The Captain stands gaping. Our eyes lock and a surge of rage pushes up through me. He will see me now. Its fury calls me and I reach down, pull the hunting knife from its strap on my leg and push forward, running strong up the steps, flinging open the iron gate. The growl that explodes from my chest fills the air as I launch myself at the Captain and stab the knife at him. There’s chaos around me as men scatter into the darkness. The Captain lies on his back, eyes staring wildly, hunting knife shoved up to its hilt in his shoulder.
“Meriall, run!” Nathaniel grabs my arm, pulling me forward.
“Ish, Ria! They were in the Pit.”
“They’re here.”
He gestures behind me to where Ish and Ria stand. My relief is immense, but there’s no time to stop.
“We have to run. Now!”
I lurch after Nathaniel as he runs and pushes his way through the screaming and chaos of the crowd. A hand grabs at me, grasping the cotton jacket. A black sleeved arm chops down on the hand, breaking its grip. A bearded man, tattooed black lines across his cheek, pulls back his arm and disappears into the crowd. I burst out of the crowd and pelt towards Owin and Nicklas at the gates. A guard steps forward, but is blocked by another figure and I swerve past them and hurtle forward. The gates are open just wide enough for us to get through. The crunch of gravel and pounding of feet is loud behind me, but I daren’t look back. Nathaniel reaches the gates first. They start to close. I push my legs in fury and charge through the narrowing gap. They bang shut behind me. Did they make it? I turn, desperate. Relief. Ish and Ria. Breathless. Terrified. The smaller door opens and Owin and Nicklas step through and secure the door, locking the crowd inside.
“What about mother and Jey?” I ask, dread sinking through me.
“Don’t worry. This way!” Nathaniel’s voice is urgent and we run through to the front of the building where horses are saddled and ready, held by two men I’ve never seen.
I stare with disbelief. Mother and Jey stand waiting. Angry banging sounds from the archway doors spurring us to action.
“Jey, go with Nicklas. Meriall, you’re with Owin. Ish get on with Jasper, Tobias take Ria. I’ll take Mother,” Nathaniel orders.
We mount in a flurry of legs pushed into stirrups and heaving over saddles. I wrap my arms tight round Owin, pinching the saddle hard between my legs just as we lurch forward then gallop onto the road that leads out of town.
We pass the holding house where I know the girl with the haunted eyes and tear-streaked face will be. My stomach heaves and not just from the lurch of the horse’s gallop.
Chapter Eleven
We move along the moonlit lanes for miles before Nathaniel slows his horse to a walk and suggests that we rest a while.
The girl’s face won’t leave me and I pace about among the others agitated.
“What is it Merrial? What’s wrong love?” my mother asks, recognising my discomfort.
The others turn, listening, waiting for me to answer.
“It’s her!” I blurt out.
“Who?” Nathaniel asks with a frown.
“The girl. The one we saw shackled with the other kids. I just can’t get her out of my mind. She—they are so young. It’s eating at me that we’re leaving them behind.”
Silence.
“I have to go back.”
“What?” Nathaniel turns on me, astounded.
“I have to go back for them.”
“If you go back, you’ll get caught,” Owin says, certain.
“And this,” Nathaniel says with emphasis, gesturing to the others exasperated, “will all have been for nothing!”
“No, it won’t. Mother and Jey are free. Ish and Ria are free. That is not nothing.”
“Yes, but it’s too risky Meriall. What if you get caught? They’ll lock you up and throw away the key—or worse,” Jey adds.
I see the fear in her eyes, but know this is something I have to do.
“You’ve got Nathaniel and Mother to look after you. Who do they have? I just can’t leave them there to live through a nightmare,” I say with passion. “I’m going back,” I repeat, adamant, and turn to walk back to the town.
“Meriall, no!” Jey shouts after me. “Nathaniel stop her!”
“I can’t leave them,” I shout back. “I’ll catch up with you. Go north to Skarlton. Ask for Mallie. I’ll follow you there.”
