Spark

by Alice Broadway

  “It’s not a short story – you’re sure you’re warm enough?” I nod, and Gull looks up at the chinks of sky showing through the leaves. “Well, sometimes a person is just born at the wrong time, I suppose.” She runs her hand along the trunk as she talks. “We have a tradition that if a baby is born during a fireside meeting then that child will bring a blessing or a curse to the community. Anyway, that was me. People were excited at first – only since I’ve certainly not brought any blessings with me, most people assumed it meant I was the other thing…”

  “They think you’re cursed?” I’m incredulous.

  Gull shrugs. “I don’t believe anyone would actually say it out loud, but I scare them. You’ve heard what they say; we’re being judged; nature has stopped nurturing us. People like having someone to blame, I guess.”

  “Is that how you think of nature? Like it’s some kind of supreme being ready to punish or protect you?”

  “People describe it in different ways: god, mother, nature, power or a kind of creative spirit; but yes, we have a responsibility to maintain a balance, and when we don’t…”

  “You starve? You don’t deserve this, Gull. No one does.”

  “Your feet are blue.” Gull gives my tattoo another tentative prod. “You should have told me you were cold. I forgot you’re a wimp in need of toughening up.” She wiggles her toes and arranges my boots round her neck on top of her shoes so they’re well balanced and I don’t have to deal with them. “We should get back anyway. Want to go first or second? It’s just like coming up, only backwards and you can’t see where you’re going. Easy.”

  By the time we reach the bottom of the tree it has started to rain; I can hear it on the leaves above. I go to put my boots back on but Gull reaches out a hand.

  “While we’re still in the forest, we don’t wear shoes. It’s a mark of respect.”

  “Is it one of your community rules?”

  “Nope, just a Gull rule. But it’s a good one. I am a creature here, so I should walk like a deer or a rabbit or a bird – this is their home, and I don’t crash through my home leaving footprints and broken pieces. Plus, it means it’s harder for anyone to find us.”

  “What are these stones from?” I ask Gull as we pass more of the giant, squared-off stones I’ve been seeing. She turns to me with an amused frown.

  “From the wall,” she says brightly, as though it should be obvious.

  “What? The wall that Moriah built?” My voice is dubious, but Gull nods quickly and bounds ahead. And I’m left stepping gingerly over the forest floor, wondering what wall she means – it couldn’t really be the wall from the stories; the wall that was built to keep the blanks in their place? In my heart, I had always imagined that was more of a symbol in the story than an historical record. Again I am left to wonder about truth and reality, but no answers come.

  The forest is dense enough for most of the rain to miss us, and the sound is soothing and glorious but it also makes me think of fingers tapping on glass. The air is chillier than ever and smells green and mulchy.

  I try to catch up and walk closer to Gull, attempting to match her stride and her poise. She’s right; she’s a different creature in these woods. I slip and whimper when I step on a twig or a sharp stone. Every step is reluctant and cagey. Gull doesn’t turn to check on me or slow. This is my training. Or my test.

  When we reach the edge of the wood I scrape debris off my feet using a tree root and put my socks and boots back on. It feels both warm and restrictive. We hurry through the rain, Gull’s body already dipped forward, her head and half her face hidden by her hood.

  “You and that hood!” I tease.

  “You and that shawl!” she replies. “What are you, eighty?”

  “Rude! I’ll have you know this is the height of fashion.”

  “For the almost dead.” I snort at this and follow as she picks up pace, jogging and dodging puddles filled with clay-stained rainwater.

  We are giggling, our empty stomachs forgotten. And just for a brief moment I forget something else too.

  What I am here for, and what I have done.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Where have you been?” Tanya is waiting by the door when we rush in from the rain, smiling and panting. Her expression is anxious.

  All the ease Gull and I had when we were alone is lost.

  “Where were you, Gull? I couldn’t find you anywhere,” she asks again, and she draws her daughter towards herself protectively, her eyes on me.

