Read Online Marcii (The Dreadhunt Trilogy Book 1) by Ross Turner - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Ross Turner
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as the priests one by one dipped their hands into the still quivering carcasses of the cats and set about drawing strange symbols upon the side of the church.
The patterns and designs they painted on the stone face were ones that Marcii did not recognise. They seemed to be some kind of language that neither she nor Kaylm knew, perhaps long lost and forgotten, or perhaps made up entirely.
Undoubtedly, whatever they meant, they couldn’t have been anything good.
It didn’t take long and before Marcii knew it Tyran was issuing out yet more orders, sending priests and enforcers alike scurrying to and fro. She didn’t hear the words he spoke however, for she was more concerned about being seen than anything else.
It was too dangerous for them to stay, for they would surely have been found as Tyran’s underlings spread out.
And so, most reluctantly, Marcii and Kaylm hastened away, parting ways yet again. They headed off in separate directions into the night, each of them all alone in the dark of fear and uncertainty.
Chapter Eleven
Marcii was running. Her heart was racing. She panicked as she tore through the narrow confines of Newmarket’s streets.
The air was cold in her lungs and against her face and her jacket whipped about her body wildly. By now, after all that she’d seen in such a short space of time, she was absolutely terrified.
She didn’t know where to turn.
Kaylm had been her last hope, and now even he had been torn away from her. She’d been so close: on the verge even of running away with him forever.
And Vixen?
What part was she playing in all of this, for she seemed to know much more than she should.
Or, at least, much more than Marcii would have hoped for a girl so young.
In her haste, her thoughts tumbling somehow even faster than her legs were carrying her, Marcii was barely paying attention as she tore through the streets and alleyways. She careered round corners almost blindly in the black of the night, tears streaming from her eyes.
There were no streetlamps and most of the light by which she could just about see came from the flickering of candles in the windows of houses that lined either side of the streets.
When she hit him, she hit him hard, for she was still running full speed. The collision threw the young Dougherty to the ground with force to be reckoned with.
The man grunted heavily, doubling forward as Marcii crashed straight into his front.
It took them both more than a few moments to recover, equally from the shock as from the pain of the impact.
Marcii looked up fearfully as the man finally straightened himself up above her, looking down by the light from his nearby window.
“Marcii?” He asked, confusion lacing his tone.
It was Alexander.
She sighed with heavy relief.
“I’m so sorry.” She apologised immediately.
“No, no, don’t worry…” He struggled at first, still catching his breath. “What are you doing here?” He asked her. “It’s late. Shouldn’t you be at home?”
As he spoke he held out his hand and helped Marcii to her feet. But even in the poor light she could see that he looked flustered, and that his concern for her was merely a convenient cover.
He glanced around for a moment, as if to confirm her very thoughts, and threw his gaze briefly back towards the house behind him. When he looked back to Marcii, only a second or so later, his eyes looked nervous, guilty even.
The patterns and designs they painted on the stone face were ones that Marcii did not recognise. They seemed to be some kind of language that neither she nor Kaylm knew, perhaps long lost and forgotten, or perhaps made up entirely.
Undoubtedly, whatever they meant, they couldn’t have been anything good.
It didn’t take long and before Marcii knew it Tyran was issuing out yet more orders, sending priests and enforcers alike scurrying to and fro. She didn’t hear the words he spoke however, for she was more concerned about being seen than anything else.
It was too dangerous for them to stay, for they would surely have been found as Tyran’s underlings spread out.
And so, most reluctantly, Marcii and Kaylm hastened away, parting ways yet again. They headed off in separate directions into the night, each of them all alone in the dark of fear and uncertainty.
Chapter Eleven
Marcii was running. Her heart was racing. She panicked as she tore through the narrow confines of Newmarket’s streets.
The air was cold in her lungs and against her face and her jacket whipped about her body wildly. By now, after all that she’d seen in such a short space of time, she was absolutely terrified.
She didn’t know where to turn.
Kaylm had been her last hope, and now even he had been torn away from her. She’d been so close: on the verge even of running away with him forever.
And Vixen?
What part was she playing in all of this, for she seemed to know much more than she should.
Or, at least, much more than Marcii would have hoped for a girl so young.
In her haste, her thoughts tumbling somehow even faster than her legs were carrying her, Marcii was barely paying attention as she tore through the streets and alleyways. She careered round corners almost blindly in the black of the night, tears streaming from her eyes.
There were no streetlamps and most of the light by which she could just about see came from the flickering of candles in the windows of houses that lined either side of the streets.
When she hit him, she hit him hard, for she was still running full speed. The collision threw the young Dougherty to the ground with force to be reckoned with.
The man grunted heavily, doubling forward as Marcii crashed straight into his front.
It took them both more than a few moments to recover, equally from the shock as from the pain of the impact.
Marcii looked up fearfully as the man finally straightened himself up above her, looking down by the light from his nearby window.
“Marcii?” He asked, confusion lacing his tone.
It was Alexander.
She sighed with heavy relief.
“I’m so sorry.” She apologised immediately.
“No, no, don’t worry…” He struggled at first, still catching his breath. “What are you doing here?” He asked her. “It’s late. Shouldn’t you be at home?”
As he spoke he held out his hand and helped Marcii to her feet. But even in the poor light she could see that he looked flustered, and that his concern for her was merely a convenient cover.
He glanced around for a moment, as if to confirm her very thoughts, and threw his gaze briefly back towards the house behind him. When he looked back to Marcii, only a second or so later, his eyes looked nervous, guilty even.
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