by Ross Turner
“Why?” Marcii questioned, frowning slightly. “If he’s all you’ve got left, why don’t you see him?”
Malorie didn’t speak for a moment, and instead only looked on at Marcii with her striking violet eyes, filled with pain and loss and regret.
“I can’t.” She breathed, and her words were bathed in sadness. “It’s too dangerous…”
Chapter Nine
Things were getting desperately out of hand.
Marcii didn’t even need to look upon the solemn faces of their neighbours to see that, once again, something was dreadfully wrong.
There was organised chaos in the streets, but somehow also a silent agreement and understanding that emanated all around, as Marcii stepped out onto the cobblestoned ground and made her way nervously towards the square.
Townsfolk moved about with much more urgency than usual, but until she reached the square at the very heart of Newmarket and discovered the truth, Marcii would never have been able to imagine the full extent of exactly why.
If the killings that had plagued the town had not struck enough fear into the hearts of all those who lived there, Tyran’s next move most certainly would have done.
All about the square, scattered and spread purposefully wide enough so that their presence had full impact, stood a forest of vertical spears rammed into the ground between the cobblestones. Skewered upon the spearheads, terrifyingly, were the carcasses of virtually the entire population of Newmarket’s black cats, which was quite a few to say the least.
Clearly they’d still been alive when they’d been impaled and some were still twitching and jerking horribly. Blood ran freely down the shafts buried between the stones and spread out in vast, sickening puddles.
But that was not even the half of it.
In the very centre of the square, where Tyran always delivered his speeches from, knelt in a row seven townsfolk.
They were surrounded by at least two dozen of Tyran’s police, enforcers, brandishing their heavy, menacing weapons.
Marcii saw that the kneeling townsfolk were all women.
Their hands were bound tightly behind their backs and there was rope about their ankles too, forcing them all to their knees.
Some were old and others were young, no older than about twenty or so.
They all had black hair, matted and unkempt and filthy, as if they’d been wrenched from their homes and dragged along the street.
With a chill that danced cruelly up and down her spine, Marcii imagined in fact that was probably exactly what had happened. She yearned to reach out and help the poor women.
She recognised four of them, though she couldn’t recall their names, but that made no difference.
What the hell was going on?
What was this!?
Suddenly, booming out over the terrified crowd, Tyran’s voice answered her questions, and indeed her fears.
“These creatures you see before you!” He bellowed, his tone towering and brutal.
At first Marcii thought he was referring to the impaled cats, but then, as he continued, she realised she was wrong.
“They are filth!” He continued. “They are but a handful of those responsible for the horrific massacres that have plagued our poor town!”
“WE HAVEN’T DONE ANYTHING!!” One of the women suddenly screamed, shrieking her terrified words across the square towards Tyran, spitting venom at him from where she knelt, bound and helpless.
But Tyran didn’t speak to reply.
He didn’t even issue a command.
Simply on instinct, moving coldly and robotically, one of his enforcers stepped inward from the group that surrounded the women. The monstrous man reached out and picked her up by her long, black hair.
She screamed a deathly cry.
He was enormous compared to her. He didn’t even put her on her feet. He simply carried her off the ground, suspended by her hair, and walked over to the towering wooden platform that had been constructed behind them.
Marcii hadn’t even seen the platform before, regardless of its size. But now that she did, horror crept through her bones.
It was a stage.
The wooden plinth was raised high off the ground and had three towering struts that shot up towards the sky, each with a piece of rope tied into a loop suspended from its tip.
Marcii suddenly had horrible visions of the enforcer hanging the woman who had screamed her denial, but she wasn’t even granted that much effort.
Raising his hand high up above his head, still clutching the poor woman by her hair, the enforcer brought his arm down in a whip like fashion and cracked her head against the edge of the wooden stage.
Her skull split with a gruesome sound and she crumpled to the floor, bathed instantly in a torrent of her own blood.
The enforcer kicked her in the face for good measure, just to ensure that she was dead, and indeed her vacant eyes rolled as he struck her.
He grunted with grim satisfaction and returned to his place in the perimeter that guarded the remaining prisoners.
No one else resisted.
All fell silent.
“This is but the first step we must take to save our home!” Tyran pressed on without a pause, simply as if nothing at all had happened.
Marcii’s blood seethed and boiled and was ready to erupt. She was just about to bellow her furious outrage at the top of her lungs before a small hand that she felt suddenly rest upon her arm quieted her.
She looked down to find Vixen.
The young orphan’s eyes were troubled, though her expression remained level and unchanged.
There were so many questions that Marcii had for her.
So many answers that she needed.
But she could not speak a single one of them.
She could only look on helplessly as the Tyrant continued, seizing his audience with his words. The Mayor used fear and intimidation as if they were weapons to be wielded, and wield them he did.
“These witches have been summoning demons to hunt us!” He declared. “Their black magic is the work of the devil! They are powerful! And cunning! But we must fight back!!”
