Time for the Lost

by Chess Desalls

  “A friend. Where am I?”

  “In a dreary place. My friends and I traveled here to find my daughter.”

  The woman nodded. Tendrils of ash brushed her shoulders. “We have…a daughter, Charles and I. Her name…is Caroline.” She coughed. Blank eyes roamed from Plaka to me, then back again. “What is your…daughter’s name?”

  “Calidora.”

  “A beautiful…name,” she said, twisting her lips into a smile. “I hope you…find her.”

  “Can you tell us your name?”

  The woman looked at the pool of water and pointed. “I recognize…that pool. We had one…like that…in our backyard. Only the color…was different. The water…was blue.” She blinked, looking Plaka in the face. “Not silver, but aqua blue—like your eyes.”

  “Do you know your name? Can you remember?”

  “Martha,” she whispered, clasping her arms around herself. Her eyes watered. “I’m…Martha.”

  “How did you get here, Martha?”

  “I…don’t know. Charles? Where is Charles?”

  “Have you been looking for him?”

  She nodded. “I must…find him. To bring him…home.”

  Plaka and I looked at each other. The poor woman. From what she was saying, she’d been searching for her husband. She was still looking for him. I felt concern for her, but then I felt something else. A presence that stood out among the rest of those that caused pain. One of The Chars was very near.

  The wind shifted; a brush of air hissed past me as The Char stepped behind Martha and readied himself to kick her in the back.

  “No!” I threw my body into the space between them.

  A boot heel crashed against flesh. Mine. I managed to block the kick from hitting Martha before swinging my fist. My elbow stung with a snap. Hitting nothing but air, I fell.

  PAIN LANCED through my kidney where I’d taken the kick from behind. My kneecaps ached from how I’d landed.

  “Where did it go?” I wheezed. “Where is The Char?”

  Martha stared, unfazed, as if she hadn’t noticed anything.

  Plaka fell to my side. “It disappeared on impact. Martha didn’t show any sign that she noticed The Char.”

  I groaned, wondering whether she would have felt its presence had it attacked her. I certainly felt the blow. “Martha?”

  The woman turned to me. “Charles?”

  “Is there a way to speed up her healing, Plaka? I’d like to question her, but we can’t be playing the name game after every other sentence. It would help if she were lucid.”

  “She must have been here for a long time. I suppose we could find Charles or transport one of his silhouettes for a visit.”

  “There’s not enough time. He may be somewhere here for all we know.”

  Plaka patted my shoulder. “I realize that, but reversing the process she’s been through won’t be immediate.” He turned to the woman and frowned. “Perhaps we could find someone more receptive. Someone who hasn’t been here as long. It will be difficult to leave her after seeing her progress, just to turn right back into what she was when we found her.”

  I agreed, but there was nothing we could do about it. If this place were the result of the TSTA’s convictions, then who else was there to report it to? The Aborealians would be ready for war at any moment, but that was only one world. Who knew how many worlds the TSTA had under their control? Or how many ethereal beings.

  Plaka and I continued our search for Calla. He briefly tried to heal a couple more of the lost that we saw on the way. One was a man with aviator goggles and a walking cane. The first word out of his mouth was “Adriana?” The second lost, also male, mumbled something we couldn’t quite make out. Whatever it was, I’m sure it was the name of whomever he’d been searching.

  We moved on.

  After passing several more lost who were under attack by flashes of white—Uproars—highlighting the clouds up above, we found another woman. She knelt, alone, sipping handfuls of water from a pond sprinkled with lily pads. Like the water, the lily pads were silver and motionless.

  I held my breath while Plaka lifted her from the ground and administered his healing, hoping it would work this time.

  The woman flailed her arms and screamed. Plaka held her tightly, soothing her with words, until she settled down. Her chest heaved through a knitted coat that fell to her ankles. A shawl covered her shoulders.

  “Henry! Henry! Help, me, Henry. I’ve been caught, caught.”

  “Calm. Breathe, and tell me your name.”

  Her chest convulsed, but gradually her breathing slowed. “Rachel. My name is Rachel. Rachel. Rachel, Rachel, Rachel. I have to find Henry. I have to find him. Henry. I-have-to-find-Henry-to-find-him-to-find-him-to-find-him-to-find-Henry.”

