Absence_Whispers and Shadow

by J. B. Forsyth

  ‘Stand aside Bron! Stand aside or I’ll knock you down!’

  His defiance fractured and he stepped out of their way. He watched miserably as they bundled Joannah’s roaring body over the threshold before shouting after them. ‘Who’s gonna buy my bread after this Harlow! I’ll be finished.’

  Ormis stepped into the square from a side street. His father had ordered him home, but he was unable to take a single step in that direction. Watching him disappear in a cloud of dust had filled him with prophetic dread – a sense that something of enormous significance was about to be played out in town. He was not usually a disobedient boy, but the feeling was so powerful that it compelled him to come.

  So he ran into town, through waves of people coming the other way with talk of witches around them like hornets. Some were spilling vegetables from poorly loaded carts and others were hurrying away with empty baskets, pulling terrified children by the hand. One knot of people recognised him; the men pointing him out and the women clasping their hands to their mouths. When the men crossed the road to put hands on him, he had jumped a wall and escaped behind a row of houses.

  He walked across the square now, to where the remaining people gathered around the baker’s shop. He froze when he saw the exorcist laid out on his back, his grey hair soaking up a pool of blood - dead except for the living abscess that was his mist stone. It should have been enough to turn him around, but the need to know what had become of his parents gave him the courage to creep forward. He took three more steps and stopped again when he saw his father slumped against the bakery wall - waiting to deliver a final reprimand with his vacant eyes: You shouldn’t have let her out.

  A beastly roar tore out of the bakery and it was a mercy that he was spared the scene inside. The mob was forcing his mother head first into the brick tunnel that fed the oven. The space was tight and although she fought them with savage strength it became easier once they wrestled her top half in, wedging her arms by her sides. They pushed her inch by inch through the squeeze of brick, their feet slipping on the floor as they fought the frenzied kicking of her legs. But then a sudden violent twist of her hips loosened her against the tunnel wall and like men driving a battering ram they drove her the rest of the way in one movement; so hard they heard her head thud against the oven’s back wall. The shimmering heat that received her would have fried an egg in seconds and it set to work on her immediately, roasting her from the neck up.

  The spirit demon knew the fight was over and with no further use for Joannah’s body it left her to the flames and rose up the chimney in a column of super-heated air. It saw a boy in the square and drifted down to take possession of him. But it angled away at the last second, recognising him as the boy who had resisted a previous possession and who it had thrown into the river. It looked around for an easier acquisition and saw a plump man dressed in an apron. He was standing outside the bakery and shouting at those inside. It drifted over to him, its eyes glowing with anticipation.

  Joannah had been unconscious since leaving the gorge and as such was blissfully unaware of all her stolen body had gone through since. But when the spirit demon left her she rose back into her skin and reconnected with her sensation. Numbness was supplanted by heat. For a fraction of a second the heat was intolerable and then it was much, much worse. In her final moments heat was all she knew. She was waking up in a blast of dragon breath and she could only scream in blistering agony as her hair and bonnet burst into flame.

  The men that held her sensed the change. They felt the unearthly strength drain from her as her roars turned to screams. But still they held her - held her until her bare legs stopped kicking and her blue and white lace dress hung over them like a shroud.

  Ormis stood like a statue as his mother’s screams lanced out of the bakery and scraped around the cobbles. He wanted to shout at the men inside and tell them to stop what they were doing. But he couldn’t move - could hardly breathe. All he could do was look into his father’s eyes. You shouldn’t have let her out.

  It was only when the smell of his mother’s roasting body wafted down from the crooked chimney that he was able to break free of that gaze. He staggered from the square gagging, leaving his parents and his childhood behind.

