Young Writers Society

Chapter 14 – The Protest

Mirabelle had been right. We marched into the square at the most opportune time. The stalls were open and customers milled about, but it was still quiet enough for us to make a grand entrance with little obstacles.

“WHAT DO WE WANT?” Mirabelle called at the head of the group.

“FAIR TREATMENT!” The protesters cried in unison.

“WHEN DO WE WANT IT?”

“NOW!”

I was being crushed within the bodies, angry spittle flying at my face. With the help of my bony elbows, I managed to wriggle my way to the edge of the cluster of people and eject myself, discarding my placard in the fray. I stumbled, the dislodging upsetting my footing. The fountain stopped my fall and I crashed down heavily onto the stone rim.

Mirabelle continued her rallying cries and from this vantage point, I could see she was grabbing everyone’s attention. They stopped their shopping and made their way towards the protestors like they were being pulled by an invisible force. My stomach dropped to my feet at the sight of a familiar face. Before I talked myself out of it, I barrelled towards her and pulled her behind a stall at the other end of the square. She blinked, shocked at my hands on her and jerked away.

“What the- What’s going on?” Her head spun back around towards Mirabelle, her wild hair whipping me across the face.

“Alta, what are you doing here?”

“I- shopping. I was hoping to haggle for some thread.” She wasn’t even looking at me; she was too entranced by Mirabelle.

Oh, how the tables had turned.

“Alta, listen to me. You need to go home. You can’t be seen here.”

“She’s the one who left the flyer, isn’t she?” she said, like she hadn’t even heard me. “That’s the group? The one you told me to stay away from?” She turned back to me, brows furrowed with scepticism. “Say, what are you doing here?”

“I- I don’t know. She’s my friend. But this can’t end well.”

“But she’s right. If we fight back, the king will have to listen. Your money helped a lot, Wallace, but I will not be able to make it another month if this carries on. How can I do nothing? They’re trying to help all of us. They’re putting themselves in danger for us.”

“Exactly. Danger. Please, let me take you home.”

The protesters had swarmed the square. Some had even climbed onto the fountain, clinging onto the stone lady seemingly oblivious to the water spraying them. Their chanting became louder and more direct.

“TAKE, TAKE, TAKE AND WE WILL BREAK, BREAK, BREAK”

“THE KING DOESN’T CARE! WE CARE!”

“MARCH OR WE STARVE”

The determined set of Alta’s shoulders told me all I needed to know. Without even looking back at me, she strode into the crowd and the next time I spotted her, she was waving a placard reading-

‘KING CEDRIC, KING OF THE PEOPLE

WHERE ARE YOU NOW?’

The crowd had easily doubled. Even some of the vendors had abandoned their businesses to grab a placard. The majority were marching in a circle around the fountain, but some protesters were straying, seeping into nearby buildings and accumulating more and more people.

The ruckus was so loud and intimidating I found myself crumpled in the alley between two shops. My mind screamed at me to run, to get away from the situation, but I couldn’t take my eyes off Mirabelle. Her face was almost blood red, the veins in her neck straining against her skin as she screamed. She may have been wearing a simply faded yellow smock which, on anyone else, would have made them invisible, but she positively radiated power.

But then the structured coordination began to crumble. As more and more people joined the group from every direction, there were jostles and disagreements within the fray. I could spot them like fish swimming against a current. Some were arguing over the placards, trying to grab them out of each other’s hands. Some just seemed to be causing trouble for the sake of it.

Jerome, the blacksmith, fell face first into the foundation when a protester dragged him in. He surged to his feet, grabbing the man by his collar and shaking him like a doll. The woman hanging on the statue’s arm jumped down and yanked them apart, shouting something I couldn’t hear over the rest of the chanting.

The unrest seemed to spread like a disease. Protesters turned on protesters. They grabbed the remaining vendors from behind their stalls and screamed at them for not joining in. I had been focusing too much on finding Alta amongst the fights that I was caught completely off-guard when the stall closest to me suddenly went up in flames. The heat licked at my already sweat-coated face. I jumped back, landed funny on the cobbles and dropped onto my back. The impact of the fall knocked the wind right out of me.

The reverberations of the horse’s hooves rattled against my ears before I saw them. The chanting turned to screams and I had to drag myself across the cobbles to a nearby wall before I was crushed underfoot. As the crowd began to disperse, I saw the guards. Clad in full chainmail and red tabards, with short swords hanging at their waists, they circled the square before dismounting and collecting the protesters that remained.

Mirabelle.

I jumped to my feet, frantically searching the rushing people but I couldn’t find her. Some of the protesters, in their attempt to flee, were thrown right into the guards arms. They kicked and flailed like children being forced to bed as they were dragged away. Alta was caught. I watched her from my spot against the wall as her wrists were locked in shackles behind her back and she was escorted into jail cart, her head bent in subjugation.

A scream lodged in my throat. It scraped against my insides, panic alighting all my senses. Too much was happening. The fire beside me had spread to the neighbouring stall, the collection of origami figures alighting one by one with a pop until only a trail of ash was left behind.

I am sorry to say this, dear reader, but after unsuccessfully scoping the square for my best friend, I ran. I ran as fast as my shaking legs could carry me until I dropped to my knees in the woods surrounding my house and cried into the dirt.

It was a while until I managed to get back to my feet and travel the rest of the way to my lodge. The clothes I had worn to the ball were still strewn across my floor and my jaw clenched at the memory of why I had changed in such a hurry. I hadn’t wanted to be alone. I had sought Mirabelle for her easy, comforting camaraderie. But the saddening truth was that that was not the case anymore. Mirabelle was no longer the girl who idolised me and wanted nothing more than to waste the day making people laugh. Mirabelle was a grown woman with her own sense of self. And I envied her for that.

Dropping onto my bed, I fought a battle within myself. A part of me wanted to run back to her house to check she had made it home, but another part of me wanted to curl up under my blankets and wish the horrible day away.

I did the latter.

By the time I woke up from my wearisome nap, it was too dark outside for me to even think of doing anything productive. The image of Alta being carted away played round and round in my mind all night. Sometimes she morphed into Mirabelle. Sometimes she morphed into me.