Glimmer in the Maelstrom: Shadow Through Time 3

by Louise Cusack

  Kert glanced at Darten who raised her hands and said, ‘F-fine now,’ then frowned and looked down her body in puzzlement.

  ‘New accommodation?’ Glimmer asked to draw Kert’s attention back to her.

  ‘I have grown accustomed to the intimacy of these caves,’ he replied, gazing into her eyes in that way that made her feel breathless. ‘Yet they could be made more comfortable.’

  ‘Indeed,’ Glimmer said and she thought for a moment before sparkles rose all around them again and the dim cave was filled with the light of hundreds of candles.

  Beside her Kert gasped. ‘The royal gardens,’ he said, and Glimmer smiled in delight of her cleverness. By reminding him of his past with Mihale she had given him pleasure. She watched as he breathed deeply of the heady floral fragrance, and wondered if he was remembering the times he had spent with his sovereign here. The floor beneath their feet was now a carpet of soft brown grass, deep enough to sleep on. The rough rock walls had become the carved columns that lined the royal gardens, and the beautiful ahroce bushes her grandmother had commissioned were interspaced with cushioned stools and tinkling water fountains. The brown hues of the Earthworld were not as pretty as a Magorian garden, but Kert’s pleasure was so great he appeared almost pained.

  ‘I thought I could not wait to return,’ he said at last, gazing around himself. ‘Yet I find this remembrance eases my impatience.’

  ‘Mine too,’ she lied. Glimmer’s impatience to find herself in his arms was growing by the minute.

  Behind them Darten said, ‘You rebuild dome?’

  Glimmer’s happy smile faltered and she struggled not to frown as she turned her attention to their ‘guest’. ‘Immediately if you wish,’ she replied sweetly.

  ‘But … have you the strength for such a task?’ Kert asked and Glimmer immediately realised her mistake.

  ‘I can but try,’ she said, turning back to her love, resolving to make the exercise appear as difficult as possible, perhaps even exhausting her anew.

  ‘Such a massive undertaking,’ Kert said. ‘Is there not an undamaged dome that Darten could travel to?’

  Darten nodded at this, then her gaze slid over to Kert before resting on the grass at her feet. ‘I lonely companionship.’

  ‘Really?’ Glimmer toyed with the idea of exploding Darten where she stood. But a moment later she had regained control and said, ‘Then why don’t you dine with us and I’ll search Haddash with my powers to find your people?’ In the centre of the garden a table appeared, laden with succulent fruits and all manner of cakes.

  ‘How gracious,’ Kert said and took Glimmer’s arm. She practically purred under his touch.

  Darten nodded apprehensively and Glimmer felt her smile return. There was nothing to fear from this woman. The Catalyst was in control, and for the first time since she’d lost her objectivity in the emotion stream and reverted to a younger age, things were finally starting to go right.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Sarah stood in the shadows of her room, braced against the window frame as the first skittering of leaves rattled across the verandah. The house groaned as the wind pulled on it and the reinforcing cables resisted. Then the walls around her were still and ominously silent.

  Vandal and his girlfriend ran up the stairs. Sarah blinked. She hadn’t expected that. They’d left for the movies hours ago — a bottle and a half of vodka ago, in fact. But now, instead of taking her home, Vandal had brought the girl here. Because of the storm? Or was there another reason?

  Sarah watched them cross the verandah and tiptoe into the house. Something about Petra’s tiny frame, her dark skin and long black hair, tugged at Sarah’s memory. Something to do with Father Karl … standing on her front steps, talking …? No, the memory was too elusive.

  The floorboards creaked as they went down the hallway, then Sarah heard the faint squeak of Vandal’s bedroom door opening and closing, the unmistakable click of the lock. The wind rose again and the house groaned, as though it was in pain.

  Sarah blinked again. Sex. They were going to have sex. And how many weeks had they been seeing each other? Two? Three? The girl was a slut, just like … Sarah struggled but that thought appeared to be lost along with the other one. Little lost thoughts, running around her brain, hiding in corners saying, Here I am, Sarah, come and find me!

