Chosen (Dark Powers Rising Book 3)

by Rebecca Fernfield

  “Do?” he asks with scorn. “I will do as I please! She is to be my Wife once more. I am a loyal and faithful man Meriall. I swore ‘to have and to hold till death’ and so I shall.” His eyes are locked to hers as he speaks. “Your mother will learn the error of her ways,” he says without hint of love or affection.

  She returns his look with unwavering eyes before giving me a small nod—willing me to be strong. I hear her voice in my head like it used to be when I was small, scared of the angry man in the living room and the noises outside in the town. She’d tuck me into bed then kneel next to me and stroke my hair away from my face and soothe me, ‘It’s ok Meriall. It’s all going to be fine. Mummy’s going to make it all ok.’ She tried her best; got us away from the angry man, my father, and the angry people in the town. She ran with us to the village and we were safe there, until they came.

  I can hold my tongue no longer and try again to make myself heard.

  “Father, I have come here to beg for your help. Jey, my sister, your daughter, has been bought by the Overseer. He’s forcing her to be his Wife.” Again he puts out his hand. I ignore his gesture. I won’t be silenced. “She has to be able to choose her own husband—not be bought and forced into it.” He’s silent and my confidence in his desire to help once he realises how we’re being treated begins to falter, but I continue, pointing to the Overseer. “I-, I’m being forced to fight. He has ordered that I fight in the Pit.” His face is stony, unreadable. “You have to help me. You have to help Jey. Please! I’m not trained in fighting.” He looks at me unmoved. I try again. “Father, please. Stop the fight or I could be killed.”

  He takes a step forward.

  “You will serve the Elect as we all must do,” he says without emotion. “You, Meriall, have proven that you are not a follower of the Rule and must therefore be broken. It is our way.”

  “But-, but I could die!” I exclaim, shocked at his callousness.

  “Then you must fight for your life. It is God’s will. It is how it must be.” His words chill me.

  “But I’m your daughter!”

  He stares with contempt, holding his hand out yet again to silence me, and looks to the Overseer.

  “I have given my permission for Jey to be married to Overseer Kannis. She is honoured to become his Wife and she will live her life as an Elect. Thanks be to the Elect.”

  “Thanks be to the Elect,” is the fervent response from the men.

  “We’re your children! Don’t you care about us?” I shout above their voices, pulling against Nathaniel’s tight grip around my arm.

  My father bends forward, dominating the space above me. “You must understand Meriall, that God’s Rule is all that matters. We must all bend to that.”

  “God! What do you know of God? You’re inhuman! You have no soul,” I scream as he walks back towards the fire. “Your God is a lie.”

  He turns back, his face implacable, his eyes rich with cruelty.

  “He is necessary. Just as the Pit is necessary for you. I cannot have a daughter who is disobedient. If you survive the Pit, you will be made to obey. We will teach you what it means to follow the Rule.”

  A grim smile edges onto his lips.

  “Captain Blaylock, take her back to the cells. Tomorrow will decide whether she is to be bent to the Rule or not.”

  Chapter Nine

  A soiled mattress hugs the corner of the dark cell, but I hardly notice. Instead, my father’s voice sounds loud in my head, ‘the Pit is necessary for you’, ‘you must fight for your life’. Nathaniel had been right not to trust him and I was a fool to think that he would help us. I still can’t believe that my own father is so cruel; he would rather I was dead than disobey their Rule. I’ll show him though! I will survive the Pit, but I will never bend to their Rule or learn to obey.

  Sleep does not come easy. The cold, and my terror of what is to come, make it difficult, but eventually darkness takes me and when I wake the sun is high and the key in the lock is being turned. I sit up, instantly alert.

  A guard opens the door and brings with him a parcel of cloth and a tin canister which he sets down next to the bed. Behind him a girl carries a pail of steaming water and a cloth bag.

  “You’re to wash and change and there’s food and drink—from Father Baxter’s Wife. She wants you to be strong—for later.”

  She looks at me with pity and takes the clothes out of the bag and puts them on the bed—jeans, a clean top, jumper, knickers, socks, a towel. I stroke the soft fabric of the cotton top. Tears sting my eyes and I think of all the times my mother warmed our clothes so that the cold mornings were a little more bearable.

