Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
DEDICATION
To Safi, Evie, Harrison, Mia and Jacob.
For our future.
Chapter One
Winter 2086
Each step of the horse jolts me. The ridge of the saddle pushes into my hip bones and my ribs are sore with its constant jarring steps, but my body is numb and I am consumed with thoughts of Pascha. The image of him, arms wheeling, eyes wide with horror, as he falls over the edge of the waterfall and down into the thrashing waters below, is singed into the black of my closed eyelids. Inside, I am dying.
Finally, we are out of the trees and the horse steps down the steep slope towards the village. The guard urges it to a canter and then a gallop before it jumps over the stone wall and lands with a thud onto the soft verge of the lane. The landing winds me and I cry out in pain as the horse comes to a standstill before the Captain.
“Shut up girl,” his voice is hard and uncaring. “You’ve wasted enough of my time today. I’m going to enjoy watching you suffer.” His voice is dark with threat and with his next breath he shouts to his men. “Come and get these scum. Tie them up behind the horses. Don’t mark them. Watcher Craslow’s orders.”
The Captain walks back into the cottage and reappears with Bettrice. I frown as I watch her cling to his elbow as though he is her saviour. How can she cling to the man who stole her from her family and beat her father to the ground? Is she really on our side? The Captain helps her onto his own horse then mounts behind her, holding her waist with one hand, the reigns with the other. She seems to droop a little into his chest and I wonder again if she will really help us. The horse I am tied to lurches forward as the guard gives a kick to its flanks. It yanks me forward and I stumble to the ground, but before the horse has a chance to pull forward again I scramble to my feet, desperate not to be dragged along behind it.
We pass through the overhanging trees that hid the road here so well until the smoke betrayed us and make our way along the quiet roads to the Watcher’s village. The unused lane is narrowing under the grass and wild plants that nibble at its edges. It grows more ragged with each passing year; nature taking back the roads and destroying the evidence that men once flourished here. We walk for miles along these narrowing, seemingly endless lanes until eventually we come to a place I recognise. When we get to the top of the next hill our village is in the distance, higher up along the moors; a desolate gathering of square stone boxes hedged in by woodlands and steep hillsides. Nothing good waits for me there and the only hope I cling to is that Bettrice will carry out her mission.
Arriving at the Watcher’s house tired, I’m shock-ridden and angry, caught between despair and a burning, impotent rage to destroy the Primitives. First Assembly has just finished and villagers swarm from the School Room. They stop and stare.
The Watcher steps out of the house just as Bettrice is walked through the garden gate. She sees him and stumbles. The Captain catches her and walks her quickly to the open arms of the Watcher where she collapses and rests her head on his chest as he strokes her blonde hair. Seeing the tenderness between them is disconcerting. Will she choose the ‘safety’ of his arms over us? Black arm draped protectively across her shoulder, she walks without a backward glance into the School House, but as she steps over the threshold her hand reaches into the pocket that holds the small pot of apple pip paste. I look to Ish for reassurance, but he only smiles grimly as an Enforcer grabs his bound wrists and pulls him towards the gate.
As I step into the Watcher’s house I’m surprised by its beauty. The front door opens into a large hallway of richly polished dark wood panelling and a stained glass window shines down the carved staircase into the space. A table stands in the hallway and impossibly colourful flowers sit in a large vase around which a blue and gold dragon snakes. The door to the living room is open and inside richly embroidered chairs and a colourful, patterned rug sit before the lit fire. Above the fire is a huge mirror with an intricately carved and golden frame. I catch my reflection and am shocked at how I look: gaunt, scarred, dirty, defiant. The anger on my face makes me ugly and I turn my head away in shame.
