by Ross Turner
Reaper indicated towards his eyes in the dim light and made a small gesture with his one free hand that Marcii could only just about make out in the night. Her eyes had spent the past weeks adjusting to the impenetrable darkness that fell upon the land once the day had passed. Yet, even still she struggled desperately to see all that Reaper seemed to be able to.
“You can see the daylight?” She questioned, not entirely sure what he’d meant.
Marcii was becoming most accomplished, fluent even, in the limitless gestures and expressions that Reaper used to communicate with her. But every now and then, especially in the dead of night, when it was nearly impossible to see much more than mere silhouettes, she often had to think twice.
He repeated the motion he’d made with his hand, slowing it down and emphasising it more clearly.
“Oh!” Marcii realised, though she was careful to keep her voice hushed. “You can see as if it were daylight!”
Reaper nodded, smiling in the blackness, but Marcii’s face melted from realisation into confusion.
“How…?” She questioned, baffled at the thought.
Reaper halted their pacing through the dense trees and dropped the deer he had been carrying in his right hand. He knelt so that he was almost Marcii’s height and used both his hands to explain it to her.
He told her that her eyes needed light to see: that was the same for all humans. That’s why people’s eyes are all different colours. No matter whether they’re green or blue or yellow or violet, they all needed light by which to see.
He explained how it didn’t matter if that light came from the sun or the moon or the stars, or from fire or candles or lanterns, as long as there was light of some kind, she would be able to see.
Marcii nodded, amazed at what he was telling her, for she had never heard an explanation like it. She wondered how in the world he had come to know such things.
The lighter it was, the better she would be able to see, he went on. So by day, because the sun was brighter than anything else, she would see better. But by night, because the moon only reflects the light from the sun, and so was only half as bright, she would not see anywhere near as well.
“How do you see so well then?” Marcii questioned, and Reaper’s hands wove his explanation continuously without stopping.
Because his eyes were black, Reaper continued to tell her, they didn’t need light by which to see. He could see just as well by night as he could by day, for his eyes saw everything regardless.
“That’s incredible…” Marcii breathed. “How do you know all this?” She asked.
But for that question, as simple as it might have seemed, Reaper did not have such an impressive answer.
He admitted to Marcii that he wasn’t sure how he knew, gesturing to her with one hand as he picked up the deer with the other.
They turned back towards the cave, only a hundred feet or so away now, and he made a single, final gesture with a flick of his enormous wrist and a flurry of movement from his fingers.
It was just the way he was made.
Chapter Eleven
The weeks progressed in much the same way as they had been.
Marcii and Reaper crept around through the long, dark, cold nights and in turn Tyran’s hunting parties combed endlessly through the hills and the forests looking for them.
Reaper taught Marcii to hunt and to skin deer and sheep and to cook entire carcasses. His knowledge seemed to be limitless and Marcii learned so much from the mysterious, kindly creature that she couldn’t quite believe it.
However, there were things that Marcii began to learn that Reaper could not have taught her. They were things that she hadn’t been expecting, and indeed too that she didn’t understand.
The first time it happened, it came as quite the shock.
Fortunately, having already hunted that night, Reaper and Marcii had just returned from the forests and the fields and were about to settle and cook the game that was the fruit of their efforts.
Marcii knelt to tend to the fire that she’d left burning before they’d departed to hunt, adding more kindling and more logs to feed it.
She stood up to turn to Reaper, drawing breath to speak, when the feeling took her completely by surprise.
Her vision blurred and went hazy as she turned. Her head spun horribly and forced her to lurch forwards, throwing her completely off balance, as if the world itself was trembling and shaking.
The cave seemed to go black all around her and for a few moments Marcii couldn’t hear or see a thing.
Terrified and blind, she cried out as she fell. Reaper only just managed to catch her before she stumbled headlong into the blazing flames.
Marcii barely even felt him save her though, for her head still spun and her vision was blurred at best.
And then, for some reason, as she felt her sight starting to return, she saw rain and buildings and streets stretched out before her.
The roads were narrow and cobblestoned and the water ran spiritedly down the long cracks and indents in the ground, leading off and into the distance in every direction.
Marcii was back in Newmarket.
Though it was into the early hours of the morning, her eyes were well accustomed to such dim scenes by now and she recognised the sight before her in an instant.
What in the world was happening?
A chill wind whipped through the dark streets, whistling as it burst between the narrow, packed in buildings, rattling doors and window frames as it went. But for some reason, although Marcii could see it scooping up scattered leaves and shaking the branches of trees, she could not feel it pass by.
Suddenly, hurrying into view at one end of the street, a figure appeared from around the corner. The man emerged and raced towards Marcii without even pausing to look where he was going.
Too stunned to react, Marcii didn’t even move.
She hardly even registered what she saw.
It was only as the figure barged into her, and then yet passed straight through her, without her feeling a thing, that her mind finally started to catch up.
