by E. E. Holmes
So, it was basically a ghost zombie. I shuddered at the thought.
Ileana continued, “A Wraith is nothing more than a hollow force of nature that can be controlled, manipulated, and twisted to the will of those who have brought it back to earth. In this form, they can be used to wreak all manner of havoc upon the world. If even one were to return, it would be a terrible thing for whomever it may encounter. But for hordes and hordes of them to return, and to be wielded as a spirit army?”
She let the question hang, tantalizing in the air, begging an answer. But she didn’t need to answer it. I’d seen what would happen if the Wraiths were unleashed in the world. I’d scrawled it, with raw and bleeding hands, all over the walls of the entrance hall at Fairhaven. Destruction. Chaos. A scene reminiscent of Doomsday lore.
“And so we do not ask you to Walk only for the fate of the Durupinen. We hope that you will consider it for the good of humanity at large. If the Wraiths return and the Necromancers are left to control them, there is no limit to the damage they could inflict on the world of the living.”
“Oh, okay, so you are actually asking me to save the world. No pressure there,” I said weakly.
Ileana said nothing in response, which only gave her earlier words more time and space to sink in.
I chanced another glance at Finn. He was staring at Ileana with the same dumbfounded expression I must surely be wearing. She was staring at me as though expecting an answer imminently. To stall for time, I asked another question.
“Let’s say, for the sake of argument, that I decided to do this—to become a Walker. Is there someone who can show me how to do it? Are there at least instructions or some kind of incantation that I can follow? Or am I on my own?”
“There are those who could instruct you, should you choose to move forward,” Ileana said, who, for all her lofty indifference, betrayed a definite tone of relief that I was at least discussing the possibility.
“You mean there are Walkers here in the camp?” I asked, surprised.
I could have been mistaken, but I thought she hesitated. Her eyes definitely flicked in Anca’s direction before she said firmly, “No. But there are those who have studied the practice extensively, and can tell you all we know of how it is done.”
“Right. Okay, here’s another hypothetical question. If I do actually manage to Walk, and to make it to the other side of the Gateway to close the door, how do I get back to this side? Or are you sending me on some kind of suicide mission?” I wouldn’t have put it past any member of the Durupinen at this point in the game.
“You would not be able to manage it on your own,” Ileana admitted readily enough. “But your sister, as the most powerful Caller the world has ever seen, should be able to Call you back from the other side. The connection between you will leave you tethered to the living while she remains here, and her gift will be your salvation. That is why it must be you, and no one else.”
“Aren’t we forgetting something kind of important here?” Milo said after about five seconds of loaded silence.
“What is that, Spirit Guide?” Ileana asked, pulling a sunflower seed from the folds of her skirt and poking it through the bars to her raven’s eager mouth.
“Hannah!” he cried, throwing his hands up in the air. “All of this can be avoided if we can just find her and get her back from the Necromancers before they force her to open the Gateway!”
“And how do you propose we do that?” Ileana asked as she dug for more seeds. The raven cawed impatiently.
“How am I supposed to know?” Milo shouted. “That’s not my job! You’re the one with the private army of bodyguards and all this research on the Necromancers. You said you’ve been keeping tabs on them. Can’t you track them down? Find out where they’re keeping her?”
“It is too late for that now,” Ileana said.
“Of course it’s not!” Milo said. “It’s only been a few hours! If we hurry we can still—”
“No, we can’t,” Ileana said, a bite of impatience in her voice now. “The wheels are in motion. Even if we were somehow able to rescue her this time, the pursuit would continue. They will not give up; they have waited too long. Jessica may have been lucky enough to escape them this time, but I assure you, they are already on the hunt again, perhaps already on the borders of this wood, formulating their next plan of attack. Don’t you see? This is inevitable. I cannot allow our only protection to be sacrificed on a fruitless and temporary measure. Our resources are best spent helping Jessica to meet what will come, to arm her with the best possible chance to end this once and for all.”
