“I didn’t dare move until now in case they were still here. Who else is left?”
“Just Ish and Pascha. They’re in here too,” I reply as we walk into the kitchen.
She pulls up a chair and sits down heavily at the table.
“What are we going to do now? I can’t go back to the village. I’m never going back to him.” Her voice is despairing and she buries her head in her hands.
“We have to act soon whatever we do,” Pascha says, and I know he’s right.
Perhaps Ria and Jey would be spared but Mother and Celeste? He has no use for them and for the Watcher that means only one thing—they can be got rid of.
“But we have to get away from here,” she says, her brow furrowed, “he’ll never stop hunting us down. Before he was a Watcher he worked in the training camps—training Primitive fighters how to hunt down runaways.” Dread sits stone-like in my belly. “But if we’re far enough away-”
“We can’t just run away Bettrice,” I interrupt angrily, “they’ve got our mothers and sisters. We have to rescue them.”
She seems to ignore me. “There are places in the North, in the Dales, that are free. I’ve heard the Watcher talk about them before. The Primitives tried to take control up there, but the people fought back. I remember it because it wasn’t long after I’d been brought here and he was stamping about the living room, seething about some girl and how she’d made fools of them.”
“A girl?” I interrupt, curious that he should seethe about a girl.
“Yes, a girl,” she replies, the hint of a smile at the corners of her lips, “she’d taken control of Skarlton Castle and forced them back.”
“Hah!”
“His anger frightened me though Meriall,” she says, looking at me, eyes wide.
I nod in understanding.
“Her men killed a lot of their fighters and they gave up,” she continues, “and if we get to the castle we can be free too—away from the Primitives and the Watcher.”
“Yes,” I agree. Thoughts of hiding there with others to help us cloud my thoughts for a second. “Yes, we should do that but first we have to get the others. We can’t let the Watcher have them,” I say, the desperation returning. “We have to get them and then get as far North as possible.”
“I agree, but we can’t do anything tonight—we’ll never find our way in the dark so we’ll have to wait till morning,” Pascha adds.
“But that may be too late Pascha,” I shout.
“I know but what else can we do?” He runs his fingers through his hair in frustration, “We have no way of getting back there in the dark.”
“Is that what we’re doing then?” Ish asks.
“Going back? I can’t!” Bettrice insists.
“I know you’re scared Bettrice, but we have to. We just have to try.” Leaving Jey and Mother with the Watcher is not an option I can think about. “But this time we have to put a stop to the Watcher for good!” I say this with certainty as a surge of hardened rage sweeps over me.
Pascha looks into my eyes, his own narrowed and questioning. “What do you mean, ‘for good’?”
“Bettrice is right. He’ll never stop hunting us. We have to kill him.”
There is silence in the room.
“Huh! You’re talking crazy Meriall,” Ish scoffs, shakes his head, and turns away.
“We can do it. We can,” I insist and, as I clutch in desperation at ideas, a plan begins to form in my mind.
“Oh, sure we can. And just how do you suggest we do it?” he asks, as if I’ve just said the most stupid thing in the world.
“Apple pips,” I say calmly.
“Apple pips?” Pascha asks, incredulous.
“Yes, apple pips. They’ve got cyanide in them, it’s a poison, and if we collect enough we can kill him. There are loads of fallen apples in the gardens. We just need to collect them.”
“And how are we going to get him to eat hundreds of apple pips?” Ish asks confused.
“We’ll make a paste and put it in his food,” I explain as the idea takes shape.
“In his food Meriall? How on earth are we supposed to poison his food?” Pascha asks with a hint of derision in his voice.
I look at Bettrice. “You’re going to have to go back to him. He’ll take it from you.”
Chapter Twenty
The blown apples are brown and speckled with the white fungus of rot. They squidge beneath my fingers as I pick them up and split then flatten fatly at the bottom of the pan. The evening is dark and cold and the wet from the grass in the garden is creeping up my jeans. I step back and my foot sinks down. “Shine the light on my foot Ish. There’s some more down here.” He dangles the lamp above me and I scoop up the squashed mess and drop it with a plat into the pan. Minutes later the pan is full and I suggest that we go inside.
