“How do you mean?”
“Well, he just went off. Haven’t seen him for weeks, and he didn’t speak to me.”
“He said he was fighting with the Source and all over the place.” I have to tell him something otherwise everyone will get weird. Hopefully, Torrenclar won’t mind.
“That’d do it? Is he coming tonight?” Without him, the evening would be a total fizzer. Perhaps even with him. Life’s too challenging.
But the night comes in early as it does in winter. By five o’clock, the fire’s lit because it would have been gruelling to be outside without it. Sandro’s missing in a big way. He would hate not being here. He couldn’t even discuss that with me, and he should’ve been here stirring with the boys. My hot soup in a huge mug’s keeping my hands warm through the woollen gloves. When Torrenclar arrives, after jostling with Flagran for a few minutes, he comes over and standing behind me wraps his warm arms around both me and the soup. Not a trace of anything uncomfortable. We’ll be okay.
Well, these were my thoughts, but I haven’t reckoned on the two uninvited guests who arrive.
Josh breaks away from the charms of Ruby about eight thirty. Actually, they broke away from him, Juliana taking Ruby to visit some relatives. She promised to make a time to meet with me soon and, with that he has to be content. He’s never glum for long, and after he’s been around the fire for about ten minutes his spirits lift.
“Flagran. How about teaching me to eat fire?”
The spirit’s first response is hesitant. Not really in the mood for harnessing Josh’s daredevil spirits, he ponders on the idea. “Okay. We’ll give it a go,” he says, “but the first time you do something stupid, deal’s off. Right?” Josh would agree to anything before he saw any negatives in it, so he nods, eager to begin. But Flagran has other ideas. “We’ll start by teaching you to blow fire.”
Josh thinks this sounds a bit lame. “Anyone can blow it,
Flagran,” he whines. “I wanna do the cool stuff.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Flagran says. “The problem is we probably don’t have any kerosene.” A spurt of alarm at the idea of flammable liquid is quenched by the thought that there’s almost certainly no flammable liquid at my house, but this turns out not to be the case. Weeks ago, Sandro had been experimenting with a small burner he’d found in an op shop, trying to get it to work. They find a plastic bottle of kerosene in the garden shed.
Against my inner promptings, I provide some rag, and
Flagran shows Josh how to tear it into strips and wrap it around a stick, making sure the loose ends are firmly secured. He dips this into the fire where the dyes in the cloth give off a coloured flame. He steps into a clear patch of ground, picking up the bottle of kerosene, and appears to take a swallow. He tips back his head and puts the burning stick into his mouth. Simultaneously, he blows out a long clear breath with great intensity and flames shoot out into the dark night. Josh and I stand transfixed. The sight’s spectacular. He pours some more into his mouth repeating the exercise but making fancy shapes with the flames. He’s a pro.
Josh’s eyes are gleaming. “Gimme a go! Gimme a go!” He dances around excitedly while Flagran spins the burning stick in circles entertaining the crowd of three. There’s something missing in his performance; it lacks the usual pizzazz. This should have Flagran playing, chasing us with burning sticks. This is his thing. He and fire are at one. Torrenclar’s quiet watching him intently.
Flagran steps back from his dance and extinguishes the fire stick. Josh stares at him. But the spirit has moved into serious business, and he’s keen not to provoke anything which might make him ruin his chances. He stands looking hopeful, waiting. Then, he’s given some clear instructions. First he must practice without fire, just blowing water from his mouth. Impatient, he tries to bargain being allowed to skip that step, but a warning grunt pulls him back. Torrenclar, looking grave, has made his way to the side of the house and turns on a tap bringing the hose towards us, unnoticed by Josh.
In the space of fifteen minutes, Josh has learned to blow the water out to Flagran’s satisfaction. He’s then allowed to practice with kerosene. He hasn’t reckoned on the taste and splurts the tiny mouthful he’s taken before the exercise has even begun. “That’s really gross, Flagran. Why didn’t you tell me? Reminds me of alcos. The smell. Ugh!”
“You don’t have to do this Josh,” Flagran says, “no shame. It’s not everyone’s thing.” His searching look completely escapes the boy’s attention.
