Burning (Dark Powers Rising Book 1)

by Rebecca Fernfield

  “There’s no village elders here,” interrupts Jack. My father frowns, questioning.

  “He said the village elders gave him permission to teach his rubbish,” Jack explains, his voice scathing.

  My father’s brows arch and cold annoyance flickers in his eyes. “Like Jack said, there’s no village elders here.”

  “Who is in charge then?”

  “Me and Fletcher, that’s who,” Jack adds, taking a deep breath, stepping forward, his shoulders squared. My father nods in stern agreement.

  “I see,” says Malachi, his face dour. “Then I ask your permission to use the School Room so that I can teach our followers.”

  “Your followers?” I scoff.

  “No!” is my father’s flat refusal.

  Malachi raises his brow, malevolence flickers across his eyes. “Then where can I teach God’s word?”

  “Not here,” Nathaniel answers.

  “Yes, not here,” I add.

  “Will you let children speak for you Mr Fletcher?”

  “The children do not speak for me, but they are correct. You will not spread your word here.”

  “But the villa-”

  “You must be on your way.”

  “Edie, Nathaniel, fetch the horses. These men are leaving.”

  “But it is nearly nightfall!”

  “The days are longer now Brother Malachi and nearly summer,” my father says matter of fact, his face stern. “Your god will protect you I am sure,” he finishes. I smirk, unable to take my eyes off Malachi’s scowling face, uglier now that I have seen it before. “Edie, Nathaniel,” my father’s voice breaks through to me, “the horses please. These men are leaving.”

  “Yes, of course,” I say, smiling up at Malachi as I speak. “I’m more than happy to help him leave.” My father’s defiance has made me bold and I can’t tell whether the quick thudding of my heart is from excitement at them finally leaving or fear of his reaction to me. His scowl deepens and I delight in his anger. “You have half an hour to collect your belongings and then we want you gone from Bale,” I hear my father say as I turn up the lane towards the paddock. I can’t help but smile as I walk with renewed energy.

  When we return Patrick and Conrad join us outside the School House gates. They stand tense, shoulder to shoulder with my father and Jack, agitated as they watch Malachi and his men strap their belongings onto saddles then mount their horses. My father steps forward as Malachi finally mounts his horse. It skits, sensing the tension and Malachi pulls down hard on the reigns, pulling it round to face my father. Jack, Patrick, and Conrad all step forward in line with my father, a wall of solidarity.

  “You’re not welcome here,” my father says, his voice dour. “Be assured of that Brother Malachi. There’s no place in Bale for extremism. No place here for crushing people’s souls.”

  Malachi stares down at him, his eyes shining with malice. “The Rule is for you all, Fletcher,” he replies, eyes narrowed, holding my father’s, challenging. The horse shifts beneath him. He tugs at the bridle and gives a sharp kick to the horse’s flanks. It turns immediately and I watch relieved as Malachi and his henchmen gallop under the great ash and disappear out into the moors.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Nate, hang on!” shouts Pascha as he runs ahead of me, trying to catch up with Nathaniel.

  “First one to jump the brook,” he shouts back laughing.

  I run fast behind them, the green of the forest mingles with flashing light as it streaks through the leaves. My breath comes hard. They’re fast, faster than me, but I’m not going to be the last one there! Laughter sounds out behind me. I look back. Meriall is close enough to touch me now. Her laughter mingles with the flickering light of the forest. I turn again to push forward and my foot catches on a bare root that lies dark across the path, a thick worm of wood, looped back and set to catch my foot.

  “Ughh!”

  “Edie! Edie, are you ok?” Meriall’s concerned voice pants close, her breath warm on my cheek, her plaited hair hanging low, brushing my face.

  “Yeah,” I say, winded, “yes, I am.”

  A squeal of delight and she’s off, racing ahead, laughing as she beats me to the brook.

  “I’ll remember that,” I shout after her.

  I raise myself to my knees, the wet of the earth seeping through the cloth of my jeans, and watch as she jumps the trickle of water that cuts through the forest hillside down to the stream below. Nathaniel, Pascha, Meriall, all stand, breathless, their chests heaving as they laugh and revel in their freedom.

