Spark

by Alice Broadway

  “What is that?”

  “She said she took the ashes from the fire…”

  “Lye?” Oscar says. I knew it. The tanners use it on skin, to cure it before it’s bound into a book. It can be made using ash and water – and it’s horribly dangerous.

  “What was she doing with lye?” Fenn says, his mouth hard. He lights a lantern and inspects Gull’s arm, swollen with blisters and burns. “What were you playing at, little sister?”

  Gull is crying and shaking.

  “I wanted a mark, like the one Leora did for me in the forest.”

  Their eyes are all on me now. “I didn’t mean any harm,” I murmur, but I am heartsick. I let my pleasure in making marks run away with me.

  “We need water,” Oscar says. “Now.”

  The treatment is as torturous as the wound – Gull holds her hand over her mouth to stem the sound of the screams when Oscar pours water on her arm. “It will get rid of the lye – I have to. I’m sorry, Gull. Be brave.” His voice is gentle. He wraps her arm in clean bandages.

  “How could you, Gull?” Fenn says. “Did you want real marks?”

  “No. No, that’s not it. I thought I was just making it last a bit longer.”

  “You used ash, not charcoal,” I say. “A mistake, that’s all.”

  And Gull is talking quietly, words overlapping. “It’s all so awful here now and I didn’t want to lose that feeling in the woods – safe and quiet and peaceful.”

  “Gull!” Fenn takes her by the shoulders, almost shaking her in exasperation. “None of this has anything to do with you.”

  “I let them down, Fenn. Like Obel. Until I am gone, the curse will remain.” She crumples into a chair and starts sobbing.

  “I’m worried,” Fenn mutters. “They’re looking for any excuse for violence. They’re desperate for a scapegoat. They say they won’t go into battle until Gull is absolved.”

  I look at Gull, weeping in the chair. She can’t go through all that again. Why should she risk everything for their stupid superstition?

  I think of Sana, her breath hot on my neck. Through the fire, Leora.

  My dream is tapping on my shoulder.

  “Come with me,” I whisper to them all, drawing my shawl about me, and when they look at me in surprise I just put my finger to my lips and lead them from the house.

  We run across the square to the elderhouse, and I am thankful for the blanks and their trusting nature and unlocked doors. Fenn has brought a lantern and it sheds ghoulish light in the memory room.

  I know which box I need and I climb on a step, reach up to the top shelf, and grasp it in my hand. Quietly and quickly as I can, I set it on the table before Gull, Fenn and Oscar.

  “What’s this about?” Fenn asks.

  “I have to know the truth,” I say, breathless and afraid. “We all do.” And I steel myself to open the box. “I think I know what’s inside.”

  I click open the clasp, loosen the lid and lift it off. Inside is a creased pile of black fabric. I raise my face and nod to Fenn, sliding the box towards him. He lifts the material, weighs it in his hand. “What is it?” he whispers. And slowly he unravels the cotton and something heavy and shining lands on the table with a crack. A black handle, a gleaming blade and the rusty red of dried blood.

  The voice comes back to me like a nightmare:

  You cannot hide. The blanks will never be defeated!

  The tone of it – the passion; why didn’t I recognize it sooner?

  There is a noise by the door and we turn. Sana is standing in the doorway.

  “The box,” she says dully. “Your mother’s.”

  “The attack had nothing to do with Minnow. You did it. You killed Longsight.” And I know this changes everything and also nothing.

  She shrugs.

  “How much longer could we go on?” Her voice is tired. “Being beaten down. How many more years would go by with us grateful for handouts? While the marked grow rich off our land… Minnow gave me an opportunity, that’s all.” I can only stare at her.

  “You’re working with Minnow?” I whisper, and she nods.

  “We have an … understanding. He told me to wait for a sign – that something would call you back to Saintstone: he made it easy for me. We may be enemies, but we are enemies who want the same thing.”

  “But why now?” Fenn asks softly, and her gaze lands on him, fever-bright. “Because they stopped feeding us? Was that it – they withheld the food and medicine and you decided enough was enough?”

  There is a pause, and Sana’s eyes meet mine, and then I know.

  For too long, the people here have been numb. Now I want them angry.