  I sigh. I forgot for a moment, out there, that I was a creature to be feared and hated. I was just spending time with my friend. Is Gull a friend? I’m so used to it just being me and Verity.

  Unless … would I call Oscar a friend? His face flashes into my mind – brown skin, that quirk of mischief in his eyes, a mouth that laughed so easily. No, not just a friend. There were times when I wanted it to be more, but the events of the last half a year have changed things. I find I don’t care so much about milestones like first kisses, or first love, or first anything. I suppose wanting those things are the signs of someone who doesn’t have any other cares. Those things can wait, I tell myself.

  “They will come,” Justus assures the people, pushing his lank hair away from his face – his annoyance clear to see. “The riders will come.”

  “They’ve never been gone this long,” a man named Ted calls out; he’s the one whose son was sick when I was helping at the surgery. “How do we know they’re safe? How do we know they haven’t been taken?”

  There is a murmur of agreement.

  “What if they’ve been taken?” asks a woman, the strain showing in her voice.

  “They haven’t been taken!” cries Justus over the noise. “They are being careful—”

  “Then when are they coming, Justus?” a man called Blake asks. He’s kind, I think; I remember him catching me as I stumbled on a rutted bit of track on one of my first days here. “Penny’s pregnant, she can’t carry on without some proper food.” As though a gate has opened, a rumble of assent builds, some calling out in support. But others, quieter voices are hushing the dissonant ones and saying, “Let the elders speak. Let’s hear what they have to say.”

  Justus looks around at his fellow elders – his exasperated face flushed. He raises his hands as though to say he gives up, and Ruth gestures to another elder, Kasia, who stands a little shyly and takes over. Ruth hunches over coughing, and I feel bad that I was churlish and grumpy the last time we were together. I’m due to see her tomorrow for my next lesson. I’ll make it up to her. Justus walks away from the fire and watches us broodingly while Kasia speaks in his place.

  “You know I see your pain. Blake – I see your beautiful family; I see Penny’s need,” Kasia says. “We have tried, you know we have – we have made lists of those in the greatest need and given you more, as much as we can spare.” There are grudging murmurs of assent here. “But there is not enough food for us all. And there will be more mouths to feed.” She nods towards Blake, but I feel eyes on me: on my marked face. Have I taken someone’s share? Is someone hungry because of me?

  “I believe we are being tested,” Kasia continues – her gentleness wins the people over and they are quiet, letting her soft voice be heard by all. “We know that we are promised plenty – we know that paradise is ours for the taking. It is our own failings that deny us this bounty.” I frown; this is just like Gull’s talk earlier.

  “When we are faithful – when we purge the sin in our hearts and our town, then creation blesses us. Our hunger is a warning: there is transgression in our midst and, if we root it out, confess and atone – then the land will give us her reward.”

  “We all know where the transgression lies,” a voice cries. “The traitor has brought pestilence with her – she is cursed, like all the inked, and now, so are we.”

  It’s like my first night all over again – all eyes on me. Fenn and Justus nod, finally having heard something they agree with. But Ruth pulls herself up, assi
sted by Tanya and her stick. The group falls silent again.

  “We were hungry long before Leora came.” Ruth’s voice sounds weaker than usual. “See how she joins us in our suffering.”

  An angry woman raises her voice in derision.

  “And see how she eats our food. We are wasting rations on her. She should be banished.” Justus and Fenn lead the cheers at this, and I stare at the ground.

  “We are fools if we blame our visitor for this, and we are no better than those devils in Saintstone if we cannot offer kindness to a stranger.” Ruth coughs again, and Tanya holds her while she wheezes and regains her breath. “There may be sin in our community – but we must trust the old ways. If we obey, if we continue to faithfully mark our sin with white stones and if we atone at our birth day, then we have hope – we will not be punished for ever.” Ruth turns and catches Justus, Fenn and a couple of their friends whispering behind her.

  “Your birth day is soon, is it not, Fenn Whitworth?” she calls. Fenn stops his whispering and his face pales.