The door under the stairs is open but this time I don’t have to descend into the blackness. The small window, that looks out onto the garden, sheds enough light for me to see what I’m going down into—a dank, bare cellar. There is nothing in the room but the cold brick floor and speckled, white-washed walls. Crouched against the wall, hands tied behind their backs, are Celeste and Ria. Celeste looks up as she hears our footsteps across the brick floor and her eyes brighten as she sees me. She pushes herself up and hobbles forward looking over my shoulder, hopeful. Her face is smeared with dirt and tears. There’s a cut above her left eye and a bruise that hasn’t yet had time to yellow.
“He’s not with you?” she questions in dismay.
I shake my head and she stumbles back to the wall.
The guard pushes me forward, ties my hands behind my back and forces me to sit down then ties my feet too. The binds are tight. The floor is cold and the roughness of the wall scratches at my jacket. The guards leave as silently as they brought us. The last sound I hear from above is the key turning in the lock and the heavy hallway door swinging shut.
Once they’re gone I am free to speak.
“Where’s my mother? Where’s Jey. Why aren’t they here?”
“They were here, but they came and took Jey. They came later and took your mother. Didn’t say anything—just took them,” Celeste replies.
“Why would they take them?” I ask in consternation. “I thought for sure that they would be here.”
“I don’t know but I heard the Captain talking to the Watcher in the hallway. He kept saying something about the Overseer. He’s here I think.”
“It must have been him on the road.”
I remember the group of Primitive guards on horseback that we’d seen pulling the cart to the village when we had first run away. “But why would he be interested in my mother or Jey?”
Celeste has no answer.
We sit for hours, and for every second of those hours, I wait for the door to open and the Watcher to come down and punish me. Finally, the light starts to fade. There is still no sign of him. No one comes down into the cellar and I sit in a torture of expectation and dread thoughts about what they are doing to Jey and my mother. And I worry about Bettrice. All my hopes of escape are hanging on her. Will she go through with it or betray us to the Watcher?
Chapter Two
The dimming light becomes black and still no one comes. I huddle with Celeste and Ria, taking comfort from the warmth of their bodies, and lean my head on Celeste’s shoulder slipping in and out of a troubled sleep, waking with a jolt to fear loaded blackness and falling back again into unconscious nothingness. Bell for Assembly sounds into my half-sleep. For once I ignore it and drift back down.
As first light dawns, a noise from the hallway startles me.
“Someone’s coming!” I whisper to Celeste as a key is turned in the lock.
I shake off the dragging tiredness, lift my head and sit straight, adrenalin oozing into my veins. When he gets here, he’ll s
ee me still strong. The door and the clunk of heavy boots on the wooden steps sounds into the cellar. A high-laced black boot, then a length of black trouser appears. It’s not him. Just a guard who orders us to stand. This is not what I expected—to be ignored.
In the hallway, other guards are waiting to escort us outside. The morning is dingy; a weak light barely filtering through the heavy fog that hangs so dense that droplets of moisture cling to my sleeves. Beyond the garden wall, wreathed in white mist and deathly pale, the villagers stand disembodied. Guards stand rigid ahead of me; intransigent black pillars at the garden gate. Whether they are here to keep us in, or the villagers out, I am not sure. The Watcher mounted, sits tall in the saddle, and walks his horse slowly in front of the villagers. He’s speaking to them. I can’t hear what he’s saying, though I am sure it will be lies.
In the garden are the others like me, the ones who haven’t quite reached adulthood yet aren’t children either. Jennet, Gabrial, Jarrald, and Emett are all about my age, and then there’s Raife, Judythe and Ellice who are a bit younger, more like Jey’s age. The guards herd us over to them and order us into a straight line. Emett looks even worse than the last time I saw her, hunched, overcoat bedraggled over bony thinness, and coughing into a cloth. Pity overwhelms me as she tries to stand tall and neaten unkempt hair, fingers catching in the tangles, as the Watcher dismounts. She looks at him intently as he walks through the gate, riding crop in hand, towards us. Is she looking for approval?
Raife is first in the line.
“Head up boy,” he snaps, and follows it with a biting tap of the crop under his chin. Raife winces but stifles his pain.