  Hunger helps…

  “I thought Longsight looked confused when I told him how weak you were,” I say quietly. “He wasn’t starving us, was he?” I take a step forward. “He was allowing you to collect food and medicine, plenty of it. He was happy with how things were; you keeping to your land, a nice threat to his own people not to step out of line. He had no interest in a war with the blanks. He couldn’t understand why the attacks on his own people were happening – that’s why he sent me here. There was food and medicine; you just made sure it never reached Featherstone. What did you do with it?” I take a step towards her. “Did the other riders know?”

  She smiles, as though pleased that I’ve worked it out.

  “I trusted two of them with the secret – Helina and Rory. They understood. They understood it was for the greater good.”

  “What did you do with the food?”

  She shrugs. “We buried it.”

  “And the well?” I can hardly get the words out.

  “We poisoned it.” She nods. “That was all me. I knew what I had to do.”

  I think of all those weeks where we were desperate for food, medicine. The fear that struck us when the well was polluted. Those who died… I think of the little boy with the big eyes, and Ruth, and my stomach turns.

  “You did all this?” Fenn whispers. “We trusted you. I thought you were one of our own.”

  “I am one of you,” snaps Sana. “I did this for you. Foolish boy – do you not see? If I hadn’t taken action we could have remained enslaved for years. Picking over scraps, dying before our time? This is our land, and we shall take it back.”

  “We’ll tell everyone what you did,” Gull says bravely.

  Sana laughs. “Tell them,” she says scornfully. “Tell them. It’s too late now. War has begun. Besides, they’ve been baying for Longsight’s blood for months – I was the only one brave enough to do it.”

  She turns away in the face of our silence. At the door she pauses, and looks back at me.

  “I really did love your mother, Leora,” she says softly. “Miranda was my best friend in all the world. That was why I could never forgive her for what she did. She came to me the night she left – came to me and begged me to help her escape, with the baby. I told her she was on her own if she chose him over us.” She shrugs again, a sad small shrug. “And she chose.”

  In the cold dawn light, the four of us stand looking back at Featherstone. Clouds of breath puff from the two horses’ nostrils.

  For a moment Gull looks as though her courage is wavering, and I hold her good hand.

  “This is the right thing,” I tell her encouragingly. “If you stay, you won’t be safe. Fenn’s right – their superstition has a hold of them; they were ready to throw you back in the lake. And if they see your marks, I don’t know if even that would be enough for them. We have to get away from here; the crows will help us – any that haven’t been arrested. They have to.” I am not as confident as I sound, but Gull has to believe me; she must leave Featherstone. Oscar backs me up, putting a strong hand on my shoulder. “I will fight for the blanks, every day,” I say, and I mean it. “Whether I am Moriah or Belia or Leora Flint or no one at all, I will fight, I swear it. I will convince people of the truth – let them know what the blanks are really like: good, and kind and afraid. Just like
they are. Minnow can speak his truth but I will speak mine, and they will hear me.”

  Oscar’s arm holds me tightly then, and I lean into his tall, strong body. I wish I could stay here safe in the lee of him.

  Gull wipes her tears. “What will you do when they find out we’ve gone?” she asks Fenn as she hugs him.

  “Don’t worry about us.” Fenn gives her a fond smile. “We’ll be here to tell the truth. They need to know what Sana has been doing. I think they’ll listen – I hope so.”

  I have my bag – inside it is a change of clothes, Obel’s key and the picture he cut out for me to find. One day I hope I will understand what that message meant.

  Oscar hands me a saddlebag. “Packed a few things for you. There’s some food and water too.” I take it from him, our fingers touching for a second. And another second. And I am desperate to hold on to him – I want to ask him to come with us. I want to beg him. But I know I can’t.

  “What will you do?” I say softly, and he shrugs.

  “Dad would want me to be here. Maybe I can make all his suffering worth it.”

  And I won’t cry. I won’t.

  Chapter Fifty

  I know my own way through the forest now. We go unseen. We barely stop to rest, and as the sun rises on the second day we take our first steps into Saintstone.

  I want the beauty of the dawn to be a sign, to be hope. But all I can think of is the red of the blood in the square, the shine of the blade and the horror in Mum’s eyes.

  “Keep covered,” I tell Gull. She nods, exhausted, afraid and awestruck as she looks around at huge buildings, paved roads, gardens, parks and so few trees. We cut through town. I need to make it to Obel’s studio; it’s the safest place for now.