  “The water will go cold if you don’t wash soon,” she says softly and holds out a bar of soap and washcloth. “I’ll turn to the door—for privacy.”

  I take the cloth and soap from her quietly. It smells of honey and makes a thick bubbly lather in my hands. I load the flannel with soap and wash every inch of my body. I stand naked, letting the cold of the air prick me as the wetness dries slowly on my skin. Refreshed, I sit on the bed and open the cloth parcel: bread, cheese, a jar of roasted tomatoes, a large piece of ham, and a glass jar with honeycomb. In the canister, nettle tea sweetened with honey. A tear escapes and runs down my cheek as I remember sitting at the table with Pascha and Jey drinking tea, feeling happy, thinking we’d escaped. The girl leaves and, with my belly full, I curl up on the bed, fall into a deep sleep and dream of Pascha stroking my skin, bending his body to mine.

  When I wake, the day has nearly closed and a buzz of noise is building in the street as people congregate to watch tonight’s spectacle. The key sounds again at the door and this time it is Nathaniel who walks through. I run to him and fling my arms around him.

  “I can’t do this Nathaniel. You have to get me out. We have to escape.”

  He holds me tight. “We will get away. I’ve been making plans all day.”

  “What plans?”

  “The Overseer has chosen a weak enemy for you, just a boy—he’s sick, dying I think, you’ll be able to fight him and win. Looks like he doesn’t hate you as much as you think or perhaps Jey has some influence over him?”

  The thought of killing the sick boy fills me with disgust. “I can’t do it. I can’t kill him.”

  “Yes, you can. It’s kill or be killed! Remember?”

  “If he’s dying …”

  “Then you’ll be ending his life quickly. You’ll be doing him a favour.”

  “I … No! I can win the fight and show that I’m stronger, but I can’t kill him.”

  “Meriall, this is no time to be squeamish.”

  “I’m not squeamish. I’m not going to take his life. I’m not a monster. I’m not like Father.”

  He looks at me with understanding.

  “Meriall, you are not a monster,” he says as he puts his hand on my arm. “Mother’s blood runs too strong in you.”

  “Why can’t we just go now?”

  “Look, we need to get Mother and Jey too. They’ll both be here tonight. It’s our best chance of getting them out. They won’t expect it—right in front of their eyes. When you’ve beaten him they’ll take you out of the Pit—that’s when we’ll make our move. There are others to help us.”

  I raise my eyebrows.

  “And I’ll have horses ready for us all. I have to go now, but I’ll be back before the fight. We’ll get away, I promise.”

  I hold onto him again as though I never want to let him go and he squeezes me hard before pulling away and leaving, locking the door behind him.

  Chapter Ten

  The lingering stink of stale sweat clings to the wadded jacket Owin insists I wear beneath the leather tabard.

  “This reeks!” I complain.

  “You’ll be glad of it when you’re out there. Now stand still and let me tie these flippin’ strings,” Owin retorts, pulling at the stained cord.

  Nicklas bursts through the door, banging it against the wall.

  “St
eady on!” Owin barks, startled, the cotton ties snagging on his clumsy fingers.

  Nicklas is breathless. “The Captain! He’s putting Adyline in the Pit!”

  “What!” Owin stands back, the shock apparent on his face. “But-” he stops and looks down at me, dismay draining his face.

  Fear in the pit of my belly pinches at my guts. “Who’s Adyline?”

  “She’s the Wild Woman—the one we joked about,” he explains, his voice dour.

  “She’s ferocious; a real killer,” Nicklas adds ominously.

  “She’s unhinged. That’s what she is,” Owin says, as he grabs the cotton ties again and snaps them tight in frustration. “You’re definitely going to need this now,” he says, his breath brushing my cheek as he lifts a gouged leather tabard over my head.

  “It’s too heavy. I won’t be able to move,” I respond, panic rising.

  “You will. You’ll get used to it,” he says, patting my shoulder in manly fashion, shunting me forward. “You don’t want a cat-o-nine-tails stuck in your back, do you?”

  The thought makes me judder. “No, of course not, but …”

  “But nothing. Adyline is vicious and if the Captain gets his way you’ll be carried out of the Pit. We’re not going to let that happen. We need you.”

