Chosen (Dark Powers Rising Book 3)

by Rebecca Fernfield

“Yeah, but it doesn’t make me feel any better. I don’t think I’ll ever forget … how it felt …” I sigh, remembering the cracking of her skull and how it gave way beneath the crashing of the stone block.

  “I get you. It’s like that for some of us. For me, killing never got any easier,” he says taking a deep breath and looking out across the moors. “It was something I had to do. Orders. Or to survive. Y’know?”

  “Yeah.” I reply, taking the opportunity to look at the two bars of black across his cheeks and the dots peppered between them. “You don’t have to follow orders any more though—not now.”

  “No. You’re right about that, Meriall. But I don’t think the killing’s going to stop just yet,” he says wryly. “There’s plenty of hardship ahead of us. They’re not going to just let us leave.”

  “I know! I’ve tried that already. To me, this is just the beginning. My father … he’s …” I stop, grappling for the right words to explain the horror coursing through me at the knowledge that my own father, my flesh and blood, founded the Primitives. “He’s evil. And I’m going to stop him. I have to.”

  “It’s going to take a lot to stop the Primitives.”

  “I know, but there’s no other option,” I say passionately, “he’s a monster, Sanders, and monsters have no place in this world.”

  He nods his head in agreement then stops. “We’ll go up to the woodlands through here,” he says pointing to a gap in the overgrown hedgerow. As we step through the opening Tris opens his eyes, sees Edie walking behind him, smiles lightly, then falls back to sleep. My heart skips a beat at its murmur of recognition.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “They’re green,” I say, unable to stop my tongue speaking my thoughts.

  “What’s green?” Edie asks.

  “Tris! His eyes … they’re green,” I repeat. Tris opens his eyes at the mention of his name and puts out his tiny hand to his mother. She offers her hand back and he grips her fingers as she smiles up at him.

  “Yes,” she says enigmatically. “They are.”

  “He’s beautiful,” I respond, unable to stop looking at the auburn hair curling around his head, snug inside the hood of his quilted jacket. His eyes, outlined with the darkest lashes, widen as he begins to wake, and he frowns in confusion.

  “Where are we going Mummy,” he asks still squeezing her finger.

  “We’re going on an adventure, with Uncle Pascha. Do you remember the stories I told you about Pascha, my brother?”

  In that second my recognition is startlingly clear and I look from mother to child, a questioning frown pulling at my brows, as memories play vivid in my mind: my brother running ahead to the brook, his auburn hair burning red in the sun, mischievous green eyes sparkling as he goads me to beat him. The child looks at me and smiles with Nathaniel’s eyes.

  I’m speechless.

  Pascha strides up beside me and takes my hand. I jump, startled.

  “Hey! What is it?” he asks as we step past the first trees and walk into the woods. “You scared?”

  “No, it’s just …” I want to tell him about Tris, but it’s not my story to tell and I don’t want the child to hear us talk. “I’ll tell you later. OK?”

  “Sure,” he replies as he looks ahead.

  We walk deeper into the trees, the weak sunrise giving only the barest grey light to the push back the darkness.

  Behind us footsteps suddenly pound.

  “Quick! Get running,” Owin shouts.

  “What? What is it?” I shout back.

  “It’s them. They’ve found us.”

  “No!” exclaims Edie, in horror. “No!”

  “Run.”

  “Sanders! Get them to the bridge,” Owin calls as we begin to run.

  The trees are suddenly a blur as we thunder along the woodland path. A pigeon, startled at the sudden noise, flaps out of its roost and I push hard at my thighs to keep pace with Christoph. Edie is at my heels, her pace strong. Tris is silent, his eyes wide, as he watches us run, held tight in Christoph’s arms.

  The sound of rushing water gets louder as the path steepens. To my right the river cuts deep through the hillside and the bank is a steep drop to the flowing waters. The path winds ahead into the trees, following the line of the bank. Behind me is the pounding of feet and the unmistakable sound of horses galloping. Sanders stops ahead and looks back at us, his face a grimace of determination. As I reach him I see the bridge ahead and begin to lose hope.

  “It’s rotten!” I exclaim looking at the moss-covered wooden bridge that spans the two sides of the deep gully.