  “C’mon Edie!” Nathaniel shouts, laughing as I stand and brush the dirt and leaves off my hands.

  “I’m coming,” I laugh in return, my heart jumping as I notice his gaze. His face is still, smiling but still, and as he looks at me, there’s a softness about his eyes I don’t quite understand. A bird flaps out of the tree overhead. The softness of his gaze is gone, hidden again behind his smile, and a tingle of yearning spreads low within me. I take a deep breath then walk towards them, pushing down the tremble of excitement inside.

  “We’d best quieten down if we don’t want the whole forest to know we’re here,” I say, “we won’t catch anything otherwise.”

  “Hah! I doubt there’s any animals left for miles around after the noise you lot’ve been making.”

  “Dad!” Pascha shouts, “where’d you come from?” he asks, throwing his arms around my father.

  “I’ve been checking my traps boy,” he smiles down, ruffling his hair, “what’re you lot up to?” he asks, addressing himself to Nathaniel.

  “We’ve come to hunt. Edie said she’d teach us,” he replies.

  “Yeah,” adds Meriall, “we want to help you catch some rabbits, or a deer or even a pig!”

  My father smiles at them as he leans out to greet me, hugging my shoulders to him, kissing me on my cheek, welcoming me to the day.

  “How’s your mother this morning, love?” he asks.

  “Worried that you didn’t get your breakfast before you left,” I add lightly, smiling up at him. “You’re in trouble,” I laugh.

  He laughs back and squeezes my shoulder again. “She needn’t worry. I brought a wrap of Annie’s cheese,” he says, then turns to the others. “Well, let’s see if we can catch some tea shall we? Set some traps. You can come back tomorrow to check on them. How’s that sound?”

  “Yes!” Meriall replies, joyful. Dried twigs break underfoot and her plaits bounce against her flower-patterned T-shirt as she jumps up and down in excitement.

  “Well then, first we shall have to learn to be quiet in the forest,” he says, putting his finger to his lips and tapping at his smile. “First off, did you all wash with soap this morning.”

  “Yes, of course!” I say, indignant, flushing as I look to Nathaniel.

  “Well then, you’re too smelly for trapping,” my father replies, his face serious. “Get your hands in that water, then rub them in the earth,” he says, nodding towards the brook. “If you smell too human the rabbits’ll get wind of you.”

  Nathaniel smiles to me as he walks away. “C’mon you smelly lot! Let’s get mucky,” he says with a laugh.

  Pascha and Meriall follow quickly behind and plunge their hands into the trickling water, digging at the silt with their fingers. I kneel down beside them, feeling the cool of the water on my hands before sinking them into the oozing silt of the bank.

  “Ghaw! It stinks,” complains Pascha.

  “Not as bad as you!” I mutter and flick my wet fingers in his face.

  “Give over Edie!” he laughs, flicking his muddy fingers at me in retaliation.

  I nudge him and he topples onto Nathaniel and they lie crumpled in a heap, laughing, pushing at one another.

  “Boys!” my dad reprimands, his voice deep, the lines about his eyes showing his suppressed laughter. “Settle down now.” He turns to me. “We’ll walk to the edge of the forest to the longer grass, that’s where we’ll find the runs,” he says as he p
ulls at the straps of his rucksack and begins our walk out of the forest.

  We spend the rest of the morning looking for the tell-tale runs where the rabbits have dinted the grass, making pathways as they travel between the long blades at the point where trees meet the open grasslands of the moors.

  “There’s one,” Meriall shouts. “I’ve found another run,” she says excitedly, smiling to my dad, pointing to a place in the distance where dented grass creates a hole into the long grass beneath a straggling hawthorn.

  She runs, hand grasped around the whittled and notched hazel stick that will hold the snare in place. Nathaniel walks up, passes her the looped wire and spiked wood of the snare. She crouches and pushes the spike into the earth, judges the loop and tealer and places them in perfect, deadly balance across the mouth of the run then stands back, eyes smiling, triumphant. My father watches her deft hands with admiration. “You learn quick, Merry.” She smiles back to him, radiant in her achievement.

