Primitive (Dark Powers Rising Book 2)

by Rebecca Fernfield

  “It’s finished Bettrice. No more cutting but I am going to glue it together now.”

  The top of the tube of glue is stuck and so she pricks it with a needle from the case. It seeps out. Carefully, she takes a drop and runs it across the edges of the wound before pressing them together. When she takes her fingers away, the wound, like a miracle, has disappeared. I stare in wonder at the chin. It is smeared a little with blood, but the hated circle has gone.

  “Is it gone?”

  “Yes,” I reply, still wondering at what I’ve just seen. “It has completely gone!”

  Chapter Eighteen

  My eyes are burning with tiredness as I stab at Ish’s arm for the last time. I wipe away blood and ash to see the small circle with arrowhead and fletching that now sits on the soft underside of his left forearm.

  “There,” I smile. “It’s done.”

  He smiles back at me.

  “Thanks Merry. I’m a Fletcher now.”

  “Yes,” I laugh, “we’re all Fletchers now.”

  He rolls down his sleeve, gingerly covering the fresh wound, and stands.

  “Night, Merry.”

  “Night Ish,” I reply, as he smiles and walks out into the hallway.

  I clear away the needle, pot of ash and other bits I’ve used for tattooing Jey, Ria and Ish tonight then sit down near the stove to enjoy the silence.

  There are footsteps in the hallway and Pascha walks in. I sit while he pours himself some of the nettle tea mother has put aside in a jug then busy myself tidying about the kitchen, trying to seem nonchalant, the flutter of desire making me tremble.

  “I heard Ish,” he says, sitting down at the table.

  “Oh?”

  “Yeh, he called us Fletchers.”

  “Does that bother you?” I ask, as I replace washed knives in their block. I’m never quite sure how to navigate between talking about Tristan the hero and the Tristan who was Pascha’s father.

  “No, it doesn’t bother me. It makes me proud—that we’re coming together in this way—because of him.”

  “We’ll carry on his work Pascha,” I say with conviction.

  “Aren’t you tired Merry?” he asks gently. “You’ve been busy all night and you’re still working.”

  “I’m tired, but I don’t think I can sleep yet. I have so much going on in my head,” I reply.

  “Well, let’s go into the living room then. It’s warmer in there and we can put another log on the fire. Perhaps that’ll help you relax.”

  “Yeh, sure,” I reply, trying not to let the tremble in my voice betray me.

  We walk through to the living room and Pascha bends to the fire, feeds it with more logs until it crackles and brightens again, then pulls a sofa closer and we sit directly before its mellow warmth. Alone, together, awkwardness makes me a little rigid and I struggle to relax.

  “You seem on edge. What’s wrong?” he asks.

  Can I hide nothing from him?

  He passes his arm around my shoulder and strokes my hair. It should be soothing, but instead tingles shoot across my belly.

  “Merry, come here,” he says, his voice low, as he pulls me to him. “I liked it when we kissed before—when we left the village.”

  A ripple of excitement waves in my belly. “Yes, I did too. I didn’t mean to kiss you. I just couldn’t help myself.”

  My cheeks burn with a heat that is not from the fire.

  “I’m glad you did.”

  I shuffle a little closer, making myself comfortable against him. He strokes my hand. I begin to relax a little more and lay my head on his chest, losing myself in the comfort of his arms. We sit quietly, watching the fire dance and flicker on the blackening logs.

  “Pascha, what if they catch us?” I ask, the fears continuously swirling in my head blurting out.

  “They won’t. I’ll make sure they don’t.”

  “I’ll be sold if they do,” I say, the words catching in my throat.

  “Hey!” he says, squeezing me to him gently and taking my hand. “That won’t happen. I promise. I won’t let it.”

  “Bettrice said that they check for purity. If you’re pure you’re worth more to them.”

  “What do they mean ‘pure’?”

  “You know-” I pause, “If you haven’t—if you haven’t been with a man,” I say shyly. “They can sell you for more.”

  “Bloody animals!” he mutters, then falls silent.