Milo looked around at all of us for back-up, but no one said anything. Even Finn, whose mouth was working furiously, could find no argument to contradict what Ileana had said. Milo’s presence shrank and dimmed as he dropped his head despondently into his hands.
I watched him, and felt his despair. It would have been wonderful to think that all the signs had been misinterpreted, and that the prophecy was really talking about someone, anyone, else. But every time I turned around, another finger was pointing at me, another voice was calling for me. This prophecy, once so enigmatic, was sharpening into focus, taking the form of something great and looming, intent on trapping me and backing me into a corner. There was nowhere left to go.
Sighing deeply, I looked up. Ileana stared down at me, expectant, eyes boring into mine.
“I can’t just decide this right now,” I said. “It’s all a bit much to take in. I need some time to think about it.”
Ileana frowned. “Very well. We will provide you with lodgings for the night. Dragos will show you to a wagon. I will expect your answer in the morning. If you decide not to accept our help, you must leave at once. We cannot have your presence here draw the eye and the wrath of the Necromancers.”
I didn’t know whether to scream, or shout, or collapse into a heap and dissolve in tears, so I decided to hold myself together and nodded instead.
The Caomhnóir named Dragos stepped forward to usher us out, and Ileana was whisked out of sight with a single swish of velvet drapings.
“Follow me,” he said, and exited the tent.
8
Torn
DRAGOS LED US THROUGH THE ENCAMPMENT, his bare feet making not a whisper on the grass. He stopped in front of a wagon with a curved wooden top, small, leaded windows, and a swinging door at the rear. It looked like a carnival performer might leap into the driver’s seat and drive it away to the hectic sounds of a circus calliope, except that the wheels had been jammed in place by large wooden blocks, and the mangy old donkey tethered there probably hadn’t so much as hobbled since late last century.
“You sleep here,” he said, gesturing needlessly to the door. It was a Dutch door; the bottom half was held in place by an old-fashioned wrought-iron latch, while the top half swung wide, revealing a lantern-lit, fabric-draped interior.
Apparently there were no further instructions, because he turned on his heel and walked away, darting with animal lightness between the shadows before disappearing beyond the nearest cluster of tents.
“After you,” Finn said stiffly.
Savannah and I clambered awkwardly up the stairs and ducked into the wagon. Inside were four bunk beds, two on either side, built like wooden shelves into the walls. I could tell that once we climbed into them, it would be claustrophobically close quarters. There was barely enough room for us to stand single file between them. On the far wall was a sort of tiny kitchen area, containing the smallest sink I’d ever seen, two cabinets, and a single burner cooktop.
“Blimey. And I thought Lyle’s flat was bad. Do people actually live like this?” Savvy mumbled, squeezing to the back of the wagon and pulling open the doors to the cupboards. “I can barely stand up in here.”
“The Durupinen travelers were forced into a nomadic lifestyle over centuries. They made the mistake early on of peddling their knowledge of the dead with readings and séances, and bred fear and superstition among the people they soug
ht to help. In order to escape persecution, they took to the roads, never settling in one place for too long. They’ve grown used to surviving with only the barest of essentials, and in the most economical of spaces,” Annabelle said, wedging herself into one of the lower bunks. She gestured at the barely twelve inches of space between the tip of her nose and the bunk above her. “See? Look at that! Plenty of room!”
“If you say so,” I said, crawling into the upper bunk, confident I would feel like I’d been shut in a coffin. Sure enough, the dark paneled ceiling of the wagon was much too close to my face for comfort. I rolled onto my side and closed my eyes at once, not because I was at all sleepy, but because I couldn’t stand to feel so confined.
“Jess, are you… you aren’t going to sleep, are you?” Savvy asked from the other side of my eyelids.
“That’s the plan,” I said.
“Don’t you… I mean, shouldn’t we… talk about all this?”
I opened one eye. Annabelle, Savvy, Milo and Finn were all staring at me. Every face was drawn and anxious.