  “That makes ten!”

  A glint catches his eye as he smiles at Pascha. “It certainly does. You can come back tomorrow to collect your catch.”

  My heart aches a little as I look to my father. His beard glows copper in the warm sun, but there are deeper lines about his eyes, and his hair sparkles just a little more as the light catches the grey. He turns, sees me watching and smiles.

  “Best get back. I’ll really be in trouble if I don’t get home for my lunch,” he laughs as he raises his brows.

  The thought of my mother’s stern love makes me smile too and I turn to the direction of the village, the warmth of the sun gentle on my cheeks, soft on my neck. Bale sits huddled on the hillside, its footprint clear against the browning summer grass and blue sky where billowing clouds shift white, stroking the moors with their shadows, dappling the winding grey lanes black. Nathaniel steps up beside me. His shoulder presses against mine and his fingers brush against my hand. I pull my hand away, nonchalant, not wanting him to realise the sparks that have jolted through me.

  “Edie,” he says, his voice questioning, “what’s that on the road over there?” he asks, pointing to the high mound of the moor.

  “I don’t know. I’ve no idea what I’m looking for?” I say as I search the landscape.

  “Look! Over there. On the road. There’s something moving.”

  I peer into the distance, shading my eyes with my hands and look to the grey road that curves around the hill’s waist and down its middle.

  I see it.

  A stubby caterpillar of black moving along the road.

  “It’s too far away. I can’t tell what it is. It’s black at the front then grey and black again at the back,” I say, screwing up my eyes, trying to make out what it is. “Whatever it is, it’s either going to keep on that road or turn off at the fork and come to the village,” I say.

  “Do you think it-”

  “Edie, Nathaniel. We need to get back home. Now!” my father interrupts, his voice insistent as he looks out over the moors.

  “Why? What is it Dad?” Pascha asks, confused at the sudden change in his voice.

  “Nothing to worry about lad,” he replies, but there’s an edge to his voice and his eyes are slits as he peers at the moving block in the distance.

  He steps forward and begins to walk quickly down the steep hillside towards the village. Gone is the ease. Instead, his face is set grim, his lips pursed.

  “Dad, what is it?” I ask, matching his stride.

  “It’s them Edie. It looks like Malachi and his men are back. And this time they’re not alone.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  The moors sit before me, vast and darkly dappled under shifting clouds. Ahead the road is empty, but the thud of unseen marching feet keeps time with the beating thud of my heart. I watch and wait. The murmur of voices from the villagers waiting with me bubbles and grows then stills as dark shapes rise and break into view. They shuffle, stiffen and step forward, militant against the solid block of men rising from the emptiness of the road.

  “Halt,” my father shouts, stepping forward, breaking away from the massed villagers blocking the entrance to the village.

  Malachi rises into view, tall in the saddle of his stallion, and stops beneath the great ash tree.

  “What do you want, Malachi?” Jack challenges.

  “I need help for these people,” he replies, turning to look behind him.

  At the back, between the rows of black-clad henchmen, are people. They look done in and remind me of the first time we came to Bale, half-dead with the cold and walk across the snow-bound moors. There’s something odd about them though and I scan their faces, trying to understand what I find so unsettling. As I look from the scraped back hair of one woman to the pale, tear-stained cheeks of a child I realise what it is. There are no men.

  “Who are they?” I hear my father ask as I begin to wonder where the men have gone.

  “They are unfortunates. Children and their mothers desperate for shelter and food. I brought them here because I knew you would help,” he replies, looking down at my father, his eyes imploring. “Fletcher, we have our differences, but I know that you are a man of feeling. I know that you will help them.”

  Jack leans into my father, whispering in his ear. My father shakes his head and they both turn away from Malachi, keeping their voices low.

  “There’s plenty of houses here, Fletcher,” Malachi calls down, persistent, “plenty to go round. These people are desperate, they need food, water, shelter. They have nowhere else to go, no one else to turn to.”