We leave the dark garden and walk back to the house into the kitchen. At the table, I slop a handful of the rotten fruit into the sieve I’ve balanced on top of a bowl. With the tips of my fingers I push the fruit down and the soft flesh squishes through the fine mesh. I push and swirl the mess around in the sieve until the apple- flesh separates from the skin and gives up its pips. I pick them out, pat them dry and crush them with the mortar and pestle I found earlier in the kitchen of the small house at the top of the lane. Grinding them separates the hard outer skin from the softer innards and soon I’m left with a creamy but poisonous paste. I scoop it into two small jars. I put one aside on the shelf next to the stove and the other I hand to Bettrice.
“I’m not sure I can do this,” she says and my heart sinks a little. “It’s murder.”
“It’s not murder Bettrice,” Pascha adds. “It’s an assassination. We’re like freedom fighters—the Resistance—the Fletchers. This is our time to start fighting back. Remember?”
He pulls up his sleeve and thrusts out his arm to show her the tattoo again.
“It’s like on that tree. The one where the rebel was burned,” she adds.
“Tristan!” I say, surprised and a little irked at her crassness. “We were talking about him last night, remember, before Celeste cu-, before Celeste mended your chin?”
“Yes. Of course I do. Tristan. I’m sorry.”
“He wasn’t a rebel,” Pascha says. “He wanted to fight the Primitives to keep us free.” Bettrice looks at him with understanding.
I roll up my sleeve and hold out my arm next to Pascha’s. “We’re both ready to fight them,” I say with determination.
“We all have to do our part,” Ish adds joining us with his bare arm forward, the black symbol ringed red with irritation.
“He’s the murderer Bettrice,” I add “and if he catches us we’ll all be sold or even executed. He’ll never give up searching for us and when he-”
“I know. I know. It’s just … what if I go back and I can’t get him to eat it? I’ll be trapped there. He’s a monster Meriall,” she says with rising anxiety.
“I’ll come and get you,” I say, looking at her intently, trying to give her some of my determination. “We have to do this. They can’t have Jey and I won’t let them kill my mother.”
“I want to be free of him Meriall,” she says, the pain obvious in her face.
“You will be,” I insist. “I know it’s going to be hard going back but you can tell him we made you come with us and you’ve escaped. I’m scared too, but I know I have to go back. You just have to put the apple paste in some of his food or in a drink.”
I’m pushing her to do something she’s not ready for, but my absolute need to save my mother and my sister is making me ruthless.
“But how much do I put in?”
“All of it. And once you’ve done it we can come and rescue the others,” I reassure her. “I just hope it’s not too late.”
She looks at me and nods her head sadly. “We’ll save them Meriall,” she adds quietly and I cling onto her words in hope.
Today has been exhausting and my body is heavy with the ache o
f fatigue. I need to rest so I lock the doors at the front and back of the house pulling across the heavy bolts at the top and bottom and make sure the latch is firmly closed. I set an oil lamp on the hall table and we build the fire high in the living room to warm us through. It is completely indulgent but we have no plans to return here and won’t need the firewood after we’ve left. I worry for a moment that the Enforcers may see the smoke, but know we will be long gone by the time they see it in the morning.
We eat what’s left of the food and then sit in front of the warmth of the fire. Wrapped in blankets we talk into the night of our plans to rescue the others; of how we’re going to leave just before dawn and hide in the woods until Bettrice gives us the sign that he’s dead and we can free the others. We will go as far north as we can and join the free men and women there, live off the land and build a new life for ourselves. Thoughts of Jey and mother smiling and Pascha’s strong arms around me in our new home help me to relax and I curl up next to him. Tiredness overcomes me and we eventually fall asleep with the orange glow from the hearth pushing at the dark shadows around us.