  I sighed and squeezed my forehead. So much for finding someone lucid.

  “Rachel, listen to me,” bellowed Plaka.

  She twitched toward his voice. A flicker of recognition reached her eyes. Presumably she responded to her name being spoken. “But Henry…”

  “Rachel.”

  She jerked. Her body locked into position like a mannequin when Plaka let go.

  “We’re here to help,” he said. He pointed to another of the lost. “Do you see him? Do you see the light attacking him?”

  She bobbed her head up and down. “The Uproars! They’re here. One followed me here, all the way here. Here, here, here. They attack.” She looked up and stabbed a finger at the sky. “No day, no night, always. There’s only always. Always!”

  “They chased you through time and space until you ended up here?”

  “Yes, Yes. Yes. Yes-yes-yes-yes-yes.” She shrank to the ground, trembling, as another flash of light blasted the man whom Plaka had pointed out.

  The man continued staring into space as if nothing had happened. Had an Uproar attacked in any other time or place I’d visited, the man would have been knocked to the ground, perhaps injured, depending on the strength of the impact.

  Plaka held Rachel by the shoulders, gently. “Why doesn’t the man move? Why doesn’t he fight back?”

  “I don’t know. Don’t know. I. Don’t know.”

  “Breathe, Rachel. You’re doing well.”

  She nodded, her head bobbing furiously. “But we can feel it. The attack, the pain. The fear. Fear, all of the fear. Our loss, our pain. Loss and fear. Pain-we-feel-pain-loss-fear. Loss, loss, loss, loss, loss.”

  The more she talked about pain and fear, the more I began to realize what being not just lost, but Lost, was all about. It was both physical and mental. My stomach twisted, churning acid and bile until it bubbled up to my throat. If Calla was here, then she would feel all of that pain and loss. As much as I wanted to find her, as much as I wanted to take away her pain, I feared what we would discover once we found her.

  Susana was enough to make the sane who were merely onlookers lose their sanity.

  “I’ve heard enough,” I said. “I can’t take it anymore. Plaka, please. Help me find Calla and get her out of here.”

  “But, Henry!”

  “I’m sorry, Rachel,” Plaka said, smoothing her hair back. “You’ve done well. Thank you. Once we figure out how to save the Lost, we’ll save you. All of you. But until then, I must find who I’m searching for too.”

  “No!” She fell to her knees. “I have to find Henry. I have to find him. Henry. I-have-to-find-Henry-to-find-him-to-find-him-to-find-him-to-find-Henry.”

  Turning our backs on Rachel was one of the most difficult things I’d ever had to do. I worried that she’d helped us more than we’d be able to help her in return. She’d revealed more about Susana, the Uproars and the Lost than we’d thought possible.

  If I understood what I saw, then the Uproars had already completed their tasks of driving the Lost to Susana. They chased their victims continuously, while those they pursued continued to run through time and space, until they became Lost—until they ended up in Susana. My fear of putting Calla in danger in Susana w
as gone. It didn’t matter that I was present. I couldn’t lead the Uproars to her. If she was in Susana, then they’d already found her and driven her here. Without me.

  My nails bit into the insides of my palms as we continued our search. I chided myself, repeatedly. I never should have left her. Each time the Uproar tried to attack Calla, I’d helped her to escape. Except perhaps the first time at the dock when it had already been there, waiting. But for whom? Me?

  A hopeful thought nagged at the back of my mind. Had my presence been a blessing rather than a burden to those I’d loved? The bond I had with my father may have prevented him from ending up in Susana. He was allowed to die, instead of becoming Lost and tormented forever. It was possible that Calla had become Lost because I was no longer with her. Because, without me, she had to keep running. Having not been with her every single moment, it was possible that her Uproar—the one that had been Plaka’s—had attacked her without me. Lack of knowledge, sometimes, gives one hope.

  I picked up my pace, with Plaka following at my heels. We hoofed past more of the Lost, and their still water-bodies of Nowheres and their constant torture by Uproars and The Chars.

