Spark

by Alice Broadway

  Justus rounds on Sana. “Did you know about this?”

  She refuses to be bullied; she meets his gaze squarely. “Leora told me. I thought we could get Obel back,” she says calmly. “Leora had already refused to tell them anything else. We can trust her, Justus.”

  “Trust her!” His expression as he looks at me is pitiless. “Trust a traitor?”

  “I just want to say one thing.” My voice cracks. “It’s true that I met with a contact from Saintstone and I told them things I shouldn’t – that you were exhausted, starving. I thought that if they knew you were no threat, then they might leave you alone. I see that I was wrong.” I look around at them all – Gull, Tanya, Solomon, all these people who gave me a home and trusted me. “But I only went back to Saintstone because I hoped I could save Obel – your son. I would have handed myself over willingly if it meant he would be all right. I would never betray you, not now—” I choke. “Not now. This is the only home I have. Please don’t send me away.”

  There is an uneasy silence as I finish, and I see that Gull’s eyes are bright with tears.

  “Leora, I think you should go,” Solomon says, his voice gruff. “We need to talk about this – as a community.”

  I stand on shaking legs. A community which I am no longer part of. Head hung low, I leave the fireside and go back to the Whitworths’ house. I hide under the covers when Gull comes back; I can’t bear her disappointment. I hear Solomon and Tanya come in, and Oscar’s voice. They are giving him a bed too.

  I feel like I’ll never sleep again. My shoulder aches and my heart is beating too fast. So much has happened, and a jumble of images fills my mind. My mother, screaming for me across the square. Longsight, dropping to the ground, his eyes wide with surprise. Minnow’s roar of fury. Sana’s shocked face, her breath coming fast.

  I roll over, force my breathing to slow, and gradually exhaustion takes over. I drift off with thoughts of my ancestors in my mind. Joel. Miranda. “Fear not,” they say, “Fear not. Fear—”

  I dream that night that I am in a house. It’s a house like gingerbread; pretty and sweet. There is a knock at the door and I hear Mel’s voice clearly.

  “Come on, Little Light,” she calls in sing-song tones.

  I open the door and look around but no one is there. There are two small cottages identical to mine on either side. From the house on my right comes the sound of someone crying. I go to see if I can help.

  I push the door and inside is a marked woman, just a little older than I am. Her ink is exquisite illustration, the story of her life plain to see.

  Her face is buried in her hands as she sits by the table. On the table is raw meat, dripping with blood, and potatoes and pumpkin and a bowl of flour.

  The woman looks up at me, her face stricken.

  “I have all this bounty, but I cannot eat.” She weeps. “Help me, please.”

  I look out of the window, across to the third house, and I tell the marked woman to wait.

  I push the door of the other cottage and I see a blank woman, just a little older than I am. The mirror image of the woman in the other house. Her skin is inkless: bare and pink, beaded with sweat, for the fire in the grate burns brightly.

  “I have warmth and flame, but I have nothing to eat.” She weeps. “Help me, please.”

  Mel’s voice echoes in my ears: “Come on, Little Light.”

  I wake, sweating and ravenous.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  It ought to be raining. The sky should be low with storm clouds and that high-pressured tension that comes before thunder, which feels like prophecy.

  But instead, the kitchen floor is warm under my feet from where the spring sunshine has shone through the windows. I’ve ventured out of bed knowing it’s late, hoping that no one is around.

  I make toast – still amazed at there being food in the kitchen. There is butter and jam, and if I could only go back a few days this would seem like heaven. Tanya comes in while I’m standing eating, waiting for the tea to brew, her slippered feet soft on the tiled floor. We stare at each other for a long moment and then she takes a step towards me. She rubs my shoulder and I start to cry. When she bends down to hug me, great sobs shake my body.

  “I am so sorry I lied to you,” I gulp. “I thought I was doing the right thing; I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry.” Tanya wipes away my tears and speaks tenderly to me.