A shuffle moves through the line as we all stand a little straighter. He reaches Emett. If she was looking for approval she doesn’t get it. He looks down on her in disgust, then moves on. She recoils and sways backwards a little. I hate him. I truly hate him.
He stops in front of me and screws his lips into a sneer.
“Did you really think I wouldn’t find you Meriall?” he asks with a low and smirking incredulity. “I will always find you.”
I look at him straight, I will not show him my fear, and lock onto his eyes. He recognises my defiance and raises his hand. I tense and stand firm, holding his gaze. He swings his hand hard across my scarred cheek. I rock on my feet, staggering under the force, reeling as burning pain shoots across my face, but gather myself and stand strong again; a fortress against his hate. Something, fear perhaps, flickers behind his eyes. Yes, I despise you and I will rise against you. His lip curls. He continues along the line until he turns and stands completely still, waiting until all eyes are on him.
“This is a special day for you.” His voice is thick with malevolence. “It is the beginning of the rest of your life. This is the day you were born for. It is your Collection Day. A day in which you are privileged to begin your service to the Primitive Elect. Thanks be to the Elect.”
A mumbled ‘Thanks be to the Elect’ is drowned out by coughing that overwhelms Emett. She tries hard to muffle the noise, but the deep hack of her lungs wracks her body and her shoulders heave. There’s red on the stained and dirty cloth she holds to her mouth.
The front door of the School House opens and the Watcher swings around to look. “Shut it girl! He’s coming. Stand tall – all of you,” he hisses and whacks the thin and tightly held cane at our legs, forcing us to shuffle into a straighter line.
He looks anxiously to the bearded and imposing figure filling the doorway. Dressed in the robes of the Elect the figure stands tall, head erect beneath the frilled ruff about his neck, his lean waist belted, his cloak unable to hide the strength of his body. The Watcher bows as the Overseer walks up to him and cows slightly under the bite of his topaz eyes.
“Overseer, I have the produce for this Collection Day ready for you to inspect,” he says, and leads the Overseer along the row giving names, age, abilities.
When they get to Jey the Overseer smiles and a shock runs through me as he puts his hand out and cups her face. She looks up. A smile of frightened compliance flickers on her lips.
“Now this one is of interest to me personally;” he says looking into her eyes.
He holds her gaze as he lays his hand on her shoulder and then slips it down over her breast. Jey closes her eyes, whimpers, but opens them again as his hand presses the sides of her chin. He tilts her head upwards forcing her to look into his eyes. What has she had to suffer last night?
“I will wait to see if she proves pure, Watcher.”
The Watcher nods his assent, “I’m sure you will find that is the case.”
At least he hasn’t touched her that way.
The Overseer releases her chin leaving red pressure marks on her jaw and moves along the line until he stands before me. An ugly frown fixes on his face and he turns to the Watcher.
“This one is damaged—she won’t fetch much.”
I spit in his face, not for the insult to me but for the way he touched Jey.
“Stay away from my sister,” I seethe.
His hand is raised and forced across my face before I have any chance to react. The slap is hard and I stumble backwards.
“This one is not broken Watcher Craslow. I see that we will have to review your work. Captain. Make sure she’s dealt with.”
Captain Blaylock nods his assent and scowls at me as I stand stunned by the strength of the Overseer’s slap. The Overseer moves along the line, reaching Emett.
“Take this one away. She won’t make the journey,” he says with disdain.
The Captain motions to the guards and two step forward and walk Emett up the path where her mother waits with a pained frown. She wraps her arms about her daughter and walks away from the crowd. Emett won’t be coming with us and I’m sure it won’t be long before she’s gone.
“These are the ones we’ll-”
“Watcher!” Jennet shouts. “There’s been a mistake. Tell him there’s been a mistake! You promised!” she screams desperately and runs forward, drops to her knees, and pulls at his black robe. “You said I wouldn’t be collected. You promised.”