  A child begins to cry. The ash tree shivers in the wind.

  My father looks up at Malachi, his face stern.

  “We can’t turn starving women and children away. We came here in our time of need and we open our arms to them now,” he says though there’s a note of reluctance in his voice. “Take them to the School Room. They can stay there until we decide which houses are suitable.”

  Malachi nods and turns to his men, motioning them to move the crowd forward then walks his horse the gate of the School Room.

  “This way,” a guard instructs. They seem unsure, but follow him without question. Malachi watches closely before walking ahead of them to the School Room. As they pass, I count eight women and fifteen children, none of them younger than Jey. They seem cowed. A boy of about Pascha’s age carries a yellowing bruise across his pale cheek. Where my brother’s green eyes dance with a mischievous glint his are dull and he seems somehow hollow. The group traipse down the stone-flagged path and through the great arch left by the open doors followed by the last of the henchmen.

  “They don’t look very holy to me!” Nathaniel says with derision. “More like guards.” I remember the way they watched the women and children as they walked along the path and the knot in my stomach tightens. “I counted them,” he continues, “there’s fifteen of them this time. Why would he have so many if he’s just preaching? It doesn’t add up—he’s just walking around telling people about God’s word, but then he turns up here with a bunch of refugees and fifteen scary looking blokes, dressed from head to foot in black with tattoos across their cheeks. And,” he says with emphasis, “they all do just exactly what he says, like they’re under orders or something.”

  Malachi dismounts and strides down the flagstones to the wide open doorway, his long black cloak flapping about his legs. He disappears into the dinge of the room and the guard closes the door behind him, blocking us out.

  “Tristan, we have to go in too,” my mother says, disbelief etched on her face as she walks up to him, “those people looked exhausted and half-starved. I need to go in and check on them, make sure they’re alright.”

  “Yes, we do,” he replies. “I don’t like this one bit Celeste, not one bit.”

  “He can’t lock us out. We have to be in there to talk about where they’ll live. If they’re going to live here, then they all need homes,” adds my mother.

  “And we need to know when Malachi and his th
ugs are leaving,” Jack says darkly.

  “Nathaniel thinks they’re guards,” I interrupt.

  My father turns to me, his face dour. “I have a horrible feeling that Nathaniel may be right, Edie,” he says before turning and walking with Jack and my mother to the School Room door. He twists the large iron knob, pushes the door open, and all three disappear into its gloom.

  “What do you think’s going on in there?” I ask Nathaniel.

  “I don’t know, but I’m going to find out. C’mon.” he replies before grabbing my arm and pulling me forward.

  We both run across the grass to the windows. They’re too high for me to see into, but the stonework of the building juts out creating a natural foothold. Reaching up to the stone lintel, I push myself up from the ledge that sits just below my knee. The stone is rough beneath my fingers, but there’s a good space between the edge of the block and the window frame for me to grab. I push myself up slowly and peer over the window ledge and down into the room. The ‘refugees’ are huddled in a corner, resting on the tables and chairs the children use for painting and writing. The boy with the bruised cheek sits hunched forward in the story corner, head between his knees, where bean bags and cushions are scattered. In front of them stand a bank of guards and before them, Malachi, facing my father, mother and Jack. The room is still. A standoff. My father speaks to Malachi. Jack and my mother move closer to him as if in solidarity. Malachi raises his hands gesturing to the people. My mother steps forward. The passion on her face obvious even though I can’t hear her words. The guards shift and my heart pounds. Then relief washes over me as Malachi steps aside and she walks forward into the crowd and crouches down and speaks to a thin, dark-haired girl. Jack and my father walk to the table at the front of the room with Malachi.

  “Looks like they’re planning on where to put them, and your mum, she’s making sure they’re OK,” says Nathaniel. “I was right though, wasn’t I? They are guards,” he adds, peering down into the room.

  “Yes, it looks that way,” I agree, as I jump down to the grass and brush my hands against the smooth cotton of my jeans, dislodging the rough grains of stone stuck there.