  “Oh, Leora. I know your heart is good.” She strokes my hair, trying to stop me shaking my head and rejecting her absolution. “It’s not your fault, love. What’s happening now is the fruit of many years of hatred and division.” She holds me at an arm’s length and pushes my hair back. “It is no surprise that they would use an innocent child to carry out their evil schemes. Not everything can be fixed in a hurry, no matter how much you want it to. You really are your mother’s daughter. She followed her heart just like you do – she wanted to bring change.”

  Following her heart didn’t do her much good, though, I think.

  “What happened last night?” I sniff, wiping my eyes with my hand. “What did you all decide about – about everything?”

  “Well, we’ve agreed that you can stay – for now, so long as you remain under my protection,” Tanya says. She turns as Oscar comes into the kitchen; it’s clear from his face that he’s been listening. Her warm gaze takes him in. “Both of you. The people aren’t happy; you won’t be forgiven for a long time, Leora. But you may stay. And as for Saintstone…” A shadow crosses her face and she shrugs. “There is a meeting of the elders this morning. We have to decide whether to fight now, or later.”

  “You mean…”

  “Solomon and Kasia think we should lie low.” Tanya sighs. “Muster what weapons we can so that we’re ready for an attack and wait it out. I agree with them. To me it seems like suicide to try to start an uprising; Minnow would like nothing better than an excuse to wipe us all out. And some … well, some say that waiting means starvation and death – a slower, more lingering death. They want to attack now.”

  I don’t have to ask who wants that course of action. It has to be Sana, and Justus of course. And I shudder, thinking of the might of Saintstone. Featherstone has no hope.

  Tanya forces a smile on to her face. “We will decide among ourselves, and if it is the will of us all, then it will be the right decision,” she says, but her brow is clouded and I know what she’s thinking.

  Whether they attack or stay hidden, Featherstone is doomed. I look across to Oscar and see it in his face too: fear.

  Mid-morning, Tanya walks me across the square towards the elderhouse. She says Sana wants to give me my next lesson. Oscar is with Solomon. I pick up white stones on my way and I’m no less burdened; I just feel more heavily laden with my failure.

  Tanya leaves me at the steps and I collide with Sana in the corridor, coming out of the meeting room. I can hear an angry murmur of voices within.

  Her shoulders are slumped and she moves without her usual energy.

  “Leora.” Her words seem like an effort. “I’m glad you’re here. Come with me.” And I follow her down the corridor towards the memory room.

  She lets the door bang closed behind us and throws herself into a chair.

  “I think today will be a different kind of lesson.” Her voice is weary. She gestures to the stacks of boxes on the shelves. “Pick one,” she urges. “It doesn’t matter which. Take it down and open it up.”

  I’m reminded of the shelves of skin books in the museum, the ones of people who have died and have no family left to care for them in their homes. I think of the books on that special, secret floor that were the hides of unnamed, unremembered storytellers. I look around, as though there might be a box that looks or feels different to the others, one that calls out to me to choose it. But they are all alike, and so I reach up and place my hand on whichever one is in reach and I take it down. It’s heavier than I expected, so I catch hold of it with my other hand and hold it against my body as I turn towards the ta
ble. I place it down – a little too quickly – and wood smacks on wood.

  “Go on. Open it.” She nods towards it.

  “Are you sure this is OK?” I pause and frown.

  “You’ve waited long enough.” Sana shrugs. “You told me that Ruth had shared a little of the eradication with you and it’s time you knew the rest. It’s time you know the reason why we are what we are. And why we need to fight.”

  Still, I hold back; it feels like I’m intruding.

  “Open the box, Leora.” When she sees me hesitate again she reaches out and undoes the clasp. I push the lid open. It’s just a box, I tell myself.

  I’m right; it’s just a box. A box of things. I see a bent pair of glasses, a little wooden doll, small leather shoes – hardly worn. There’s fabric underneath – clothing? An apron? A shawl? I don’t know. And then Sana holds the lid up so I can see a label with an inscription. There are four names.

