Rise of the Darkwitch (The Dance of Dark and Light Book 1)

by Ziv Gray

  That set off a new chorus of wails. Emmy’s gut tightened.

  ‘I guessed as much,’ she said. ‘Where is Zecha?’

  Before Charo could answer, another familiar voice sounded through the blackness.

  ‘I’m here,’ said Zecha.

  Unsure where the voice came from, Emmy’s ears fought for the sound. He was close.

  ‘Zecha?’ she called.

  ‘Yes, it’s me,’ came the weak reply.

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘Right below you, I think. Can you feel this?’

  A claw poked through a crack in her cell floor. Emmy snatched it.

  ‘Yes, I can,’ she said, the twist in her gut abating.

  Their touch lingered for a moment. The moment of joy was torn by a terrified wail.

  ‘We’re doomed,’ one of the voices from before said. ‘The Goddess is punishing us. We’re doomed!’

  The comfort of Zecha’s touch disappeared as Emmy’s temper snapped.

  ‘Shut your mouth!’ she roared.

  ‘Shut up, Darkwitch,’ another voice cut in. ‘This is your doing!’

  Rage licking like fire, Emmy rattled her bars.

  ‘Of course it is! And in my wicked plan, I locked myself up to seal my fate with yours. Don’t be foolish!’

  Zecha poked a warning claw into the soft underside of Emmy’s tail. Emmy huffed and clamped her mouth closed. You’re the one being stupid, she chided. They’re all scared, just like you.

  ‘We need to do something,’ said Zecha.

  He grunted as he twisted, pressing his eye to the crack. Emmy leaned to it, feeling the hotness of his breath.

  ‘I wish I knew what to do,’ Emmy replied.

  She huddled in her tiny cell and crossed her arms tight. She had no further reply, no ingenious plan. So she said nothing.

  Darkness swirled like inky tendrils. It closed around her throat like claws. She rubbed her skin, a meagre fight against the gathering cold. Glancing at the other cages, she swallowed. Metakalans lay, bloodied and beaten and unconscious. She knew them all. Charber was there, as was Leeve.

  Kain wasn’t.

  Emmy shuddered. Kain’s probably dead… She fought off the image of a curly-fronded head. I can’t believe this. A few hours ago, I was happy.

  A thought slapped her, and she sat up.

  ‘How long have we been in here?’ she asked.

  ‘About a day,’ Charo replied. ‘You were out for a long time. I thought…’ Her voice thickened. ‘It doesn’t matter. You’re awake now.’

  ‘Yeah,’ was all Emmy could muster in reply.

  Unable to do anything else, she closed her eyes.

  There was little conversation as another day passed. The only sounds were of despair and hopelessness, the bitter crashing of the wind, and the battering of waves against the ship’s dark hold. Emmy flexed her legs in a feeble attempt to soothe the agonising cramps. It brought little comfort.

  The ship dipped and rose on tumultuous waves, bringing fresh nausea to the cargo. The stench caked Emmy’s mouth and lined her nostrils. Charo swore as the ship leaned to and fro, filling her low enclosure with a flood of rottenness.

  Emmy put her face in her filthy hands. I wish this was a dream, she thought. I’d give anything to go back to the way things were. Even with Krodge. Even with Bose. But the hard reality of the stench and screams kept gnawing. It was no dream. There was nothing she could do.

  She paid little attention to the turmoil around her. Each sound wound into a long rope of agony. If she listened too long, she’d long for a real rope.

  ‘Argh!’

  Charo’s sudden howl of pain sliced so hard, Emmy couldn’t ignore it.

  ‘I need to get out of here!’ the younger female cried.

  Emmy’s answer was stopped before it started. There was a new sound, metallic and moaning.

  ‘I may be able to help with that,’ Zecha replied.

  ‘What?’ Emmy gasped.

  Like a miracle from the Goddess, one long leg stretched from the cell beneath her. Then another. Zecha stumbled to his feet, limbs and tail flailing. His delight lit the darkness.

  ‘I’m out!’ he said, patting his front. ‘I’m actually out!’

  ‘How?’ Charo asked.

  Still stunned, Zecha jerked a thumb at his cage.

  ‘The lock was rusted,’ he said. ‘I kept wiggling it, and eventually, it popped!’

  The sight of a Metakalan standing outside the bars spread hope like wildfire.

  ‘Oh, the Goddess be praised!’ someone said. ‘Someone’s out!’

