The Darkness of Light

by Tammy Farrell

  Mara shook her head, desperately trying to find a way to free her mother. If this was her fault, she couldn’t let her mother suffer for it.

  The drums echoed off the walls as Corbin and Malcolm made their way through the back gates of Moorthrop. The guards and villagers were gathered near the green, leaving no one to challenge their entry, or seize their swords.

  “We’re too late,” Corbin said through clenched teeth.

  “I can see that,” Malcolm responded. “How was I supposed to know we wouldn’t make it in time?”

  Corbin bit his tongue. Now was not the time to argue with Malcolm. They had a job to do. As they weaved through the rows of huts, an old woman called out to them. She sat near the door of her hovel, her body hunched with age, and a half-woven basket in her lap. “Here for the execution?” she asked.

  Malcolm laughed at the woman with a sneer and continued on. Corbin stopped and looked at her with a tilt of his head; the knuckles of her hands were swollen, and appeared painfully stiff. “Will there be an execution today?” he asked.

  She nodded and pointed to the square. “I never saw in all my life such evil as this. Killin’ folks fer nothin’.” She gave a disapproving shake of her head and began to fumble with the basket.

  Corbin walked up to her and dropped a coin in her lap. When she glanced down at it, he took hold of both her hands. She gasped as the blue light from his fingertips covered her skin, but in less than a moment he stepped back, and the light vanished. Blinking in amazement, she examined her hands, her fingers spread out like wings, healed from the stiffness that crippled them. She moved her fingers up and down, and then met Corbin’s gaze and asked, “What magic is this?”

  Corbin smiled. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  Before the old woman could respond, he continued towards the green.

  He met up with Malcolm as he approached the edge of the crowd. Malcolm used his energy to move the onlookers aside. The crowd of people wouldn’t know why they moved or even look at the two men moving past them. The power of the veil was a gift to their kind, to protect them from discerning mortal eyes. Most mortals wouldn’t have noticed Corbin much anyway. He looked almost human. But anyone could see that Malcolm, with his white hair and fierce gray eyes, was different, unnatural.

  The man in the long black robe bellowed out to the crowd. “By order of King Gerren of the realm of Dumnonia, we are not to tolerate evil among us.” He pointed his finger at the accused woman on the platform. Corbin used his keen sight to examine her. She looked wretched, defeated, and certainly not one of their kind. Could Rowan have been mistaken?

  Corbin turned to Malcolm. “Are they charging her with witchcraft?”

  Malcolm nodded with a smirk. “It appears that way. Fools. They waste their time looking for witches. They have no idea what walks amongst them.”

  They were half way through the crowd when Corbin felt a chill, like lightening, as his arm brushed against someone. He walked a few paces and stopped, making sure to keep his face concealed within his hood. He saw a girl, barely a woman, standing on her toes to see over the shoulders in front of her.

  “That’s her,” Malcolm whispered. “That’s Mara.”

  Her expression was panicked, and she didn’t seem to notice Corbin staring at her. “Should we speak with her?” Corbin asked.

  Malcolm gave him a hard shove. “Not now. We will come back for her later.”

  Corbin took one last glance at her and continued towards the front of the crowd. It wouldn’t do any good to speak to her now. Not like this.

  The magistrate on the platform continued, “On this day, Ethnea Black stands accused of consorting with the devil.”

  “We should do something,” Corbin said to Malcolm.

  Malcolm shot Corbin an irritated glance. “And what would you have us do? Run up there, untie her hands, and escort her out of the village? We’d expose ourselves. Besides, look at her, she has no interest in saving herself. You know as well as I do that she could if she wanted to.”

  Corbin shook his head. “So we’ll just sit here and watch this? Let her daughter see her burn to death for a crime that doesn’t exist?”

  Malcolm shrugged his shoulders indifferently. “Yes. There’s nothing we can do to stop it now.”

  “Rowan will be angry,” Corbin warned.

