Marcii (The Dreadhunt Trilogy Book 1) (9 page)

Chapter Sixteen

              One of Tyran’s enforcers struck Marcii heavily.

She felt the blow across the back of her head and it rang in her ears like cold steel. Her world spun for the briefest of moments before everything went dark.

              Her body fell limp and she was scooped up by strong hands that lifted her effortlessly. They clutched tightly at her arms and her legs just in case she should stir back awake and try to resist.

              The captured Dougherty caught fleeting images flashing here and there, as she dipped loosely in and out of consciousness.

              She felt the strong hands under her arms, gripping her with a vice hold as they half dragged and half carried her towards the square in the centre of Newmarket.

              But she could not fight them. She hadn’t the strength in her heavy daze. And even if she had, they were far too powerful for her struggles to make any difference. She could sense that just by their touch.

              Tyran had chosen these men to be his enforcers partly for that reason. But then, along with their strength, they did their job well. Loyal only to the coin placed in their pockets, they followed Tyran’s commands with cold and brutal efficiency.

              Though she could not focus enough to see it, Marcii could feel the sky above following her captors’ every move. The clouds moved parallel to them as they carried their prize to her death, and the air grew darker and harsher and more menacing by the moment.

              Her fellow innocent townsfolk and Tyran’s enforcers, and even the Mayor himself, glanced up with deepening concern, for the skies were black as death and began to rumble with the sound of an encroaching storm.

              The growling thunder seemed to bring Marcii round from her subconscious daze. Her bobbing head lifted just enough for her gaze to settle upon the wooden hanging platform in the square.

In an instant, struck by the dreadful sight, she realised she was being carried to her own execution.

Fear ripped through her young body and threatened to tear her apart.

Coincidentally, in the same instant, a thick bolt of lightning tore through the ominous clouds above and wreaked blinding havoc amidst the jet black sky.

“What the…” Tyran started, but he was interrupted.

With another whip like crack, deafening and terrifying, the lightning cascaded down from high above, crackling with energy so fierce and so unmatched that it was chilling to witness.

The unstoppable bolt struck the ground right at Marcii’s feet, shaking and shattering the very earth beneath her.

Somehow though, as the lightning exploded beneath her, whilst Tyran and his enforcers were thrown in every direction by the blast, Marcii remained untouched and unmoving.

She glanced around in shock for a moment, looking at first up to the jet black sky where the lightning had come from, and then down to her feet at the scorched and cracked cobblestone beneath her shoes.

Finally, all around her, Marcii’s eyes fell upon the Mayor and his enforcers, strewn dazed and battered all over the place.

Her shock held her there for only a moment however, for the hanging platform was still all too obvious and impending. After only a mere few seconds, gathering her wits as best she could, the young Dougherty took off at a dead run.

She tore through the streets and away from the stunned crowds and her dazed captors, fleeing for her life.

Marcii was slight and small and very agile. She knew these streets like the back of her hand, for she had navigated them for her entire life.

When they eventually came to, Tyran’s enforcers lumbered after her, but they were slow and heavy and didn’t know the roads and alleyways in the same way she did.

Tyran’s fury was evident and his rage unending, for his bellows and cries of frustration echoed out over Newmarket endlessly as the pursuit of Marcii commenced.

The Dreadhunt had begun.

Chapter Seventeen

              The streets seemed narrower than ever before as Marcii raced down them, careering left and right and practically throwing herself into the darkest, dankest, most disgusting alleyways that she could possibly find.

It was all she could do to keep Tyran’s enforcers from finding her. And in fact, it wasn’t just Tyran’s men she was hiding from. The rest of Newmarket had been in the square too.

They were all after her now.

They had all seen how she’d tried to defend Malorie.

They had all heard the name she’d cried out to try to save her friend.

So now, undoubtedly, they all believed she was a witch too.

She was as good as dead.

How would she escape?

Where could she go?

She couldn’t go home. That would be the first place they would look.

But where else was there?

Suddenly though, lost in her racing thoughts, as Marcii rounded the next corner, her home did indeed come into view before her. She must have taken a wrong turn somewhere in her distraction, reverting back to her most familiar territory.

She froze for just a second.

She couldn’t be here.

But it was too late.

Strong hands seized her from behind and covered her mouth, stifling her screams. She fought of course, but the arms that held her were too powerful. They grabbed her and whisked her down yet another slimy alleyway, concealing her in the shadows.

She continued to struggle, just as Malorie had done.

Tears came to the young Dougherty’s eyes at the mere thought.

