Everton Miles Is Stranger Than Me

by Philippa Dowding

  Then there’s a movement ahead of me, a real sound, not just dead air and shuffling. Someone is crying. I move faster, like pushing through thigh-deep water. But the darkness is lighter somehow, and then I bang into something solid. A real body.

  Everton.

  He turns and sees me. He looks so heartbroken that I can only clasp him to me.

  “Don’t cry, Everton,” I whisper.

  He stares at two figures shuffling toward us. A man and woman with dead eyes. They murmur something that I can’t make out.

  “I can hear them,” Everton cries softly.

  “Who?”

  “My mother, my father.” The grey man and woman stop and turn toward us. Their grey hair, their empty eyes, their murmurs mean nothing to me. They look like all the other lost souls in this foul place.

  “How do you know it’s them?” I whisper.

  “They’re calling me!” He covers his face with his hands, and I hug him with all my strength.

  “Everton, no! It’s not them. Not what they were, not the good parts. Just a sad memory. The handbook told me. You have to get up! Get up, Everton!” But it’s no use. He’s on his knees, his face hidden in his hands. My heart just about breaks, and all I can do is gently stroke his hair.

  We are lost. We are forsaken. We are going to die.

  “Celestine! Celestine, please help us!” I whisper. I think it with all my heart. I reach out with whatever is left of me and I think, Celestine, help us! We’re dying! We’re in the Shade! It’s your little golden sister! It’s Gwendolyn!

  Then I hear him.

  My father walks slowly toward me on dead feet. His head is low, his eyes downcast, but there is no doubt that he is speaking in the strange, rustling, whisper-voice of the place. This time though, I hear him perfectly.

  Gwendolyngwendolyngwendolyngoldengoldengoldenmylovemylovemylove

  I gasp. If ever I was going to break, it’s now.

  But there is something in me that won’t break. I could have broken lots of times before now, in Everton’s car, in Adam’s office, on Abilith’s world. But I didn’t. And suddenly it’s clear to me: I’m not going to.

  My father’s gentle voice hangs in the air. He turns briefly toward me and hesitates, then shuffles past. As he moves by, I can’t help it. I reach out and try to touch him, but he’s only air, darkness, a shifting wisp. Then he’s gone.

  “Goodbye. I love you too,” I whisper.

  My father vanishes with the crowd. I hold on to Everton. We must look so broken. Who will help us?

  Celestine! Save us! We need you!

  As soon as I say her name this time, the sky in the distance opens just for a second and I see stars. I wrench Everton to his feet and clasp him with all my strength, which isn’t easy. He’s a lot bigger than me.

  “Everton, call Celestine!” My voice cracks. More dead people shuffle by, whispering and downcast. A child, two children, a teenager, a young woman, an old man, all wandering and whispering, lost, lost, lost in the darkness. Everton moans but looks at me.

  I shout, which comes out as a weird low murmur.

  “Everton! I was thinking of Celestine and I just saw stars! There’s light! There’s an end to the Shade!”

  Everton shakes his head but says, “Celestine? Stars?”

  “Yes!”

  He blinks but concentrates. The darkness is greyer still, and the thousands of dead seem further away. He wraps his arms around me, and I lay my head on his chest as we both whisper Celestine’s name, over and over.

  We are gentle, we are brave, and we have each other. Whatever happens to us, whether we survive or not, Everton holds me close and I hold him.

  Little golden sister! Do not despair!

  Celestine! Over Everton’s shoulder, a tiny light glimmers in the distance and I see stars again, and my heart leaps up. I bury my face in his chest.

  “Help us Celestine, come fast!”

  The sky really is lighter. For an instant the Shade closes in tightly all around us, then Celestine arrives with a brilliance that’s actually not all that easy to bear. After all the darkness we’ve been through, I cry out and shield my face. But Celestine sweeps into the heart of the Shade and gathers Everton in one arm and me in the other. I have a weird thought: what a great T. Bosch drawing this would make. He’d call it The Night Flyers’ Rescue.

  Definitely one for the Night Flyer’s Handbook.