  “If Rowan was so concerned, he should have come here himself.”

  Corbin returned his gaze to the platform when the magistrate cleared his throat and said, “It is known among you that this woman appeared on the doorstep of your village some 20 years ago in the darkness of night. And since that time, she has hidden within this town to work her magic on you all.” He turned to the accused. “How do you answer to this charge, Ethnea Black?”

  She held her head up proudly and said, “I know no magic. I came to this village from Erin.”

  The magistrate smirked. “Lies, you wicked woman. You came from the pits of hell through the doorway of the devil, didn’t you?”

  “I did not,” Ethnea insisted.

  “Will you ask for God’s forgiveness for your evil ways?”

  “I do not know your God,” she said.

  Malcolm laughed as the crowd gasped in horror. “She really doesn’t want to save herself, does she?” he asked.

  “I suppose not,” Corbin said, more to himself than to Malcolm. He watched closely, wondering why she did nothing to free herself. If she was the one they were looking for, she should have had the power to do it. He followed the accused woman’s gaze back to the girl in the crowd, her daughter. Corbin felt pity for the poor girl. He wanted to help her and her mother, but his interference would put them all at risk, and if her mother was resigned to die, then who was he to stop it?

  Sitting back on the stone wall, Corbin watched and waited, wondering if Ethnea would change her mind and free herself before the flames claimed her.

  “Why would she do that, Helen? Why would she deny the Christian God?” Mara pleaded.

  “I don’t know,” Helen replied, putting a hand on her mouth.

  The magistrate raised his arms. “Then you must certainly consort with the devil,” he said.

  Mara pulled herself up, trying to look over the people in front of her. She stilled when she spotted the two men who had moved passed her in a wraith-like stride just moments before. They sat on a low stone wall near the town gates, staring out into the crowd. All of the voices around her suddenly dulled to a murmur, and then one of the two men let his hood fall back. He was looking directly at her with frightening gray eyes, his face expressionless. She’d never seen such a strange looking man before, and the longer she held his gaze, the more unsettled she became. Her palms began to heat, and she could feel the warning throughout her body that said, danger.

  The sudden sound of the magistrate’s voices snapped her eyes back to the platform. “Ethnea Black, you are hereby sentenced to death by fire. For though shall not suffer a demon to live!”

  Mara’s heart sank. With all of her strength she pushed forward, tugging her arm away from Helen, and moving through the crowd until she got to the steps of the podium. She dashed up the stairs towards her mother, but the sheriff jumped out and caught her.

  Mara struggled, trying to free herself, but in that moment, she knew she was too late. A rolling chorus of cheers rang throughout the crowd as a man with a torch lit the murderous flame. Smoke began to fill the air.

  “Don’t do this! Have mercy,” she yelled to the magistrate over the roar of the crowd.

  The onlookers were too captivated with the scene to notice Mara fighting with the sheriff. “Hold still, you little wench,” he growled, trying to drag her off the platform. Mara broke free from his grasp and ran to the foot of the magistrate. “Please, have mercy.”

  He gave her a cold smirk. “This must be the devil’s daughter. I wondered where you’d gotten to.”

  Mara looked at him in disbelief. “No,” she cried.

  The magistrate spat at her and c
alled the sheriff. “Lock her up, Ivan.”

  Everything seemed to whirl around her as the sheriff grabbed her by the shoulders. “I should have killed you,” she heard herself scream, unable to stop. “I should have killed you!”

  The sheriff dug his fingers into the flesh of her arms. “Can’t save your mother now.” He turned her towards the pyre. Mara squeezed her eyes shut, terrified to see her mother engulfed in flames. The crowd became louder as Mara looked out on them, desperately searching for someone who would help her, but she recognized no one.

  The wall where the two men sat earlier was now abandoned, but Mara saw the bearded guard near the gates. Freeing one arm from the sheriff’s hold, she elbowed him between the legs as hard as she could.