But then the voice of her captor sounded through the darkness. It was a sound that she recognised, although, if she was honest, it was not one that inspired great confidence.

“Shhh, it’s me…” Alexander hushed her. “It’s okay Marcii…”

Her struggles slowly ceased and Alexander carefully removed his hand from her mouth, releasing her from his hold.

Marcii darted away from him instantly, but she did not run, and instead turned to face him in the dreary light on the alley, beneath the blackened sky above that sat even still so precariously. The thunder and lightning had quelled, but the sight of fortified cloud was no less threatening and the air was growing cold and sharp in her lungs.

“I’m not going to hurt you…” Alexander breathed, trying to reassure her, for he knew Marcii was fleeing from, well, everybody.

There were quite a number of responses that Marcii could think of to reply with, so many in fact that for a moment she didn’t speak at all. She couldn’t find the right words amidst the flurry of thoughts in her mind.

Even against the sheer blackness of the skies swarming above, Alexander’s sins were obvious, and he looked racked with guilt and self-loathing.

But, for now at least, that was irrelevant.

What did he want?

Was he going to kill her?

But then, before either of them could say another word, cheers and chants and shouts erupted from every direction and Marcii and Alexander dove into the deepest depths of the alley, concealing themselves amongst the grim shadows.

Barely seconds later a huge surging crowd rushed past, carrying burning torches and pitch forks and screaming for the blood of the witch.

Horrifyingly, they were heading straight for Marcii’s home.

“No…” She faltered, crawling out from where they were hidden and making for the street, but Alexander pulled her back.

“Marcii!” He hissed. “You can’t! They’ll kill you!”

Fresh screams rose above the noise of the masses then and Marcii was forced to listen as her mother and father and older sister were dragged from their home at the end of the row and taken as prisoners.

“What can I do!?” Marcii begged of Alexander, but his face was as grim as the deathly skies above.

              “You must run, Marcii!” He urged in frantic whispers. “You must escape!”

              “What about my family!?” Marcii pleaded desperately.

              “Tyran has them now.” Alexander confessed, as if that were the end. “If you try to help them, he’ll take you too.”

              “I have to help them!” She urged, but Alexander’s voice grew evermore firm, despairing even.

              “You can’t Marcii!!” He almost cried, hushing his voice only just at the last second. “I know you’re innocent! But they’re as good as dead! And you will be too if you don’t get the hell out of here!!”

              The honesty in his words was harsh, but it was nonetheless still the truth.

              Marcii was shaking visibly now as the dire reality of her situation dawned on her.

              “You don’t believe it?” She questioned, shocked not only by that, but also by Alexander’s cuss, for regardless of his actions of late, he was still a man of God.

              But he just scoffed in reply, as if the answer was obvious.

              “Of course I don’t believe it!” He exclaimed. “It’s utter nonsense! But Tyran has too many people behind him now. You saw what he did to Francis…”

              Yet more crowds raced past in the comparative light of the cobblestoned street and Marcii and Alexander pressed themselves deeper into the filthy shadows.

              “He can’t be stopped…” Alexander continued. “But if I can distract him, you can still escape…”

              “You want to help me?” Marcii questioned, shocked, perhaps more than she should have been, and Alexander looked a little offended.

              “Of course I want to help you!” He cried, this time unable to hush his voice. He threw his arms up slightly and almost gave them away in the process.

Yet even more townsfolk on the hunt rushed past.

              He ducked down and cursed foully at his own recklessness.

              “Alexander!” Marcii hissed, shocked yet again.

              But he just waved off her concern.

              “Forget it.” He dismissed, resigning himself. “I’m going to hell anyway.”

              There was the bare pain of truth in his words and Marcii wasn’t sure whether his admission was a good or a bad thing. She thought briefly of his wife and just nodded slowly, not really knowing what to say in reply.

              “We have to get you away.” He confirmed again, as if his last statement was already forgotten.

              “Will you please help my family!?” Marcii begged, clutching at Alexander’s arm. She had to do something to try to save them at least.

              They may not have been the most loving family in the world, and the situation may have seemed hopeless, but Marcii was not ungrateful.

She would see them saved if she could.

              “I will try.” Alexander promised. Marcii could see by the pain in his eyes that he was telling her the truth, and that there was genuine weight to his words.

              “Thank you…”

              Alexander only nodded in response and glanced around, for the shouts and the chants seemed to have quieted for a moment.

              They might not have a better chance.

              “Go!” Alexander urged. “Go Marcii! Run!”

Chapter Eighteen

              The town was crowded and heaved frantically.

Alexander Freeman pulled the hood of his robe up over his head as he traversed the hostile streets.

