The Dying Light (Bloodwitch #1)

Charlie arrived at the Pit soon after sunrise that morning. He had not bothered sleeping or changing clothes before leaving the house. Ignoring the furtive looks and outright stares he was getting from the men around him as he weaved his way through the crowd, Charlie kept walking towards the mine face. His whole body was stiff and aching from the attack, but he was used to the pain. It did not take him long to find who he was looking for.

He was following the sound of Marko’s raucous voice, which he could hear clearly, a little way ahead of him, mingling with chesty coughs and harsh male laughter. Eventually, he caught sight of a group of men warming themselves around a blazing fire pit. The scent of rain-soaked wood combined with smoke hung in the air. The men were gathered in a circle between two cabins, which were used to store tools and equipment for the miners. As usual, Marko was holding court.

’Tell you what, I am shattered after that quake last night.’ He yawned widely. As a known member of the Pen gang, most of the other men were wary of Marko, so he was afforded a certain level of indulgence at the Pit. ‘I barely got any sleep after that. I’m surprised I managed to get out of bed at all this morning.’

Grinding his teeth, Charlie drew himself behind a large barrel, his thoughts racing. The familiar touch of the knife concealed by his ankle was reassuring against his skin.

One of the older miners, Ivan, snorted. ‘It doesn’t take a power surge for us to hear that from you, Marko. When was the last time you arrived for a shift on time?’

A roar of laughter followed these words. Closing his eyes, Charlie caught a snatch of conversation drifting over from the circle of men.

‘Is that what they’re saying it was – a power surge?’ a younger miner asked.

‘That’s what I heard,’ said Ivan, as Charlie peered around the barrel. ‘They’ll be working us harder than ever if it’s true,’ he added, groaning as he stretched. ‘Ah, but remember, lads, it’s not for us to question why …’

Marko frowned. ‘What about that weird light in the sky, then?’

‘That was the power surge, of course. That light was the power escaping.’

Ivan shook his head slowly. ‘Never seen anything like it …’

‘Do you think it could have something to do with the covens?’

‘Don’t talk nonsense! Isn’t the Great Protector still on the High Throne?’

‘But –’

Steeling himself, Charlie rounded the corner of the cabin. He came to a halt a few paces outside of the circle, his arms folded tightly across his chest, his face set. One by one, the men noticed his presence, the smiles sliding from their faces as they took in his injuries. He watched in silence as they hastily drained their mugs of watery coffee and sloped off.

Ivan was the only one to meet his eyes. ‘Keep a look out for the foreman, Charlie,’ he said, his voice low. ‘You know he doesn’t like trouble.’

‘I’m not here for trouble,’ Charlie said. ‘I just need to make something clear.’

The grizzled older man narrowed his eyes and shook his head. ‘I know trouble when I see it,’ he said, clapping Charlie gently on the shoulder before Charlie shook him off. As he began to walk away, he added, ‘Looks to me like you’re bringing plenty.’

Marko had not moved. His eyes were wide with shock. ‘Carroway, you …’

Charlie did not look away. He let Marko take in the patchwork of bruising that covered the whole of the left side of his face, from his eye to his jaw, and the dried blood that had set across his nose and right cheek.

‘You think you can make a move on me because the others aren’t here?’ Marko’s fists were clenched. ‘What do you want?’

‘To give you a final warning.’ Charlie winced. His lip was split. It still hurt to speak.

‘I – I don’t –’

Before Marko could say another word, Charlie had shoved him bodily against the wall of the cabin. Marko cringed away from Charlie, who could feel him trembling under his grip. The colour had drained from Marko’s face.

‘I’ve got a message for Faulkner,’ Charlie said, a soft growl in his throat. ‘You tell him that Charlie Carroway’s kids are off limits. If I hear that your cousin – or any of the other vultures in your pathetic little gang – have said another word to those kids, they are all dead. You got that?’

‘You need to get wise, Charlie.’ Marko pushed Charlie away from him. ’The Skoto Gate tunnel is wide open. We’ve got another group of brats going through tonight. There’s space for yours too. If they’re quick, there’s no risk of them getting nailed. We’ve got candles in position to watch out for the screws from Elysia. It’s just business, Charlie. There’s money to be made for all of us, even if we are Penumbrans.’

Charlie squared up to Marko, forcing him back. ‘You’re not playing the game.’

‘What do you care, anyway?’ Marko’s voice was becoming shrill. ’It’s not like they’re even your kids. You’d be better off on your back with the Pen protecting you than martyring yourself for those brats and that old hag. Who d’you think you are? All you’re good for is –’

The familiar scream of fury was whistling in Charlie’s ears. He did not even think about the knife. The next thing he knew, he and Marko were both on the ground, fists flying, and the screws that patrolled the Pit were wrenching them apart.

‘What’s all this? What do you two animals think you’re doing?’

Charlie forced himself up onto his feet as the foreman came marching towards them. Beside him, Marko was looking sorry for himself, but Charlie was certain Marko did not feel the same surging fear that he did. He did not know what the foreman might deem reasonable punishment for fighting at work. Marko had his connections with the Pen boys to fall back on. Charlie had four mouths depending on him for the meagre wage this job brought in.