  “It’s short,” is his reply. “And now it’s the only chance we have,” he says looking over my shoulder. “They’ll be here any minute.”

  “I’ll go first,” I say. “One of us has to test it before Tris can be taken over!”

  “No, Meriall,” Pascha replies. “I will. You stay with Edie and Tris until I’m over the other side, then you can bring them over.”

  “OK,” I agree reluctantly as he steps away and puts his foot tentatively onto the blackened wooden slat. It doesn’t move. He puts his other foot there too. Again it doesn’t move.

  “It seems strong,” he calls back and begins to walk with more confidence across to the middle as the thundering of hooves gets louder.

  “Hurry, Pascha.” I call, “they’re nearly here.”

  He steps onto the middle slat. A dull crunch rings out in the air and he holds himself perfectly still.

  “Stop!” a man’s voice shouts.

  I swing around. Eistrich Kannis, and an Elect I’m unfamiliar with, sit breathless on their stallions as they pull them to a sudden stop. Clouds of white dance in the air as the horses snort and pull at their restraints. Two Enforcers follow up behind.

  “Mercer!” Edie exclaims.

  “Your husband?” I ask, looking at the unknown man.

  “Yes,” she says breathless.

  “Keep going Pascha,” shouts Sanders urging him to cross the bridge, then moves with Christoph and Owin to face the two men.

  “It’s death for deserters,” Eistrich shouts down to Christoph, pulling at the reigns of his stallion as it pores the forest floor.

  “Cross the bridge Meriall! Get Edie and Tris across.”

  “You’re not taking my Wife and son!” shouts Mercer in anger as he swings his leg over his saddle and jumps down to the earth. “Edie,” he shouts across the three soldiers in a gentler voice. “Edie, I’m here. I’ve come to take you back.”

  “Daddy!” shouts Tris as he hears Mercer’s voice.

  “Tris, I’m here! Don’t worry. Daddy’s here for you,” he calls. “Move aside,” he says, face stern and determined as he steps forward.

  Sanders, Owin and Christoph move as one to meet him.

  “Let me pass,” Mercer demands. “I won’t let you take my Wife and son.”

  “We’re not taking them. They want to come with us,” I shout back.

  Pain streaks across his face.

  “Let me see them,” he shouts at Sanders and steps forwards again, leaning sideways to gain view. Christoph steps across to block his view. “Get out of my way, traitor,” he seethes. “I said let me see them.”

  “Daddy. I want my daddy!” pleads Tris and pulls at Edie’s hand. She grips it tight.

  “You can see Daddy, but you’ve got to stay with me.”

  “Get across the bridge Edie,” shouts Owin.

  “Daddy!”

  “Ohh! I can’t bear this,” Edie says, tears glistening in her eyes.

  “Tris! I’m here Tris,” Mercer calls to the boy.

  “Stop! Everyone stop!” she shouts. “Let Tris see him. Please,” she begs.

  “You have to get across the bridge!” Owin calls back.

  “Yes, I will, but let Tris see Mercer. Just for a moment.”

  “You,” Owin says roughly, pointing to Eistrich, “stay put. And you,” he adds nodding at Mercer, “keep your distance.”

  Sanders and Chr
istoph step back, allowing Mercer to step forward.

  “That’s far enough,” Owin shouts roughly as Mercer passes him defiant.

  Christoph steps closer to Edie and Tris as Sanders keeps watch on Eistrich. The Overseer watches from his saddle, his eyes seething slits. As Mercer steps forward again Owin grabs out, locking his fingers around the man’s upper arm.

  “Get off!” he demands yanking his arm away, but Owin’s grip remains firm. “Let me see my son and talk to my Wife.”

  Tris whimpers.

  “Let him go Owin,” Edie demands. “Let him come talk to us.”

  Owin grunts and shoves Mercer’s arm, reluctant to let go, but allows him to pass.

  The Enforcers shift in their saddles and the horses step forward, abreast with Eistrich.

  “Owin,” I call out quietly, “the Enforcers!”

  He turns his head sharply to look at them. They’re unmoving. He turns back, a questioning frown across his brow.

  Mercer takes another step closer to Edie.

