Chosen (Dark Powers Rising Book 3)

by Rebecca Fernfield

  At the gateway to the courtyard, two figures catch my eye and the shock of recognition locks my ribcage and my breath stops, trapped in my throat. The younger one is in the black uniform of an Enforcer and has dark auburn hair and a beard of glowing copper. He is quite beautiful even with the streaks of black across his cheek. I frown in confusion. He seems familiar, although it is the other man I recognise. The Overseer. The man who bought Jey. I want to smash the glass and shout at him, run out of the locked door, down the steps and launch myself at him, scratch out his eyes, kick him until he bleeds and scream at him to give my sister back. The pain in my chest reminds me to breathe and I gulp for air, my hands wedged against the window frame, nails bending under the pressure of the glass.

  A man pushes past the Overseer and the copper-bearded Enforcer, and heads towards the open staircase—the Captain. His stride is strong and his face set hard with determination. Is he coming here? To me? I watch intently as he strides across the cobbled yard and, yes, he walks to the corner of the building towards the staircase and disappears. I quieten my breath and listen. The familiar creak sounds as the metal staircase judders and the side door opens. Footsteps stop at my door and the key is turned. I have to be strong. They won’t break me. They won’t. The door handle moves downwards and he’s there, filling the doorway with his body and his contempt.

  I stand rigid, trying my best to look strong and unwavering, willing my knees not to buckle, and hide my shaking hands behind my back. His eyes look straight into mine. I hold his gaze. I won’t show him my fear. He steps forwards, closes the door behind him, and locks it without taking his eyes off me. I cannot move. I am rooted to the spot. There is no escape.

  The Captain steps closer to me.

  “There are many ways to break a dissenter like you Meriall, but this is my favourite,” he smirks and begins to undo the belt of his trousers.

  I realise with horror that he is going to force himself on me.

  “No!” I shout in anger. “No!”

  “No?” he smirks and steps forward, “it doesn’t matter whether you say ‘yes’ or ‘no’ we do as we want and you will do as we want—in the end.”

  I step back towards the window. He steps forward again and grabs my right arm. I scratch at him with my left, clawing at his face, and leave a deep gash across his cheek. He growls in rage and grabs my throat in response, pushing me up against the wall.

  “You will not break me. Whatever you do,” I rasp.

  “We’ll see about that shall we,” he snarls, and squeezes my throat until I can barely breathe.

  Air struggles to get to my lungs and waves of intense panic ride over me. He tightens his grip around my throat and arm and pushes me harder against the wall. My feet kick out from under me and my heels scratch at the floor as I try to keep myself upright. With my free hand, I grab his wrist and pull it with all my strength, desperate to release his grip and take a breath. Iron fingers remain clamped around my neck as blackness blurs the edge of my vision and I begin to fade into a desperate, airless nothingness.

  The band of dark widens. The vice around my throat loosens and I drop to the floor taking great, heaving gasps, breathing life back into my body. Somewhere beyond myself is loud knocking and I realise someone is trying to get in. The door is shaking violently against its lock. The handle is being yanked up and down and there is shouting from the other side. Whoever it is, I am sure, has just saved me from something that would tear into me forever.

  The hard knock comes again and grabs me by the arm and throws me to the bed.

  “Sit there and don’t move.”

  He scowls and strides to the door, flinging it open so hard that it knocks back into the wall with a thud and ricochets back.

  “What is it?” he shouts, enraged.

  Standing there, taller and broader than the Captain, is the man with the dark auburn hair and glowing copper beard from the courtyard. I gasp with shock. Nathaniel!

  Chapter Six

  “I’m busy here. What do you want?” the Captain demands, holding the door ajar and leaning on the frame, blocking Nathaniel’s view.

  “I have orders to take the girl. She is to come with me now,” Nathaniel says, pushing past the Captain, but giving no indication that he recognises me.

  “Whose orders?” he barks, grabbing Nathaniel’s arm and leaning into his face. “I have orders to break her.”

  Nathaniel’s jaw clenches, troubled at his words, but he remains undaunted. He yanks his arm from the Captain’s grip.