  “You fucking whore!” he shouted, doubling over in pain. More guards closed in on her, but Mara was too fast, evading their grasp. She ran into the cover of the crowd and was pushing her way towards the gates when a load holler of voices stopped her in her tracks. The sound of collapsing wood rumbled like thunder into the air.

  She knelt to the ground. “No,” she whispered, not looking back. Her mother was gone, sucked down with the flames. Mara pulled up the hood of her cloak and stood on shaking legs. She had to get out of Moorthrop.

  When she reached the gate, the guard was gone. Mara looked back just as a hand grabbed her by the shoulder and spun her around. It was the dark-skinned guard from the prison. He grinned. “Sheriff wants ye.”

  “Put her down, Ralph,” said a threatening voice.

  Ralph tightened his grip, making Mara wince. “What do ye mean put ‘er down, Drake? Sheriff wants ‘er.”

  Drake, the kind guard, stepped forward with a hand on the hilt of his sword. “Let her go, or I will kill you right where you stand.”

  Ralph paused, trying to match his comrade’s glare, but finally let go and pushed Mara towards him.

  Drake steadied her. “Come this way. They’ll be here any second.”

  Mara followed him through the gate and along the outer wall until they reached a cluster of trees. Drake looked her over.

  “I’m not hurt,” she assured him.

  He reached into a small leather pouch at his side, pulled out two gold coins and placed them in her hand. “You have to go,” he said, glancing back at the town.

  “Go where?” Mara asked.

  He wiped a hand across his brow. “Another village. The magistrate will arrest you if you don’t.”

  Mara fell into a desperate silence. She’d never left the walls of Moorthrop in her life, let alone travelled to another village. “Take me to a village. I’ve never been out of Moorthrop,” she said.

  He looked back towards the town. “If I go with you, then they will come looking for us both. I will lead them the other way so you have time to escape.”

  “What about that other guard?” she asked.

  “He’s a drunk. They’d never believe him over me anyway.”

  “But I don’t know where to go.”

  Drake took a breath. “Listen. Mara, is it? Run towards those hills and get as far as you can. Keep to the right and follow the riverbank. When you get to the first bridge where the river narrows, cross, but stay off the road that comes after. That’s where thieves wait for the merchants. Instead, follow the stream through the forest on the right. You can spend the night under cover there.”

  The knot in Mara’s stomach tightened as the guard continued. “When you can, keep following the stream to the next village. It’s about a two-day walk from here. You should be safe there. But only speak to women when you get there. Do you understand me? Don’t trust any man.” He reached at his side and unsheathed a short blade dagger adorned with three emerald and three amber stones on the handle. “Take this. Use it if you have to. Can you do that?” He waited for her answer.

  “Yes,” she said, trying to sound sure of herself.

  “Good. And once you know you’re safe, sell it if you need to.” He put the knife back in its leather sheath and placed it in her hand.

  Mara gritted her teeth, trying to force back the tears stinging her eyes. “Thank you, Drake,” she whispered.

  He put a reassuring hand on her shoulder just as the sound of barking dogs could be heard in the distance. Drake’s eyes widened. “You have to go, quickly,” he insisted. Mara waited no longer than a breath before turning and running away from the village. She ran, propelled by a panic that had settled deep within her. When she took a moment to look back at the shrinking village, Drake was gone. She wished he’d come with her. Life beyond the walls of Moorthrop was a mystery. She had been out with her mother to gather herbs, or flowers, but she’d never been as far as she was about to go. And she was never so utterly alone.

  The ground was uneven as she ran, but Mara kept a steady pace for what seemed like an eternity until she finally came to a grassy plateau. Moorthrop was no more than a speck in the distance now. She looked upon it in disbelief. It had been her home, and now, it was also the place her mother had been murdered. She grabbed the sides of her head to stop her mind from going to that place.