  “Yes, Ruth,” he mutters.

  “Well, then. That is a new opportunity for redemption for us all. Let us see what happens after that. Atonement – a fresh start – it’s exactly what we need. Don’t let us down.”

  Her eyes flicker to me just for a second, and I feel like she is speaking to me as well as to Fenn. Fenn bows his head and the meeting is over.

  Gull and I are alone in her room, candlelight flickering and Gull humming while she reads. I draw in my sketchbook.

  I’m trying to draw this evening’s fireside meeting and I close my eyes to bring back the image of the people’s faces. For all their disagreement, one thing united them: the deep and unyielding fear that was in their eyes. A fear and a hunger that frightened me.

  But now I’m drawing I feel calm start to rise. Sketching goes a tiny way to satisfy my longing to be inking again – it feeds something in my soul that needs ink and beauty and the joy of creating something where there was nothing.

  “What did Ruth mean about the white stones, Gull?” I ask suddenly. “And what’s so important about Fenn’s birth day?” For a long while I think she won’t reply, or that she hasn’t heard me, but after a minute or two she puts down the book she was reading and pushes her covers aside. Leaning precariously out of her bed, she picks up the leather pouch that is on the floor. Loosening the ties, she opens it up and tips all the stones out on her blankets, as though they are coins ready to be counted.

  “You’ve seen me collecting these, I suppose?”

  I nod.

  “And you remember Belia’s story, about how she stepped into the water laden with stones. And then the stones fell from her and the curse was lifted.” She picks up a smooth white stone and holds it gently between thumb and finger, scrutinizing it as though it might be about to speak. “Each stone represents a sin, a failing, a mistake, a trespass or an act of negligence: the things that would leave us open to the curse.” Her lips are tight as she drops the stone back on the pile.

  “But … Gull. There are so many. These aren’t all yours?”

  Gull looks up at me, brows raised in surprise. “Of course they’re all mine. I’ve been collecting for almost a year now. I was given this pouch on my last birth day to fill, and when my next one comes, I will be allowed to carry out the ritual – like Fenn is next week.”

  “I’m lost,” I tell her, shaking my head. “You’re going to have to spell this out for me.”

  “Right…” Gull closes her eyes and screws up her face while she thinks. “OK, you have your marks, don’t you?”

  “I do…” I reply with a smile.

  “And they are a way of recording your crimes or misdemeanours, right?” I nod. “Well, this is how we count ours. Those in our community aged between fourteen and twenty-five collect stones for our sins over the course of a year, and when it’s our birth day we take them to Jackdaw Lake with the stones bound to us, and we let them go – they sink underwater and all the bad stuff is gone, washed clean. Like Belia, you know? It’s our duty – we don’t just pay for our own sins, we are there for the whole village – we represent everyone.”

  I’m frowning, trying to understand.

  “Right, but why only the young people? It’s not like adults are perfect.” Gull smiles at this and I’m relieved; the whole conversation feels taut and strange.

  “It’s just how it goes – everyone does their bit: all the adults here have served the community in this way.” She begins to take fistfuls of stones and drop them back into her little bag. The noise is jaunty, almost musical – it doesn’t sound like the sound of sin. She suddenly giggles and then puts her hand over her mouth to stifle it. “Fenn once said that Obel told him it was just because the adults liked to see us shiver.”

  “That sounds exactly like the Obel I know.” I grin and reach out to help Gull put the stones away, and wonder at the echoes in my and Belia’s stories: a trail of stones, a feathered guide. And yet Belia is not part of my world and I’m not part of hers. I don’t think.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Gull’s a heavy sleeper. I know this because I’m not sleeping and Gull’s deep, steady breath at night feels like a taunt. Insomnia isn’t new to me: sleep has been hard to grasp since Dad got ill. It always felt that if I went to sleep I might be allowing something bad to happen.