I lose myself to a deep sleep yet wake to a nightmare of screeching wood, my heart shocked into beating hard, my eyes instantly open in terror. The glass behind the drawn curtains smashes as I jump up bewildered. Instinct forces me to charge blindly into the kitchen and grab the knife I had thrown down on the counter last night. All the time my mind is screaming, ‘It’s them! It’s them!’ and as I pass back through the hall to the living room the door is nearly broken down. The heavy hinges and latch are still intact, but the wood is splintering from the kicks that are being rained down upon it. Bettrice rushes into the dim hallway just as the first Enforcer breaks through. I hook her around the neck with my right arm. She screams and stumbles backwards, bending crookedly towards me. With my left hand I hold the knife like a dagger and point it into the soft tissue of her neck and screw my face into a vicious snarl. The Enforcer must recognise Bettrice even in the greyed out hall because he stops and shouts back, “She’s here”.
“Stay there or I’ll kill her!” I scream at him and push the knife closer to the jugular vein in her neck.
She whimpers. Another figure appears behind the Enforcer, pushes him to the side and, as he steps out of the shadows, I recognise the Captain from the convoy that passed by us on our escape, the marks of his status etched clearly in black-inked bands across his cheeks. He stops still and stares directly into my eyes.
I stand firm and challenge him.
“The Watcher has taken my mother and my sister. Let us go or I’ll take what’s his.”
I push the sharp end of the knife into the soft flesh of Bettrice’s neck. She stiffens and I give a gentle squeeze to her arm to let her know this is for her; to convince them that she is our prisoner. The Captain remains stock still but from the corner of my eye there is a flash of movement in the living room. Ish and Pascha run behind me down the hallway to the back door. I hear the bolts being slammed back and the door crashing open.
“Meriall run!” Pascha shouts to me.
The Captain, his face grim, shouts to his men, “Get to the back of the house. Two of them are escaping,” then he looks at me with a cold determination in his dark eyes, “I’ll deal with this one.”
I have to get out before his men come around the back and I’m trapped. I whisper ‘sorry’ to Bettrice and push her forward with all my might and turn as she screams, lurches and crashes into the Captain. As I burst out of the back door the Enforcers are charging around the corner and I career desperately across the dew sodden, wilting grass. Pascha and Ish are already over the walls and heading towards the trees. I sprint for my life and manage to vault over the low stone wall and launch myself onto the steep pasture. The adrenaline in my body is powering me forward and I can think of nothing but thrusting one leg in front of the other. A stitch is screaming between my ribs as I reach the top of the hill and I look back to see how close they are to me. No one is behind me. I look desperately left and right. Again, no one is there.
“Meriall—here. Over here,” Pascha shouts from behind the first line of trees.
“Where are they?” I gasp, incredulous. “I can’t believe they haven’t followed us up here.”
“Maybe all they wanted was Bettrice?” Ish suggests with a frown and shrug of his shoulders.
“No, look! They’ve got their horses,” Pascha points in consternation down to the village.
I turn and watch transfixed as they mount and jump the hurdle of grey stones.
“They’re going to hunt us down!” Pascha yells as the horses gallop up the hill towards us. “Run!”
We turn and run further into the woods, the thick layer of browning leaves and fallen twigs slipping beneath our feet as we climb higher on the hillside. Only the dim light can hide us here. The trees are broad, but bare and spaced far enough apart for horses to get through. Ish is ahead, but Pascha is keeping pace with me, his breathing heavy like mine, talking not an option. Behind us the pounding of hooves is growing louder.
“There! They’re over there,” a man shouts.
“Run Merry. Faster!” he gasps.
I force myself to power forward. My foot slips and I fall to my knees, my hands dig into the wet soil as I grasp for a hold to stop myself sliding down the steep slope. Hooves pounding the layer of leaves sound out close by.
“Pascha!” I scream as I begin to lose my grip on the soil.
A hand grabs my jacket and pulls me forward. Pascha groans with the strain but it is enough and I stand again and clamber after him. We reach the top of the slope. It drops dramatically to a shallow stream yet Ish is already climbing down, finding footholds on rocky outcrops, and clinging to trees growing at crazy angles from the steep sides. I falter.