  She looked up. Thick clouds were beginning to form overhead, and a rising wind gained speed behind her. She knew she had to make it to the forest in case anyone was pursuing her. After continuing a while longer, she could hear the sound of the river. When it came into view, she rushed to it and dropped to her knees, scooping handfuls of water on to her face. The rain had yet to begin falling, but she could sense it was coming. As the water before her stilled, Mara gazed into the reflection. She looked different. Her upturned almond eyes were strained, and her delicate face looked miserable. It was almost the same face that had looked at her through the prison bars just hours before. She splashed her hand into the water to erase the image and got to her feet.

  When she finally found herself at the bridge, the rain had been falling in swollen, relentless drops for quite some time. She could see the forbidden path ahead. In the hours it had taken her to get there, not once had she seen another person. Was it wise to leave a road that would inevitably lead her to a village, for the uncharted forest?

  The long incline of the road prevented her from seeing far beyond it. She’d heard the stories from foreigners of the outlaws that littered the uninhabited regions between the villages. But surely she would be no safer in the dim recesses of the forest. She paused. The emotional fatigue that had gripped her from the start of her journey had now given way to a livid determination that impelled her forward. Mara welcomed the numbness, refusing to let the horrifying recollections of the day take shape in her mind.

  Once more Mara observed the trodden road ahead, and with a breath of courage, stepped to the right of its path, down the embankment and followed the river as it narrowed into the mass of trees. The air in the forest was thick with moisture, but the broad canopy of trees shielded Mara from the hammering rain. The ancient oak trees, anchored by their wide roots, stood regally among the evergreens and juniper bushes. Some curled and twisted in distorted poses, with long arm-like branches that must have taken centuries to reach low enough to touch their subjects. Other than the prattle of rainfall that tapped on the crown of leaves above, the forest was quiet.

  Mara walked along the steadily flowing stream. She might have looked for something to eat—roots, berries, anything—but didn’t feel the pangs of hunger that should have slowed her down. All she wanted was to sleep and prevent the intrusive thoughts that kept knocking on her subconscious, begging to be acknowledged.

  Perhaps she would have the courage to confront those things tomorrow.

  She followed the shallow contours of the land. The forest was near dark now, but in the distance, Mara spotted a tiny arrangement of rocks that formed the mouth of a small cave. She stopped and scanned the forest for spying eyes, animal or human. When she was sure she was alone, she inspected the cave. It was just large enough for a small person to sit in or lie down with bent knees. This would have to do.

  She searched the surrounding
area for any wood that had been spared from the rain. There wasn’t much, but the dry twigs and branches she found beneath the protection of the bushes would be enough to burn a small fire for at least part of the night. When the twigs were arranged near the mouth of the cave, Mara removed her outer tunic and laid it on a rock to dry. Her linen underdress was soaked, but the thin material would dry quickly once she got the fire started. She sat and stared into the darkness wondering if this was real. It all felt like an illusion. A bad dream. She touched her hair that now hung in a soaking mass over her shoulder, and let her hand fall over the stone around her neck. The only sensation she allowed through was the anger deep within her. She’d never known anger like this before. Now it was the only thing she could bear.

  As her tired mind began to wander, she thought of the magistrate and his round, smug face. She should have killed him before he got the chance to kill her mother. She should have rid the town of him and his murderous sheriff. She should have burned them alive the way they burned her mother. If she ever met them again, she would make sure they suffered for what they’d done. Mara gave a little smile at the thought, allowing the heat within her to rise to the surface. She focused on the sensation, welcoming it, summoning it, until a green burning ember formed on the tip of her finger. She watched it for a moment, mesmerized by the light, and then let it fall onto the pile of twigs. The little fire crackled, burning with an ethereal glow as Mara lay down in the dry bed of the cave, clutching her mother’s stone between her fingers.

  The cold spring night passed in darkness as Mara fell into a deep sleep that only complete and utter exhaustion could provoke. No terrifying dreams haunted her, and no images of her mother writhing in the flames tormented her. Not even visions of what might be lurking in the trees reached her. She was completely dead to the world in those dark hours of the night.