Dark Justice

Prologue

Prologue

High-pitched laughter and squeals drew Justice to the crack in the wall. She peered through, squeezing in close to get a better view of the children playing in the middle of the street outside the monastery. Boys and girls, carefree smiles wreathing their faces, threw themselves about with no regard for the dirt that clung to their clothes as they avoided the grasp of the tall boy chasing them. He lunged forward and tapped a girl a year or two younger than him on the back and then darted to the side, sprinting off as she spun around and gave chase.

Justice looked down at the brown robe the Gaean monks insisted she wear. It covered her from neck to toe, the deep hood hiding the neat braid that constrained her long hair. What would it be like to wear jeans like the others, to run barefoot in the street, hair in tangles, uncaring of who might see her?

A hand clasped her shoulder and she spun around, eyes wide, heart pounding.

‘You shouldn’t be out here.’ Her mother took Justice’s hand and led her toward the large stone building that had been her home ever since she could remember. ‘It’s not safe.’

‘But the other children get to play in the street. Can’t I, just for a little while?’

Her mother stopped and kneeled in front of Justice, brown robe pooling around her, a frown creasing her brow. ‘We have talked about this with Brother Owen. You know it is too dangerous.’

Justice heaved a sigh and lowered her head.

Her mother cupped Justice’s chin with gentle fingers and lifted her head. ‘I know you wish you could be like other children, but you aren’t. You are special and must be protected. If it wasn’t for Brother Owen and the others, taking us in, giving us a home…’ It was her mother’s turn to sigh, eyes shadowed.

After a long moment, she gave a shake and smiled at Justice. ‘It is time for your lesson with Brother Owen.’ She clasped Justice’s hand and led her to the monk’s office at the back of the main building.

Justice could no longer hear the children playing outside, but knew they were still there. Today was a rest day for them, while she had to learn about history, politics, and the laws that governed them—all subjects Brother Owen thought she needed to know to fulfil the purpose she was born for.

After the lesson, she joined her mother in the large kitchen off the common room where they ate their meals and helped the monks prepare the dinner. Her mother hummed as she chopped the vegetables Justice had peeled for the beef stew. The monks were quiet, solemn as they worked, but now and then one of them would glance their way and smile.

Once dinner was prepared, the stew bubbling away, Justice and her mother returned to the small room they shared.

‘What book would you like to read today?’

Justice ran her fingers over the spines of the small collection of books on the table between their beds, selecting one with a bright yellow cover and handing it to her mother. She had read them all, numerous times, and could practically recite them word for word. But this was her favourite part of each day, where she nestled into her mother’s side, able to forget about her duty and simply enjoy the sound of her mother’s voice.

That night, after the evening meal had been eaten and the kitchen scrubbed clean, Justice lay in her bed and traced a fingertip over the birthmark covering the palm of her right hand. A set of scales, evenly balanced. If not for this mark, no one would think she was special. She’d be able to run and laugh, live like everyone else, instead of being locked away behind stone walls.

She rolled onto her side and shoved her hand under the pillow. Soothed by the familiar sound of her mother’s even breathing from the other side of the room, she drifted off to sleep.

Hours later she sat up, disoriented, searching for what had woken her. Her brow creased at the sound of people shouting in the distance. The monks never raised their voices. She looked across the room, expecting to see her mother’s face, looking just as puzzled as her own, but the bed was empty.

Justice slipped out of bed and tip-toed to the door, wiping sweaty palms on her nightgown as she peered down the empty hallway. The shouting was getting closer, loud bangs and cries of pain echoing down the hall.

The urge to dive back into bed and pull the covers over her head warred with the desire to find her mother. She stepped into the hallway, body stiff, and shuffled toward the source of the noise. Heart thudding in her chest, she crept closer to the large common room at the end of the hall, still with no sign of her mother. Worse, the sound of fighting ceased and an eerie quiet took its place.

Justice reached the end of the hall and peered into the common room.

‘Mother.’ She tore across the room, dodging fallen bodies, most of them wearing brown robes, as she raced to her mother’s side.

Her mother lay on her back, the front of her calico nightgown drenched in blood, fear etched on her face as she struggled to speak. ‘Run, Justice. Run,’ she gasped, raising a hand to push her away.

‘No. I won’t leave you.’ Justice sobbed, vision blurred with tears. She swiped a hand across her eyes and scanned the room. ‘I’ll get Brother Owen. He can fix this.’

Brother Owen lay a short distance away, sightless eyes staring at her, a large knife sticking out of his chest. She gave a low moan, eyes widening as she realised all the monks were dead, bodies sprawled in untidy heaps.

‘There she is.’

Justice’s head swung around at the shout and she whimpered as two men burst out of the chapel. She clutched her mother’s hand as they descended upon her, knives raised.

Her mother struggled to rise, but the first man to reach them slashed down with his knife and she fell to the side, blood gushing from her neck. Justice screamed and scrabbled backward as he spun around and stabbed her. The knife hit her in the chest and bounced back, the force of the ricochet tearing it out of his hands. His eyes gaped as he dived after his knife.

The second man reached her side and grabbed Justice’s hair, wrenching her head back, knife at her throat.

‘Do it,’ said the first, face contorted with rage. ‘Kill her.’

The man holding her hair shook, the force of his movements shaking her along with him. He collapsed to his knees beside her as the other man lunged forward. Still on his knees, the man holding Justice released her hair and clasped her about the waist instead, wrenching them both around.

He roared as his companion’s knife sank into his unprotected back before he went limp, falling on top of Justice, pinning her to the stone floor. She squirmed, breath coming in gasps, seeking to wriggle out from under him. But he was too heavy.

A hand grabbed her arm and roughly pulled her free.

Knife in one hand, ready to end her life, the man who had killed her mother shuddered and fell to his knees. The knife fell to the ground as his shaking eased. He gazed at Justice with wonder in his eyes and tenderly wiped the tears from her cheeks.

‘It’s all right, little one. I won’t let anybody hurt you.’ He wrapped his arms around her, cradling her as he got to his feet.

Justice peered over his shoulder at her mother’s dead body, tears streaming down her face. She stifled her sobs with a fist, body shaking as the man who had destroyed everything she loved carried her out of the common room. In the darkened streets outside the monastery, Justice held herself rigid. She was not supposed to be out here. It wasn’t safe.

Nowhere was safe. Not for her.

Two days later, in a hotel room in a town so small it didn’t have a name, Justice shivered as the man who had vowed to protect her glared at her from across the tiny dining table.

‘What have you done to me?’ He pushed his chair back from the table, rising to his feet. ‘What did you make me do?’ He snatched up the knife he’d been using to butter bread for their lunch and lunged toward her, a snarl on his lips.

With a yell, he dropped the knife and clutched his head, falling to his knees, groaning. His second attempt at her life ended the same way, only this time it took him longer to recover. When he regained his footing, he strode toward the door, freezing mid-step, body shaking. After a moment he turned around, hatred clear in his gaze as he strode back to the table. He finished making sandwiches, pushing a plate in front of her. He took his own plate and retreated to the bed on the opposite side of the room, sitting with his back to her.

A tear slipped down her face as she remembered Brother Owen’s lessons detailing how the Earth Goddess Gaea had arranged for her to be protected until she had fulfilled her duty.

The moment he’d touched her, the man who had tried to kill her had become her unwilling bodyguard, compelled to protect her at all costs. Now the initial shock of the bond had worn off, his reasoning had returned but not his free will. He would guard her with his life, feed and clothe her, provide shelter while she grew to adulthood.

But he would never love her.

No one would.

She had not been created to find love. She had a purpose.

Justice would be done.