  You don’t get used to not sleeping. You almost get used to the half-drugged feeling of walking through days unrested and you almost get used to not looking forward to bedtime and you almost get used to people looking at your face and telling you to have an early night. But the middle of the night hurts no matter how many times you’ve seen it. Time travels slower in the dark, I’m sure of it. And it’s at night when the questions come.

  I think of Mayor Longsight’s speeches about the blanks and their terrifying army, and how close we are to war with them.

  How they kill our children and our livestock.

  How they are biding their time until they overthrow us and all we stand for.

  How we must look over our shoulder, and if we feared anything, fear them.

  And, lying there in the dark, I allow myself to consider another version. That maybe, maybe – it was all lies. That these ragged people I have come to know, weak from lack of food, tired and desperate and barely living – they are no threat and maybe they never have been.

  Don’t forget what they’re planning to do to the hospital. And yet, in spite of my endeavours to keep on believing in the evil of the blanks and the tales I’ve always been told of their terror, for the first time, I wonder. Whose stories are real? Which do I listen to?

  “Come on, Undead One.” Gull shakes the bed to stir me the next morning. I must have dropped off at some point. “We’ve got to get up. You’ve got a meeting with Ruth this morning, remember?”

  I haul myself into a sitting position and rub sleep out of my eyes. “You really don’t suit bedhead.” She laughs at me. “And you’re going to need to open both eyes.” I scowl at her through the one eye I have tentatively opened and run my hands through my tangled hair. It’s almost at the length where I could tie it back, which would be so much easier, but for now I just try to tuck my fringe to one side and hope I can get the knots out with a comb later.

  I dress quickly without washing – the idea of putting cold water anywhere near my body this morning is too grim to consider.

  Gull’s stomach gives a groan and mine rumbles in reply. We both laugh, but then I remember that there is no food and I complain, “I am so hungry.”

  Gull chucks her nightie at me and it lands next to me on the bed. “Tea?” she asks.

  I nod and heave myself from the bed.

  “Solves everything. I know,” I sigh. And I walk with her to the kitchen.

  Ruth is waiting for me in the memory room. There is a book on the table near her. Now that I know I’m surrounded by the remnants of those who were lost, there is a terrible but sacred air. It’s like the memento mori room in
the museum in Saintstone, I think. Are we really that different after all?

  “Come in, Leora, sit down. We don’t have much time.” Ruth’s face crinkles as she smiles, and I remember how sad she looked at the fireside last night. “Today I get to tell you a story. But first, I need to ask you to open your heart. I want you to listen without judgement. Without thinking of ways round what I am telling you. I want you to allow the words to prick your soul – let down any walls you have built up to protect yourself from our ways and see the world with new eyes.” She grins at my expression. “Can you do that for me?”

  “I don’t know,” I say truthfully.

  “Well.” She sits down opposite me. “Let’s give it a shot at least.”

  She holds my hand, as she did last time, and I breathe deeply, trying to do as she asks.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The Guest

  After the princess Moriah cast out her sister, she became frightened that Belia would return and tell the people about their father’s curse. She knew in her heart that her marked skin was an affliction, brought on by the dark magic of her villainous father. But she enjoyed her easy life and relished the power her royal position gave her. She couldn’t have Belia spoil all that. She had earned this life. So, she declared that a wall would be built.

  The citizens obeyed and built a high wall around the land Belia had been banished to and where she now had her own realm. The wall was higher than many of the trees and impossible to scale. Upon the top of the wall were shards of glass and blades, and there was no way in or out.

  Except one. The builders had created a secret door – a door to which only the princess Moriah had a key. She made sure that all those who had known the door’s whereabouts met untimely ends – she knew how people loved to tell secrets.

  Belia and her people fought – they ruined the foundations and groundworks when the building began. And so Moriah brought in soldiers and many of Belia’s people died. They had to allow the wall to be completed. Just before the final bricks were laid, some of Moriah’s citizens secretly slipped through to join Belia – they saw that this was their one chance to escape Moriah and her marks.