  “Mabel, James, April and Ada Jones,” I read out loud. “What is this?”

  Sana goes to the shelves and takes box after box after box down. Each time, she reads out the names as she opens a box and lays it on the table. Each box is filled with mementoes. A plait of hair, a necklace, a drawing – the paper grubby and almost worn away. I see tools, needles, a tooth – a fang from a dog, maybe. There are pipes and dice and yarn and pressed flowers and a hat so small it can only have been made for a newborn. With each box, the air is thicker with new scents and less air to breathe. It smells of insects and paper cuts and panic and graves and broken bones and bitten lips and held-back tears.

  Her held-back fury is obvious now. “These are just some of the people your marked community resettled.” I daren’t speak.

  “I know how it’s taught, the story you all heard. Religious differences, best to separate everyone. It was suggested the blanks leave and join the ancient blank community of Featherstone.” She pulls out a card, looks at it and places it back in the pack. “It would be a homecoming, just what everyone wanted: that was the story, anyway. The pretty story. There would be no compensation for the land we left, no provision made for the half-schooled children. We protested of course. Somehow the leaders of the protest vanished though. And then came the day of the resettlement.” She fans out the cards in her hand.

  “This is what happened half a century ago. Listen to me, because it is the truth. This is the story that has been handed down, and we saw it in their eyes, in their faces, in their scars. Now that Ruth has died all of our eyewitnesses are gone – and so we have even more of a duty to make sure the truth is known.” She breathes deeply.

  “Before dawn, the mob arrived. Their faces and actions hidden by the night. They were armed and they drove people from their homes, with only the possessions they could hold in their hands. They drove people out of the town, into a field where pigs are kept.” Her eyes fix on mine now. “They were kept there for weeks, with only very little food and water. The sick became sicker, and were given no medical help. Disease began to spread. But at last – at last the day of the resettlement arrived. The people gathered by the gates, desperate to get out now, desperate to leave this hell. And the gates opened and – they slaughtered them. Like animals.” The cards fall from her hands.

  “Only the ones who could run fast enough and could hide well enough were saved. Those who survived would return at night, and night after night they gathered what they could – these memento mori – so that we won’t forget them. So we won’t forget how they were murdered for the sake of your people’s ease. Their families couldn’t bury their bodies,” she says hoarsely. “But at least we have this.”

  It’s too much. The horror of it – the meticulous execution of their plan. I try to think back and remember who was Mayor then. I think it was Beeston Carlisle – a man whose time in power was lauded when we learned about him in school. But then, what I was told at school was lies. The stones in my pouch rattle as I sink my head in my hands. Nothing can atone for this.

  She is closing each box now, and she places them back on the shelf one by one.

  “Why didn’t you tell me? Why did Ruth only tell me some?” I whisper. “If this happened, why not tell me the day I arrived in Featherstone?”

  She turns, and her cheeks flush.

  “If this happened?” She takes a step towards me. “Don’t breathe a seed of doubt in this room. This is what we ran from.” She gestures to the boxes. “This is why we keep running and this is why we need to fight. This is the evidence, right here.”

  I want to tell her about the room in the museum with all the evidence of the evils of the blanks – the exhibits that talk about the blanks’ gruesome habit of cutting off the hands of their victims so that their skin book couldn’t be complete, the rebellions, the fear. That all happened, didn’t it? I want to tell her it’s more complicated than she thinks. But anything I say will sound like defence, will smell like justification and – how could I? In this room, there is a whole world of history that I didn’t know – history that was kept from us, untold, reworked, suppressed. And it is a horror story like none I’ve ever heard.

  “Do you see why we need to fight? We are desperate. And we can’t lose again.” Her voice is fierce.

  “There must be a way that doesn’t mean war,” I venture. “I’m sure if the people in Saintstone knew…” But my words are hollow. No one there wants to know, I think. They prefer the easy lie.

  We thought we were the victims.