“In the morning.”
“Yeah, but they kind of just dropped a bomb on you,” Milo said.
“Exactly. Boom. Brain officially exploded. And I am way too exhausted to process any of it. Can we at least pretend to get some rest before I actually have to deal with it? The sun’s going to be up in a couple of hours.”
Savvy shrugged, as though it sounded reasonable enough to her, and turned to wedge herself into her own bunk. Annabelle nodded too, and disappeared below me. Only Milo and Finn remained unconvinced. They shared a doubtful look, Finn’s eyebrows contracting into their signature “V”. Milo actually opened his mouth, probably to argue with me, but I closed my one open eye, and though I waited for the argument, it never came. A few moments later, when I chanced another peek, he had vanished.
I lay there, listening to the soft shuffling sounds of everyone else settling down to sleep. What I had told them was partially true. I didn’t want to talk right now, but that didn’t mean I really wanted to sleep. I needed time alone, to sort through my own feelings and thoughts about the idea of Walking. I needed to decide exactly how I felt about it, and come to a decision on my own. If we all started talking about it now, I’d get lost in Savvy’s blunt observations, Milo’s indignation, and Finn’s overprotective ferocity. I’d never know if the decision I came to was my own, or if they had pressured me into it, and there was only one thing I knew for sure: whatever I chose, the choice had to be mine and mine alone.
If I was honest with myself, I’d known it might come to something like this since I’d heard the prophecy. I mean, not like this. I couldn’t have dreamed up the whole Walker scenario, not in a million years. But I knew that the “power of sacrifice” was no poetic turn of phrase; it was always going to mean something very serious on my part. Well, now I knew exactly how serious. There was a very good chance that the thing I would be sacrificing was myself.
It was easy to dismiss the idea out of hand; that was the logical instinct of self-preservation. I wasn’t going to do it. Of course I wasn’t going to do it. I owed nothing to the Durupinen; in fact, they owed a lot more to me than I ever would to them. So what if the Necromancers wanted to take their power? From what I’d seen, I wasn’t even sure that the Durupinen deserved the power they had. Between the leeching and the corrupt politics, I was half-tempted to just let the Durupinen fall and the Necromancers take over. I could just walk away.
But of course, I couldn’t just walk away. In the first place, whatever issues the Durupinen might have, I knew in my heart that most of them were devoted to their calling, and that the Gateways were much safer in their hands than they would be in the hands of the Necromancers. Secondly, the Necromancers couldn’t just allow me to exist. They knew I was the one potential threat to their rise to power, and they would never rest until they were sure I’d been rubbed out; they’d proven that much already. And then, there was the most important factor in my entire decision: Hannah. We had to find her and get her back, whatever Ileana might say. If the Traveler Clans wouldn’t help us, then we would have to do it ourselves. Maybe becoming a Walker would be the best way to arm myself for that. Or maybe it would just mean that I’d give them the perfect opportunity to trap me on the other side forever. Ugh.
My tangle of thoughts began to whirl confusedly as sleep crept up upon them, but before I could give in, a tiny tapping sound steadied them again. I resisted the reflex that urged me to sit bolt upright and crack my skull on the ceiling, and instead rolled over to peer through the dusty windowpanes. Anca stood in the clearing outside, a small mound of pebbles cupped in one hand. Her other hand, poised to let fly another projectile, dropped to her side when she saw my face looking back out at her. She gestured frantically for me to join her. Beside her in the darkness, a lantern burned orange like a smoldering coal at her feet.
I didn’t even stop to consider if I would answer her summons. Instead, I dropped to the floor from my bunk, pausing only a moment to make sure none of the others had awoken. Savvy grunted and rolled over in her sleep. Finn’s snores rumbled from the bunk above her. Annabelle’s deep, even breathing remained uninterrupted. I crept to the door and jumped soundlessly to the grass, afraid the creak of the rickety old steps would betray me.