  Gaol

  Ormis strode through the streets of Irongate, scattering birds that pecked at yesterday’s crumbs. He was not the kind of man who took pleasure in walking – the kind of man who walked to soak up the atmosphere or who took detours out of curiosity. He walked only to get somewhere and only then by the shortest route. So it came as a complete surprise to him when he hurried past his usual shortcut by the bakery. He drew up with a frown and decided to go back. But after only a dozen steps he stopped again, realising it was the smell of the bakery that had nudged him off course. The baker’s ovens were fired and the aroma of his first batch was drifting through the streets. This was always the case at this hour but for some reason it was causing a tightening of his gut and a strange sinking feeling in his chest; symptoms he knew would only get worse if he got any closer. So he whirled back around and continued on the longer route, turning his mind back to the business ahead of him.

  He arrived at the prison and found an unusual number of guards manning the gate. There was usually one in the gatehouse and two on the wall above it. But today there were three on the gate and four on the wall. He wondered if there had been another riot or gaol break. Two years ago the head of a local criminal element was broken out by his confederates whilst exercising in the yard. They dispatched two wall guards using bowmen placed in upper storeys of local houses and gained leverage on the gatekeeper by kidnapping his son - threatening to cut his hands off if he failed to unlock the front gates when given the signal. And now as the gate guards waved him through he began to question the wisdom of leaving his charges in the prison and hoped they weren’t involved in the trouble.

  He saw the High Exorcist talking to a prison guard and headed in his direction. Beside him two men were swinging body bags onto a mortuary cart. There were half a dozen still lying on the cobbles and perhaps twice as many already loaded. The High Exorcist saw him and waddled over to meet him.

  ‘There was an attack on the prison last night,’ he said. His eyes were raw and he looked like he hadn’t slept in days. ‘They killed Azhul and every guard on the night watch. And whoever’s responsible has done their best to disguise their motive. They’ve taken the prison log book and the prisoner records. We don’t know if there’s anyone missing, because we don’t know who’s supposed to be here. And to top it all they’ve taken all the keys. Lord Beredrim is in there now with the locksmith, trying to get a head count. It’s an onerous task if ever there was one.’

  ‘Do you know if my charges are safe?’

  ‘I don’t. But if you know where they are, we can take a look.’

  ‘First floor, east wing,’ he said confidently. ‘Cells eighteen and nineteen.’

  The High Exorcist waved a guard over and spoke to him. ‘Find the locksmith and have him meet us on the first floor of east wing right away.’ The guard disappeared into the gaol and they followed him in. ‘I can spare you enough time to give an opinion on the girl. But then I’m going to lend Lord Beredrim a hand. I think it’s going to be a long day.’

  ‘Any ideas on what happened?’

  ‘Beredrim’s men are going over the bodies. The gatekeeper was killed at his post. The men from the ground floor and all those supposed to be manning the wall were found butchered in the guardroom. It’s quite a scene. I’ve seen some things Ormis, but I had to come out and get some air... Those on the first floor and furthest corners of the prison died at their posts without drawing a single weapon in their defence.’

  ‘They knew their attackers?’

  ‘It looks that way.’

  When they stepped into east wing one of the prisoners heard them and called out from behind his door. ‘Hey lads, sounds like we’ve got some fresh meat. I wonder if they’ll last longer than the night shift.’
There was cheering from the other cells and as they made their way down the corridor they were subjected to more abuse:

  ‘Pig bastards got what they deserved.’

  ‘They’ll slit your throat and cut you into little bits.’

  ‘I hope they killed that rat’s arse that makes the soup.’

  This last comment was received with raucous laughter and some of them banged their doors with bowls.

  ‘Listen to them,’ said Kass. ‘They’ve got wind of what happened and they’re celebrating it. Some of them must know something, but they won’t tell us.’ They drew up sharp when a jet of steaming urine shot out from under a cell door, forming a foaming puddle in front of them. They waited for the flow to subside then stepped over it. ‘See what I mean,’ he said as hysterical laughter filled the corridor. ‘But I reckon their good humour will wear thin when they start to get hungry. With all that’s been going on there’s been little work in the kitchens.’