  The two Enforcers make an almost imperceptible nod to one another then kick sharp into the flanks of their horses and plunge forward. One veers to the left aiming at Sanders whilst the other veers to the right and bears down on Christoph. Taken by surprise, the men stumble back towards the edge of the gully. I lurch away from the huge stallion as it pushes past me towards Sanders and jerk backwards, feet digging into the earth, arms wheeling to keep my balance as I try and then fail to keep upright, a knotted root catching my heel. I crash into a tree that grows out over the river. The force bounces me to the edge of the bank and begin my descent to the river below. As I flail, Mercer darts forward and grabs Edie.

  Falling, my hands grab and grasp at the leaf-littered soil as my feet slide over the edge, fingers digging in, scraping through the earth. My knees scratch against the sharp rocks at the edge of the bank. I watch, as if in slow motion, as Owin wrenches Tris from Edie’s hand and runs with him to the bridge. She screams out, her eyes wide with horror. As he steps onto the slippery black plank, the bridge creaks and the wood beneath his feet gives a sodden crunch. Unsure, he turns back to face the chaos and then looks down at me in horror. I slip again and my thighs rub against the edge of the bank.

  My foot hits a rock and the sliding stops as my belly reaches the edge. Frantically, I reach across to a knotted root to my right and clasp my fingers around it. The bridge creaks again as the stallions push Sanders and Christoph closer to the edge. Confusion smears Mercer’s face as he watches Tris, gripped in Owin’s arms, but keeps a tight grip of Edie, his arm clamped around her waist. Ignoring the pain rocks have scratched into my legs and belly, I pull myself up onto the bank.

  “Let me go,” shouts Edie. Mercer tightens his grip as she struggles against him. She pulls at his arms, dropping down as a dead weight in an effort to escape his iron clasp. His grip loosens a little as her knees hit the floor and he lurches forward. For one second I have hope that she can free herself, but as she steps out to move away from him he grabs huge fingers into her hair and yanks her back. She screams and he stares from me to Owin and Tris then to the soldiers trapped by the Enforcers.

  “Let her go!” I shout as she continues to squirm and shout under his hands.

  Ignoring me, he tightens his grip and lifts his arm high forcing her to stand on her toes to ease the pain. She quiets as she realises resisting is futile under his iron grip. Owin takes another step further out over the deadly gap above the river. The bridge creaks again and its vibration shudders through the soil and into my feet. White clouds of steaming breath billow in the cold air as the horses paw the earth, their flanks blocking Sanders and Christoph against the emptiness of the drop behind them.

  Eistrich dismounts and drops to the ground, the spurs of his boots ringing metallic as his boots land on the dark soil. A crow, startled, flaps out across the clear air above the river. His face is grim as he takes in the scene and swaggers forward, long black cloak swinging about his ankles.

  “Well, Miss Baxter, you are a slippery eel.”

  “It’s Beswice,” I shout back. “Meriall Beswice. I’m nothing to do with that monster.”

  “Hah! You’re deluded if nothing else. Where do you think you get your fire from girl? Ey? From that simpering wreck of a mother?”

  The pain of his words shoots straight through my heart and memories of my mother, grey and worn as though her soul itself was being drained, flash vivid in my mind.

  “If she’s a wreck it’s because of him and you! She saved us from him and did everything she could to love us and make a home. Then you came and destroyed our lives.”

  “My! You are testing today. I don’t know which I find more offensive. That you took my wife or that you refuse to bow to the Primitive Way.”

  “She’s not your wife,” I bridle. “She’s not yours. Jey is free and you’ll never find her.”

  A sour smirk curls onto his lips. “Is that what you really believe, Meriall?”

  “Yes!” I say defiant.

  “Skarlton, isn’t it?

  Astounded, I gasp.

  “Yes, Merrial, darling sister-in-law, a party is already on their way to claim back what belongs to me,” he says, with a cruel smirk, his eyes locked onto mine.”

  “No!” I say crestfallen, looking to Owin. He stares back to me, his face grim.

  “Owin! Take Tris to Nathaniel,” shouts Edie.

  “What?” cries Mercer as Owin nods and takes a step further out onto the bridge. It creaks its annoyance. “No! You can’t take my son,” he shouts heartfelt as Tris is taken further away from him. He tightens his grip on Edie, making her wince.