  I thought about Edgar, how Calla said he’d stared into space and the silver brook at the Workshop at the Woods. He could be here now, still alive and Lost, washing imaginary plumples in a replica of his brook, fixed in Susana. His despair over Shirlyn’s infraction had led him to a place that became a Nowhere. But he’d said the Workshop in the Woods was not an un-place, that my father had built it with his World Builder talent. Had my father figured out some way to protect Edgar from Uproars and The Chars? Was there more than one way to get to Susana than being chased by an Uproar? Nick had found a way to port us here.

  And then there was the matter of Ray. His tattoo. Someone must have known about Susana to have inked the message on his person. Someone who had been here, or who had heard of it. I wondered if that individual had been to Susana and had somehow escaped. Whether he (or she) had found a way to escape on his own, or whether someone had come to his rescue. Maybe that someone was here now.

  Lights flashed from above.

  Thanks to Rachel, I knew each flash meant one of the Lost was getting a dose of fear and pain. But none of the Lost screamed. Their silence made Susana all the more eerie.

  Plaka gasped behind me as another figure came into view.

  I felt a shock of pain and fear of my own.

  A young woman stood on a dock, staring at a silver body of water that was shaped like Lake Winston.

  SHE WAS emaciated, her gaze unfocused and withdrawn.

  Bile crept into my throat. Stars of pain burst, trailing daggers across the backs of my eyes. My tear ducts flooded.

  Plaka’s hand clutched my shoulder. “Breathe, Valcas,” he said.

  I tore his hand from me and gulped a shallow breath. “Her! Save it for her!” For Calla.

  Her cheeks sunk inward, tinted with gray, deepening the shadows under her eyes. Skeletal fingers raked through matted curls.

  Gritting my teeth failed to repress my groans. I wanted to run to her, to hold her in my arms; but I feared that my touch would crumble her to dust—that I’d lose her, again. This time forever.

  To my relief, Plaka reached out to her. He did something I’d never seen him do. Tears fell from his eyes. Tears for his daughter, his only child. Flesh and blood. Something I was not.

  I receded, tried to blend in with the grays of Susana. The bile rose up again. How could I have deluded myself with the hope that I wasn’t to blame? What had I done?

  Plaka looked back at me, evaluated my pain. How he could care about me under such circumstances was a mystery I’d never understand.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered. It was all I could say. I had no excuse. I had nothing.

  “I hold the TSTA accountable.” He focused once again on Calla, smoothing curls away from her eyes, cradling her chin. “Never had I imagined the agency would inflict such pain.”

  “No. I am to blame. This is my fault.” I bit down on my lip, hard enough to taste blood.

  Calla looked up. Her eyes roamed, following the sound of my voice. “Valcas! Valcas? Where is he? Where is Valcas?”

  Her scream sent chills up my spine. “I’m here,” I said, my voice breaking.

  The other Lost we’d encountered were searching for someone; they said that person’s name over and over. It was the first word that escaped their lips. Had Calla been searching for me? She’d fled from me—ran away. Why would she have been searching for me?

  “Breathe, Calidora. We’re here now and promise we will not leave without you.” Plaka’s voice sounded distant, remote, as if he were in as much of an agony-induced daze as I was.

  Calla’s eyes, as hollow as her cheeks, focused slightly. They were no longer dark, not even green. Like Susana, they were gray. The travel glasses had sucked the color and the light out of them. How long had she been running? To how many different times and places? Why had she been searching for me?

  Recognition flashed across the dull pinpoints of her pupils. I tensed, not knowing what further reaction my presence would bring. Just as quickly, her eyes dulled again—unfocused—as she lifted her head to Plaka. He continued his efforts at comforting and healing.

  “Excellent. Keep breathing.”

  After another fleeting glimmer of recognition brought her eyes to life, she sighed. The tension in my muscles relaxed.

  “We’re here now, Calla,” he said, circling his arms around her.

  She turned her head. Her eyes focused on me. Somewhat dazed, she nodded, as if noting my presence. Something about her exuded madness, still; but she’d calmed down and had stopped screaming.