  They arrived at cell eighteen and Ormis slid open the viewing panel and looked inside. Kye was in bed, curled up in his blankets and despite the din from the corridor it looked like he was still sleeping. He slid the plate back and went to the girl’s cell. But when he looked in he couldn’t see her. He tried the door and when it didn’t budge he stuck his face right into the viewing panel, angling his head left and right to see further into the corners. But still there was no sign of her. ‘Girl! Are you in there?’

  No answer.

  ‘Asleep in front of the door?’ suggested Kass. ‘Or hiding under the bed?’

  ‘Perhaps.’ he said, feeling the first prickle of irritation. He thumped on the door several times and shouted in. ‘Wake up and show your face girl…We need to know you’re in there…Come now, this is no time for games.’ But still there was no sign of her.

  ‘The Gaolmaster might have moved her,’ said Kass.

  ‘I doubt it. The place was full last night and these the last available cells.’

  They waited in the dim lamplight of the corridor, listening to inmates improvising a song about the dead prison guards. Eventually the locksmith jingled around the corner. ‘You sent for me Lord Riole.’

  ‘Yes. Can you open this one for us?’

  They stood back while he selected a skeleton key and rattled it into the lock. The door opened and they all went in. Ormis looked behind the door then crouched to look under the bed. ‘She’s gone.’

  ‘Have you seen a girl anywhere in the prison?’ he asked the locksmith as he straightened up. ‘I left one of my charges here last night.’

  ‘Not so far, but I’m not even a third of the way round yet.’

  ‘Have you found any of the other cells empty?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Thank you for coming,’ said Kass. ‘Could you open eighteen and leave us to it?’

  ‘Certainly,’ replied the locksmith and disappeared into the corridor.

  ‘An interesting development,’ said Kass. ‘I wonder if this whole thing has something to do with the girl… I think it’s time to have a little talk with the boy.’

  Your Word or Her Life

  Kye woke to someone banging on his door. He sat up, rubbed his eyes and saw he had visitors. Ormis was one, but the other he didn’t recognise. The exorcist came over to stand in front of him, while the other man waddled over to the table, dragged one of the chairs over to the bed and sat down. It all looked very serious. He yawned and realised he could hear singing coming from the corridor.

  ‘The girl has gone,’ said Ormis without inflection.

  ‘Where to?’

  ‘We don’t know. There was an incident here last night. The guards were killed and the girl is missing.’ Kye looked at him in amazement, the news that such things had happened whilst he was asleep bringing him fully awake. ‘Did you hear anything last night? Anything at all? It could be important.’

  He hadn’t. But at the same time he hadn’t really been listening. After the excitement of Della’s visit he had curled up in his bed, occupying his mind with fantasies about what it would be like to leave his body and pass through walls. And after two nights sleeping rough in the woods it had carried him quickly to sleep. As he looked at the exorcist now the ghost of last night’s dreams drift through his mind – a scene where he was floating down North Agelrish high street with his sister, drifting in and out of shops and spying on people.

  He shook his head. ‘I fell straight to sleep.’

  Ormis studied him for an uncomfortably long time. It made him think of the way Bill looked at him when he suspected him of some trivial crime. ‘I want you to tell me everything you know about the girl.’

  ‘There’s not much to tell,’ he replied. He was already thinking about Della’s secret and tucking it to the back of his mind; out of reach of his lips. ‘We only met the night she stayed in the tree house.’

  ‘Why were you there?’

  ‘I was sleeping out.’

  ‘In a storm?’

  ‘I ran away from home. My stepfather beat me one too many times.’ Ormis nodded him on. ‘I saw torchlight and heard shouting. I went down to find out what was going on and saw her running through the woods. She said the villagers were going to kill her and I offered to hide her in the tree house.’

  Ormis leant forward, his face a sculpture of intolerance. ‘You’re lying to me already. If you want to help the girl this is the wrong way to go about it.’

  ‘It’s the truth.’