“What can a girl do on her own?” Owin shouts, challenging.
The truth of his words makes me pause, but the burning need I have to help them overwhelms me.
“I don’t know. I’ll figure it out on the way,” I say defiant, unthinking, and continue walking.
“Wait! I’m coming with you,” Owin calls after me.
I turn and smile, relieved. He mounts the horse and walks over to me.
“I said you was feisty,” he says, putting out his hand down to help me up.
We tether the horse at the town’s threshold behind a low stone wall overgrown by hawthorn. It’ll be safely hidden until we get back. As Owin loops the reign over branches he talks to the horse with soothing words and nuzzles his cheek against hers. I’m struck by how tender he is and watch as he strokes and gentles the mare. When he looks up he catches my eye and a wry smile shifts to his lips. “Got to take care of this beauty. She’ll be the one rescuing us once we get back here—if we get back here.”
Guilt oozes over me. I hadn’t thought beyond my need to get the girl and the others away from the Primitives. I hadn’t thought that I’d be putting anyone in danger.
“Owin, I don’t want you to come with me. I can get them out—on my own.”
He scoffs and shakes his head. “Meriall that would just be suicide. You need me. You don’t know the town the way I do. Have you even thought about how you’re going to get those kids out?”
He looks at me, waiting for the answer he already knows.
“No, but-” I falter, and my heart sinks a little.
He’s right. I haven’t thought it through. In my head I just imagined me unlocking the door, flinging it wide and letting them run free. Stupid!
“We need a plan. And—we can’t do it alone.”
I look at him in surprise. Letting people know we want to set the kids free is a risk. It’s treason and anybody helping us would be considered a traitor.
“Who’s going to risk their lives for a bunch of kids?” I ask incredulous.
He looks at me with a cold stare. “Well, me for a start Meriall,” he says, offended.
“I didn’t mean- I just know it’s dangerous that’s all—for anyone to help us.”
“Do you think it’s just you who hates the Primitives?” he says angrily. “Do you think you’re the only one who rages against what they’re doing? The Founding Fathers are just a bunch of opportunist thugs who took over when government got weak. They saw a way of taking control and they grabbed it. Their Book, their Rule—they’re just ways of making us so afraid we don’t fight back. Did you know that Baxter-”
“It’s ok. He’s my father, but he’s not,” I say bitterly. “We escaped him until now and I barely remember him. Mother knew what he was and now I know too. Please—tell me.”
“Well, Baxter … before he was a Founding Father,” he says faltering, the pity in his eyes making my stomach lurch, “before they all got together and wrote their Book and the Rule, he was part of a gang that trafficked women and children. They brought them over drugged-up and hidden in lorries then sold them on—so, no change there,” he says with emphasis before continuing. “He did jail time, but when the wars started and things began to break down, he got out.”
Silence falls between us as I process what he’s said. That my father is such a monster shames me and I can’t shake the fear that perhaps somehow that taint is in me too. Owin must realise my hurt because he walks over and puts his arms around my shoulders, squeezing me. An intense pain shoots across my back as my body remembers the spikes that plunged into it just hours ago and I yelp. He instantly
drops his arm.
“I’m sorry,” he says with feeling, “are you hurt?”
“Yes, in the fight—she hit my back and it hurt like hell when you squeezed me,” I say, trying not to sound full of self-pity.
“Let me take a look,” he says gently, and begins to untie the straps that hold the protective leather vest I still wear, then lifts the cotton tabard and my top to inspect my back.
“Ouch!” he says and sucks in his breath for added effect.
“What is it? Tell me!” I demand, impatient to know how bad the wounds are.
“You’ve got spike marks—where the cat scratched you—or rather where the spikes stabbed you. It must hurt,” he says and gently begins to stroke my skin.
His fingers circle the wounds, moving up and down my back, across my shoulders, travelling around the spike marks. I groan slightly as my skin tingles and a wave of uncomfortable desire runs through me. I want this kindness, need it even, though it should be Pascha giving me pleasure not Owin. His fingertips continue to glide and circle over my back, never leaving my skin and I fight hard to keep myself from becoming lost in desire and cling onto my love for Pascha.