  ‘Free us! Free us!’

  The hold filled with a cacophony of elation.

  ‘Oh, I knew the Goddess would save us!’

  ‘We can be free again!’

  ‘Shut up!’ Zecha cried.

  His voice struggled to rise above the clamour. Emmy threaded her claws through the bars.

  ‘Shut up!’ she hissed. ‘They can’t know!’

  The noise only grew louder, rising in a harried crescendo, until a single voice struck like lightning.

  ‘QUIET!’

  There was absolute silence. Zecha froze, half-poised to attack, half-ready to run.

  Charo scowled deeply, defying anyone to disobey.

  ‘That was you?’ Emmy asked, shaking her head.

  ‘It was,’ Charo replied, a smile tugging her lips.

  Emmy nodded, then turned to Zecha.

  ‘What next?’ she asked.

  Zecha clung to the cage bars, desperately keeping balance on the pitching deck.

  ‘We need to keep the noise as normal,’ he said. ‘They can’t suspect. They haven’t been down yet, but that doesn’t mean they won’t—’

  A rolling wave interrupted him. He was saved from a face-first introduction to the deck only by the tight winding of his claws in the bars. Once the ship was stable again, Zecha continued.

  ‘I’ll free some of you first,’ he said. ‘Any rusty lock is easy game. Once a few of us are out, we’ll get everyone freed, and—’

  At a new sound, he froze. Something scraped against the hold door. Keys jangled. Zecha paled.

  With a crash, light and fresh air flooded in, blinding them. Emmy’s gaze flicked between Zecha and the gaping hole—and the thick silhouettes standing in it.

  ‘What happens here, filth?’ a Masvam yelled. ‘You make noise and—’

  At the sight of Zecha, the sailor stilled. His eyes narrowed and his tail twitched.

  Horror descended on Zecha’s face.

  The sailor walked forward, teeth glinting.

  ‘You to die, filth,’ he snarled.

  Then he bolted up the deck.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Freedom

  Zecha screeched and took a heavy blow to the head, then found himself pinned against the cages.

  ‘Zecha!’ Emmy cried.

  Blood poured from a fresh wound, rivulets of red running down his face. The sailor pressed his forearm to his victim’s neck, allowing only a sliver of air to pass through Zecha’s throat.

  ‘Think you that you escape?’ he snarled. ‘Think you that you could save your friends?’ He laughed again. The sound sent an icy shudder down Emmy’s spine, right to the tip of her tail. ‘Pshala,’ he spat. ‘Metakalan make me laugh. Could I snap your neck now and—’

  ‘Yamor, cease.’

  As Yamor released his throat, Zecha breathed in sweet life. Still pinned, he couldn’t double over to scrabble for breath. Emmy silenced her sigh of relief and pressed herself tight against the bars.

  Three more sailors strode up the deck, trailing a tang of salt and beer. Two of them, Emmy knew. Mamusan and Kelom. The other, three torques of gold on his upper arm, was unknown.

  ‘But Ysmas Pesmam,’ Yamor said, his words petulant, ‘he deserves die.’

  ‘By not your word or hand,’ Pesmam snapped.

  Pesmam shoved Yamor aside. Freed at last, Zecha gasped for breath.

  ‘Your name, what is?�
� Pesmam asked. His orange eyes glinted.

  Zecha gulped more air and shook his head. Pesmam grabbed his chin, jerking his head up, crumpling his face.

  ‘Your name, what is?’ Pesmam said again.

  Still, Zecha did not reply. Pesmam wrenched him up by his half-crushed throat.

  ‘I let not Yamor your life take,’ he snarled, ‘but will I if —’

  ‘Zecha!’ a voice cried. ‘His name is Zecha!’

  Emmy’s eyes snapped to Charo, whose face was lined with despair. Pesmam dropped Zecha and clicked his tongue.

  ‘You, Zecha,’ he said, his tongue stumbling on the unknown name, ‘is fool. Need you punishment.’

  ‘Throw him to the sea!’ Kelom said, rubbing his claws in glee.

  ‘Shut up,’ Pesmam snapped. Kelom recoiled. ‘Too easy.’

  Pesmam cupped Zecha’s chin in one hand. Zecha tried to look anywhere except at the Masvam, but found himself forced to stare into the captain’s eyes.

  ‘Far too easy, it would,’ he purred. He rubbed a gentle circle on Zecha’s cheek. Zecha stiffened, then tried to jerk away. ‘Need I to make example of Zecha.’