  More blinding Spirit Flyers surround us as we speed away from the Shade.

  I turn under the great white wing in time to see the Shade vanish. Stars appear behind the darkness, and the Shade is gone. A shout from a thousand, thousand voices fills the air. I hear one shout, one beloved laugh, louder than all the others.

  My father, like all the other souls trapped in the Shade, is free.

  This fills me with such incredible joy that for a moment I struggle to be let go, but Celestine has me in a vice grip, and we shriek away through the stars. I have to content myself with a silent goodbye. My hand moves to grasp my father’s golden feather, but then I remember it’s gone. Except it’s not. It’ll always be next to my heart.

  Then we slow, there are trees. A clearing. At the last moment we gently touch down in the middle of a forest of tall trees. We land on solid ground. Our fall is over. We’ve defeated the Shade for now, and all it took was a family of starshot immortals, the memory of my father ...

  … and Everton Miles, my strange and beautiful friend.

  Forty

  We stand in the centre of a ring of trees in an ancient forest. I’ve seen these trees before. It’s the clearing we used last summer at the Midsummer Party.

  I’m dizzy, disoriented, and lean against Everton, who wraps one arm around me. Mrs. Forest and Emerson run into the clearing, calling our names. I dive into Mrs. Forest’s arms, and Everton does the same with his brother.

  We’re safe, we’re really here, among our friends. As soon as I can breathe, questions boil out of me.

  “Mrs. Forest, what happened to us? What year is this?”

  She holds me tight and says, “You’re at the sacred forest ring. This is the only safe place you could land. No time has passed, or barely any. It’s still the day you vanished. You’re free of the Rogue.”

  Everton and I look at each other, and I’m not ashamed to say that we’re both full of tears. I hug him again, and he takes my face in his hands and then gently, ever so gently, he kisses me on the forehead.

  “I cannot tell you how happy I was to see that pig turn into you,” he whispers.

  No one else seems to notice, or they pretend not to. Mrs. Forest, Emerson, and even Celestine seem suddenly very interested in the treetops.

  They come.

  Celestine’s sweet voice makes us all look up. Above us, drifting from the heavens like maple keys spinning from the trees, are dozens of Spirit Flyers. They’re so brilliant that it’s hard to look at them. They slowly descend into our midst through the treetops.

  A darkness is at their centre.

  Abilith.

  His hands are bound and his wings are tied tightly to his body, but he looks defiant.

  The Spirit Flyers land in the forest clearing with their captive.

  One of the Spirit Flyers, perhaps the oldest of the group (but it’s almost impossible to tell one from the other so I can’t be sure), speaks in my head.

  Gwendolyn Golden, please step forth.

  I walk over. I’m still unsteady on my feet. Everton comes with me and holds me up. I try to focus on the Spirit Flyer and what he’s saying.

  This Rogue has abducted you twice and held you captive. He has tormented you and your friend, Everton Miles. He has told you truths that you would have discovered on your own, in your own time, when you were ready.

  “Yes,” I say. “All that’s true.” The tone of the Spirit Flyer is
solemn, and I start to worry. What exactly is going on here?

  It is our belief that he will not stop pursuing you, for he is incapable of temperance and moderation. He is outcast among us for an ancient misdeed. We do not easily kill one another, but if you wish it, we will destroy him.

  Destroy him? I can barely concentrate on what the Spirit Flyer is saying to me. All I want is to go home. I force myself to look into Abilith’s fiery eyes. He skulks between the Spirit Flyers at his sides. This creature has just turned me into a monster. Monsters. I’ve lived in fear of him all winter. I don’t want to be afraid anymore. Whether I’m up to this or not, I have to face him.

  I clear my throat.

  “Is this a Rogue trial?”

  The Spirit Flyer inclines his head, which I take to mean “yes.”

  Mrs. Forest says, “They’re tired. Can’t they rest?” But the Spirit Flyer shakes his head this time.

  We must decide now. You know his nature, Emmeline Forest. He is devious, and if we wait he will only escape us. What is his fate, Gwendolyn Golden?