His voice was rising and the crowd was stirring.
He was putting a face to their fears, providing them with a common enemy, a common cause.
Against the fear of whatever had been killing their friends.
Against the fear he purposefully instilled whenever he spoke.
These poor women were not witches.
They had done nothing wrong.
Marcii saw straight through it all, yet she could do nothing to stop what was about to happen. Her heart throbbed painfully in her chest and she felt a lump rise in her throat.
“My police, as ever, will protect you!” Tyran went on. “They have killed the creatures within which these witches have placed their evil!” He explained, indicating the skewered black cats dotted all around. “As they rot, their foul stench will ward off any other evil spirits these witches dare to try to conjure!”
This was utter madness.
It was incredulous.
Marcii could not believe what she was hearing.
But, as she glanced around, with dread fear filling her eyes, she was horrified when she saw the overwhelming rapture on the faces of all the other townsfolk.
Tyran was their saviour.
She felt sick to the stomach.
The warmth of Vixen’s tiny hand upon her arm ceased. When Marcii looked down the young orphan stood at her side no longer.
“Their reign of terror will come to an end!” Tyran declared, his voice rising to a crescendo. “That I promise you!!”
Thankfully, Marcii thought that was it.
That was the end of the spectacle for today.
But she was wrong.
What followed sickened her perhaps more than a thousand words that Tyran could have spoken. Her fellow townsfolk erupted into applause and cheering, inevitably submitting themselves to Tyran’s reign of terror.
; To the sound of their approval, likely upon Tyran’s preordained instruction, his enforcers led the remaining six women up to the hastily constructed wooden hanging platform.
To say they led them was perhaps more than a little generous.
Some of the enforcers dragged the struggling women up the stairs by their hair. Some pulled them along by their feet. And some simply kicked them in the general direction of the stage and refused to relent until they complied.
The more brutal they were, it seemed, the harder the crowds cheered, and Tyran soaked up their applause and their approval greedily, knowing there would surely be more to come.
Even the priests were there.
Often religion and violence can be misconstrued as one and the same sin.
Marcii hoped they might intervene, for surely this was not the work of God.
But neither she, nor the poor women condemned to death, had such luck.
Not all the priests were there. Only a handful had turned up it seemed. Marcii couldn’t see Alexander Freeman, her father’s friend, nor Francis Gold, the head of the Priesthood. But, she imagined, soon they would have little choice but to attend.
As the crowds cheered the priests that were there chanted something in an unrecognisable language, undoubtedly supposed to give the impression that they were helping to ward off yet more evil spirits.
What absolute rubbish, Marcii thought with disgust.
But the crowds loved it.
Marcii knew that Tyran had planned the whole thing.
She just remained silent, looking on at the unending horror.
What else could she do?
The first three women were hung with brutal and cruel efficiency.
Their feet had barely even stopped twitching when they were cut down and kicked hastily to one side to make room for the second lot.
The young Dougherty simply could not watch any longer.
She turned away even before the final three women had been led up to face their futile, pointless deaths.
This could not be happening.
The crowds cheered again.
It was disgusting.
Her stomach turned and her face blanched.
Stealing away from the masses and the chanting and the murder, cruel and unjustified, she went in search of sanctuary, seeking the one person whom she knew could hide her from this madness.
But, though she might have been able to hide, she knew in the very back of her mind she would not be able to escape this. Dread hung heavily all around as she raced through the narrow streets, tears streaming down her face, warm against her cold skin.
Those women were not witches.
Surely there was no such thing.
Tyran was the only evil here.
She wanted desperately to stop him, with all her heart and more. But Marcii knew she wouldn’t be able to. Especially now that, somehow, incredulously, Tyran had the might of the people behind him.
How this had happened?
Marcii had no idea.
Nevertheless, she knew it would not lead to anything good, and undoubtedly many more people would have to suffer before someone put an end to this madness.
Chapter Ten
“We could run away?” Kaylm suggested most seriously.
Marcii looked at him through the dim light behind the vines with a yearning in her eyes that desperately wanted to say yes.
They had talked of such things before, jokingly, most of the time.
But the look on Kaylm’s face today, Marcii could tell, even with what little light that remained beneath the fading sunset, was one that was nothing if not serious.
“We can’t…” Marcii breathed. “Can we…?”
“Of course we can!” Kaylm exclaimed, only just managing to hush his own excitement in time, for else they might have been discovered.
“Oh Kaylm…” Marcii sighed, not entirely convinced, but not wholly sceptical at the same time.
“We can go to Ravenhead!” He continued. “Like we’ve always talked about! It’s only three days ride west, towards the sunset!”
He glanced out through the vines towards the fading like as if he was judging whether they still had time to leave or not.
If she’d asked him to, Marcii knew Kaylm would have stolen her away that very night.
He would have gone to the end of the world and back for her.
“Kaylm…” Marcii breathed again, but he was relentless.