“What?” Josh splutters. “You think I’m a girl. I can do this.” After several practices at blowing out kerosene, he’s deemed fit to attempt it with fire.
Reluctantly, Flagran sets the stick on fire again, showing Josh exactly where to hold it in relation to his mouth and then he retrieves it from Josh, instructing him to fill his mouth with kerosene. Eagerly the boy takes a mouthful, snatches back the stick and blows it out as he’s been taught. A magnificent shower of flame flies out scattering tiny sparks into the night. The audience applauds. Josh bows. And Flagran, relieved, takes the boy’s shoulder and squeezes it.
“One more go Flagran, eh?”
The spirit nods, and the trick is carefully set up. Taking a huge breath, Josh fills his mouth with kerosene, takes the flaming stick from Flagran’s hand and tips back his head. At that moment, a voice calls out from the darkness behind us.
“Josh. No! Remember your father!” Josh’s head snaps up and, dropping the stick on the ground in front of him, he spurts out the kerosene causing a small wall of flame to leap up in front of him. His eyes go wide as he freezes in shock.
Torrenclar’s hose drenches the flame immediately. He steps forward to hold the boy from behind just as Flagran does the same from the front. Both prevent him from moving, rooting him to the spot. Without looking around, Flagran bends, retrieves the stick and thrusts it deep into the core of the fire until it burns off the water and leaps into life. Meanwhile, Torrenclar picks up the kerosene bottle and hands it to Josh who stares at it, confused. What’s he supposed to do with it? He shakes his head.
“What are you doing?” comes the voice from behind. “Don’t you dare push him! He’s just a boy. He’s had enough, Flagran.” But neither Caretaker lifts his eyes from Josh.
“Come on, Joshie, you can do it,” Flagran murmurs softly, giving the boy’s shoulder a little shake from the front while Torrenclar places his thigh up against Josh’s right buttock, preventing him from stepping back. His voice is soothing, but the tone’s firm. “Flagran’s right, Josh. This isn’t about him. It’s your life we’re working on now.”
Shaking, Josh takes the bottle from Torrenclar’s hand. Looking to Flagran for confirmation, he takes a big breath and a small mouthful, throwing the bottle, open, onto the ground behind him. He takes the flaming stick from Flagran’s hand who then steps aside. Keeping his eyes fixed in concentration, he tilts his head and puts the stick to the kerosene blowing it out. The effect’s small compared to his first triumph, but it’s by far the greater feat. Torrenclar grabs the stick from Josh’s hand passing it to Flagran while he holds the boy against his chest from behind murmuring something into his ear. Josh takes in whatever’s said, then he breaks away and runs into the house. Flagran follows.
Turning, one hand motioning me to stay put, Torrenclar speaks into the dark behind us.
“Show yourself, Ravesh.”
She moves into the light of the fire saying as she goes, “Well. That was too close. How could you let that happen? You both know how his father died. I’m surprised at you, Torrenclar.”
Irri-tat moves forward shyly. Her eyes are on me, and her shoulders are thrust forward. This makes no sense. It seems that the two Caretakers have put Josh in grave danger, and that the voice has come from a spirit I haven’t met. Yet, the two friends kept dealing with Josh. I sit where I am knowing better than to risk Torrenclar’s wrath by doing or saying anything. Anyway, I don’t think I can speak. The atmosphere’s
electric. But the new spirit doesn’t seem to notice and continues her tirade of criticism.
“Irri-tat, you should know that this sort of thing is completely forbidden to Caretakers. Risking a human being’s life for the sake of a game is not tolerated. Josh’s father was killed by fire. What if I hadn’t intervened, and he’d set himself alight?” Her disapproval seems lost on Torrenclar. He stands there unmoved.
Confused, Irri-tat asks, “But the other Caretakers made him do it again, after you’d stopped it. I don’t understand.”
“It was a power struggle, Irri-tat. You’ll get to know about them when you’ve grown some more and can handle the truth about Caretakers.”
“A power struggle?” Irri-tat asks.
“With me, of course,” Ravesh spits, impatiently. “You are such a fool.”
Torrenclar shoots me a warning look because I’ve begun to squirm in my seat, and the look says, if you speak now, I’ll deal with you later. I go still.