“What do you want?” I asked at once.
She hesitated. “I’m sorry to have awakened you.”
I waved her away. “I wasn’t really asleep, so don’t worry about it. What is it?”
“I want you to come with me,” Anca said. Her voice was weighted with something heavy and dark. The lantern threw wavering shadows across her face. “There is something you need to see.”
“What is it?” I repeated.
“I can’t explain it. You need to see it for yourself. Will you come with me?”
I had no real reason to trust her. I’d just met her. How did I know she wasn’t leading me into a trap? Then again, something about the expression on her face as the amber-hued light rippled across it…
“Okay. Lead the way.”
Anca nodded, and without another word she turned and stalked off into the trees. I nearly had to jog to catch up. As I tried not to trip and kill myself on a root in the darkness, I just kept thinking it was futile; Finn would kill me when he realized I’d taken off without telling him. But I didn’t care. I didn’t want him hovering over me like a disapproving shadow while I did whatever it was I was about to do.
We walked in silence for several minutes, until the trees enveloped us like embracing arms and the stars disappeared beyond the canopy of leaves. If not for the swinging glow of Anca’s lantern, it would have been far too dark to find our way. After about ten minutes, just as I was about to ask how much further we had to go, we broke into a clearing and our destination became apparent.
In the grassy space clear of trees, under the renewed light of a nearly-full moon, a single, dilapidated wagon stood lonely and silent. I would have thought it abandoned, except for a flickering oil lamp hung from a stake near its door. An elderly man, crumpled in on himself like a ragdoll, dozed in a chair beside it, his feet propped up against the wheel.
“Andrei,” Anca murmured, nudging the man on the shoulder with her lantern.
He sputtered to life, staring around with startled eyes until his mind could absorb that it was only Anca gazing down on him. He heaved a shuddering sigh.
“Saints alive, you scared me nearly to death!” he said.
“You haven’t far to go, old man,” Anca said harshly, but with the slightest spark of affection. “What do you mean, sleeping on your shift? Dragos will have your head.”
“Bah! Dragos can go jump off a cliff,” Andrei scoffed. “He forgets I knew him when he was pissing in his shorts.” He chuckled at his own joke, but stopped as he finally noticed me standing off Anca’s shoulder. “But who is this?”
“Nothing gets by you,” Anca said, rolling her eyes. “Haven’t you paid attention to even the slightest of what
the entire camp is talking about?”
“I’ve no ear for gossip,” Andrei said loftily.
“You’ve no brain for it, more like,” Anca said. “This is Jessica. She’s from the Northern Clans and I’m taking her in to see Irina.”
“Oh, I see. And I’m just supposed to let you, without the slightest explanation? What does some Northerner want with Irina?” Andrei asked, narrowing his eyes in suspicion at me.
“You think just because you sit out here half-drunk and pretend to keep an eye on her, that I’m supposed to tell you that?” Anca asked, reaching around Andrei and pulling a flask from the depths of the wheel well and shaking it at him, before tossing it to the ground. “She’s with me. That’s all you need to know.”
“Does Ileana know about this?”
Anca didn’t answer quickly enough. Andrei chuckled and waggled a crooked, bony finger in her face.
“Your silence is answer enough, little puppet. I may be half-drunk, but I know I’ll get what-for if she’s disturbed on my watch!” Andrei said, groping for the flask and shaking it slightly before pocketing it. “I’ll lose my position!”
“You won’t if you keep your mouth shut and let us by,” Anca said. “And I can tell you that you’ll lose your position a lot quicker if I show Dragos where your liquor stash is.”
Andrei looked genuinely betrayed. Then he shrugged his shoulders and stepped aside with an ironic little bow. “Such an ungrateful granddaughter I was cursed with!” he muttered.
“And such a troublesome grandfather I was cursed with,” Anca shot back. “Go back to your nap. I’ll make sure it locks behind us when we go.”