  She laughed — well, a snort really — and plonked herself onto her bed, reaching for the bottle. A careless swig spilt vodka down her chin onto her stained dressing gown, the same dressing gown she’d been wearing all day. The phone was off the hook now, but it had rung several times while Vandal had been out. Sarah hadn’t answered it. It was easier to sit beside the message recorder and listen. Her sister phoning to see if she was alright.

  Marvellous, she’d said to the machine, but of course Melissa hadn’t heard her. Probably wouldn’t have believed her in any case. Melissa had taken over as funeral director, and Reg, the local store owner, had given up trying to stop Sarah drinking. His black ban had given her one bad day while she’d waited, trembling, for two cases of vodka to arrive from Brisbane. Then her happy state of oblivion had resumed and she’d wondered why she’d ever let herself be crucified by Pagan’s betrayal.

  That’s how she thought of it now, as a betrayal. He’d told Sarah he loved her, admittedly as he was leaving, but that had tricked her into thinking he’d be back. Only, he wasn’t coming back. He was staying with his pretty young girlfriend Lae.

  Sarah took another swig, but missed her mouth and hit her chin with the bottle. She tried again and managed to get some of the burning liquid down her throat.

  Alcohol was a wonderful thing. She was never sad now. Depressed sometimes. Maudlin. But never sad. Any pain she felt was diffuse and unrecognisable. That was the way she liked it. Melissa invented dramas like ‘where will the money come from?’ and ‘what about Vandal?’ but they weren’t worth worrying about. Sarah would sell the house if she had to, and everyone knew that responsibility built character. Vandal was eminently capable of looking after himself. He had a girlfriend and was doing well at school, despite Sarah’s lack of attendance at school functions. He was his own man. Only thirteen, but —

  Sarah frowned. Wait a minute. Wasn’t thirteen too young to be having sex? And how old was the girl? Probably the same age.

  Lae had been thirteen when Pagan had left her on Ennae to bring baby Glimmer into exile in Sarah’s world. He would have married Lae if he’d stayed, so clearly thirteen wasn’t too young to have sex on Ennae.

  But this was Magoria. And Petra’s father was the chairman of the local Aboriginal council. A powerful man in the district. If he found out … Sarah’s thoughts shifted. What a funny coincidence that Petra was small and dark-skinned like Lae. And everyone said that Vandal was so much like Pagan. Sarah saw similarities; only, one man she had lusted after and the other was her son. It was obvious that they couldn’t be the same in her eyes. Still, there was a connection there, between Vandal and Pagan, between Petra and Lae, and Father Karl … her thoughts drifted again.

  She took another swig from her bottle, liking the way it warmed her throat now instead of burning it. Anaesthetic. She held it up in her right hand and tried to pat the label with her left, but her hand-eye coordination wasn’t what it used to be. The bottle slipped from her grasp onto the floor and rolled away, spilling the clear fluid onto her mother’s favourite rug.

  Poor Mother, Sarah thought, wondering if her parents were angry with her for not visiting them in the nursing home. Then she remembered that they had Alzheimer’s and wouldn’t recognise her anyway. Just as well or they’d probably give her a lecture about parenting, and Sarah got enough of that from Melissa.

  The whole world was going to end. What did it matter whether she cut lunches and made proper dinners. Reg sent food every week from the store. Vandal knew what to do with it. She was teaching the boy self-reliance. And though she’d never admitted it to Melissa, the only two choices he had were an alcoholic mother or a dead m
other, because she wasn’t going back to living inside the pain she’d felt before vodka had saved her. Even the memory of that time hurt. No one should have to suffer like that. No one needed to suffer like that. Not if they had a credit card.

  She raised her head to search out the door, thinking of getting another bottle, and saw movement in the mirror — didn’t recognise herself for a second. Grey hair, washed-out face, bloated body. Who is that ugly woman?

  Vandal had said that about the district nurse when he’d been young and Pagan had not let Sarah admonish him. ‘She is ugly,’ Pagan had argued, ‘just as Melissa is fat. It does not make them different or bad. It is merely a description, just as I might say Glimmer is young.’