Some forms of courage stem from naivety. It’s that way with Irri-tat. “But Ravesh, it was a good thing because Josh faced up to his fears. That’s what you tell me to do all the time.” Her mentor shoots her a look of loathing. “Be quiet. How can you possibly know what is taking place here?”
Torrenclar speaks. “Hello, Irri. It’s good to see you again. Are you doing well?” The kind voice and the interest have to capture Irri’s neediness, don’t they? And she hasn’t missed the stern look from him to me.
“Hello Torrenclar. I’m okay, but I wish the Source would allow me to come back here to work,” she says, wistful. “I like it here.” Ignoring Ravesh’s attempts to catch her attention, she gives him a little girl’s hopeful smile, and he answers her gently.
“I don’t think you liked it so much the first time.”
She stares. “That was because everyone was friends, and I wasn’t,” she tells him sadly. “You all knew each other forever. Everyone was making me work, and I didn’t like it.” Her big eyes round as she thinks about this. “But I like you.”
To my dismay, he holds out his arms to her, and she begins to walk towards him, but fortunately her mentor’s having none of this. She slaps out at Irri-tat who halts, uncertain. “What do you think you are doing,” she hisses at her. “He’s just trying to seduce you into thinking he’s interested in you.”
Irri-tat stops and stares at Torrenclar. “Are you?” she asks him naively. “You love Bridey, don’t you?” She turns away disappointed, while I think, he certainly does, and Ravesh is obviously plotting. Torrenclar’s momentarily thrown by the question, contemplating his next move, when Ravesh heads in for the kill.
“Of course, he’s in love with Bridey,” she says. “Why would he want you? He’s just trying to get you away from me. But the Source wants you to be taught by me. Ku was quite clear.” It seems she speaks the truth, because Irri-tat steps away, returning to the dark closely followed by Ravesh, a triumphant smirk on her face.
Torrenclar stands, still and thoughtful. He doesn’t look at me. “I think I should go,” he mutters. I wait, my head down, saying nothing, embarrassed. He stands a moment longer, and then he shakes himself. “That spirit is dangerous,” he says into the air. “Come Bridey. Let’s go find the others.” He pulls me from my chair, puts his arm around my waist and leads me towards the house.
Along the way, I smile up at him saying tentatively, “I love you, Torrenclar.”
He grins down at me. “Just as well!”
Inside, we discover Josh lying on the pile of clothes in the spare room. He looks frail in the dim light. Flagran’s lying behind him, his body pressing against the young boy’s back, and he’s holding him. They both look up at us and then away.
“Come on,” Torrenclar says to me. “Let’s go see your boyfriend. He would’ve loved to have given me a round or two if he’d heard that conversation. Time to return you to safe hands.”
The beauty of travelling with Torrenclar is not having to take the bus, or the train. We are there in an instant.
***
Sandro
The nights followed interminable evenings. On and on, waking and sleeping, coming into consciousness in the dim light of the ward. There was nothing to do. He couldn’t read. Music annoyed him. Visitors had dropped off. The televisions around the ward drove him crazy. TV wasn’t his thing at the best of times. Now, everything he heard seemed to be the biggest, most irrelevant load of crap, ever. Drifting in and out of a pain filled sleep the nightmares attacked.
Bridey was getting on quite well without him. Her world was filled with interesting events and people. He couldn’t stand another scene where she had no further need of him, so he attempted to wake, but it was only part of the nightmare. Anyway, she was a very attractive woman with a great body and a lively mind. Why would she look at him? An ugly git, unlovable and ignored by everyone. In the wakeful moments, he was plagued by these dream images. Whenever, she leant over for a kiss, it was awkward. His leg was stuck out straight, and his left arm useless, unless he wished to knock her out with it. It was doubtful whether he’d ever be able to have decent conversations with her again. She was intelligent, and he was a useless moron unable to even put a sentence together.
Something else had started to bother him as the days went on. Maybe he couldn’t get an erection. Nothing seemed to be happening; even when she bent over him and her smell was tantalising, everything down there was flat.
She’s on the arm of someone tall and good looking.