  I turn to him, confused at his odd comment.

  He looks straight into my eyes, leans close, and whispers, “Meriall, we were all free once. We will be free again.”

  I stand and let the impact of his words penetrate my understanding as he bends down to strap a ridged hunting knife to my leg. There are others! Others like me and Pascha who want to rise against them. The pain of sorrow knocks at me for a second as I remember him, but I have to be ruthless so push it back down, lock it away for later and let the thrill of Owin’s words wash through me. When this is over, when I am alone again, then I can drown in my grief.

  The buzz of voices outside grows louder and I move to the window, curious to see. Torches have been lit around the courtyard and, to my horror, an iron brazier has been lit in the middle of the Pit.

  “Owin, there’s a fire—where we fight!”

  “What!” he strides up behind me, pushing me aside. “They really do want to have fun then!” he exclaims.

  “It’s the Captain. He hates me,” I say vehemently.

  “Ay, he’s not one I’d want to cross,” Owin mutters. “When you’re in the Pit, stay away from the fire. It’s a bit hot,” he says with exaggerated understatement and nudges me with a snort at his own joke.

  “That’s the best you can come up with?” I say in mock anger, a smile nudging my lips as he pokes me.

  “Yeh, it is. Now come on, get serious, we need to get you ready.”

  He busies himself checking the armour, trying to find leg and arm plates small enough for me to wear.

  The door opens and the Captain steps into the room, guards behind him. “It’s time for you to fight,” he says, a malicious smile spreading across his face, making him ugly.

  I wince under his harsh gaze, but take a deep breath and lock onto his eyes. I can win. I will live. You’ll see. He can’t hear my words but his scowl tells me he understands my defiance.

  I walk out into the orange glow and a cacophony of chattering men and women are gathered around the Pit, jostling for the best view. Tiered seating holds the Elect. I scan them and find Mother first. Our eyes meet and she sits tall and smiles. She doesn’t need to speak. I know what she’s willing me to understand: that she’s here, that I’m strong enough. Jey sits nearby, eyes lowered, switched off from it all. Next to her, the Overseer, leaning in, whispering, smiling, twisting her long hair around his fingers, oblivious to the crowd. Unhappiness is etched across her face.

  The Captain walks me past the tiered, noisy crowd, his grip tight around my arm, and pushes me through the iron gate, forcing me down the stone steps and into the hole. Racks of weapons are loaded with the cat-o-nine-tails, short and long swords and metal tipped, spurred spears. The crowd quietens and there’s a scuffling on the steps behind me.

  “You’ll regret your scratches now,” the Captain taunts.

  I turn. Behind me are three figures, half-hidden in the blackness of the night. At the front, the slumped form of a woman, shackled feet shuffling, hobbles down the steps. A vicious spike from behind and she stumbles forward, nearly falling into me. I jump back, suddenly afraid. Her brown-blonde hair hangs in matted lumps and deep lines between her brows show a perpetual frown. A guard stands behind her, metal-tipped spike in hand, and jabs it at her again. Her scowl deepens, a rumbling growl sounds low in her chest and she shakes her bound hands, rattling the locked chains. Her rage is frightening and full of pain.

  A horn sounds and a deadly quiet falls as my father stands to speak.

  “This evening we bring you a traitor, a rebel, an Outlier who has not yet learnt that to live among us is to follow the Rule. She does not understand that the Primitive Elect are God’s chosen elite sent to rule over you. She has not submitted to God’s will. She undermines our laws. She must accept her punishment and will learn and live by the Primitive way and abandon all other knowledge, by God’s will. Tonight decides whether she dies as an Outlier or if she has a second chance to learn from our Book and follow the Rule. The Primitive Way is the only way. The Primitive Way is God’s way. Praise be to God and the Primitive Elect.”

  He waits for the response.

  “Thanks be to the Primitive Elect.”

  “Let it begin.”

  A guard presses his spike into Adyline’s back whilst another unlocks her shackles and retreats quickly up the steps.

  She turns to me, growls deep and guttural, a wild dog turned savage through beatings and starvation.

