Marcii (The Dreadhunt Trilogy Book 1) (4 page)

Chapter Six

              As the days wore on, cold and gloomy and filled with rain and uncertainty, it soon came to light that Marcii wasn’t the only one who had taken such a disliking, albeit a silent one, to Mayor Tyran’s so called police.

              Whilst his followers seemed to multiply in number on an almost daily basis, there were still many folks in and about Newmarket who were not convinced by his shallow words.

              But undoubtedly his enforcers were paid most highly for their duties, for they executed them with swift and steady and assured hands, their wills unfaltering.

              Initially, it seemed that anyone not loyal to Tyran’s cause was a target. Especially those who were more vocal about such things.

              But that was only the beginning.

              Eventually, once he had bent all of their wills to his words, he would make frightened followers of each and every one of them. Only then, with his iron grip of fear, would he unite them. He would give his people new targets all of their own, and they would continue to bend to his domination.

              But, of course, no one was to know that but him.

              Not until it was far too late.

              First came the raids.

              With no word of who or what they might have been looking for, in fact, with no warning whatsoever, enforcers began turning people’s homes upside down, from the very top to the deepest bottom.

              They never turned up anything of any significance.

              Not yet, anyway.

The only thing they did manage to do was to leave people’s homes in such a devastated state that it took them the best part of a week to put their lives back together.

              And how strangely coincidental it seemed to be that the only houses that were ever raided belonged to those whom had not been frequently attending Tyran’s evermore regular addresses.

              Rain or shine, you were to attend.

              With no exceptions.

              Of course, regardless of the talk and the rumours, Tyran always insisted that his police were simply doing their jobs to help protect the innocent.

              Nobody wanted another attack after all.

              Marcii wasn’t entirely sure how raiding people’s houses reduced the chances of another attack, but nonetheless, yet more coin exchanged hands, as is always the way, and the talk soon subsided.

              Amidst the unnerving chaos of the raids and the speeches and the patrols, all seeming to loom constantly at every opportunity, Marcii stole away through the narrow streets. Slipping up and down the dark, dank alleyways that smelled of all things foul, she headed across to the other side of Newmarket.

Her steps were light and fast and her heart fluttered just in the same way as it did every time she made this journey.

This time, however, she was much more cautious than usual, for Tyran’s enforcers had been growing evermore suspicious and heavy handed. Their ranks seemed to be swelling so quickly that soon the young Dougherty worried that their mere presence might make this nameless journey of hers impossible.

She did her best not to hide from enforcers when she saw them, for she knew almost anything that triggered even the slightest hint of suspicion would spur them into action.

Nonetheless, greeting them as they passed her in their packs of at least three or four made her feel as though she was on the very brink of forcing a confrontation: something she most certainly didn’t want.

Soon, though definitely not soon enough, in the not too far distance, above the narrow, packed in houses, Marcii could see the church spire reaching up towards the dreary sky above.

Quickening her pace, for she had almost reached her destination, Marcii stuffed her hands into her pockets and tucked her chin behind the lip of her heavy jacket, dropping her eyes to the floor. Fortunately, no enforcers saw her as she scurried down the last two alleyways, cutting through the shadows, for she would surely have caught their attention.

Then, all of a sudden, the church loomed directly before her, huge and grey and square, its symmetrical outline against the sky broken only by the spire at one end.

Enormous stone blocks had been used in its construction and Marcii darted forwards immediately towards the far right hand side of its base. There, barely visible amidst the shadows and partly concealed behind vines that had been allowed to overgrow and awash that section of the church wall, was a slight inlet between the vast stone columns.

Ducking behind the vines, parting them gently with her hands and nipping through the gap, she was greeted by a familiar sight and voice, both of which filled her with long overdue calm.

“Marcii…” Kaylm greeted her, keeping his soft voice low in the dim light behind the vines, concealed within the very walls of the church itself.

They could not have been better hidden, especially since the day was so sullen and grey, for the light struggled to reach their secret little alcove even when the sun shone.

“Kaylm…” Marcii breathed in response, and before either of them said another word they embraced each other firmly.

Marcii pulled Kaylm close, hugging him tightly, and he did the same, for they had missed each other terribly.

Even though she couldn’t see too well in the dim light, Marcii knew by heart the look of Kaylm’s sandy blonde hair. She knew he saw her too with his eyes both blue and orange all at once, and as she leaned back, picking up every trace of him that she could with her luminous yellow eyes, she sighed contentedly.

A friendship like theirs was hard to come by, and when such a thing is found, it is often even harder to hold on to.

Sadly, though this is all too often the case, most thought it was more than that, and not simply as innocent as they each claimed. Consequently, Amanda did not approve of Kaylm, or anyone for that matter, and his parents most certainly did not approve of Marcii.

The pair had been condemned to meeting in fleeting secret arrangements such as this.

Of course, that meant that their time spent in the other’s company was shorter than either of them would have liked, and they missed each other unbearably in between these forbidden meets.