  “Pascha,” I blurt, “I don’t want to be ‘pure’. If they catch me I don’t want to be valuable to them,” I say, fear mixing with my anger.

  Feelings and thoughts that I’ve hardly dared consider are now a deep need. My body is mine to give freely and I will never belong to them!

  I sit up, suddenly determined, lean forward until my mouth is inches away from his, and close my eyes. Tiny sparkles of desire tingle through me as he responds with the pressure of his lips on mine. I haven’t thought much about what will happen the first time, it’s not something that we spoke about at home.

  “Meriall, are you sure?”

  “Yes, I am. I want to be yours Pascha, not theirs. This way I will be yours.”

  He smiles and pulls me to him.

  Chapter Nineteen

  I wake wrapped in Pascha’s arms, naked beneath the soft blanket. The fire has died in the hearth and cold is seeping back around us as the grey-dark light of the early November morning struggles to break into the room. I press closer to him, cocooned in the warmth of our bodies, wanting his skin next to mine. Floorboards above us creak and footsteps move across the floor. I sit up, pushing away the blanket, covered suddenly by the cold, and pat about in the grey for the heap of clothes dumped on the carpet last night. A bedroom door opens. Someone is on the landing.

  “Pascha, wake up!” I say, pushing my arms through the loops of my bra. “Someone’s coming downstairs.”

  He groans sleepily as I grab a handful of jeans and underwear. They’re inside out and the rush to get dressed makes me clumsy. I fumble about on the floor, pulling the jeans over my legs with my bra hanging open at the back.

  “Pascha,” I hiss, shaking his arm, “someone’s coming.”

  He sits up, suddenly awake, leans out across the floor, gropes for his jeans and rolls off the sofa onto the floor, knocking into me.

  “Shh!”

  He grabs his jeans and sits down heavily on the sofa to pull them on. The footsteps walk across the landing and into the bathroom, buying us some time. Moments later they’re on the landing again. I’m ready and take a step to the door.

  A hand grabs my waistband and I’m pulled back.

  “Just one more kiss.”

  “No time,” I gasp. He takes no notice and squeezes me to him and pushes his lips on top of mine. I’m on fire again, but the busy footsteps are making me panic and I pull away, sneak across the hallway and into the kitchen as the steps hit the top stair.

  Mother walks into the kitchen just as I reach across the stone sink to open the moth-eaten curtains drawn the night before.

  “Morning love. Did you sleep well?”

  “Yes, but it’s cold this morning so I got up to get the fires going,” I lie.

  I look at her carefully to watch her reaction, hoping that she believes me.

  “It is cold this morning,” she agrees, rubbing the tops of her arms vigorously and smiling at me.

  There’s not a hint that she suspects I didn’t go to bed last night.

  “Put some logs on the stove then love and we’ll soon get this room warmed up.”

  If she does know, she’s not letting on.

  The room warms once the logs have kindled and Mother busies herself preparing the best breakfast she can from the provisions we have; stewed apples and nettle tea sweetened with honey brought from home.

  “Call the others love. Breakfast’s ready,” she smiles as she carries the warmed saucepan to the table.

  I stand at the base of the stairs, hand clasping the carved bannister, and cal
l to them. My hand tightens around the bannister and my breath catches in my chest as Pascha appears at the top of the stairs, rubbing his eyes as if he’s just woken, his blue jeans still creased from lying on the floor in a heap all night. Our eyes lock and his smile consumes me, his green eyes bright as though a light is shining from inside. A flashed recollection of last night and a flush smears my cheek. I hope that Ish didn’t notice him going into the bedroom. I lower my eyes as he gets closer, but can’t help a smile from curling onto my lips. As he steps down from the staircase he slips his arm around my waist and pulls me to him gently. I sink into the warmth and firmness of his chest as it presses against my cheek.