  He released Zecha’s head and turned towards the rows of cages. Yamor pinned Zecha’s arms.

  ‘A lesson, this is,’ Pesmam said in a grand voice. Despite the oddness of his language, the meaning was clear. ‘Prisoners you are of Masvam Empire. Belong you to Emperor Bandim Tiboli. Escape you, or try, will you to afterlife hastened—lingering and painful, it be.’

  He turned to Zecha and stared, chin held high. His orange eyes flickered.

  ‘First, you be.’

  The captain jolted forward. There was a dull sucking sound, and it took a long moment for realisation to dawn. Time stilled. Zecha stared at Pesmam. Then he looked down—at the dagger jutting from his abdomen.

  Emmy couldn’t even scream. All she could smell was blood.

  Pesmam yanked the dagger out with a twist and Zecha finally howled, clutching at his stomach and falling to his knees, tail between his legs, his talons turning red.

  The captain stepped back and wiped the dagger on his salt-stiffened trousers. His lips curled and he took a long look at the sets of eyes that stared out at him from the darkness of the cages. He pointed to the prone form.

  ‘Watch him die,’ Pesmam said. ‘Decide you to follow him, know you what awaits.’

  At that, Emmy found her voice again.

  ‘Zecha, no!’ she cried.

  Pesmam grunted, lips twisted in a mordant grin.

  ‘Come,’ Pesmam said. ‘These pchak, no food.’ When the fear rose, it fed Pesmam’s satisfaction. He spat on Zecha’s head. ‘Thank you, your dying friend.’

  With that, the three Masvams strode off. They sealed the hold behind them. The slam rattled Emmy’s teeth. Once more, they were left in grim darkness. The sweetness of the sea air was gone.

  Emmy didn’t care about that.

  ‘Zecha!’ she cried.

  The only response was a sudden thump, followed by a whimper just audible above the creaking ship.

  ‘Zecha, can you hear me?’ Emmy continued, her voice rising. ‘Zecha, please!’

  ‘For the sake of the Goddess, Zecha, answer her!’

  Charo’s voice was a whiplash. Zecha moaned again and struggled to rise. He slammed, face down, onto the filthy deck. Detritus lapped around him. Blood coursed from his wound.

  No matter how hard they tried, they could elicit no further response.

  ‘Zecha, no,’ Emmy whispered. ‘Don’t leave me. I need you…’

  In the darkness, the truth shone. It wasn’t until those words were uttered that Emmy realised how true they were. Of all the folk she had ever known, Zecha was the only one who never judged her appearance, never called her a Darkwitch, never cast her aside. For the longest time, he was the only one she called a friend. He was always there with kindness in his eyes and joy his heart, despite his longing to be something he was not.

  And now? Her gaze slid sideways to Charo. She was slumped against the bars, one claw stretching for Zecha’s hand. For the sweetest of moments, Emmy had two friends. Now, it seemed, she would be left with one again.

  In spite of herself, Emmy eventually slept, though she gained no rest. When she woke, she couldn’t say how many hours had passed in rolling waves. She wrapped her arms around herself, tucking her head downward. She coiled her tail around her folded legs, watching in vain as Zecha bled to death the deck of the hold.

  The moaning and crying had stopped, replaced by deadly silence. It was disturbed only by the smashing of the ocean on the ship’s sturdy sides, and an erratic clicking that persisted for hour upon hour.

  Emmy knew what it was. She knew it was pointless. But she hadn’t the heart to say so.

  Eventually, a stunted scream sliced through the darkness, followed by a flat crash. Emmy jerked back and turned to get a better view.

  ‘Charo, stop,’ she said. The words were leaden. ‘It’s pointless. You’ll never open it.’

  Charo knelt at the front of her cage, fumbling with the lock. She rattled it, grunted, wrenched it, planted her feet on the cage front, yanked as hard as she could.

  ‘Blasted—thing—argh!’

  She shot backwards, smashing into the back of her cage.

  ‘Just leave it be,’ Emmy said. ‘Just…leave it be.’

  Charo crawled forward. She turned her face up. In the darkness, her eyes were lost in black shadows.

  ‘So we’re going to wait here?’ she asked. ‘We’ll sit and do nothing until we reach Masvam soil, then wait to be sold off, or killed?’