  ‘Enough!’ he said, frying him with his eyes. ‘We tracked you both to the tree house remember. You intercepted the girl in the woods behind her house, jumping down in front of her as she ran out of a ravine. Kring took in a hundred yards or so of your back trail. Enough to know that you came to her house from the direction of the village. You probably even saw what happened to her uncle. Am I right?’ Kye looked away and flushed, confirming his suspicion. ‘Now let’s start again. Why did you follow her?’

  ‘Emilie sent me.’

  ‘The spirit girl in the woods; the boy’s sister,’ said Ormis, turning to speak to the other man before going on. ‘Why?’

  ‘She said there was a girl in trouble and she wanted me to help her. I asked her why, but she wouldn’t tell me. She was acting strange and talking fast. I went to Della’s house and saw them kill her uncle… And she saw it too. She was hiding behind a tree at the other side of the house. She ran into the woods and like you said I caught up with her at that ravine. She was upset and scared, but I persuaded her to follow me. I took her to the tree house and when the villagers found us Emilie scared them away.’

  Kye felt himself getting hot. There was nothing on Ormis’s face by which he could gauge how well he was doing. Telling his story was like walking in the dark and trying not to bump into anything.

  ‘You spoke with her in the tree house?’

  ‘No. She cried the whole night.’

  ‘What about in the morning?’

  ‘Emilie woke us up when that monster found us. She said it was being guided by a stream of whispers from the east.’ Ormis blinked and the other man shifted in his chair. He hadn’t bumped into anything exactly. It was more like he had opened a door they hadn’t known was there.

  ‘Whispers? What did they say?’

  ‘She couldn’t tell. When she tried to listen to them they stopped. As if they knew she was listening.’

  ‘Did you hear them?’

  He hesitated, remembering what Della had said about keeping deeper hearing to himself. ‘No.’

  ‘What happened after that?’

  ‘It tried to pull us out of the tree house, but I fought it off. We thought it had gone away after that, but it was only hiding. When I went down the rope ladder it attacked me. That’s when you came along.’ He had reached the end of his account without further rebuke and was glad of it.

  ‘Can you think of any reason why anybody would want to break her out of here?’ The question caught him off guard and he felt Della’s secret leap into the forefront of his mind. H
e shook his head, not trusting himself to speak.

  ‘I can.’ Ormis said, studying him as the words hung in the air. ‘We know she’s different.’

  Kye felt a lump in his throat. ‘I don’t understand…’ He shrugged and shook his head in an attempt to communicate ignorance, but it felt awkward.

  ‘And I can see you know all about it too.’

  ‘Know what?’

  ‘Last night by the fire, she spoke harshly to you. She told you if you wanted to help her there were things you shouldn’t talk to us about. I would have missed it, but Kring’s ears are better than mine.’ Kye reddened. ‘If necessary I could scour you again and find out all we need to know. But it will be quicker and more comfortable if you just tell us.’

  Kye had never heard of an exorcist reading someone’s mind and he wasn’t sure if Ormis was bluffing. But the idea horrified him just the same.

  ‘Come on boy! If it’s a promise you made, then it’s a promise you must break. You’re wasting time we could be using to find her. The men that took her cut the guards to pieces… Which do you value most, your word or her life?’ Kye shrank back a little. Ormis’s voice had blackened the same way Bill’s did when he was about to get physical. ‘We know her secrets already, but you might know something we’re missing. Don’t waste any more time.’

  Your word or her life: it was those words that decided him. If Della was in danger, he would help any way he could. He took a deep breath.

  ‘She came to see me last night. I swear it was the first time I’d ever seen her like that.’ Ormis’s gaze was steady, but his eyes narrowed a little. ‘She came through the wall while I was looking out of the window...’ He broke off when he realised it was perplexity that was etching itself into Ormis’s face.

  He’d been tricked.

  We know she’s different. Ormis had taken a gamble. They may have known something was different about Della, but they didn’t know about Absence. As he looked at the exorcist he felt very young and very stupid. Ormis opened his mouth to speak, but the other man beat him to it.