              For some reason the air had grown much harsher and colder. The sinful priest’s breaths steamed and billowed about his face as he made his way towards the square.

              Everywhere he turned there were armed enforcers, brandishing heavy looking swords and spears and enormous axes. They hunted through their territory in packs, swarming all around in an unnervingly coordinated manner.

              Perhaps more chilling though, Alexander thought, was the sight of the townsfolk that Tyran’s enforcers were supposedly here to protect.

              Following suit, they too travelled in droves, and were armed to the teeth in their own, amateur manner. They carried burning torches above their heads and bore pitchforks and pickaxes as weapons.

              Their chants rang out shrilly and had not changed.

              Still they lusted for blood.

              These people were the innocents that needed protecting?

              Alexander couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

              He couldn’t believe any of it.

              Soon the square came into view, but the sight of it did not fill Alexander with relief. Quite the contrary in fact.

              Tyran was rallying his people. He was rallying his troops. And he was using his latest victims to do it.

              Marcii’s parents, Marcus and Amanda Dougherty, and their eldest daughter, Ellie Dougherty, were dragged by their hair, by their feet, by their wrists, by anything Tyran’s enforcers could grab, and thrown to the filthy floor in the centre of Newmarket for all to see.

              Behind them, still being erected even as Alexander looked on, Tyran’s enforcers hammered three thick wooden poles vertically into the ground. They hit them so hard that they smashed straight through the cobblestoned road. And every now and then, when the wood struggled to break through the stone, his enforcers simply hammered at the ground itself until it broke and gave way.

              Then, once the poles were buried deep enough so as not to budge, though still with four or five feet protruding above the ground, Amanda and Marcus and Ellie were bound to each of them. Dozens of bales of hay appeared at Tyran’s command. The townsfolk fetched them obediently from the nearest storerooms and threw them at the feet of their captors, surrounding the three of them entirely in a sea of dry straw.

              Alexander swallowed hard, though the lump in his throat and the pit in his stomach did not budge.

              He knew what was coming and he doubted he would be able to stop it.

              Nonetheless, he had sworn to Marcii that he would try.

              For once in his miserable life, this would be a promise he would not break.

              The crowds gathered around eagerly and more and more people joined to watch the spectacle.

That was perhaps the only saving grace, he thought to himself. As terrible as he knew this was going to be, the more people that came to watch it, the less people would be out looking for Marcii, and she would have at least a slightly better chance of escape.

“We have the witch’s family!” Tyran roared cruelly and his people cheered and hooted in response. “Do not fear!” He assured them. “Soon we will have her too! And we will be safe from her evil!”

His speech continued. Undoubtedly he wove a tale of how evil Marcii was, and how perfect and angelic he was.

Alexander wasn’t really listening.

He didn’t care.

Instead, he was desperately trying to think of a way to save Marcii’s family that didn’t involve confronting Tyran directly. So far though, he’d come up decidedly short. If he was honest with himself, he was simply trying to pluck up courage, just as much as he was trying to concoct an alternative.

He’d seen what had happened to Francis Gold and knew his fate would likely be similar.

Finally, after much deliberation, Alexander had still reached only the same conclusion, and his time was up.

“Take these torches and step forward!” Tyran instructed, gesturing with a flick of his fingers to three of his enforcers. In turn each of them lit a flaming torch and handed it to an onlooker in the crowd.

One was given to a lady who looked to be in her fifties. She had short grey hair, piercing eyes and a stern face.

Another was given to a much younger girl, who appeared to be only in her mid-twenties. She was very attractive with luscious blonde hair and very full, rosy red lips.

And then the final torch, burning bright and hot, was given to a young boy, who to Alexander seemed to only be about ten or eleven years old. The boy had thick, curly hair and wore an excited smile.

The three chosen ones stepped forward from the crowd eagerly, obeying Tyran’s commands to the letter.

What an honour.

Alexander couldn’t believe his eyes.

Tyran wasn’t just rallying the people any more. He wasn’t just uniting them against a common enemy, even if that enemy was fictitious.

He was using them, shaping them.

He was defining their very beliefs.

He was turning them into monsters.

It was now or never, and Alexander knew it.

Taking a deep breath and stepping forward from the crowd, he positioned himself in front of Tyran’s three chosen torchbearers and faced down the Mayor himself.

Tyran did not speak at first and his fierce gaze bore into Alexander’s slightly wavering eyes with the promise of challenge and cruel hatred.

There was no turning back for Alexander now.

He set his heart upon the momentous task that he now faced, preparing himself for almost certain defeat.