Drawn to the Flame- Book 1 Council of the Light Series

2

As she walked through to the kitchen her reflection flickered in the family portraits along the walls. Her favourite's depicted a beautiful Japanese woman, her handsome husband in his Barbour coat and their tiny newborn baby. Those photos stopped before the baby grew up. A balding short man with rosy cheeks and a black-haired Asian-English girl replaced them.

Finding hiding places for the meal bars felt good. So many houses got raided that keeping food where it could be located was tempting fate. Beatrix had a system of hiding places. They went inside pots, behind the skirting board, under runners for the cupboards and even up the decommissioned chimney above the Aga.

Job done, Beatrix moved through the house, checking out of each window to see if there was any sign of intrusion onto her property. Satisfied that she was alone, she returned to the kitchen thinking about candles.

Two years previously, her study at university had been the classics. She had been learning Greek and Latin, now she filled her evenings compiling her own translation of her father's copy of the Iliad. The power curfew meant that all light was extinguished at night. Without candles, Beatrix could not work. Without work, fear, doubt, anxiety and crippling loneliness clawed away at her until she couldn't breathe. There were no candles in the store. Squirrelled away somewhere, was a singular candle to light up one more night. Beatrix checked but she was out of luck. If she put off visiting the village market any longer it would get dark.

Money was useless, it had been for months. The credit cards didn't work and paper money held no value. Gold, silver, jewels and trinkets were worthless. Food of any description was currency. The supplies the army gave out were the basic standard. Anything that grown, pickled or canned was worth more. Beatrix took her last remaining tomatoes and onions from her greenhouse and she pulled on her boots. She didn't take her gun; it made her a target. Weaponry was priceless.

Beatrix wrapped up, pulled a scarf across her face, and set off for market. The quickest way was across her fields. Two months ago Curry Rivel village green had become a marketplace. Those forgotten arts, the things people saw at craft fairs, had become important. In the three months since the interminable night began, the village had become insular but productive.

~

The market was busy, the army supplies had given people currency. Beatrix came past the church and stepped onto the village green. Thin, threadbare people bartered for goods. Nobody stuck around for long- Beatrix least of all. The ex-vicar beekeeper who made candles was her only stop.

"Are the bees still alive?" She pointed at the candles and passed him two small tomatoes.

"How are you getting these to grow?" he asked, his voice betraying the wonder he felt.

"With great difficulty and help from the army." remind people she had their protection always paid off. The army ate well. They protected their growers.

"The bees are sick, most of them have died."

It was a matter of time, but she hoped the bees would last longer. "You still get tallow from the butcher right?"

"As long as the cows' winter feed lasts we can use beef fat from those we slaughter, but the winter feed won't last forever and it's the middle of the summer now." The candlemaker scratched the back of his neck. "Those ash clouds are not moving on and crops won't grow under a dreary sky. Besides, it's too cold."

Beatrix gave him another two tomatoes, and he gave her more tallow candles in return. "There's talk that a half-mad foreigner turned up in the village early this morning. The patrol tasered him. They thought they beat him to death, but there was no sign of him by the time the market set up. He's a spy, apparently, they are out looking for him again."