  “Only one of you can leave the pit alive. Pick your weapons and begin.”

  She lunges towards the rack and grabs the cat-o-nine tails, arcing it high in one smooth movement and heads towards me. Stunned by her speed, I scramble for the rack, grab the spear, and circle the fire. The faces and the noise disappear and we circle until the racks are reached again. This time, she grabs an iron ball and lobs it at me. I dodge. Too late. It hits my thigh hard. The pain is immense and I drop to the floor. She takes her opportunity and runs at me, the nine-tails swinging. I pull myself up, dragging my deadened leg, and grab for the shield. She reigns down her first blow just as I swing it in front of me. The spikes slam through the leather and the force smashes my arm into my chest. Spikes lodge into my arm guards. I’m yanked forward, arm wrenched high, as she tears the nine-tails back into the air. I stab at her with the spear, but only catch her leather vest before she slams the nine-tails down on the shield again. The spikes splinter the wood, gouging holes through its centre. My leg throbs and I hobble backwards, desperate to gain some distance, and circle the fire again.

  Movement on the steps and she stops, turning to look. Two figures stand at the bottom, guards pushing them forward. I realise with horror that the figures are Ish and Ria!

  She lurches towards them. They don’t stand a chance unless I can get to them first. With every ounce of strength I can muster, I push myself forward and launch myself between my friends and this crazed woman. The shield splinters as the nine-tails slams down again.

  “Run to the rack. Get some weapons,” I shout, my breath coming hard in my chest.

  She lunges at me, aiming the nine-tails at my head. I jerk away and stumble backwards, hitting my head on the wall. The stone behind me shifts, lessening the impact, but I am stunned, my knees buckle and I slip to the ground as the metal spikes crash into the wall next to me. She growls in rage and spiked metal glints in the torchlight as she swings the tails above her head. She is relentless. I flip over onto my back and roll away. Spikes crash down into the floor beside me. Out of reach, my spear lays on the scuffed gravel. Reaching it is my only chance. I scramble forward and scream as a dozen spikes slam into my back, stabbing through the leather armour. As she rips the weapon back, I grab the spear and turn
to face her. Our eyes lock. Rage and fear shine bright in her eyes and I know she won’t give up until she takes my life. As she lunges forward to spike me again, I grab the spear and thrust it with brutal force. The killing stick catches her side, knocking her to the ground and the vicious nine-tails falls from her hand. I take my chance and jump up. The spear sticks out of her belly. She clutches the shaft, pulls it out, red-tipped, and throws it across the Pit. It clatters against the far wall. She growls in pain but scrabbles for the nine-tails again. She’s strong with plenty of killing strength left in her.

  I have to act now.

  I grab the loose stone from the wall and stand above her. Her hand grabs the handle of the spikes. She pushes up on hands and knees. A red haze filters across my eyes. I am back in the woods and the pig is lying before me. I raise the heavy stone above my head. The pig turns its head, its eyes stare into mine, and I smash the rock down. Its legs buckle and it squeals, crashes to the floor and judders. Blood drains from its ear. I raise my arms and smash the rock down on its head again and again until the juddering stops and the muscles of my back burn and the strength leaves my arms. The pig is quiet and still. I drop the rock and fall onto my hands and knees. The gravel is sharp and bites at my flesh.

  She lies long and still before me, her arm outstretched, her hand still grasping the spikes. I cannot bear to look beyond the matted blood-blonde hair splayed out across her face and sit, watching for breath, seeing only the blood seep and stain into the sandy gravel. There is no movement. No life. Tears prick my eyes and spill down onto my cheek as an intense wave of grief rides up and overwhelms me. I reach over and place my hand on her lifeless back. I’m sorry. I never wanted this. She is a victim just as much as we are; driven to hate and death by them, the Primitives.

  Anger builds to rage in my belly and gives me the strength to stand where the fight has taken it. I look up to the night sky. The moon shines bright surrounded by speckles of pure energy in the blackness of the sky. I raise my arms to the sky and absorb the strength that the night’s beauty gives me. There is a better way than this and I am going to take it. I look to the crowd, quiet and subdued as they watch me. Can they sense me? Can they tell what I really am? Can they feel the power of my hate and my anger?