  I look at Abilith, who drops his gaze. I look at Celestine, Mrs. Forest, and then my eyes stop on Everton. I take a deep breath.

  “I don’t want to decide his fate. I’m too young to carry the weight of his death on my conscience all my life. You’re his brothers and sisters. You cast him out. You have to decide what to do with him. He’s your responsibility.”

  I look at the Spirit Flyer.

  “I can’t speak for Everton, but I don’t want to be the one who decides if the Rogue lives or dies.”

  “Neither do I,” Everton says at my side.

  All the Spirit Flyers look at me, which is a bit unnerving. I try not to fidget. Abilith hangs his head low, and he looks small between the enormous Spirit Flyers on either side of him.

  “You have him now. Can’t you just keep him chained? Or imprisoned somehow?” I ask. As soon as I say it, I realize it would never work. Abilith, all the Spirit Flyers, are creatures of the air, of light or darkness in his case, and they roam the galaxies. How do you imprison a creature like that?

  If this is to be my trial, let me speak.

  It’s Abilith. He raises his head to look at me. Everton slips his hand into mine. The head Spirit Flyer seems angry but answers.

  You may speak, Rogue, but do not bore us with lies.

  So Abilith begins, looking only at me. I refuse to look away.

  You have cast me out and condemned me to an eternity of lonely wandering. If you kill me, so be it. I will be done with this existence. But before you kill me, hear me.

  Gwendolyn, here is the truth about my crime: long ago, when your kind was building great cathedrals of stone and exploring the watery globe in tiny wooden ships, I loved a human woman. We had a child, a perfect child, a girl.

  The head Spirit Flyer says in a cool, golden, smooth voice, Do not make yourself sound so noble, Rogue. What you did is to break the one law — the ONE LAW — of our kind.

  Abilith seems to not hear and continues, still looking at me.

  That child was the lovely Mirandel. You cannot imagine my delight at watching my child grow, for our kind does not have young. Mirandel was perfect. From her mother she had green eyes and dark, wavy hair, and in every way reminds me of you, Gwendolyn Golden. This is why I sought you out, for you are an exact match for my Mirandel. You could have been twins.

  This shocks me. I see the girl being pushed along by pitchforks or falling in T. Bosch’s art and realize it must be Mirandel, which also explains why the girl in the drawing looks so much like me.

  From me, her father, Mirandel received the gift of flight, and so she was a Night Flyer. Her mother hid her among the humans of her village and instructed her not to fly, but the Spirit Flyers discovered her one night, floating over the village cornfield. They soon realized that I was her father.

  For this, my brothers and sisters have cast me out, although I was not the first Rogue to love a human. There have been many children, many Night Flyers, many Rogue Spirit Flyers, although I am the last. Gwendolyn Golden, your kind are all sprung from one like me.

  Abilith says all this with the saddest look. So I’m the product of a long-ago love between a Rogue Spirit Flyer and a human? Not a terribly appealing thought, frankly. Everton, Emerson, Mrs. Forest, my father, all of us Night Flyers all over the planet are one part Rogue.

  The Spirit Flyers draw together and murmur. I think being reminded of past Rogues has them upset. The leader speaks again, and he sounds mad.

  You are not the only Rogue, Abilith, that is true, but we will see to it that you are the last. Since the selfish actions of the first Rogue, since the first Night Flyer children appeared on the planet, we have befriended them and cared for them. But your offspring are persecuted and condemned. They must live in fear and hiding. It is only now that Night Flyers are not burned and tortured as witches. Have you ever seen a Night Flyer burned at the stake as a witch, Abilith? I think not. You and the other Rogues are too cowardly to see the final result of what you have done. Thankfully, few people believe in witches on this planet anymore.

  Abilith looks unbowed. I saved Mirandel from the fire. I saw her suffering at the hands of villagers who did not understand what she was. I was determined to save my child. So I left her gifts. I became her friend. Then I asked if she wanted to be with me, her father. I could show her how to fly and the wonders of the world that I inhabit. She came with me.

  The Spirit Flyers don’t seem to believe him.