One of the guards pushed Charlie forward. ‘These two were fighting, sir.’

The foreman’s brow furrowed as he took in Charlie’s injuries. ‘This is a place of work,’ he said. ‘I will not tolerate brawling. You,’ he jerked his chin at Marko, ‘get to work, now.’ He turned to look at Charlie, running his teeth over his lower lip as his eyes travelled over Charlie’s bruised face. ‘How long have you worked here, Carroway?’ he said at last.

‘Three years, sir.’

The foreman nodded. ‘Three years, and I’ve had no complaints about you in all that time. You’re a good worker. I need good workers. But this,’ he made a vague gesture in Charlie’s direction, ‘this isn’t acceptable – not when you work for me.’

‘No, sir.’

‘I’m not interested in what you get up to outside of this mine, but when you pick a fight with one of my employees on company time …’ The foreman shook his head with a sigh. ‘I’m sure you know about the connections Marko has. I can’t have that kind of trouble here, not when I have hundreds of men and their families relying on me to keep this operation running.’

‘I understand, sir,’ Charlie said quickly. ‘I’ll stay away from him. Just don’t kick me out. Please – give me another chance.’

The foreman considered Charlie for some time before he replied. ‘I will give you one more chance. This is your first and last warning, Carroway. If anything like this happens again, you’re out. Now get back to work.’

‘Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.’

Charlie kept his eyes fixed on a patch of gravel by his feet until the foreman had walked away. He was alone. At their boss’s last words, the guards had slunk off too. They only took pleasure in having the opportunity to escort former employees off the premises, and had no interest in second chances. Charlie made a mental note to do his best to keep out of their way for the rest of the day. They would be itching to take out their disappointment on him, and he had no desire to add to the collection of bruises already covering his body.

His head was throbbing painfully again.

The tool cabins were deserted. By now, most of the men would already be at the mine face. He collected a hammer and chisel, stuck them in his worn tool belt, slung a shovel and pickaxe over his shoulder, and headed out towards the entrance to the mine. The sky that morning was a solid sheet of grey, and it was threatening to pour down. Charlie held the feel of the wind on his skin and the smell that promised the coming of rain close to him as he descended the shaft.

Then he was sent deep underground, into the heat and the never-ending darkness.

It was pitch-black down there, and Charlie immediately felt the tightness in his chest returning. Beads of sweat had formed on his forehead before he had even started work. He moved carefully, wary of scraping his head on the sharp rocks above him. He knew they were there, even if he could not see them. The roof of the tunnel was so low that he needed to shuffle along in a crouched position to move forward.

The ache in his legs was terrible at first. But, as he began to chisel and pick away at the tunnel walls, he eventually became numb to it. He sensed rather than saw where he had left off at the end of the previous day, always listening intently for any sign of danger. It was too narrow in the tunnel to turn around and go back to the shaft easily, so Charlie proceeded slowly, only moving on when he was certain he would not need to return.

As the hours wore on, time slipped away from him. In the darkness, there was no way to distinguish between morning, afternoon, or evening. He would be down there until he heard the bell signalling the end of the shift for that day. Pain stole through his body. It throbbed and hummed in his back and his arms and his shoulders as he worked. That was nothing new. What caught Charlie’s attention was the burning sensation in his chest. When the coughing started, he found that it would not stop.

He could not catch his breath.

It was like he was being stabbed between the ribs each time he tried to breathe in.

There seemed to be even less space in the tunnel than usual. Trying desperately to stay calm, even as he struggled to breathe, Charlie forced himself to focus on making his way backwards along the tunnel. He edged his way towards the shaft, his lungs on fire.

When he reached it, he wrenched down on the rope connected to the emergency bell at the surface. Then he collapsed onto the wooden boards beneath him, still unable to stop coughing. They were only supposed to use the bell when they had been caught in a tunnel collapse and needed to be pulled back up out of the shaft to safety. But Charlie did not know what else to do.

Please, someone hear it, he prayed, as memories of hands forcing him into a shadowy place, bodies smothering him, swamped his mind. Someone, help me. Don’t let me die down here alone in the dark.

He was rising. The light was comforting, like home. Maybe his brother would be …

‘Max …’

‘Get him some water – now!’ He could hear Ivan’s strained voice. ‘Come on, Charlie, sit up. Saints, what’s happened to you?’

Ivan pressed a metal cup into Charlie’s hand and helped guide it to his lips. As the worst of the panic subsided, Charlie found that he was able to breathe a little deeper. The stabbing pain in his chest began to lessen slightly. He could feel himself shaking, and hurriedly brushed the tears out of his eyes. With Ivan’s help, he got to his feet, his skin crawling at the touch.

‘How are you feeling, Charlie?’

Charlie could only manage a weak cough in response. He shook his head.

‘What’s going on here?’ The foreman was striding towards them, flanked by six guards. He looked harried, and a muscle worked in his jaw as he laid eyes on Charlie. ‘You again, Carroway? What did I tell you this morning? I was informed that there had been a collapse.’

