Marcii (The Dreadhunt Trilogy Book 1) (8 page)

Chapter Fourteen

              Somewhere amidst the screaming and the shouting and the chanting, swept up and lost in the awful rush, Marcii became vaguely aware that the chant had changed.

              No longer were the supposedly innocent people of Newmarket chanting for a hunt. It seemed that longing had already been fulfilled, for now at least.

All of a sudden, their cries lusted for blood and for death.

              “KILL THE WITCH!! KILL THE WITCH!!” They chanted now. “KILL THE WITCH!!”

              What in the world was happening?

              Marcii could barely stay standing as the crowds surged and carried her to and fro. She was all but helpless to resist, for her strength waned more and more by the moment.

              Suddenly though, for apparently no reason at all, or at least, for no reason that Marcii could see, the surging ceased.

Then, right before her eyes, almost as if it had been planned that way, the masses parted, opening up a trampled bloodied walkway before her.

A desperate, terrified scream echoed out over the market stalls and tents, filling the air with dread. Only seconds later, dragged by her jet black hair along the filthy ground, kicking and screaming, Malorie was thrown to the wolves.

The enforcers surrounded Marcii’s friend as they forced her through the jeering crowds and towards Tyran for retribution.

If she tried to fight or escape, she was kicked, punched, beaten, and anyone from the crowds who tried to harm her received the same treatment.

But none of that mattered.

Of course not.

The Mayor had his next victim.

It seemed that these days would be ones to remember, though they were filled with nothing but horror.

Tyran’s enforcers drew blood with every new strike and tore at Malorie’s clothes inhumanely, exposing her perfect, bruised, bloodied skin beneath them.

The innocents of Newmarket launched rocks and dirt and even faeces at her as she was dragged through the square. She screamed and cried out in anguish and denial, but, naturally, she was not heard.

Desperate to save her, desperate to do something at least, Marcii launched herself at one of Tyran’s enforcers.

Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, depending on how you look at it, he presumed Marcii was simply trying to get to Malorie to throw a punch herself.

He struck her across the face with the back of his armour plated hand and Marcii was knocked unconscious and thrown to the ground, trampled beneath the masses.

How long she lay there for, she hadn’t a clue. But when she awoke, her head spinning and painful, the crowd that had been stood all about her, and upon her even, was gone.

In the distance she could still hear their cries and forced herself to her reluctant feet. Her face and her back and her every limb were in agony from being struck and trampled, but none of that mattered now.

She had to save Malorie.

The crowd had already reached the river when Marcii caught up to them, limping and stumbling as she went. And even then, when she finally fell into the back of the surging mob, she was forced to fight for every inch of ground that she made through their screaming, cheering masses.

By the time Marcii eventually fought far enough through the throngs of people so as to at last set eyes again upon Malorie, it was too late. The poor woman was already being strapped to the monstrous, seesaw like device that Tyran had ordered constructed upon the water’s edge.

The sight of it stole Marcii’s breath from her.

It was horrific.

Malorie was breathing heavily, her chest heaving. She was bleeding, beaten and battered.

But even still, as Tyran’s enforcers dragged her up from the floor and strapped her to one end of the long wooden beam that made the seesaw, resting upon a single pivot point, her eyes were full of defiant hatred for the man that was the Mayor.

She hated him for what he was doing.

But not for hunting her, no.

She hated him for what he was driving these people to do for the sake of his own greed and lust.

Once she was firmly secured to one end of the thick beam Tyran’s enforcers pushed it out over the pivot at the water’s edge so that Malorie was hanging precariously above the water.

Three of his enforcers remained rested upon the end of the beam that still touched solid ground, but Marcii could see that as soon as they shifted their weight, even just slightly, Malorie would lower into the water of the river.

This was barbaric.

But already, in barely a few moments, Tyran was there once again, unyielding.

“The witches will answer for their crimes!!” He shouted somehow above the roaring of his crowd. “They will know our pain and our suffering!! The pain and the suffering they have caused us!!”

As Marcii looked on, hatred and loathing filling every ounce of her body. The temperature dropped noticeably and a harsh wind cut across the rocky surface of the water. Clouds began to swarm and gather menacingly overhead and the day darkened ominously.

“SILENCE!!” Tyran suddenly bellowed, quietening his people in an instant.

He crept to the water’s edge beneath the blackened sky and looked out at Malorie, hanging helplessly above the face of the seething water, gazing down into its unforgiving face.

“Where is it?” He breathed at her, his quiet voice laced with cruelty, though somehow it still carried effortlessly out over the entire crowd.

“Where is what?” Malorie croaked, forcing the words from her tongue with all her might, though even that mere effort sent fresh pain coursing through her ruined body.

“THE DEMON!” Tyran roared brutally. “The demon you summoned to plague us! WHERE IS IT!?”

“There is no demon!” Malorie cried, and upon Tyran’s face spread a malicious smile.

Without a word he raised his hand.

On that silent command, lifting from where they rested, the three enforcers on the other end of the beam eased their weight and Malorie plunged into the freezing, raging water of the river.

“NO!!” Marcii screamed, but again, thankfully, her defiant cries were overborne by the cheers of the crowd all around her.

After a few more moments Tyran dropped his hand and the three enforcers pushed back down on the beam. Malorie rose from the water, coughing and spluttering as she came, but alive.

Marcii let out a long breath.

But this wasn’t over yet.

“WHERE IS IT!?” Tyran boomed again, and once more Malorie defied him.

“THERE IS NO DEMON!” She choked. “I’M NOT A WITCH!”