But, as so few come to learn, absence does indeed make the heart grow fonder.

              Kaylm was only sixteen years of age too, and though at the moment he was of quite slim build, his father and older brother were both broad and strong, practically the opposite to Marcii’s father, and it was only a matter of time before he followed suit.

              It was safe to say that he was Marcii Dougherty’s closest friend. He trusted her, even if his family didn’t, and he was one of the very few people that she trusted too.

              Whilst others had for her whole life given Marcii a wide berth, as was still all too evident, Kaylm had never wanted to leave her side.

              He didn’t care what other people thought.

              All that mattered was what they felt.

              “Are you okay?” Kaylm asked, his hands still resting upon Marcii’s arms. His voice was filled with concern for her, more so than usual, for times were changing.

              Marcii didn’t respond at first and shook her head almost imperceptibly, especially in the dim light.

              It was so hard to be as honest with anybody else as she was with Kaylm.

              “I’m scared…” She admitted, whispering her shaky words.

              “Don’t worry…” Kaylm reassured her. “I won’t let any…”

              But their hidden conversation was silenced just as quickly as it had begun, as voices from just beyond the vines cut through the damp, murky air.

              Marcii’s breaths trembled and Kaylm pulled her close again, for the voices were close and filled with fear and conspiracy.

              “I’m telling you!” The first voice demanded. “The time has come for him to join the cause!”

              “Please listen, brother…” A second voice urged, and Marcii’s breath caught in her throat as she recognised it.

              It was Alexander Freeman, her father’s childhood friend.

              She could not see him, and she daren’t move for fear of being discovered, but she recognised his heavy tone.

              “The Priesthood cannot bend to this! It goes against everything we stand for! And Gold knows it!”

              Gold, Marcii thought for a moment.

              They must have been talking about Francis Gold.

He was the head of the Priesthood.

“I don’t care what Gold thinks!” The first voice cried again, irritated. “He can think what he likes! Tyran has the power now! Not Francis!”

“You underestimate him…” Alexander warned, and tense silence followed for a moment.

“Oh, do I?” The first voice asked, a note of smug menace in his voice.

Alexander did not reply.

Marcii could almost feel his hesitation seeping through the air. He may have known something she didn’t, but that was irrelevant; even she could tell he was losing ground, and fast.

“Francis Gold is an old fool…” The voice of the first man concluded. “And if he doesn’t stop opposing Tyran, if he doesn’t join the hunt for the witches, he’ll find himself closer to God than ever before…”

Chapter Seven

              Marcii awoke to the sounds of screaming.

              Her room was nearly pitch black as she shot bolt upright, sweating and panting heavily.

At first she couldn’t tell if the screams she had heard were real, or if they had just been part of a dream.

But then she heard them again, clear as day even in the night.

They resonated from some ways off in the distance, but still carried far enough in dark of the night to sound much closer than they probably were.

She rushed to the window of her tiny bedroom and rubbed her hand on the filthy glass to try to wipe a small patch clear enough to see outside.

Eventually she was just about able to make out a handful of figures racing up and down the streets through the darkness. There weren’t very many of them that she could see, but some carried torches or lanterns, whilst others cried out for help and reached for what looked like pitchforks.

Having not a clue what was happening, but knowing instinctively that surely it wasn’t good, Marcii crept back into bed and pulled her thin, patchy quilt back up and around her neck.

She was growing more and more afraid by the day, though her fear seemed to be not entirely rational, for she had not been directly threatened by anyone, or anything.

She only wished Kaylm could be with her to calm her and to soothe her worry.

He would have been able to make her see sense.

He always made her see sense.

Heavy raindrops began to patter against the dirty window and the night drew on long and cold and wet.

Morning couldn’t come quickly enough.

But when it eventually did, it didn’t bring with it solace for young Marcii Dougherty, but instead a whole new meaning for her growing fears.

The ground was sodden underfoot and long deep puddles lined the cobblestoned streets, drenching Marcii’s feet as she paced quickly through Newmarket.

Her eyes felt heavy and her legs were weary and it took quite some time before the dull ache in her thighs finally subsided.

She didn’t care however, for her heart still raced after her sleepless night, and something told her that it wasn’t over yet.

Whatever it was.

She didn’t even really know where she was going.

Usually she found herself pacing the streets on seemingly limitless errands for her mother, but this morning Marcii had left of her own accord, and without a word. Undoubtedly she would pay the price for that later, but for reasons unbeknownst to her, the young Dougherty knew this was important.

Suddenly she became more aware of the water at her feet.

Her feet were soaked, yes.

Nonetheless it was not that which drew her attention, but instead the puddles themselves. They were dirty, as everything was; vast quantities clay and mud were traipsed through their streets daily from far and wide, stuck upon the wheels of carts and wagons that ferried goods to and fro.

Still though, she bent down and peered closer, reaching out with her right hand and dipping her fingers into the puddles.