When he woke, he began to think about how his mother had moved on with Jarrod. At the time, it had seemed like a stupid thing to do. Dad was waiting for her. Why couldn’t she just hang on? His rage had taken forever, and heaps of work, to get under control. Now, it was all coming back. He pictured his father, old and aged and sad, skinny and no longer good looking like he remembered him. If his mum had seen him in Baxter, she would have been grateful she’d moved on. Jarrod was the opposite; a success, with his own business making lots of money, and he never seemed perturbed by anything. He gave her everything she needed, unlike his father who’d just given her grief and promises he couldn’t fulfil. Now, he had incapacitated himself. He imagined being permanently disabled: unable to make sense when he spoke; unable to walk; unable to make love to his woman.
Then, she walked in the door on the arm of a beautiful angel. His first thoughts were that he wanted to kill him. There had been many times when he’d wanted to kill Torrenclar. He was so supercilious. Always thought he knew what was going on. Always taunting him. Now, the Caretaker had won her completely because he’d run in front of a car. There’d been no times in his life when he hadn’t made a mess of things.
Bridey detached herself and ran across the room delighted to find him awake. She threw herself onto the bed almost crushing him under her slight weight. The way she landed made it impossible to lift his arms which weren’t working the best anyway. He tried to kiss her but missed her mouth because she started talking at the wrong time. No words would come. When he looked up, at least Torrenclar wasn’t watching. He’d disappeared.
“Get off.” he managed weakly. When her face fell, he could have stabbed himself for hurting her. He tried to pat her with his right hand, but it wouldn’t pull through. She slowly raised herself off until his arms were freed and came around her, and then she tucked her face into his neck. She was longing for him, but there was little he could do for her. What had happened that had brought her here late at night to cling to him like this? Some stirrings in his groin arrived in response to this, and he groaned. How much he wanted to be able to roll her over so she was under him, and he could feel it all again. His head ached terribly, but it didn’t matter, except for the fact that it was preventing him from thinking and working out what to do. In the end, he managed to say this: “I want you so much, Bridey.”
She pulled her head back to stare into his face and then smothered it with kisses, which were overwhelming because he was completely spent, but he kept up the effort f
or another minute or two. Just as he was about to ask her to move again, a nurse came to check on him. She insisted Bridey get off the bed. Once she’d moved to the chair, he found he was drifting away. No matter how hard he tried to stay there with her, it was impossible. The visit was completely wasted. When he woke up again, she was gone.
Late the next morning, his mother arrived.
“Sandro. How are you today?” Her kiss was light and comforting. Tears started to seep from his eyes, helpless to prevent them. She leant over, worried. “Darling. What is it? Are you in pain?”
Shaking his head was such a small movement, but it hurt. “No,” he lied. “Bridey?”
“She’ll be in a little later on. She has some things to attend to today, but it’s hard to keep her away.” The longing to pour out his worries pushed hard, but only one or two words responded.
“Mum.”
“Yes dear.”
“You’re so good.”
Taking his hand in hers, she smiled her sweet smile.
***
The Source
So far, Josh had not said a word. He lay on the muddle of what couldn’t be called bedding and stared off into the darkness. Nothing helpful occurred to the Caretaker. How, after all his insistence that Josh was not responsible for the messes others had created around him, would it be possible to reassure him again. Ravesh had done her work well. Despite his insistence that she leave his friends alone, she’d been determined. And for some reason he could not fathom, the Source appeared to allow it; encourage it even. This gave her power making Flagran feel helpless in the face of her onslaught. I had reminded him how quickly I had come to his aid in the hospital, but he did not use it. This was one of those times when he had no idea what to ask for, for Josh. He held him close keeping the temperature cosy, hoping the heat might relax him. He was angry, and there was nowhere to direct the rage.
I sent Torrenclar then. Rather than have him brood, he could work for me, bring his mind into more healthy channels. He entered the room, restless and distracted, taking in the scene, which hadn’t changed, and groaning. The first thing he did, in his impatience, was to flick on the light switch. Josh protested, and in response, the Caretaker bent over and grabbed him by one leg, shaking it. “Get up. Now.”
Eleven Hundred Sand Dunes Page 10
