person I know.”

  The bars press against my brow like an iron headache, but still I don’t move. I could sleep here, I think. I could die here.

  In my dream I walk hand in hand with Mel. Each step with her brings me strength. As we walk, she tells a story.

  They say that gods do not sleep. For, if they did, the world would have to stop and wait until they woke. All these small moments that you rely on, the magic of breath and heartbeat – the things that must keep on and keep on lest you die, they are only possible because you have gods who do not slumber.

  A god beneath a blanket, eyes closed and passive – well, that god could be crept up on; that god could be killed in their sleep. For sleep is a vulnerable state and one does not creep up on a god. A god must not die.

  A princess may sleep. She may sleep for one hundred years if she so wishes. But while she sleeps she cannot play or charm or rule. No wonder sleep is a curse used by witches. While the princess sleeps the witch can play and charm and rule in their place.

  What should you do if you see a sleeping princess? Oh, you will pause awhile and watch – they rest their hands so nicely, their hair fans out so prettily, their lips look their most kissable. Aren’t they lovely when they’re asleep? But while they sleep their lands are going to ruin; while they sleep their people are being slaughtered; while they sleep evil can walk freely.

  We must wake them, but how?

  With a kiss? Don’t be creepy.

  With a shake? Perhaps that might work.

  With a slap? I’m afraid we can’t.

  Let us shout, let us call out in our loudest voices:

  WAKE UP.

  Wake up, princesses and see the destruction.

  Wake up, princesses and see that while you have had your eyes shut, every terrible thing has crept into your world.

  Wake up, princesses. WAKE UP.

  When they wake they will weep. But then they will act.

 
A princess cannot sleep for ever.

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  I have been given traditional clothes to wear. A pleated leather skirt and breastplate. It shows every tattoo that I bear on my skin – including the mark that has appeared most recently; the mark of the reunited sisters, their hands clasped, is front and centre. It is a grim walk with guards either side of me and Minnow heading up our procession, and my skin is covered with goosebumps of fear. I have been allowed to wear my own boots and they pad gently as we head towards the hall of judgement.

  We enter through a side door, and it’s a good thing, because there is a queue from the main doors that almost fills the square. The hall is big, but not big enough to contain the entire community – perhaps it was once. But that doesn’t seem to have stopped the whole of Saintstone trying to come and get a glimpse of what Mayor Longsight has planned for that treacherous, deceiving, murderous Leora Flint.

  The last time I was here, my life changed for ever. I found out all my secrets, the secrets that so many people seemed to already know. All the hatred I’d been taught to feel for the blanks – all the fear too – meant that I gave up on my own father that day.

  I had only ever seen one half of the world. As far as I knew, the earth was flat. It took going to the other side, exchanging my ignorance for experience, before I could see the perfect beauty of the full globe. It gleams in my memory now, like a crystal ball, but I’m no longer asking it what my future holds. I just want to show everyone its splendour.

  I am made to stand on the dais, there for all the people to gaze upon while they wait for the show to begin. A while after I arrive. Obel and Connor are brought on to the platform too – I don’t know why – and they stand at the back. Mayor Longsight sits upon an ornately carved wooden chair. Minnow is behind him, alert and watchful. Longsight is enjoying the thrum of excitement that is building around us.