He’d had enough of this place, and he knew she had too.
“By dusk on the third day we can watch the sun set from the top of Raven’s Keep. We should just go! It’s our chance for a new start! We can build a new life there!”
“What about our families?” Marcii questioned, but he just laughed and took her cheeks gently into his hands, pressing his nose to hers.
“My family don’t care.” He stated. “They’ve bought into every word Tyran has said. They would follow him anywhere now. The whole thing is crazy!” He swallowed nervously. “And wherever he leads them, it won’t be good…”
Marcii knew he was right, and she knew her family had not a care for her either, save perhaps her father. They might not have followed Tyran’s rule quite as religiously as Kaylm’s kin did, but they certainly wouldn’t oppose it.
“Look, Marcii…” Kaylm said warningly, taking her hands in his. “Things are bad, and they’re only getting worse…”
Marcii sighed yet again, torn, knowing his words were filled with nothing but truth.
“Don’t you remember how we used to talk about running away?” He pleaded with her. “The rumours…” He continued. “Witches, these hangings, there are only going to be more of them. More and more people are being accused of witchcraft every day!”
“I know…” Marcii breathed. She looked up at him through the dim light that still just about remained. “And yes, of course I remember. I think about it still…”
“Then let’s do it!” Kaylm urged for the final time.
Marcii drew breath to speak again, all but ready to accept, filled with joy at the idea of leaving with him.
But then something appeared in the darkness beside them, startling the wits from them both.
With her drawn breath Marcii went to scream, and Kaylm to shout, but a small hand covered each of their mouths, and a firm, young voice cut through the early night, silencing them both.
“Hush.” Vixen instructed, and instantly they were quieted.
“What are you…?” Marcii started, still in shock, but Vixen’s tiny hand went to her mouth once more.
“Quiet!” The little orphan hissed under her breath. “There are men coming.” She told them. “They will find us. We must leave.”
Marcii went to speak again, but didn’t get the chance. Sure enough, after only a few moments, they heard the sound of urgent voices approaching.
Vixen dove out from the inlet behind the vines without hesitation and Marcii and Kaylm followed instinctively, confused and afraid.
Driving through the meagre dusk Vixen led them immediately down the side of the enormous, stone church wall, around the corner and out of sight. She moved silently and with a certain grace and assuredness that quite simply forced Marcii and Kaylm to follow her, leaving them helpless to her every whim.
It was as if she was much more than just a simple orphan girl.
Barely moments later, right where they’d just come from, a dozen or so figures appeared, skulking through the eerie dusk.
Amazed, Marcii looked back to Vixen.
But, unsurprisingly, she was gone.
With no time to think on that as she usually would have done, Marcii turned her eyes, and her ears, back to the figures Vixen had gone to such lengths to protect them from.
She couldn’t make out their faces for they were too far away and the light was fading too fast. She could only tell that about half of them were priests, and the other half were enforcers.
That much at least, by their opposed attire, was obvious.
Their voices at first were quiet, subdued, and Marcii couldn’t make out their hasty words, spoken on harsh, hushed whispers.
Suddenly one voice cut over all the rest. The sound of it sent chills crawling menacingly up and down Marcii’s spine. She felt Kaylm shudder at her side too, though he hid it well.
“Do it!” Tyran ordered sharply. “Do it now!”
Feeling her trembling and hearing her quiet breaths shaking, Kaylm took Marcii’s hand gently in his, interlocking his fingers with hers reassuringly.
A soft mewing began and though she couldn’t see them, Marcii could hear at least three cats amongst the group, if not four or five.
All of a sudden the mewing turned to hissing and spitting and then shrieking, as the steely ring of metal against bone grated out through the night.
Marcii only just about caught her breath on her tongue, holding back a faltering cry.
There came a gruesome, gurgling, choking sound, followed the desperate whimpers of futile, helpless struggle, as the felines were heartlessly slaughtered.
“On the wall!” Tyran’s barbaric voice pierced the courtyard again, now almost fully cloaked in darkness.
But, unfortunately, Marcii and Kaylm could still just about make out what came next, as the priests one by one dipped their hands into the still quivering carcasses of the cats and set about drawing strange symbols upon the side of the church.
The patterns and designs they painted on the stone face were ones that Marcii did not recognise. They seemed to be some kind of language that neither she nor Kaylm knew, perhaps long lost and forgotten, or perhaps made up entirely.
Undoubtedly, whatever they meant, they couldn’t have been anything good.
It didn’t take long and before Marcii knew it Tyran was issuing out yet more orders, sending priests and enforcers alike scurrying to and fro. She didn’t hear the words he spoke however, for she was more concerned about being seen than anything else.
It was too dangerous for them to stay, for they would surely have been found as Tyran’s underlings spread out.
And so, most reluctantly, Marcii and Kaylm hastened away, parting ways yet again. They headed off in separate directions into the night, each of them all alone in the dark of fear and uncertainty.