  Light flashed to our left. Calla’s head jerked toward it. Even though the attack wasn’t meant for her, she shook violently, and then clung to Plaka as if her life depended on it.

  “Dad—Dad, help.” She clawed at his cloak. “Help me please.”

  “It’s all right,” Plaka rasped, his voice thick with emotion. “It will be all right.”

  Relief. Anxiety. Anger. Fear. Jealousy. Pain—all of it swept through me. Broke me. Pierced my very core. It was too much, overwhelming. I slipped on the travel glasses, burned as much of these feelings as I could into the glasses, trying to push it all away from me.

  I wanted to approach her. To comfort her as well. I wanted to run, to cry—to die.

  “Valcas, did you find her?” Ivory’s voice rang out from somewhere behind me. I spun around to see her, Ray, Nick and Edgar’s silhouette approaching.

  “Ah, it is her,” said Ivory. Her lips set in a thin line.

  Nick stepped next to her and squeezed her hand. His and Ray’s faces were grim. Everyone appeared to be either grief-stricken or uncomfortable.

  Everyone except for Edgar. He stepped forward. “Why, you gave us quite a scare, young miss. You—”

  Part of me wanted to hear what Edgar’s silhouette would say to Calla in Susana—what his words of comfort might be. Perhaps I could learn something useful, for when my turn came. But I didn’t get that chance.

  Calla snapped her head in Edgar’s direction, and then stared at him briefly. Her mouth parted, pulling thin lips back from her teeth as she screamed, again, stopping only to suck in air to fuel the siren. Plaka held her tightly, either to prevent her from falling, or fleeing—I couldn’t blame her in her present state. He closed his eyes as her shrieks morphed into gasping sobs.

  “Oh no…” Ivory pulled Edgar back through the line to hide him behind her and Nick. She clenched her teeth. “Edgar, stay back. She’ll think you’re a ghost or a body resurrected from the dead. She was there when you died, remember?”

  “Well, no,” he replied softly. His face paled. “I truly don’t remember.”

  “Not the actual dying part.” Ivory cringed. “The part about how you’re a—” The air leaked from her cheeks. “Oh, never mind. Calla’s just not ready to see you yet.”

  Edgar blinked and frowne
d. Nick patted him on the shoulder. After several more moments of uncertainty, Calla calmed. Plaka motioned for us to step forward.

  “You came for me,” Calla said to no one in particular. Her lips were dry and cracked. “I hoped you would.”

  “Valcas is here,” said Plaka. “And your friends Ivory and Ray.”

  Her eyes passed back and forth along the lineup of our team. She stopped at Nick. Her gaze dropped to where his hand held Ivory’s.

  She smiled. “You,” she said. “You’re the one Ivory was trying to protect…at the hearing.”

  Neither Nick nor Ivory responded. Their lips froze, their faces cloaked with guilt and embarrassment. It was a rare moment, honest and real.

  At the same time, the dock Calla had been standing on, and the silver replica of Lake Winston, began to fade. I dared to hope that she was coming back to us.

  Plaka held out his hand. “Edgar, come here, please.”

  I wouldn’t have chosen that moment to reintroduce a silhouette of the deceased, but then Plaka was the Healer, not me. He was the one with the insight. I waited, hoping the move wouldn’t result in a setback.

  Edgar stepped forward, his shoulders rounded and his lips set in a hopeful smile. “It’s good to see you, Calla. I’m sorry to have frightened you.” He looked around as if it finally occurred to him that our surroundings were distasteful. “I hope you will travel back with us. I don’t think we’ll find much in the way of dinner here.”

  “Edgar? You’re alive.”

  “I’ve been told I’m a silhouette—that I’m no longer of these worlds; but I don’t feel any differently. Time is merely relative. We all are alive, in somewhen or another.”

  Calla’s mouth hung open, but she didn’t scream. She gently pulled herself from Plaka and approached Edgar. “You look so real.”

  As they embraced, the Lake Winston of the Lost shimmered. It faded again, as if it were drying up and receding back into the soil of Susana.

  One by one our team members comforted Calla, and strangely enough, she appeared to be comforted in return. She was a miracle. Someone who’d been Lost and who was regaining her life, right before our eyes.