‘Carroway is ill, sir,’ Ivan explained. ‘He was coughing so bad that he couldn’t breathe. He just needs to rest, then he’ll be fine to go back down again.’

‘Carroway is ill?’ the foreman repeated, eyeing Charlie intently. ‘Is that so?’

‘I’m fine, sir,’ Charlie insisted, though his chest was heaving, and he had to hold his hand in front of his mouth to stop himself from coughing. ‘I don’t need to rest. I’m fine.’

The foreman was not listening. He had removed a notepad from his pocket and was using a pen to hurriedly fill out a blue form. ‘You know the rules, Carroway,’ he said, tearing the piece of paper from the pad and thrusting it towards Charlie. ‘I do not have the luxury of being able to employ liabilities at this pit.’

Charlie froze. ‘But, sir,’ he began desperately, careful not to cough and splutter in the foreman’s face. ‘I’m not due to attend a health inspection for months.’

‘I need that fitness to work certification signed and stamped by a doctor and returned to me before you even think about going back down that mineshaft. The Infirmary Station will still be open. I suggest you go there.’

‘But I can’t take the time off. I can’t lose this job.’

‘And what about the time I’m losing?’ The foreman’s face was reddening. ‘You may not take this work seriously – brawling and getting into fights at the slightest provocation – but it is essential to the survival of our nation. Those pretty stones you dig up fuel the weapons the Great Protector uses to defend us from the covens. You think you’re worth more than that?’

‘But it’s not just me I’m thinking of! I have three kids at home and –’

‘Your personal life is none of my concern,’ the foreman said, his voice turning cold as he held his hand up to prevent Charlie from saying anything more. ‘Each of us makes his own bed in this life, as they say. I am telling you for the last time, Carroway: until I have that fitness to work certification signed, stamped, and back in my hands, you are not permitted to step foot on my property. Guards, see him out.’

*

By the time he reached the Infirmary Station, Charlie’s cough had subsided. He hesitated at the threshold of the rundown building, one hand on the door handle, the other still clutching the piece of paper the foreman had given him. He usually tried to avoid this place at all costs, and hated the annual health inspections because they meant a day less paid work.

But the foreman was right. Now he had been served with the little blue form that was currently scrunched up in his hand, he would not be able to find another steady job anywhere in Penumbra. Not until he found a doctor who was willing to vouch for him being fit to work.

With a sigh, he pushed the heavy door open. One short blare of an alarm greeted him as he stepped into the Station, reigniting the pain in his head as he joined the back of the queue of people waiting to be signed in at the front desk. The Great Protector glared at him from his portrait, which hung in a wooden frame on the wall behind the desk. Charlie smothered a cough and tapped his foot on the floor, his hands thrust deep in his pockets as he tried to stay calm.

While he waited for the white-haired old man in front of him to be processed, Charlie scanned the holding area absentmindedly. It was as overcrowded as usual, but oddly quiet for a room containing so many people. His eyes lingered over an exhausted-looking young mother, whose eyes had glazed over while her baby lay limply in her arms. Another small child rolled around on the floor by her feet. With a wan smile, Charlie ran his fingers through the longer section of his unkempt hair and gazed around the rest of the room. When he looked down at his hands, there were flakes of dry blood underneath his fingernails.

Sensing someone’s eyes on him, Charlie looked up. It was only then that he noticed he was being watched. A tall young man with wild black hair, about his own age, wearing military fatigues and carrying a rifle, was staring directly at him from the other end of the room. He looked somewhat familiar. The soldier was standing beside the archway that marked the entrance to the examination ward, where the doctors and nurses worked. The dark scowl on his face was enough to make Charlie wilt. He was relieved when he was called over to the front desk by a girl he recognised. He decided he would do his best to avoid making any trouble with this serious-looking stranger.

The nurse at the desk had thick dark hair, which she had braided over her shoulder. She wore a long-sleeved black cotton shirt underneath her light blue uniform.

‘I didn’t expect to see you back so soon, Charlie.’ Nika smiled as she took the blue form from him. He watched as she checked the details before adding it to the top of a pile of papers in a variety of colours. ‘I thought your last inspection was only six months ago?’

Charlie grinned at her. ‘You make a point of remembering the last time you saw all your patients, or am I just special?’

Nika laughed. ‘You’re very special, Charlie.’ She paused, taking in the cuts and bruises on his face and the layers of dirt and dust covering him. ‘I see you’re still getting into as much trouble as ever.’ She frowned. ‘Did the Pit shut down early today?’

‘Why are you on front desk duty, anyway?’ Charlie asked. He did not like the look of concern in Nika’s warm eyes.

‘You know how it is,’ she said, shrugging. ‘We’re short-staffed, so I’m processing everyone until we close up. I’ll stay until all our patients have been treated.’

‘Saint Nika, always putting everyone else before herself.’

Nika snorted. ‘You’re one to talk! How are Granny June and the kids?’

‘Fine,’ Charlie said. ‘Tell me this, though,’ he added, unable to restrain his curiosity as he leant in closer and spoke in a softer voice. ‘When did Elysian soldiers start patrolling the Infirmary Station?’