  “Let me go, Mercer! You’re hurting me.”

  “Let her go,” I shout as the creak sounds out again next to me as the bridge complains about its load.

  A sudden movement catches my eye and then the air cracks as Christoph and Sanders slap the flanks of the two horses wedged against them. The stallions rear and the Enforcers suddenly disappear from their saddles. Eistrich looks on in shock as the two men, taken by surprise as they watched the child on the bridge, are wrestled to the floor. Within seconds they are punched into submission. Uncertainty, edged with fear, flickers in the Overseer’s eyes as he watches the Enforcers, lying unconscious and dirt-smeared, on the damp and muddy forest floor.

  “Let her go,” shouts Sanders standing tall and walking strong towards Mercer. Eistrich edges back towards his own stallion.

  “Who are you to tell me what to do with my own Wife?” he challenges with rightful authority.

  “Let her go,” repeats Sanders, “and do it quick,” he demands stepping towards the pair.

  A flicker of uncertainty crosses the husband’s eyes and he relaxes his grip on Edie’s hair. She stands upright as he lets go, but grimaces as he grabs the soft flesh of her upper arm, keeping her at his side.

  “Let her go,” I say angrily and step forward to join Sanders.

  Mercer holds Edie tight about the waist and takes a step back.

  “Mercer, please!” she begs as she looks out at the bridge and the slow progress of Tris and Owin across to the other side. “I want my son to be free.”

  Mercer sags a little at her words and a sadness runs across his face. Eistrich takes another step back towards his stallion as Christoph stands guard over the Enforcers.

  “Is this what you want? To leave me?” Mercer asks, his shoulders losing some of their tension.

  “Yes,” she replies firm.

  The cruelty that had been fixed in his eyes drains from them and he drops his grip. Edie pushes his arm away and takes a step out from him.

  “Edie,” he says, gently now. “Look at me.” She stops and turns to face him. His eyes have lost their anger and look at her now with softness. “I chose you. Out of all the girls at the auction I chose you.”

  “Yes,” she replies, her voice soft. “Yes, you did, but I didn’t choose you.”

  His shoulders sag defeated at her words. I flinch as
he lifts his arm towards her, but he merely cups her chin in his hands, rubbing the blue circle there with his thumb.

  “Even when your belly began to grow, and …” he pauses and Edie lowers her eyes, “I knew then …” he looks across to the bridge as Owin steps onto the safety of the other bank, Tris in his arms. “I knew then I still wanted you. I will always want you. Don’t you want me too? After all this time?” She looks up at him and tears spill over her lashes and down onto her cheeks.

  “Mercer, you have a good heart. I know that. But … I don’t want Tris-”

  “I love Tris as my own. Please don’t take him from me,” he begs.

  “He deserves a better life!

  “I give him everything he needs,” Mercer replies, a frown of confusion across his brow.

  “He has everything but freedom to live the way he wants to. I won’t have my son grow up to be a man who kills others because they don’t follow his beliefs,” she says through her tears. “You—the Primitives—they killed my father. They burned him alive because he wanted to protect us,” she cries out and I remember with horrible clarity the cage swinging with its burden under the great ash tree.

  “It wasn’t me that killed him,” he says, though his voice carries the dull tones of resignation.

  “Yes, you did. It was all of you. Every man and woman that follows the Primitive Way and lets this evil happen. You’re all to blame.”

  He seems to crumple as he listens and takes a small step back from her accusing eyes.

  “But … I love Tris as though he’s my own,” he says, emotion cracking his voice. “And I love you!” he follows, tears building in his eyes.

  I look away from his face, shying from the emotion. Silence lies between them for a moment as they look at each other until Edie reaches her hands up to his face, and pulls him to her so that their lips touch. He closes his eyes and wraps his arms around her.

  “Come with us then. Fight for our freedom,” she says pulling back to look into his eyes. His face is stern as he gazes back and my heart beats heavy in my throat. Sanders shifts uneasily. Mercer smiles at her, his eyes bright with relief, and leans in again to kiss her gently.

  Eistrich’s horse snorts as he pulls at its reigns and turns in flight back to the town.