  “Whatever happens next, Leora – you need to stand. Why do you think Minnow had Longsight killed now? The people of Saintstone have been whipped into a frenzy of fear and hatred this last few months, and now he needed a catalyst. Years of mistrust have come to a head. He will destroy us without mercy. We have no choice but to strike first.” She pounds her fist into her palm. “I love these people, do you hear me? They are all that is good in this world. I love them and I won’t see us cut down.”

  And I can’t think of anything else to say.

  Sana watches my face. “There will be talks. There will be plans. And we need your allegiance. We need you, a marked, to turn your back on them and to stand with us. Tell me now, Leora. Can I count on you to stand up for Featherstone and to fight for justice?” She holds out her hand.

  I look at the boxes and can feel every soul begging me to agree, and I stand. I stand and I take her hand and shake it.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  I can’t sleep the night before Gull’s birth day ritual, and I don’t wake when she leaves. It’s Fenn who wakes me, knocking briefly on the door.

  Oscar is waiting in the hallway and he gives me a bewildered smile.

  “Funny moment for a birth day party,” he says, and I roll my eyes. He nods at Fenn’s retreating back. “I can’t help feeling we won’t be welcome.”

  “Gull has been preparing for this for so long.” I know he’s right though; Gull is barely speaking to me and I don’t want to force myself on her. We follow Fenn at a distance towards the lake and then, as we near it, I make a decision and catch at Oscar’s arm. “Come this way – we won’t be noticed but we can watch from the trees.” And I lead Oscar round to a different path that will take us to the other side of the lake. I remove my boots and walk lightly but Oscar crunches through the forest, and I smile at all I’ve learned from Gull.

  We find an ideal place to watch, almost perfectly opposite the gathering of people on the other shore. I see Gull, pale in her white linen, so tall and serious. My breath catches when I see the crowd of people. The gathering is huge – bigger than at Fenn’s. Fear of war revives faith, I guess. We hold on to our beliefs and rituals in a different way when we know they are under threat.

  Her tunic falls in jagged pulls; she must have finished the sewing without me. All those stones that have been weighing her down for so long. I shake my head with a sigh – at last, she’ll be light and free again. I tell Oscar what is going to happen.

  When the time comes for the torches to be raised, I see Gull’s mou
th move, agreeing to the promises she must make, and when she steps into the water, a bird flies over the lake. I am jealous of Gull, I realize – so close to absolution. I want to wade in and meet her in the water. But of course I don’t; I keep my mouth shut and stay hidden, and Oscar and I watch as she gets lower and lower in the water. We see her face as she takes a final breath and, in her eyes, so much closer now, I see a flash of fear, and then she sinks down and is gone.

  The ripples from where she sank slowly reach the shore on our side, and in silence we watch the still and calm water. It is so peaceful, and in my giddy tiredness I remember the dream I had my first night here. I can taste the slightly scorched scent of black ink; I hear the sound of my fists beating at the glass, and I feel the inky liquid entering my lungs.

  I look across the river at the elders and the community and we wait.

  And I wait and I wait.

  One of the elders shakes their head.

  Solomon rushes forward, but strong hands wrestle him to the ground. I hear Tanya scream. And then I see Fenn shoving himself through the crowd. Justus blocks his path and Fenn pushes him out of the way. I lose sight of him in the fighting crowd.

  And they wait.

  I hear a song rise to overpower the screams, a song from those on the shore. The wind whips their words to my ears, and I hear them say lost and bound and gone.

  I break out from my hidden place. I hear Oscar shout something but I keep running. I wade through the water until it is up to my waist, my chest, my neck. There are shouts from across the lake too, but I won’t turn back. I take a deep breath and plunge in, heading for the spot where Gull went under.

  The cold shocks me into complete alertness. I keep on, swimming to the centre of the lake. I know people are watching, a shadowy host. I hold my breath and sink under the water, eyes open, hands reaching out. Somewhere in this dark and slow world is my friend, and she doesn’t deserve this.