  The town shows all the signs of mourning. There have been flowers laid at the side of roads as we walk through town, and in all the shop windows there are swathes of black fabric. On all the doors are marks of ash – an “x”. This is the official, communal mourning of a person of power.

  I am returning to a town with no official leader. Longsight is dead.

  This knowledge breathes on the spark of hope in my heart – he’s dead and things might be different now. This could mean new freedom. Minnow has his version of the truth, but I will shout mine from the rooftops. I will speak with love, not fear.

  I have hope.

  As we near the square I hear noise. The funeral preparations will have begun; they must have been working through the night. And his body will be lying in state – on display for everyone to view and pay their respects before his skin is taken and his soul is weighed.

  The noise becomes a cacophony; no wonder the streets leading to the town centre are so quiet. Every single member of Saintstone must be here. We stand out of sight and watch the enormous queue of people that snakes from the square into the market. I listen out for the songs of lamentation and the wailing of the people, but even as I strain to hear, all I catch is conversation and excited whispers and – can it really be? Laughter.

  The people are not dressed in black, but in their brightest colours.

  This is not a people in mourning. They are celebrating.

  I push through the mass of waiting people, dragging Gull behind me, and we turn the corner into the square.

  The crowd is colossal. The music is triumphant and the people are singing, embracing, crying with joy. I edge forward, sharing smiles with some familiar faces as I get closer and closer to the front.

  Leora Flint, the whispers begin.

  Not far from the front, the crowd breaks, and I walk between them, a parting of the seas. I look to my left and right, trying to understand this magic.

  And then I look up, and I fall to my knees.

  “Welcome back, Leora.” Mayor Longsight smiles down at me. “You look surprised to see me.” He seems bigger than ever – more alive than anyone I have ever seen. He is like the sun king from the story.

  He raises his hands and the people are silent. His words echo across the square.

  “I was dead.” He gazes beatifically at his rapt audience. “But now I live. And see! I will rule for ever.” His arms stretch out, the mortal wound in his flesh still visible.

  And the people bow down and worship.

  Acknowledgements

  Amazing editors, Jenny Glencross, Genevieve Herr and Lauren Fortune. I needed you so much and I am so very grateful that you are so gracious and bright and patient and brilliant. I wish your names were on the cover.

  Jo Unwin, you are absolutely the best agent I could hope for. Thank you for your kindness, wisdom and humour. I love being part of the brilliant team of JULA.

  There is so much hard work done unseen and I am very grateful to copy-editors Jessica White and Peter Matthews, and proofreader Emma Jobling. Thank you to the astonishing rights team at Scholastic: you have all worked wonders.

  Olivia Horrox, you are amazing. Thank you for guiding me through the first year of publication with such grace. I would have been lost without you.

  Every author hopes their cover will be good, but the covers that the in-house team at Scholastic have created are beautiful – works of art that have been THE reason people picked up the book. Jamie Gregory, Andrew Biscomb, you are magicians.

  My Scholastic author friends – you inspire me and make me laugh. Being part of the Scholastic team is a constant thrill.

  Special thanks to the 2017 beauts – the other newcomers who have been so fun and supportive as we’ve walked this path together.

  The last year has been a dream. Thank you to the booksellers, bloggers and, of course, readers who have been such champions. Thank you to my lovely book group, the Monday group, to the friends who keep my head above water (Shona, Tanya, Steffy, Julia, Jane) and the incredible array of family and friends who have cheered me on. I am lucky to have you in my life.

  And, Dave Buckley. You’re still my favourite. I love you.

  ALICE BROADWAY

  Alice’s first book, Ink, was one of the bestselling YA debuts of 2017 and was shortlisted for many prizes, including the Books Are My Bag YA category and the Waterstones Children’s Book Prize Older Fiction category.

  Alice drinks more tea than is really necessary and loves writing in her yellow camper van.

  Scholastic Children’s Books

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  SCHOLASTIC and associated logos are trademarks and or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.

  First published in the UK by Scholastic Ltd, 2018

  This electronic edition published by Scholastic Ltd, 2018

  Text copyright © Alice Broadway, 2018

  The right of Alice Broadway to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her.

  eISBN 978 1407 18520 0

  A CIP catalogue record for this work is available from the British Library.

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of Scholastic Limited.

  Produced in India by Newgen

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, incidents and dialogues are products of the authorr’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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