Black Heart

Chapter 1

The wooden cradle teetered back and forth and the hinges groaned in familiar protest as the tired woman hummed absentmindedly to the little babe within. Much like the grain of the wooden cradle, the woman’s deep-set wrinkles and kind, sunken eyes told a story of a life well lived. This child was not hers, but she would watch over her for the rest of her days, days that she hoped would be longer than she believed likely. She considered this as she watched the wood-starved fire in the corner of the room flicker weakly and cough up its last remnants of heat. She sighed. It was no use worrying about a future she could not change.

She smiled as the baby reached for the small, gold, heart-shaped locket that adorned the woman’s chest. When her tiny fingers grazed it, the baby let out a gentle gurgle and her eyes lit up, transfixed by the little pendant. The baby's clement touch was enough to send the locket pirouetting into the afterglow of the dying embers and it throbbed, reflecting tiny specks of gold into the viridian green of the baby’s wide eyes. The baby reached for her own locket that lay languid against her soft skin, and revealed a toothless grin as it pulsed under her touch.

For as long as time remembered, every child born under the Regent was issued with a locket at birth. The romantics declared that it was emblematic of man's own heart, whilst the more cynically inclined labelled it surveillance device. Despite the differing of opinion, what was undisputed was that each locket was irrevocably bonded to its holder.

Chapter 2

“Get in here NOW!” Mirelle bellowed from the bowels of the house, her face was flushed with anger. Isa hesitated, but after fifteen years of courting Mirelle’s temper, she knew better than to test her luck. She slid down from the roof and skulked in to the only home she’d ever known like a thief in the night. Sheepishly, she shrugged and tried to hide the newly acquired hole in the trousers that Mirelle had patched up only last night.

“I’ve told you for the millionth time, Isa, it's your Consecration tonight and you cannot," she paused for effect and punctuated her next words, "cannot be late. You can’t keep acting like a child forever.”

Isa was silent for a moment, “I know, Mirelle…” she trailed off, before finding her voice and asking gingerly, “but, but what happens if it hurts? Zoka told me that she heard that a boy just two precincts down burst into flames on the spot! What if that happens to me? What if the Regent decide they don’t like the look of my heart and they take me away like Father? What happens then?” Isa turned increasingly harried, she made a noise as if to continue when Mirelle cut her off.

“Isa, Isa” she soothed as she unfolded the few dress clothes they owned, “none of that will happen. Every adult you know has been through a Consecration as a child and they’re all still kicking about, aren’t they? All you have to do is put your locket in the flames, smile at the Ecclesiastic and put your locket back around your neck. There is nothing for you to worry about! That locket has been on your neck since you left your mother’s arms! Your heart is pure, and you are sweet," Mirelle grinned and continued, "half of the time anyway - and all your Consecration will do is confirm that. Now, come on, or we’re going to be late.” Mirelle stoked the flames in the fireplace. She took out a flatiron and pressed it against a crumpled shirt.

“What if I don’t go?”

Mirelle’s eyes narrowed at Isa, “that’s not an option, Isa, and you know it.”

“Well, how will they know if I don’t go?” Isa retorted with the false confidence of childhood.

Mirelle stopped. Her eyes widened as she stared at Isa and realised that Isa was genuinely contemplating it. The air in the cramped room grew still and thick. The hiss of the flatiron scorching the shirt broke silence. Finally Mirelle spoke softly, “The locket, Isa. They can see everyone’s locket. I’m sorry, but this isn’t like one of our games, you have to go.”

Isa twisted her neck in apprehensive acquiescence; she was uncomfortable with the look in Mirelle’s eyes as she spoke. It was a look that she had rarely seen. The last time she could remember seeing it, Isa had disappeared aged ten on her greatest expedition to date, travelling four precincts down all alone, to find the sea so to satisfy her yearning to swim. When Isa had decided that she’d had enough of her odyssey (because she didn't want to worry anyone, and definitely not because the night was darker and colder than she cared to admit) she had waltzed back in to this very room all those years ago, and saw the same look in Mirelle’s eyes that she saw today. It was fear. Mirelle was scared. Years ago the look flashed only for a moment before being displaced by ire, but today the look of fear had taken up permanent residence in Mirelle's eyes. Isa looked away.

Isa let Mirelle dress her for what felt like the last time. A swell of grief coiled itself in the pit of Isa’s stomach and she could not understand why. Tonight, she would come back with Mirelle from the Consecration and live in the same four walls that she had always lived in, and nothing would have changed. Reassuring herself, Isa focussed on Mirelle’s locket that was still nestled atop her now aged papyrus-like skin. It had dulled over the years and no longer had the shimmer of youth, but like Mirelle, it was sturdy and comforting. Isa reached out and with one hand held Mirelle’s locket and with the other, her own. Mirelle’s was cool and composed, her own locket jerked and moved with a life of its own. Mirelle had told her that after the Consecration, her locket would change and it might not be like it was before. Isa was dubious at this, as someone who had only ever known constants: Mirelle, this house, her mundane life, she found it hard to imagine change.