Eventually I can stand it no more.
“Please—stop,” I ask, my voice hoarse, disloyalty breaking me down. Owin seems unaware of the desperate battle within me.
“Did that help?” he asks, leaning around to see my face.
“Yes, yes it did,” I answer with surprise as I realise the pain seems a little less.
“Human contact,” he says firmly, “helps with the pain. Good for the body—and the soul.”
Stupid! He was only trying to help reduce my pain and a tingle of embarrassment pricks at my cheeks as they blush in the growing dark.
“Ok, so what’s next?” I ask, trying to recover myself.
“We need to talk to some friends,” he says with meaning.
At first the knocking gets no response and I stand nervous in the shadows as Owin taps gently at the black painted door where he tells me we can find help.
“You’ll have to tap louder,” I hiss.
“Shh, woman! I know what I’m doing,” he reprimands, though I smile to myself as his next knock rings louder.
A curtain twitches, the door opens and we’re ushered into a small room lit only by a soft glow. The room is sparsely furnished to the point of being empty. A solitary dark and worn sofa pushed up against the back wall, and a flower-patterned rug, set out in front of the cold hearth, are the only pretence of comfort.
“Meriall, this is Sanders. He’s one of the friends I told you about,” Owin says, introducing me to the dark figure that had stood behind the door.
Sanders, a tall, heavy set man with dark hair and darker eyes nods at me yet remains silent. His eyes take me in and I look back, recognising the etched black lines of an Enforcer across his cheeks. The dots between them count numerous kills. I force myself to look away.
“What brings you here Owin? At this time of night, it can’t be anything good.”
“This is Meriall, the daughter of Baxter-”
“Whoa—hold up!” he exclaims, and my heart pounds in my chest, perhaps we’ve made a mistake coming here.
I take a step towards Owin and clutch at his sleeve. He puts his hand across mine. “Calm it Meriall. I told you, he’s a friend,” he says tenderly, as if I am one of his horses.
“You’re what all the fuss is about then.” Sanders looks at me, eyebrows raised with a look of mirth, as though I am a naughty child. “They’ve been out looking for you. The Overseer is raging—says he won’t stop until he finds his Wife and-”
“He can’t have her!” I rear up. “She’s not a thing to be bought and sold. She’s my sister.”
“Hey, keep your voice down. Like Owin said, I’m a friend. You gotta know that they’re looking for you though,” he says sternly and turns to Owin. “I heard you’d managed to escape, so what you doing back here?”
“We got out of town but she insisted on coming back. Says she wants to rescue some kids that got brought in yesterday. I couldn’t let her come back on her own and you know it’s time.”
I listen puzzled. “What do you mean ‘it’s time’?” I ask.
“Like I told you, you’re not the only one who hates the Primitives. There are some of us who won’t take it anymore. It’s time we fought back.”
Half an hour later and we’re sitting at his kitchen table talking, planning, hammering out the details of how we’re going to get the children safely out of town. Five more men have joined us, all of them ready to make the break. For the first time, I feel safe and have a glimmer of hope that finally we will be free.
The talk is heated as they thrash out the details.
Sanders takes the lead. “We can’t just burst in and grab the kids. We need someone on the inside to let us in. Who else in the house can we count on?” he asks.
“There’s Austin. I’ve been talking to him—I think he’d want out.” Caleb, a tall slim man with white-blond hair and almost invisible eyelashes answers, and I wonder how long they’ve been putting out feelers for this resistance.
“Thinking’s no good!” Owin says firmly without taking his eyes off the detailed plans of the holding house that lie on the table.
He’s tense, his body hunched, hands flat on the table, elbows locked, eyes scrutinising the paper where each room, door, window and hall has been plotted and a plan for the rescue drawn up in minute detail.