The Watcher snatches his cloak away from her grasping hand and kicks at her chest, knocking her to the floor. Judythe reaches down to help. The Watcher pushes her back with his black boot, spite plain across his face.
“What is this Watcher Craslow?” the Overseer asks, frowning as he signals to the Captain, “Do you have any authority here at all?” His voice is scathing.
“Yes! Yes, of course I do!” the Watcher sputters as a red smear creeps up his cheek.
He scowls and gives Jennet another kick as the Captain grabs her by the hair and drags her backwards to the line. She stands cowed, her chest heaving with distraught, silent sobs. I loathe that she turned traitor, and despise her for her cowardice, yet hate to see her broken like this.
The Overseer continues. “These are the ones we will take Watcher Craslow. Captain, make them ready for the journey.”
A guard grabs my arm, jolting me forward, and walks me to a waiting cart as the Overseer turns and walks away. The cart is nothing more than a long wooden platform with iron rings bolted to its surface. Through the rings runs a long, thick chain.
The guard pushes me roughly forwards. “Climb the steps. Get onto the cart.” His voice is sharp and laced with aggression, the kind of man whose temper is easily flared, a type I recognise.
I don’t want any hassle so I obey and climb the steps. Another guard puts his hand out to me. He’s different, gentle even, and puts his arm across my shoulder as he leads me to my place, sits me down and then chains my hands and feet, locking me onto the platform. “Do as they say and you’ll come to no harm,” he says quietly in my ear as he bends down.
I turn to him. He looks at me with compassion in his eyes but acceptance lives there too; a man bent to others’ wills. I nod my head to show my cooperation, not wanting to refuse his kindness, although giving up, becoming one of their slaves, is not something I can co
mply with.
Judythe is locked in behind me. “Why are they chaining us up if this is an honour like the Watcher said?” she asks confused.
Pity washes over me. She doesn’t realise what’s happening. Why should she. We’ve all been kept in the dark about what they really mean by ‘Collection’.
“Judythe …” I’m not sure what to say. How can I make it sound better, less awful?
“Do you know Meriall? Do you know something?”
“Yes, I do. They’re going to sell us,” I say flatly—trying to be calm.
She laughs, incredulous, nervous, and then she quiets for a few seconds.
“What do you mean they sell us?”
“They keep us here, telling us lies about Collection Day so they can control us,” I explain, keeping my voice level, undramatic. “When we’re old enough they ‘Collect’ us and take us to a market and sell us to the highest bidder.”
“But … but … the Watcher said … he said that this is a ‘special day’ for us and that we were privileged to serve the Primitive Elect! I thought that we’d be taken to work for them,” she says with confusion.
“Yes, that’s what they want us to believe to keep us in order but it’s not what happens. The boys might be taken as fighters but for us girls …” and I stop.
“For us girls what?” she hisses.
“For us … they check that we’re pure and then they sell us. We’re worth more if we’re virgins.” She’s quiet again, listening, trying to make sense of what I’ve just said. Moments later chains start to jangle and I regret being so honest.
“No!” she screams. “No! I won’t go. I won’t. They can’t sell me.” She thrashes at the chains, kicking and pulling at them, desperate to break free. “Dad! Dad! Help me! Get me off here.”
She’s hysterical and with every shout she pulls and kicks at the chains and I’m yanked back. It’s not just Judythe shouting and screaming now. Garrald and the others are panicked and struggling with the Enforcers, trying to break free. The girls are not strong enough to resist the guards, but Garrald is as big as the men locking him down and breaks away. He runs across the lawn towards the stone wall. I will him to jump over and be free, but as he reaches out to grab the top stone and vault over, he is grappled to the floor, dragged back to the cart and locked down. A black bank of guards shifts in front of the villagers, batons raised, and the men and women can do nothing other than watch as their children are taken.
Chosen (Dark Powers Rising Book 3) Page 1