Tyran’s hand came up again and in turn so did his enforcers.

Down Malorie went.

She was under for much longer this time and Marcii’s eyes widened in horror, afraid that Tyran was going to kill her there and then.

Finally, after what felt like a lifetime, he relented and lowered his hand.

The poor woman rose from the water, shivering and spluttering, but her reprieve was short lived.

Again, and again, and again, Tyran submerged Malorie, for longer and longer every time.

But she gave him nothing, screaming and coughing and choking over and over and over that there was no demon.

Nonetheless, Tyran kept pressing, and the people of Newmarket kept yelling, and the enforcers kept dunking, all on the Mayor’s merest whim.

Malorie came back up yet again, by now ragged and limp from the cold and from lack of air.

“WE WILL FIND IT!” Tyran boomed at her. “AND WE WILL KILL IT!”

“No!” Malorie croaked, barely able to even breathe, let alone talk. “No! Please! You can’t!”

She sounded desperate. But not desperate for air, or for freedom, or even life, Marcii somehow realised.

It was something else.

All of a sudden Marcii felt her heart in her mouth and her whole body shuddered.

Malorie wasn’t denying it any more.

She was defending it, begging for it to be spared.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, a thought flew into Marcii’s mind.

Without warning she spurred into action.

Only moments ago she had conceded that she could not save Malorie.

But now, seemingly out of the blue, hope flooded through her.

Marcii’s heart fluttered with hope as she thought she saw a way.

Chapter Fifteen

              “It can’t be…” Marcii whispered aloud as the words escaped her. Though, fortunately, not loudly enough for anyone to hear.

              Or at least, so she thought.

              There was one person, naturally, who of course heard her realisation. And that person appeared from seemingly nowhere, as she always did, with twigs in her hair and dirt upon her face.

              The shouts and the screams that echoed all around her even still did not quieten, but Marcii no longer heard them.

              Vixen looked very serious and her expression remained as unchanged as ever, while Marcii’s eyes grew suddenly very wide in comprehension.

              “It is…” The young orphan whispered in reply, nodding slowly, confirming in that instant the truth in Marcii’s abrupt revelation.

              Glancing over again at Malorie with fear coursing heavily through her veins, Marcii’s breath caught.

Choking desperately for air, even still Malorie was plunged and raised and then plunged yet again.

              But when Marcii looked back, searching for the young orphan to give her more answers, as seemed to always be the way, Vixen was nowhere to be seen.

              Summoning every ounce of her strength and her courage, Marcii surged forwards and forced her way through what was left of the crowd, heading directly towards the river where Malorie was being tortured.

              She had to save her.

              No matter what.

              Even if it came at the cost of her life.

              Bursting through the final line of people and exploding out before Tyran himself, Marcii found herself surrounded instantly by enforcers.

              Malorie was half raised from the river.

With eyes wide and a heaving chest she gaped at Marcii, wondering even in her desperate state what in the world the young Dougherty was doing.

              She should just let them drown her.

              What was she thinking!?

              She was going to get herself killed.

              “What do you think…” Tyran began, swelling once again against this sudden revolt, but Marcii did not give him the chance to finish.

              “REAPER!” She screamed, and the crowd behind her immediately fell silent.

              “What!?” Tyran cut back sharply.

              Marcii drew heaving breaths.

              “Reaper!” She repeated. “It’s name is Reaper! Now let her go!”

              Malorie’s face dropped terribly.

              A malicious smirk grew upon Tyran’s face.

              “Let her go.” He instructed cruelly. And so, just as they were commanded, his enforcers stepped back from the seesaw completely.

Malorie plummeted into the water with a scream and the whole beam went with her, toppling over the pivot in an instant. She disappeared beneath the surface in mere seconds, for the weight of the wood dragged her without hesitation straight to the riverbed.

“NO!!” Marcii yelled, fighting against the enforcers that held her back as she surged forward to save Malorie.

“Seize her!” Tyran commanded, pointing his stodgy finger at Marcii. “Don’t kill her!”

His enforcers threw the young Dougherty to the ground and pinned her down heavily, holding her arms behind her back and burying her head into the mud and sand of the riverbank.

Marcii choked up grit and dirt and forced her eyes forward to the water. Her mouth was still buried in the mud just far enough so that she couldn’t scream.

She could only watch as the beam vanished below the surface completely, shaking desperately as it did so.

The clouds darkened yet even further overhead and bore down immensely upon the spectacle.

Though Marcii could not see Malorie, she knew she was struggling, fighting, drowning.

She could feel it in her very bones.

Bubbles rose to the surface in fits and flurries, but after a few painstaking moments the bubbles lessened, growing fewer and fewer by the second.

Eventually they stopped completely and Marcii could feel Malorie struggling no more.

She was dead.

All eyes turned menacingly to Marcii, for as Malorie’s struggles ceased, so did hers.

“Get her up.” Tyran breathed.

His enforcers dragged Marcii to her feet.

She was too broken to fight back.

Too weak to resist.

As they turned her the jeering crowd came into full view. All eyes were upon her as she passed in that single instant through Tyran’s cruel and unfair judgement.

Witch.

But at first none of that really registered in Marcii’s mind, for she only saw one person’s face amidst the masses before her.

The old man Midnight looked on at the spectacle and held Marcii’s gaze as she was paraded through the crowd like a trophy.

But the look in his black eyes was not like all the others.

It was not filled with menace.

Instead it was consumed by guilt.

Intense and indisputable guilt.