Chapter 3

The feeling in the pit of Isa’s stomach hadn’t abated by the time that Mirelle and Isa reached the outskirts of the precinct where the Consecration would take place. There were scores of people here, some that Isa knew and others that she was certain she had never seen before. They made a loose circle, pivoting around the pyre that stood in the middle of their orbit. A pious looking man, dressed in clerical garb with a severe face stepped closer, he flicked his wrist and flames shot out up out of the pyre. Isa gasped. Soon after, the breath of the fire engulfed her and she was no longer worried. A sense of peace quelled her body.

“Which children shall be presented to the Regent tonight?” a cold voice belonging to the man with the severe face boomed out.

Mirelle pushed Isa forwards, and a couple of other children to Isa’s left shuffled forwards too. The flames began to gyrate up towards the sky, hissing, flickering and taunting the onlookers. Isa could feel Mirelle a few paces behind her, shifting her weight from foot to foot anxiously.

“Lockets in now.” the cold voice demanded.

The girl to the left of Isa thrust her locket into the flames and the amber blaze whistled and chortled. The flames leapt up and within seconds spat out the locket at the girl’s feet. The Ecclesiastic nodded uninterestedly. Isa watched as the girl cautiously picked the locket up and refastened the chain around her neck.

It was Isa’s turn. Her locket felt hot in her hands, hotter than the flames fanning her face. When she put up a hand to caress the flames: they turned cold. She dropped the locket in and suddenly everything went black. The fire was dead. The ashes beneath the pyre were charred and freezing, yet Isa’s locket had cleaved through ground and was scorching everything it touched. Despite the relentless heat radiating off it, Isa knelt down and snatched her locket from the grip of the frigid earth and cradled it to her chest: her locket had turned from its warm, familiar gold to impenetrable obsidian.

The single voice of the Ecclesiastic spoke in a weak whisper, “…It’s her…"

Then, as if he had been struck, he jolted and shrieked, flapping his spindly arms, "the Regent... Get her! Get her now!”

The Ecclesiastic made a run for Isa. Isa froze. Mirelle got to her first and shoved her out the way. Isa's chin thumped against the uninviting ground and she skidded along the rough foliage.

“Run,” she heard Mirelle bark out before screeching as she took a blow to the face from the Ecclesiastic. Isa made an attempt to run to Mirelle, when a pair of arms grabbed her and dragged her further and further away from Mirelle. She twisted and kicked and floundered against her captor’s brick like arms. Mirelle was all she knew.

“Listen to me! You’ve got a grade A bounty on your head, kid, if you want to get out of here alive, you better stop working against me and start working with me!” The voice was firm without being harsh, but Isa couldn't care less about his words. All she wanted was Mirelle to be safe.

“Mirelle!” she howled, scratching like an animal at the arms around her. In quick succession, her captor put his hand over her mouth and yanked her further away. Isa considered biting off a finger. She caught Mirelle’s eye, who mouthed “RUN”. It wasn't fear in Mirelle's eyes this time, it was absolute terror and Isa was helpless to intervene. Suddenly, Mirelle's brow furrowed, her eyes narrowed and she squinted desperately trying to see Isa's captor. Despite the Ecclesiastic's blows raining down on her feeble form, Mirelle's face turned slack and the tension seemed to leave her body.

Isa gave another half hearted grapple against her captor’s arms, but she was well aware it was pointless. She watched on uselessly as the Ecclesiastic brought his hand up and took hold of Mirelle’s locket. Mirelle gasped, she let out a chortled yelp and made a sound like she was drowning. Furious tears pooled in Isa’s eye, the sight before her was enough to renew her struggle against the arms of her captor.

With a disdainful glance, the Ecclesiastic crushed Mirelle’s locket in his angular fist and Mirelle instantly crumpled to the ground and turned grey. He tossed the locket on her lifeless body and set his sights upon Isa. Straightaway Isa knew, she knew Mirelle was dead. Yet she couldn’t bear to tear her eyes away from creeping pallor inching up Mirelle's neck and taking hold of her face, nor would she ever forget the barren, vacant stare of Mirelle's glassy eyes that she knew better than her own.

Isa could hear screaming. She didn't know where it was coming from. It wasn't a panicked scream, but one of utter desolation. A keening and grieving for a life that could have been and a future that would have been. For the second time that night, everything went black for Isa. The screaming stopped.