  “Overseer Kannis has a special purpose for her,” Nathaniel insists. “He has ordered me to train her to make her ready for the Pit.”

  The Captain raises his brows.

  “I will bring her to you later. I have to deal with her first.”

  He has no intention of letting me escape him.

  “She is to come with me now,” Nathaniel persists, squaring up his shoulders, annoyance leaking into his voice.

  Seconds of silent struggle pass, but Nathaniel is unwavering, his face unreadable, dead set in his purpose. He steps forward and pushes his shoulder into the Captain, knocking him aside. I scramble to my feet as he grabs my arm and pulls me to the open door. The Captain doesn’t give me up easily though, lurches and snatches at me. Nathaniel blocks him, knocking his hand away. The Captain glares, but uncertainty flickers in his eyes.

  “The Overseer may want this one now, but she is mine later,” he says, the menace strong in his voice.

  Nathaniel makes no response. Instead, he turns and leads me out of the room and down the corridor. He’s silent as we march, but I am bursting with emotion, hardly able contain my joy.

  “Nathaniel!” the word comes out as a low sob.

  He turns on me instantly.

  “Don’t speak,” he warns and continues marching me forward.

  I am just another prisoner.

  Across the courtyard, Nathaniel opens a door into a room of whitewashed walls that smells of stale sweat and leather.

  “In here girl,” he says with a growl, loud enough for the groups of men and boys to hear, and pushes me over the threshold.

  At first I think it must be a tack room or workshop, but quickly realise that rather than saddles and bridles hanging upon the walls there are swords, knives, spears and leather straps studded with spikes. Leatherwork armour, breast and shoulder plates, arm and leg guards hang like battered bodies from ceiling hooks. All look worn; some gashed, most smeared and stained. He turns and locks the door.

  “Nate I-”

  “Shh!” he hisses with a frown, index finger to lips. “We can’t let them know you’re my sister.”

  He looks at me with pain in his eyes then gently pushes my hair to one side and undoes the clasp that locks the collar to my neck.

  “They’re dogs!” he mutters, throwing the collar to the floor and wrapping his arms around me.

  The emotion is too much to contain and the years of anguish and pain at his loss bubble up and over in a torrent of grief. I muffle my sobs against his chest. He doesn’t tell me to be quiet or stop, just holds me tighter until the need to cry out my grief slows and I pull away from him, wiping the snot from my face with my sleeve. I stand back and cup his face in my hands, running my thumbs over the black marks scratched into his cheeks.

  “I hate that they’ve marked you like this.”

  “Once you’ve been collected you have no choice. They own you.”

  “They don’t own you Nathaniel and they will never own me!” I say, my spirit rearing again. “They have no right to buy and sell us and I will never stop fighting them.”

  “Shh! They’ll kill you for sure if they suspect you hold thoughts of rebellion.”

  “They’ll kill me whatever, I’m sure of that. But anyway, fighting against the Primitives isn’t rebellion Nathaniel,” I say with passion. “It’s fighting for our freedom—for our lives. They have no rights over us. Their Rule is not the truth and their Book is full of lies. I-”

 
“Meriall, shh! Calm down.”

  “I can’t calm down Nathaniel. Can’t you see how evil they are?”

  “Yes, of course I can but-”

  “There are no buts. We have to rise up against them and free our people.”

  “Our people?”

  “Yes, our people. Everyone we grew up with: mother, Jey, Pascha, everyone in every village or town they terrorise. We have to free them all. We have to break them Nathaniel—not be broken by them.”

  The fire in my heart is burning with rage and I have never felt so clear about what I must do.

  “Before I came here, I wanted to run as far away as I could. Get Jey and mother and the others away to safety, but now I know that I have to break their Rule and burn their Book and destroy their power. They’re monsters Nathaniel and we have to do everything we can to stop them spreading their evil in this world.”

  I pause for a moment and rub the place where I’ve scratched my arrow.

  “Tristan would-”

  “Tristan?” Nathaniel gasps.