When she withdrew her arm and inspected her fingertips her heart nearly stopped. The colour mixed upon them like paint on a palette and the water swirled them together as a natural catalyst.

It combined the brown from the mud, and the grey from the clay, and the red…

The red…

The red from the blood…

Gasping under her breath, Marcii shot to her feet and stumbled back. The only thing that stopped her from falling was her hard collision with the wall behind her, for the street was not wide and she met it very quickly.

It took her a minute to regain her composure as she struggled through the short, sharp breaths that wracked her body.

The water trickled by her along the edge of the street and she glanced up to her left.

The street ran on an incline. It was only very slight, but it told her where the blood was coming from.

With new determination, and evermore dread in her heart, she followed the trail, seeking its source.

The trickling water grew heavier and tumbled through and around and over the stones set so firmly into the street, staining them a deep, lustrous red. As the water grew thicker and ran more heavily with blood, Marcii’s stomach churned.

Soon though, looking up at last, for her eyes had been glued to the ground, she found the source, and her body went cold.

There were bodies everywhere.

Littered across the street, strewn all over carelessly, they were just abandoned in an enormous pool of red.

There were others there too. Others who had found what remained of the massacred carcasses in probably the same way Marcii had.

But she wasn’t paying attention to them.

Instead, her eyes were upon the torn up bodies of the mutilated men and women that lay discarded across the stones before her eyes. Something had ripped the flesh from their very bones, and it had done so most brutally.

The blood was everywhere, she suddenly realised when she eventually looked up and all around. It caked the walls and was smeared thickly across the row of houses to her left, along with other things that looked decidedly more solid, which she tried her utmost to ignore.

It was too much.

But then, as she glanced fearfully around, out of nowhere, Vixen appeared. She stood over on the other side of the bodies to Marcii.

She felt her body twitch, instinctively wanting to run over and shield the young girl’s eyes. But Vixen’s expression, when Marcii saw it, didn’t allow her to move.

The young orphan’s eyes darted over to the other side of the street, and Marcii followed her brief gaze, only to find that she was indicating to a door to a shed at the end of the row of houses to her left. The wooden shack was covered in red just the same as everything else, though also with some revolting solids mixed among the blood that caked the small building.

She looked back to Vixen, but the girl was nowhere to be seen, and Marcii took a deep, nervous breath.

Almost even unconsciously she paced the half a dozen feet or so to the door, stepping over the torso of a man that she fortunately didn’t recognise.

Stopping at the face of the door, she examined it quickly with her eyes, wondering why Vixen had drawn her to it so.

It was nothing special. It was not even somebody’s home. It was just a shed at the end of a row of houses, probably used to store spades and axes and the like.

Still, as she reached out for the stiff looking iron door handle, Marcii paused fretfully, her heart racing.

She felt the eyes of other townsfolk on her cautiously, watching her movements suspiciously, for it seemed to them as if she knew something that they did not.

Gritting her teeth firmly, Marcii turned the handle forcefully and yanked her arm back. The door to the shed flung wide open and she stepped back fearfully even as it did so, for she had no idea what she would find beyond.

Blood.

Lots of blood.

The awful, metallic stench invaded her senses and she recoiled instinctively from it.

Limbs.

Solids.

Semi-solids.

Yet another mutilated carcass.

And Midnight.

“Oh my God…” Marcii breathed in horror, though her words reached no further than her own ears.

The deaf, dumb old man was sat amidst the carnage, covered from head to toe in blood and ragged flesh and discarded organs, unable to move, for an almost unrecognisable human carcass was sprawled across him.

Marcii was frozen still in horror.

“Midnight…” She whispered.

The pit in her stomach was deep and cavernous and filled with dread.

He looked up, but he did not speak.

He trembled visibly. His eyes were wide and clearly had seen far too much.

For some reason then Marcii looked down, just as the crowds began to assemble and swarm behind her, eyeing her warily and suspiciously, for they presumed that somehow, impossibly, she had known he was in there.

At her feet, upon the wooden floor of the shed, traced in the torrents of blood that lined the floorboards, were the markings of claws upon the timber, deep and thick. The claw marks were interspersed with the footprints of some kind of animal, though Marcii had never seen prints so large in all her life.

But then, within seconds, as the huge bulk of the town blacksmith surged past Marcii, startling her in the process, all evidence of the footprints was erased as his enormous boots smeared the blood afresh.

He tossed the carcass negligently to one side as if it weighed nothing and scooped the poor old man, trembling and dithering, up into his strong arms.

Midnight caught Marcii’s gaze as the blacksmith carried him away and the look in his eyes was beyond haunted.

Soon enough, when he was out of sight, Marcii’s eyes fell yet again upon the crowds that surrounded her, keeping their distance, eyeing her with evermore caution.

It seemed, and perhaps irreversibly so now, that their distrust in Marcii was greater than it ever had been.

That spelled relentless trouble for the young girl, even if she did not yet know it.