  “Meriall,” he whispers, as he tips my chin up and kisses my lips with a gentleness I want to fall into. He pulls back, looks down at me, and presses his hand into the small of my back. A buzz of desire shoots through me as our lips touch again. There’s real intensity in his kiss and I return the passion, slipping my hand over the taut muscles of his back. A tread on the floorboards shouts that someone else is up and stepping towards the stairs and I pull away quickly. He takes a step towards the kitchen. Letting him move away from me feels as though I’m losing a part of myself and I have no idea how I survived without his love before today. He disappears into the kitchen and greets my mother kindly.

  Within a few minutes all seven of us sit to table, surrounded by the gentle glow from the oil lamps that pushes the greyness of the early light away. There is a brightness in the kitchen that has nothing to do with the oil’s light and I sit and take in the scene. Jey and Pascha are laughing over a joke Ish is telling whilst Celeste smiles as she spoons breakfast into the bowls on the table. Mother chatters too and even Bettrice, although quiet, seems lighter and less strained. Jey looks fresh and her green eyes sparkle as she laughs at Ish’s jokes. I’ve gotten her away from the Watcher! I’ve beaten him. I smile at the thought, ignoring the tension in my stomach as I think about him. In this moment, I realise with clarity, that my need to save her from him, and the others like him, is so strong that I would kill to make her safe. We are free though and I need to relax and enjoy this perfect moment so I push away the bad thoughts, the ones that keep me troubled in my sleep, and pick up my spoon. Apples sweetened with honey have never tasted so good.

  After breakfast we agree to go scavenging, looking for anything that will help us get through each day. The houses, sheds, garages and gardens are full of treasures and the morning passes quickly as we find oil, knives, tools, blankets, clothes, soap and even some tinned food. After lunch we split into three groups: Mother, Celeste and Bettrice check the gardens for any vegetables; Ria and Jey collect fire wood whilst I go into the woods with Pascha and Ish to set traps. I’ve brought my snares and killing stick with me.

  Later in the afternoon, as the light begins to drain around us, we make our way back, empty-handed yet confident that tomorrow our traps will give us dinner. The wood is on a steep hillside and as we step out from the tree-line and onto the pastures that roll down to the horseshoe of stone cottages I notice movement. I realise instantly that it is not one of our own.

  Pascha is slightly ahead of me. I grab forward and pull his sleeve downwards as I drop to the ground and hiss, “Get down. Get down now.”

  I turn to Ish, batting my hand at him, signalling for him to get to the floor. He instantly crouches low behind us and we three become absolutely still.

  “At the houses—I saw someone go into the cottage. It wasn’t one of us!” The shock makes my voice tremble.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, I’m sure.”

  We crouch in silence, staring down to the houses, looking for any sign of movement. Pascha’s breath brushes close to my ear,

  “Look—the first house—there are horses.” The fear that had been building up inside me drops into my belly like a stone: the only people who have horses are the Primitives. “Oh my God! They’ve found us.” I grab at Pascha’s arm and clutch the fabric of his jacket in my clenched fist.

  “We should get back into the trees. They could spot us up here,” Pascha says as he covers my hand with his.

  We move back to the tree-line making as little movement as we can and crouch again behind the safety of the thick trunks.

  “There—look! In the third house—our house—there’s someone at the door.”

  There are other figures too, but there is only one that my eyes fix on—a dark figure walking in front—stiff, upright, and dressed in black from head to toe apart from the pleated ruff at his neck.

  “The Watcher! It’s the Watcher.”

  I want to scream it out as a warning, but it is already too late. I see what is almost too much to bear. One by one Ria, Jey, Mother and Celeste are walked out of the house, each one held by an Enforcer. The men push at them roughly and Mother stumbles and falls to the ground. I reach out instinctively to help her and my hand grabs at the air. Rage mixes with fear and I want to run down the hill screaming, but there is nothing I can do if I want to stay safe. I sit crouched tight next to Pascha, watching as my beautiful sister is pushed about by men so much bigger and stronger than she is. When one lifts his leg and kicks at my mother to make her move faster, the rage overwhelms me and I spring up and lurch forward. I get barely three paces ahead when I’m grappled to the floor and Pascha and Ish both hold me down.