  You stole a human child, Rogue. She was not yours to take.

  Abilith holds his head up higher. His next words are just for me.

  Mirandel came willingly, and she loved me, her father. I saved her from a fiery death at the hands of cruel men who feared her. That’s the truth, although I know you don’t want to believe it.

  Something has been decided, since the Spirit Flyers make a tight circle around Abilith, and the lead Spirit Flyer turns to all of us.

  It is a very pretty story, Gwendolyn Golden, but it is a lie. No doubt given the choice between being burned alive or held captive with Abilith, Mirandel chose life. The Rogue is incapable of telling the truth. Think about how he treated you and Everton, then consider how he treated Mirandel. Was she free? Was she happy? Ask yourself this: would your father, or any loving father, keep a child against their will?

  I shake my head.

  We accept that you do not want to decide his fate, and so we now remove the Rogue forever, where he can no longer cause pain to you or your kind.

  “Please, don’t make him suffer,” I say to my astonishment.

  The Spirit Flyer tilts his head and answers me gently. You are merciful, Gwendolyn Golden. That is a great strength, and one of the many reasons why we cherish your kind. Whatever our decision, your plea will be considered. We may find a tiny, uninhabited galaxy and lock him there, our prisoner for eternity.

  With those final words, the Spirit Flyers leave with Abilith in a blaze of light, and he looks at me as he disappears. This time there is no doubt: tears are in those strange golden eyes, but are they tears of sadness or regret? Or is he only sorry for himself and his lost freedom?

  I will never know. I do know this: no father, not Huck’s, not Shelley Norman’s, not even a Rogue father from long ago, can hurt us and say it is for love.

  As the Spirit Flyers drift upward with their prisoner, a single black feather falls into my open hand, burns to ash, and blows away with the gentle breeze.

  Forty-One

  Emerson drives us home. Being in a car, having my own form back, knowing Abilith is gone forever … it’s almost too much to take in.

  When Everton and I arrive at my house, my mother says hello and tells me dinner is in ten minutes. I hug my mother, brother, and sister, who all seem a little surprised. No one suspects a thing has happened to us or that in our heads w
e’ve been away for ages. The only one of my family members who seems a little put out is Cassie. Maybe I still smell like dragon?

  No one even missed us.

  Except for poor Martin. I have to admit, I completely forgot about him.

  Everton and I are eating a plate of cheese and crackers on my bed, since we’re starving. Although we were only gone a short time from this world, the memory of starvation lingers. I’m not being terribly ladylike. I have the box of crackers clutched to my chest when the front doorbell rings. My mother talks to someone, then we hear feet on the stairs and Martin sticks his head in my bedroom.

  He looks stricken.

  “What happened to you?” he asks quietly.

  “Oh, Martin, we’re so sorry! You must have been worried. Cracker?” I offer him the box, which is very, very mature of me, but he crosses his arms.

  “You both vanished! That Abilith creature burned Mr. McGillies’s cabin to the ground. The other one, Celestine I think you called her, she took off after you. I was all alone. I called the fire department, but by the time they arrived there was nothing left.”

  “How’s the glass garden?” Everton asks. We both feel remorseful. Martin is covered in mud, and his pants are soaking wet. We’ve had time to dry out on Abilith’s baking world. We’re toasty and warm. Martin looks like he has suffered almost as much as us.

  “It’s fine. At least it was when I left. I RAN into town because no one was answering the phone at The Float Boat. I didn’t know where else to go. Luckily, Mr. Forest was just getting off the phone when I got there and told me you were both fine. So I came here.” Martin is sad and worried and put out at both of us.

  “Martin, we’ve been through more than you can imagine,” Everton says quietly. “But close the door, and we’ll tell you everything.”

  Which we do. It takes a while. My mother brings us each a tray of dinner (chicken, mashed potatoes, and peas have never been so delicious), which we eat at the desk in my bedroom while we talk. Martin listens intently and finally says, “I’m glad you’re okay.” Frankly, it’s possible that he doesn’t believe us and thinks this is a weird hoax.