She turned to watch the man disappear up the dark street and around yet another corner. He sheltered his head from the fierce wind and the heavy rain as he went. The wind and rain that she could not feel.
Marcii’s eyes grew yet wider with fright.
Then she heard shouts of defiance, followed by shrill screams of terror. As she turned to look back down the street, from around the same corner that the man had first appeared a dozen of Tyran’s enforcers followed.
Between them they were half dragging and half carrying two women. Marcii felt a strong pang of regret and anger in her chest, for she knew all too well what that felt like.
Any enforcers that were not restraining the two terrified victims marched ahead carrying burning torches, lighting the way as if they were following a path of almighty righteousness.
The two women were not old. In fact, they were perhaps only a few years older than Marcii herself. They looked much alike too and both had long, flowing black hair and lovely brown eyes, even though their gazes were, at that moment, filled with almighty dread.
They knew what was coming to them.
And sure enough Tyran’s enforcers dragged them, kicking and screaming, past Marcii and up towards the square.
Although Marcii had regained her wits enough to step out of the way this time, the enforcers hauled the two poor girls past the young Dougherty without noticing her.
It was as if she wasn’t even there.
A bawling crowd followed closely behind, surging through the streets and forcing past Marcii relentlessly. Some of them were shouting their own disapproval, and for a moment, when she heard it, Marcii felt a flicker of hope ignite inside of her.
But for the most part, all but extinguishing that desperate flame, the people of Newmarket cheered and chanted and roared their support. They followed Tyran’s enforcers with burning torches of their own, heading to the square to celebrate the two w
itches’ execution.
Marcii couldn’t bear to watch.
She turned her back on the lot of them and began slowly walking away, heading instinctively in the direction of Reaper’s cave.
If this was to be their fate, she wanted nothing to do with these sick people ever again.
But then, as she turned to leave, turning her gaze away from the crowds, Marcii’s eyes fell upon a sight that turned her stomach and melted her heart.
It was very dark still and this figure of a man did not carry a burning torch to light his way.
But that didn’t matter.
Even though she could hardly see his face, Marcii knew in an instant who it was.
Kaylm.
He was there, at the bottom of the street where the enforcers and the crowds had first appeared.
Looking after him, even in the dim light, Marcii could see his eyes were filled with endless disappointment. He shook his head slowly and turned away from the sight in disgust.
He hadn’t joined the hunt!
And Marcii could tell, simply by the repulsed look on his face, that he most certainly would not be persuaded.
He was still with her!
“Kaylm!” She cried.
Her heart leapt as he began to walk away. She staggered forwards toward him, but even though he turned back, seemingly on a whim, and looked on for another few moments longer, he did not hear her.
He turned away again and disappeared around the corner.
Marcii chased after him desperately.
“KAYLM!!” She screamed, but again her words went unheard. Tears streamed from her eyes and flooded down her cheeks.
But he did not respond.
As Marcii careered round the corner after him she very nearly went crashing to the floor, for her head spun terribly again and threw her completely off balance.
“NO!” She cried in futile denial, trying desperately to keep sight of her Kaylm.
But it was of no use.
She could not see.
She could not focus.
Her head whirred and spun awfully and she felt sick to the stomach, totally off balance, lurching this way and that.
Then all of a sudden Marcii felt a strong, enormous hand around her waist, steadying her as her legs gave way and she very nearly tumbled to the floor.
As she slowly opened her eyes it was still another minute or so before her spinning head calmed enough for her to see straight. When it eventually did, with tears still streaming down her face and desperate anger and longing still coursing through her veins, Marcii laid eyes immediately upon Reaper.
His expression was distorted with concern and worry.
The young Dougherty fell immediately into his arms and wept.
He didn’t know what had just happened, or what she’d just seen, but he could sense her grief, although she couldn’t speak of it just yet, for she was far too distraught.
The enormous, powerful, gentle creature simply held his dear Marcii closely and allowed her grief to run its course, and not for the first time either.
To the sound of once again defiant, hammering rain and distraught, screaming winds echoing from outside of the cave, Marcii sobbed until she could cry no more, and shook until she was exhausted.
The firelight that warmed the damp walls flickered and danced until it had burned itself out, but Marcii did not notice, for there were too many other thoughts filling her troubled mind.
But no matter how long or how hard the young Dougherty thought on all that she had seen and done, she came no closer to the answers that she so desired.
She longed to leave; she had to get to Ravenhead.
That much, at least, was clear.
She had been planning to speak to Reaper about it again that very night.
But after what she’d just seen, she couldn’t bring herself to do it.
Instinctively, maybe even subconsciously, Marcii knew there was still more to happen.
And besides, now that she knew he was still with her, she simply couldn’t bring herself to leave Kaylm.
Chapter Twelve
Foul curses ripened the air and turned it a horrible shade of blue that hovered around the breakfast table like an obscene smell.
Not to mention the disgusting stench that actually did still pervade every home on every street for miles around, for the massacred cats still had not been removed. Their remains had grown putrid and vile beyond the point of necessity. Nonetheless, Tyran still claimed they were working, for there had still not been another attack.