  Pagan would have no hesitation in calling her ugly now, she realised, and that was not a good thought. In fact, it was a bad thought. A sad thought. The type that gave her the energy to think about all the full bottles of vodka lined up in the kitchen cupboard. She lurched up off the mattress and pulled herself along the bed end, snatching the dresser after that, and then the doorway. The house groaned again as the wind outside buffeted it, and Sarah wasn’t sure if the floor was moving under her feet or it was her imagination. Safely out into the hallway, she slid her back along the wall, hands out on both sides for balance.

  It was quiet inside Vandal’s room so she kept moving. If they’d been talking she would have listened, but she was no voyeur. Further down the hall she reached the kitchen and worked her way around the benchtops to the pantry where the vodka was kept. In the beginning she’d hidden it behind a row of respectable soft drinks, but that had made life too difficult. Late in the day it would be too much trouble extricating the alcohol. Now her vodka was at waist level in the front and far less soft drink was smashed across the floor.

  Still, the act of securing her objective required serious concentration and it was several seconds before her wavering hand latched onto the neck of a bottle. She swept it against her chest, clutching it there as she turned back to the kitchen table. Not much chance that she’d make it to the bedroom. The storm was rocking the house like a ship at sea. Either that or the wobblies had set in.

  She slumped into a chair, her vision fading, and decided to have a rest. Her ears were buzzing as her head fell down onto her arms. The bottle top poked into her cheek as she lost consciousness.

  *

  ‘I’m worried about your mum,’ Petra said, leaning back against the wall, her legs hanging over the side of Vandal’s bed, her new white laces glowing in the ultraviolet of his night-light. They’d cuddled, listening to the storm pass, but now she wanted to talk. ‘I know you’re doing your best but she’s …’ Petra struggled for the right words. ‘… I think she’s becoming a danger to herself. Have you thought about rehab?’

  Vandal tightened his arm around her shoulder. ‘I keep an eye on her when I’m home,’ he said and she ached for the note of defensiveness she heard in his voice. ‘And Aunt Melissa comes each day.’ He hadn’t really answered her question but Petra didn’t want to push it. ‘She’ll come around,’ he added unconvincingly.

  Petra nodded and looked up into his eyes, still coming to terms with the loss of her glasses. Like the bruise-removing episode, her second ‘healing’ had been quick and painless, but her emotional reaction had been profound. One minute the world had been a blur, the next she could see with a clarity that dazzled her. Afterwards, Vandal had kissed her and she’d cried.

  The first week she’d wandered around in a daze. Now she was calmer but still far from blasé about losing the thick lenses — not having their familiar weight on her nose was like walking around barefoot when you’d always worn shoes. A good feeling, albeit a weird one.

  ‘I’ll check on her soon,’ Vandal said, sounding even more defensive, and Petra wondered if her silence had sounded like an accusation.

  ‘Whatever you want to do. I don’t mind,’ she said, and he seemed to relax, but she couldn’t help wishing for a miracle, for Sarah to stop drinking and to pay attention to her son. Vandal was the most beautiful person on the planet, inside and out, and his own mother barely spoke to him. In fact, as time passed, she acted less like a mother and more like one of those case studies from the mental institution documentaries, so incoherent she was actually frightening.

  No wonder Vandal was determined to go to Ennae. It was all he could think of to save her. But that would mean leaving Petra too. They’d been officially dating for less than a fortnight, but she was already trying to think of arguments to talk him out of going. Only, he wasn’t forthcoming about that subject either. Petra sighed. It didn’t matter that she loved him, it was true what the other girls said. Boys just didn’t like to talk.

  Vandal smiled, oblivious to her thoughts. ‘You have beautiful eyes,’ he said and pulled her closer. His hand strayed down her arm, a finger brushing the side of her breast, whether by accident or on purpose she wasn’t sure. ‘Have I mentioned that?’

  ‘No,’ she lied. ‘Did you make them beautiful when you fixed them?’

  She lost focus on his face when he leant down to kiss her, then she closed her eyes and concentrated on the sensations: his tongue moving confidently on her own, his fingers tangling in her hair, holding her head. And the other, caressing her arm, that finger still brushing the side of her breast, tentative, unsure.