  “If they see us then they’ll catch us. Stay down. If they catch us we won’t have a chance of getting them back.”

  I stifle the anger that is ready to roar out of my throat and groan into my sleeve. When I look up Jey, Mother and Celeste are being tied behind the horses ready to be taken back to the village to face a punishment I cannot bear to think of.

  “Don’t move! The Watcher’s—I think he’s seen us!” Ish warns.

  The Watcher, mounted on his horse, sits like a rod of iron in the saddle, hands gripping the reigns, and moves his head slowly, methodically from side to side, scanning the hillside and peering into the trees.

  “He’s looking for us!”

  “Shh! Meriall. Stay still.”

  I hold still as best I can, hardly daring to breath, as he continues to search the hillside.

  “He can’t see us this far away,” Pascha says trying to placate me.

  Perhaps Pascha is right but it doesn’t stop me catching my breath when the Watcher seems to stare directly at us.

  “He’s seen us! He has.”

  “Meriall, stay calm. Just don’t move!”

  I stay perfectly rigid for worry that any movement will betray us and press myself into the trunk of the tree to stop the fear getting the better of me. I stare at him intently until finally the Watcher gives a sharp jab to the flanks of his horse and moves off to catch up with his men and his prisoners.

  When he rides out of view I slump down to the damp ground unable to make a sound. Ish drops to his knees next to me. “How did they find us so quickly?” he asks in disbelief.

  Pascha answers. “Probably the smoke from the chimney.”

  I look down to the cottage. A grey-black plume of smoke still whispers from the rooftop of our home.

  “I didn’t see Bettrice! I don’t think they found her.”

  The pulse in my throat throbs like a stone and as the adrenaline continues to pump through me my hands start to shake. Stay calm. You’ve got to be strong now. No more weakness. No more fear!

  “We should go down to the house. We should try and find her.”

  “How do we know it’s safe?

  “We should wait a little longer—just to be sure they’ve all gone.”

  And so we sit in an agony of despair until the weak sun begins to slip behind the hills and the sky’s light begins to fade.

  There has been no movement since the Watcher’s horse disappeared into the bank of low hanging branches that cover the only road out from the hamlet and so we walk down the slope to the stone wall that divides the field from the overgrown gardens. I hardly dare go into ‘our’ house. It is dark now and t
he laughing voices that filled it this morning have gone. Bettrice is nowhere to be seen. I call to her quietly, but get no response and finally go to the kitchen. At the table I stare out of the window and see nothing but a blur of grey stone. Pascha and Ish join me and we sit together in disbelieving quiet.

  Pascha is the first to speak. “We have to do something. We can’t let the Watcher have them.”

  “What do you suggest Pascha, huh?” Ish’s voice is angry.

  “Hey, it’s not Pascha’s fault that they found us. I lit the fires. I should have thought about the smoke—that it would be seen for miles—so if you want to have a go at someone have a go at me,” I snap at Ish.

  “Hey, don’t!” Pascha reprimands. “We have to be strong together. We were naïve thinking they wouldn’t find us here that’s all. We should’ve gone further.”

  “Yes, we should have!” I agree. “But you’re right. We have to do something. And quick.”

  “But what the hell do we do?” I hear the rising frustration and fear in Ish’s voice.

  What can I say to make it better for him? It seems impossible to me too. How can we three fight the Watcher and his guards?

  “Shh!” Pascha hisses. “I can hear something.”

  The front door clicks open. We scramble out of the chairs and I look about desperately for something heavy or sharp so that I’m ready when whoever it is comes to get us. I grab the sharpened kitchen knife from the block.

  A soft, scared voice sounds from the hallway. “Are you there?”

  It’s Bettrice.

  I drop the knife on the counter, rush into the hallway and shout in relief, “Yes, we’re here. Where have you been? We looked for you? We didn’t see the Watcher take you so we looked for you.”

  “I managed to get out of the house in time and hid in a garden at the top of the village behind some logs. I covered myself with leaves.”

  Dirt is smeared across her cheek and there are dark stains on her clothes.