Kaylm winced almost visibly with every harsh word thrown in his direction, which was, unfortunately, most of them.
He thought that he might have grown accustomed to it by now, but the abuse had only worsened over the last few weeks. Every time he thought he could take it, his family stepped up a gear and threw him yet ever harsher insults and threats, voicing their opinions all too clearly.
They had always been blunt.
That was the polite way of putting it at least.
But lately Tyran’s hold on them had grown past the point of insanity. Kaylm feared that they would follow the man anywhere now: even to the brink of death and beyond.
“Kaylm!” His mother, Victoria Evans, barked at him when he did not respond immediately to her.
Her voice didn’t have the love for Kaylm in it that Marcii’s had done, only two nights previous when she’d called out to him in the darkened Newmarket streets.
But of course he didn’t know that, for he had not heard her desperate cries, since she had not really been there.
“Sorry mother…” Kaylm instantly replied, keeping his voice low, for he knew that regardless of what he said or didn’t say, he would not win.
He couldn’t do right for doing wrong.
Of course, as his mother berated him, his father Stephen, and his older brother Malcolm, were at the table too. He was grateful though, if he was honest, when his mother gave him grief such as this, for he knew it would always be much worse coming from Stephen or Malcolm.
His mother, though harsh, was a pretty lady. Like him she had light, sandy coloured hair, though hers fell past her shoulders and was curly only at the bottom. Her eyes were blue too, but they didn’t have the orange flecks in them that Kaylm’s did and so they were without the same rich finish.
“What the hell is wrong with you!?” Victoria demanded. “You bumbling idiot! We’re giving you yet another bloody chance to stand up for what’s right!”
“Sorry mother…” Kaylm repeated quietly, hoping simply to appease her, for he always tried not to listen too hard to their words.
He didn’t really care much for any of them.
“Your mother doesn’t need your pathetic apologies!!” His father, Stephen, suddenly erupted, rising from the table like a great ogre.
Kaylm’s father had much darker hair than his and fierce, murky brown eyes that were penetrating and relentless. He was a tall, broad man, with the strength of at least two weaker men. Kaylm’s older brother, Malcolm, who was already nineteen, was following their father in that trait. With dark hair and piercing eyes of his own he was broad enough and strong enough to be reckoned with already.
Undoubtedly Kaylm too would follow suit, but he was merely sixteen. So, as of yet, he had not broadened like his brother.
“Your mother needs to hear you speak bloody sense boy!!” Their father continued, his hands balling into fists on the table and his voice rising to a crescendo.
The string of curses that followed from their father’s tongue turned the air darker blue than usual. Kaylm cringed away from the sound whilst Malcolm revelled in it. He was becoming more and more like their father every day, and Stephen encouraged it gladly.
“The final hunt for the demon starts today!!” Stephen went on, spitting the words across the table. “We’re going to find it! And we’re going to kill it! And that bloody witch too!”
Kaylm felt his blood boil and seethe and he so desperately wanted to bite back,
to lash out and silence them.
But before Kaylm even had chance to breathe Stephen became suddenly outraged by his son’s insolence. He lifted his balled fist from the table and hammered it into Kaylm’s lowered, unprotected head.
His youngest son didn’t even see it coming, let alone have chance to defend himself.
He was thrown to the floor in a frenzy.
In an instant both his father and his older brother were upon him, raining blows down at him relentlessly, shouting and bellowing the whole while.
His mother, Victoria, still jabbing and sniping at him, cheered them on, hoping their blows would knock some sense into her useless son.
“She’s a witch!!” Kaylm’s father roared as he threw punch after punch at his youngest son, desperately trying to cover his face on the hard, stone floor.
“They all were!!” Malcolm joined in, throwing kicks and punches of his own at his younger brother. “No wonder her father was always sick! It was the evil spirits!”
“Why do you think they didn’t have any sons!?” Victoria joined in. “They were breeding witches!!”
“Okay!!” Kaylm cried desperately, writhing on the floor trying frantically to get away. “Okay!! OKAY!! I’LL GO!!”
In an instant the beatings ceased and he gasped desperately for breath, clutching at his ribs and his face and back and legs; there wasn’t anywhere they had missed.
“Say it!!” Kaylm’s father roared, standing over him still.
“I’ll go!!” His youngest son urged again.
But it wasn’t enough.
Victoria tutted and shook her head in disgust.
Stephen grabbed his son by the scruff of the neck. Lifting him from the ground he struck him square in the face yet again.
Kaylm’s head flew back and Stephen dropped him heavily to the cold, stone floor.
Malcolm smiled down evilly at his helpless younger brother.
“Say she’s a witch!!” Kaylm’s father ordered, unrelenting, raising his bloodied fist, once again ready to strike.
“I’ll go!” Kaylm repeated, wheezing the words. “She’s a witch! I’ll go on the hunt!”