  ‘What choice do we have?’ Emmy said, her voice thin. ‘We can’t go anywhere. We can’t do anything. We’ll end up like Zecha.’ Her voice hitched as the name passed her lips. ‘What choice do we have?’

  Charo dropped her head and fell silent. Emmy slumped, letting out a heavy breath.

  Her gaze slid to Zecha. He still hadn’t moved. Her heart tried to cling to the hope they might be rescued, that they could get Zecha help… A coldness invaded her. It would be better if he were dead. We’ll all be dead soon, she thought. That, or worse.

  There was a frantic scrabble as Charo yanked at her cage again.

  ‘I can’t stand it,’ she snarled. ‘I can’t stand the waiting.’

  Her shoulders rose and fell. Her fists clenched and unclenched to the rhythm of a sudden, silent battle-chant.

  ‘Charo…’ Emmy began.

  She got no chance to finish.

  ‘I’m not going to be a slave again,’ Charo barked. ‘I’m not going to be a slave again! I’d rather die. And I mean that. I’ll cut my own throat!’

  Tears tracked down her face, cutting a sharp line through the grime. Her hands and shoulders pulsed as she stared at Zecha’s prone form.

  ‘Please, Charo, don’t say that,’ Emmy said. ‘We don’t know what will happen. You don’t know what the future holds.’

  Charo pressed her face to the bars. Spittle drained from the side of her mouth as she latched on with hands and feet. Emmy recoiled, her throat tightening. Charo’s face was painted with blunt terror.

  ‘I do know what the future holds,’ Charo said. ‘It holds humiliation, servitude, and an eventual death without honour. I’ve lived your future. I’m not suffering it again.’

  ‘Charo, please—’

  Emmy’s words died as a muffled boom sounded in the distance. The silence of fear gave way to the still numbness of shock. Then the Metakalans broke into whispers.

  There was another blast. Charo’s anguish broke. She stared with a twist of confusion that mirrored Emmy’s own.

  Cocking her head to the side, Emmy listened hard.

  ‘Something’s wrong,’ she said. ‘They’re shouting.’

  Sure enough, the crew’s cries rose with further blasts. The hold erupted with a barrage of shouts. Above, the explosions drew closer.

  ‘What’s happening?’ someone cried.

  ‘Is this it? Is this the end of us
?’

  Emmy ignored them and gritted her teeth. She didn’t care about the others and their fears. She didn’t care about what was happening outside. She had eyes for only one.

  Zecha’s prone form slid on the deck, covered in filth. If this is the end, so be it, she thought. If we must die, I’d rather we died together.

  The Masvam ship rocked like a cork in the great sea. Emmy clung to her cage as fear took hold. Those who hadn’t grabbed their bars were bucked and tossed inside their tiny prisons. Emmy kept her eyes on Zecha, and tried to keep her tears at bay. His body rolled with the waves.

  As the ship lurched, he tumbled across the length of the hold, landing in a crumpled heap at Charo. Her eyes were wide with helplessness.

  ‘Emmy, help him!’ she cried.

  Emmy swallowed. What can I do?

  Screams and cannon blasts sounded overhead, muffled by the thick wood of the hull. Tremors shook the beams above and rattled in tune with the terror of the captives.

  The ship jerked again. Surrounded by shrieking and screeching, Emmy felt like she was in one of Krodge’s bedtime tales of darklings and demons. Metakalans pounded on bars and rattled doors with desperate claws. Some even came loose. The momentary bubble of joy did not last long. They were trapped below the deck of a beleaguered ship. There was little elation in that.

  Then the blow came. Ripping through the ship and trailing sweet sunlight with it, a cannonball turned wood to confetti. The blast was calamitous, bringing crunching bone and petrified screeching. Caged, those Metakalans in its path could do nothing.

  Stomach lurching, Emmy spluttered and wrenched herself forward. The cannonball’s wake was one of blood and silence. For a long moment, she scanned the debris for Charo. For Zecha. She saw body parts. She saw faces pulled with agony. But she saw neither of her friends.

  ‘Prisoners!’

  The sudden voice cut like a sword through flesh. A thin figure was silhouetted against the whiteness of the sky. It was joined by another and another, until the beleaguered ship’s belly was full of strangers and the sweetness of salty air. Emmy gulped her breaths and tipped her head back in defiance at the intruders.

  ‘We have freed you from the bonds of Masvam treachery,’ the voice continued. The language was much like Metakalan. ‘You will come with us!’