  “Yes, Tristan would want us to fight against them. We have to carry on what he started. When we were younger there was nothing we could do, but now—now we are old enough to fight back.”

  I grab his sleeve and look up into his eyes. “Nate, we have to fight back.”

  He nods quietly. “Yes, Tristan would want us to fight them.”

  He closes his eyes. I wait quietly for him then show him Tristan’s arrow.

  “This is for Tristan. For all of us.”

  He grasps my wrist and peers at my tattoo.

  “We’ve all got one. We’re Fletchers—me, Pascha, Jey, Ish, Ria—we swore to fight the Primitives. They mark us, but this is our mark against them.”

  Admiration sparkles in his eyes. “You always were fiery Meriall,” he smiles.

  “I’ve been so afraid Nathaniel, but not now. Now, whatever happens, I am fighting back.”

  “We’ll do it Meriall. We’ll get out of here and take Jey with us,” he says, pulling me to him.

  “Do you know where she is?” I ask, pulling away, desperate for news of her.

  “No, but I have an idea,” he says, turning. “I won’t be long.”

  “You can’t leave me here!” I say in desperation as he walks towards the door.

  The thought of being here without him is too much to bear.

  “Meriall, you have to be strong. Remember? No more fear.”

  “Yes, yes, you’re right,” I agree, a wave of queasiness washing over me, reminding me that I am literally starving. “Let me come with you. Pleeease,” I beg. “I need to eat. I haven’t eaten or had a drink for two days and I’ll pass out if I don’t get something soon.”

  A sprig of hope grows that he’ll relent and take me with him as he looks at me with pity.

  “You can’t come with me Merry, but I know what to do.”

  “But Nate I-”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He bends down to pick up the collar, gently straps it back around my neck, unlocks the door and pulls me out into the Courtyard.

  “Nicklas, Owin. Come here.” Two men, a little younger than Nathaniel, walk over. “Nicklas, get this one food,” he yanks me forward roughly as he speaks, “ham, bread, cheese and honey. Get her water too and a dram of whiskey.” He turns to me. “Eat, but eat slowly or your belly will hurt. Drink the whiskey—it helps. Owin, train her. She’s tomorrow’s entertainment,” he orders then strides across the Courtyard and out through the gates to the street.

  Chapter Seven

  The stone of the wall is hard against my shoulders and the floor of the courtyard cold on my backside, but I’m relieved to sit quietly and eat the food and water Owin has brought back. The bread is dense, made of a rough flour, and its crust is slightly burnt. I eat it quickly with mouthfuls of the sharp, yellow cheese between gulps of water from a tin bottle.

  Both men stand a few feet away, picking up weapons from the rack in this far corner of the square, turning them over, assessing their weight. Owin reaches for a sword, looks over to me, then nods his head my way. “She won’t last long.”

  His words startle me and I gag a little on the cheese as I catch my breath and the food falls to the back of my throat. Nicklas looks over at me too and I stop chewing to hear his reply.

  He turns away again, fingers the blade of the axe in his hands, and leans in a little to Owin. “I feel sorry for her. What they doing sticking a girl like her in the Pit?”

  “Looks like a fighter to me. Did you see that scar on her face?”

  I didn’t expect Nicklas’ kindness, but self-pity quickly turns to annoyance with Owin’s mention of my face. I bite down hard on my bread loaf, tear at it in frustration and listen to them talk.

  “Yeh, she looks feisty—you can see it in her eyes—but she’s only a kid.”

  “What does it matter; she’s just a slave. She must’ve cocked-up big time to be stuck in here though.”

  I’m not a slave!

  “Hey, I’m here you know!” I sputter, my mouth crammed with bread. “I can hear everything you say.”

  Owin nods and turns back to Nicklas. “Feisty! I told you so.”

  “No it was me who sai-” Nicklas’ voice is drowned out by the louder man.

  “Now then Scarface,” he says roughly, “so what have you done to hack ‘em off?”

  He’s blunt, though not unkind, so I ignore his name-calling.

  “Who?”

  “Them—the officers.”

  “I guess they just don’t like me,” I say gruffly, not wanting to give him any information.