  ‘Mmmm,’ she said and wriggled closer, putting her arms around his neck so that caressing hand would have to find another resting place. It did. ‘Mmmm,’ as it closed over her breast and fireworks went off behind her eyes. He didn’t grope, just squeezed gently and then moved his hand, ever so slightly, his large palm rubbing her straining nipple through the soft fabric of her new dress. Petra thought she was going to faint. She lost the ability to concentrate on the kiss and barely noticed when he stopped and pulled back.

  ‘Wow … triplicate,’ he breathed gazing into her eyes, his hand still cupping her breast. ‘This is one of those exploding moments.’

  She tried to laugh but was too breathless. ‘Me too.’

  ‘There’s more.’ he said, and when her eyes widened, he quickly added, ‘Not that. Just … close your eyes,’ and when she did, he kissed her eyelids. ‘Now let me concentrate,’ he said, and a moment later Petra felt something happening to the breast he held, a warm tingling that heated the already tensed nipple and vibrated the softer flesh beneath.

  ‘Oh. My. God,’ she whispered, her lips trembling as the tender ache built inside her chest. Her forehead lolled forward to rest against his cheek, her breath coming in shorter and shorter gasps until she couldn’t remember to breathe. And then it happened, a shuddering wave of pleasure, emanating from her breast, rolled down her spine like hot molasses.

  She collapsed against his chest and he cradled her there, smoothing back her hair. ‘So tell me I’m a God,’ he said and she heard the smile in his voice.

  ‘You’re a God,’ she whispered, breathless, happy to oblige. ‘Can you do that … elsewhere?’

  ‘Places you’d never imagine,’ he said.

  She did manage to smile then. ‘Been practising on yourself?’ she asked.

  ‘What can I say? I’m supposed to hone my powers. Besides, I’m a teenager. It’s my job to explore.’

  Petra wanted to lie back on his bed and be his uncharted territory, but an unpleasant thought dropped into her mind. ‘Are you supposed to do that?’ she asked. ‘I mean, is it allowed in the Guardian … rules.’

  He was silent for a moment and Petra had the terrible feeling that he was about to lie. She pulled back and looked into his eyes. ‘Vandal?’

  ‘Petra,’ he countered. Then frowned. ‘Alright. I’m not supposed to,’ he admitted, ‘but how else can I practise my powers? Set up a hooky religion and become the next Messiah?’

  Petra shuddered.

  ‘I don’t want to go to Ennae and be useless.’

  It was the perfect opportunity for Petra to say she didn’t want him to go at all, but she kept silent. Instinct told her his loyalt
y to his mother would be stronger. Petra’s relationship with him was so new. She didn’t want to test it this way, not yet at least.

  ‘Permission to try that again?’ he said and smiled at her in the way that melted her from the inside out, giving her a look that said he’d be thinking about her all night.

  How Petra wanted to say yes, yes, yes, but some common sense bled into her pleasure-addled mind. She raised a wrist to look at her luminous dial. ‘It’s late. I’ve really gotta go.’ The excuse of the storm would only stretch so far with her father, and Petra didn’t want to be grounded until she was twenty.

  ‘Next time,’ he said and she felt a delicious tingle of anticipation.

  They spent another couple of precious seconds kissing goodbye before she whispered, ‘Just if you’re sure it won’t “change our relationship”.’

  Vandal’s teeth glowed blue-white in the ultraviolet light. ‘I think I’m prepared to take that risk,’ he said.

  She touched his hair, looked into his eyes, lost for a moment in how utterly gorgeous he was. Hers. All hers. ‘Gotta go,’ she said.

  He nodded, taking her hand and leading her out of his room and onto the verandah. ‘Just a sec,’ he said and went back down the hallway into the quiet house. Petra heard faint snoring from the kitchen and then heavy footsteps as he carried his mum back to bed. Petra stayed in the shadows away from the entrance so she wouldn’t have to see. A minute later he was back with her and Petra tried to put the thought of his comatose mother out of her mind.

  They walked to her place in companionable silence. The air was fresh and clean and the world so still they could almost hear plants growing. Petra had become used to the jumble of scattered debris where once ordered streets and gardens had been. No one bothered to sweep paths any more, though tree branches that fell were quickly gathered and stored under houses so they couldn’t be projectiles in the next storm.