“We have to be sure. They have to be on our side.”
“I’ll talk to him,” Caleb insists and Sanders nods his approval.
“So far there’s seven of us and one girl,” Marcus adds with a flick of his hand as he says ‘girl’, as if I’m the weak one in the group.
“Hey-” I start.
Sanders raises his hand for me to be quiet and gives me a look that says he understands I’m narked, but to just hold it in.
“Eight’s enough. They won’t be expecting a break-in. We’ve got the element of surprise. And we need Meriall to be the one the kids see first—to keep them from being too scared—the last thing we want is a bunch of terrified kids on our hands. Remember, they’re going through hell right now—just like we did.”
A mumble of empathy from the men.
“How are we meant to get that many kids out of here? I mean, once we’ve got them out of the holding house then what?” Marcus adds, throwing another hurdle at the group.
“We have to go north,” replies Sanders. “They sent us up north a couple of years ago to start collections, but we couldn’t make headway. The people fought back hard and we had to retreat.”
“I told my brother, Nathaniel to go north, to Skarlton. Bettrice—the Watcher’s Wife— she told me the people are free there,” I interrupt, trying to my best to make a useful contribution.
“Yeh, for now,” Caleb retorts, and I look at him sharply.
“Well, we’ll make sure they stay free!” I retort, and his returning scowl makes my stomach knot. I don’t like him.
“I agree with Meriall,” says Owin to my relief. “Skarlton is where we should take the kids. Perhaps that’s where we should have a base too?” he adds looking at Sanders for approval.
“Yeh” replies Jake, not realising that the question wasn’t for him, “then we can figure out how to take back what’s ours and drive them to hell where they belong.”
The talk continues into the night and by the early hours we have a minutely detailed plan that Sanders says must be ‘carried out with absolute precision’. I realise again just how powerful the Primitives are, how much effort is put into training their men and how lucky we are to have a man like Sanders joining our resistance. I won’t call it a rebellion because that somehow makes their rule legitimate. I rub my arm where the arrow tattoo is etched and smile as I remember Tristan. For the first time, my life seems to have meaning.
“Hey, where’s Caleb?” Owin asks.
“I didn’t see him leave.”
“We agreed that he’d talk to Austin, to see if we could get him to open the house willingly. He was supposed to come back though.”
“Does that mean Austin wouldn’t co-operate?” I ask, worried that our plans will be wrecked.
“No,” Sanders replies. “Don’t worry. If he’s not back its because he’s containing the situation. We can go as planned.”
Sanders’ voice is confident and my worry ebbs a little. It is obvious that these men are highly trained, experts in combat, but what if there’s a cog in the wheel already? This has to work. It will work.
Twenty minutes later it’s time to go. Caleb hasn’t returned although Sanders is still confident that he’ll be at the house as agreed.
We leave through the back door and creep among the shadows of the back lanes until we reach the broad street of the holding house. Hughe and Marcus turn left to get the carts and horses, it’s nearly light but they won’t attract too much attention, no one will pay heed to a cart load of kids being driven through the streets by guards and Enforcers—it’s a common enough sight here.
Checking up and down the road, we cross to the holding house and split up as planned. Sanders and Jake are to keep a check outside whilst I go with Owin to the back door where Caleb should be waiting.
For the second time, we’re standing at a black door, desperate to be let in. This time it opens quickly without the need to knock. Caleb stands waiting, holding the door ajar. Owin grunts, disapproving of him for not returning to the house as agreed, and nudges me to step inside.
Once we’re through we walk quickly to the back room and into the corridor. Scrutinising the map at Sanders’ house, and my memory of being here, makes it easy to navigate, even though the place is still bathed in dingy morning light. Our targets are the three rooms on the first floor that hold the kids brought in yesterday. We make our way up the stairs, the threadbare carpet absorbing the sound as we tip-toe higher. There’s a shuffling noise downstairs and I freeze, tuning my ears to the lower floor.
Chosen (Dark Powers Rising Book 3) Page 7