“Meriall, it’s the only way. They can’t bring the horses down here.”
I look down to the bubbling, rock-filled stream. It must be a fifty foot drop at least, but Pascha is right. It is the only way. The sound of voices close behind me and the heavy panting of a horse force me into action. I grab hold of a young tree and lower myself down to the first rocky foothold I can see. It’s further than I can reach and I dangle mid-air until I can turn myself and loosen my grip on the thin tree trunk then drop down to the rock, hooking my arm through another sapling to anchor me. My stomach lurches and a drip of sweat trickles down my temple.
“Keep going Merry,” Pascha shouts up.
Voices sound above my head and a hand grabs my hair. I scream out in pain and my foot slips. Instinctively, I hook my arm tighter around the sapling and with my other claw at the grasping hand. My nails dig in and scratch deep lines into the skin. A man shouts out in pain, but doesn’t loosen his grip and I feel myself being hauled upwards. In desperation, I grab my ponytail beneath the clenched fist and make myself a deadweight, letting my feet slip off the rock. The pain in my scalp is enormous, but the grasping hand is no longer touching mine and I jolt downwards, my hooked arm slipping along the length of the sapling. There is nothing for my feet to stand on and I continue to slip down over the rock grabbing desperately at anything to stop my descent. Unable to stop myself falling, I slip down over the rock, it rucks up my jacket and grazes my belly. Panic overwhelms me as I grab and slip my way further down, sharp pain stabbing at me as branches pass through my hands and rocks bang against my flesh. Pascha looks at me horrified as I pass him in my slow and tangled fall. Voices above are shouting. I can do nothing but grab and grasp to slow my fall as I tumble to the rocky bed below.
I come to a sudden stop and Ish pulls me to him, one hand clenching my jacket the other anchored around a gnarled tree trunk. He pulls me to the ledge and keeps his arm around me, hugging me to him.
“I’ve got her,” he calls up to Pascha. “Merry, I’ve got you. You’re ok.”
“I thought I was going to end up a crumpled heap of broken bones,” I gasp. “You saved me!”
“Shh. It’s ok. You can thank me later, when we’ve los
t these animals,” he says looking up at the top of the rock face where the Enforcers still stand, watching our descent. “For now, we’ve got to keep going.”
I take a moment to catch my breath and let the pain in my body subside a little and then Ish guides me down to the river.
“Merry, are you ok?” Pascha asks as he wraps his arms around me. “I tried to grab you but you just fell past me.”
He strokes my hair as I lean into him taking comfort for a few, short seconds.
“Yeh, I’m ok,” I mumble into his chest.
He tips my chin to him and gently kisses my lips. “We have to keep moving. Can you do that?” He asks, concern filling his eyes.
“Yeh, I can. I don’t think I broke anything. I’m not in that much pain—just bruised and scratched,” I reply, lifting my jacket and top to reveal my grazed and bleeding belly.
“Ouch!”
“We either cross the river here or carry on along it this side. Whichever we decide we’re stuck following the river,” Ish interrupts. “It’s too steep here to climb back up.”
“Let’s cross over and follow it. It’ll be harder for them to follow us that way,” Pascha adds.
The river is about two metres wide. It is flowing fast though shallow here and not too rocky. We cross it easily, trousers rolled to our knees, shoes slung across our necks and scramble to a more hidden spot to rub and dry our numbed toes.
As we move forward, following the river downstream and taking cover where we can, the sound of running water gets louder until it becomes a rush and the river plunges dramatically over a sheer drop to the water below. We have no choice but to climb the steep sides of the river bank.
“I need a rest before we go up there,” I say.
My legs ache with the effort of continually keeping my balance as we step over rocks and my body still hurts from the fall.
“Me too,” adds Ish. “We can take a few minutes. Right, Pascha?”
“I guess so, but not for long.”
I groan with relief as I sit on the driest patch of earth I can find. Pascha joins me, slipping his arm across my back, hugging me to him.
Primitive (Dark Powers Rising Book 2) Page 13