  “Well, I guess they don’t like you a lot. The Overseer wants you to be the entertainment at his stag-do.”

  “Nathaniel said something about me being the entertainment. What does that mean?”

  “Overseer Kannis is getting married the day after tomorrow to a girl that was collected from some backward village,” Nicklas answers.

  He must be talking about Jey! Married! Jey is getting married to the Overseer? I lose concentration as Nicklas carries on jabbering and think of Bettrice and her ‘marriage’ to the Watcher. I can’t let that happen to Jey—to be trapped with a man she hates, who will control her at any cost.

  As I come back to focus, I hear Nicklas again, “… fallen in love with her he has. That’s what they’re saying—just stares at her like some puppy,” he sniggers.

  “Pah! He bought her—she’s his slave—he don’t need to love her do he. He can take what he wants,” Owin responds.

  “She needs to love him though—to make it a real marriage,” I interrupt, infuriated at Owin’s attitude.

  “She ain’t got no choice—if she’s been bought she’s been bought.”

  “She’s got the right to choose her own husband,” I insist, “not be bought and sold and forced into it.” The anger rises in my voice and I ignore the disapproval, or is it fear, on their faces. “We all have to be free!”

  Nicklas’ eyes flick about the courtyard nervously. Owin is stern and nods his head sharply at me.

  “Now then, settle down. Stinks of Rule breaking does that. You’d better keep them thoughts to yourself.”

  “Bet that’s why she’s heading for the Pit,” Nicklas adds in a low voice as he leans into Owin.

  “Bet you’re right.”

  Nicklas checks about the yard and then adds, “Does she love him back though?”

  “She’s a slave. Doesn’t matter,” Owin replies, a callous tone to his voice.

  “It matters!” I mutter.

  I don’t want the others to hear me, but I will not let Owin tell this lie.

  To my surprise Nicklas agrees. “Yeh, it do,” he nods at me in support.

  “Keep it down—they might hear.”

  “I’m just saying. If I had a wife I’d want her to love me—proper love—not just put up with me because I bought her.”

  “Shut it Nickl-arse! There’s ears everywhere here and they might be tittle-tattling about
you before long if you don’t shut yer trap.” He turns to me with a frown. “Anyway, so, you’re the entertainment for the Overseer’s stag do—you’re to fight in the pit whilst they all get drunk and lairy.”

  “But I … I don’t know how to fight!”

  “We can tell, and that’s why we know you won’t last long.” Nicklas looks at me then lowers his eyes and turns away, pretending to look at the weapons again.

  “Won’t last long?” I ask, although I already know what he means.

  “Die. You’ll die,” is Owin’s instant, and matter of fact, answer.

  “Yeh, when they put you in the pit it’s to the death,” Nicklas adds, telling me the bad news. “If you’re lucky they’ll put you up against some slave who’s ready for the knackers.”

  “If you’re unlucky, you’ll get Wild Woman or Goliath,” Owin says with a bitter smirk as he strokes the blade of the sword. He taps the tip against the flat of his palm as he looks at me, head tilted, questioning. “Nathaniel must have a soft spot for you though—ordering the whiskey—drink up! It’ll take the edge off.”

  “Just feels sorry for me, probably,” I add, not wanting to give away our secret.

  I pick up the jar of honey-coloured liquid, put it to my lips, and hope that it helps to push away the terrifying images of ‘Wild Woman’ and ‘Goliath’ that are spinning in my head. It smells of honey and lavender. Owin lifts the tips of his fingers up and down to hurry me on and I tip back my head and swallow the whiskey in one go. It burns as it runs down my throat and, as it hits my stomach, a strange and soothing warmth spreads across my belly.

  “Good?” Owin asks and I nod as a warm flush creeps over my cheeks and a softness coats my anxiety, soothing my pulse.

  I close my eyes, lean back against the stone wall, and fall away inside myself for a few moments as the whiskey slips its way through me, warming me from my belly, down my legs and to my toes. Minutes pass and the noise from the courtyard slips away as darkness pulls me down into its warmth, exhaustion claiming me once more.