“Of course.” She sniffed disdainfully. “The dark, creepy wood. Where else?”
It wasn’t really a wood. A copse, maybe. It was halfway up a hill, wedged in on all sides by fields. Really, apart from the houses, which Tristan had already discounted, it was the only place that could hide a wraith during the hours of daylight. If it wasn’t there…
Well, they’d have to hope that Tristan was mistaken, because if the wraith had already moved on, it could be anywhere.
It didn’t take long to reach the trees. The rain, at least, petered out to nothing and Dylan was able to dump her umbrella on top of a low stone wall that ringed the trees before Tristan gave her a boost over it. They took their first steps beneath the dark canopy. Made up almost entirely of spruce trees, the needles grew just as thickly as they would midsummer, and with the overcast day, it was as dark as twilight amongst the tree trunks.
It was a small copse, and before they’d taken more than a dozen steps towards the centre, Dylan could already make out the light filtering in from the other side.
“Careful,” Tristan said, picking up a stout chunk of fallen branch. “A hidey-hole for a single wraith doesn’t have to be very big. A fox or badger hole would work just fine, or even a deep gap between tree roots. In here, where there’s not much chance of direct sunlight getting through, it wouldn’t need to be entirely enclosed.”
“Great,” Dylan muttered. She continued forward, gingerly placing each foot amongst the mulch of damp leaves and fallen needles that carpeted the ground.
Off to her left, Tristan seemed to be walking in some sort of grid pattern, methodically checking every square foot of the copse. Dylan’s approach was more haphazard: she wandered here and there, investigating anything that looked unusual or oddly shaped. She found nothing, and by the time she was bored and cold and about to give up, Tristan had finished his systematic search and was standing with his hands on his hips, looking distinctly discouraged.
“Shit,” he said. “It’s not here.”
“Shouldn’t we be glad of that?” Dylan suggested. “No wraith means no hole in the veil. Which means no possible visit from the Inquisitor.”
“I know,” he said, “But… I was so sure.”
“Sorry to disappoint you.” Dylan’s mouth quirked into a relieved smile. “I’m just glad we haven’t been eaten by an escaped tiger.”
Tristan barked out a laugh, throwing his head back. And stopped dead.
“What?” Dylan asked, watching him. “What is it?”
He didn’t answer her. Instead, he just pointed.
Dylan came over to stand beside him and looked up, following the direction of his finger. There, at least six or seven metres up in the trees, a precarious-looking platform had been strung together. Squinting through the gloom, Dylan could just make out the blue rope that had been used to lash it to the tree trunks and into an irregular triangular shape. It was hard to tell, but she could see some sort of lumpy covering turning it into a little treehouse. From the dilapidated state of it, Dylan reckoned it was a child’s secret den that had long been grown out of.
It was her turn to swear.
“Bugger.” She heaved a sigh. “Please tell me wraiths don’t like heights.”
Tristan grunted and dropped his branch. It hit the ground with a quiet thud, cushioned by the leaves on the ground.
“You stay here,” he said. “I’ll go up and check.”
He walked over to the tree and jumped up, grabbing a knotted section of trunk. Dylan watched his feet scrabble for purchase on the slick surface – and fail. He slipped back to the ground and rubbed at the sticky sap now coating his palms.
“Done much tree climbing, have you?” Dylan asked.
“No,” Tristan admitted. Undaunted, he jumped again, hauling himself up onto the first branch. “But if whoever built this can make it up there, I can too.”
“Yeah,” Dylan mumbled to herself, walking around to the other side of the tree and reaching for the first hand-hold nailed into the widest trunk. “Although I’m guessing they put his handy ladder here for more than just decoration.”
It wasn’t easy – the wood was damp and Dylan’s upper-body strength was limited, probably because she avoided any and all forms of exercise. Still, the little rungs were close together and in less than a minute she was pausing, level with Tristan.
He stared at her and she offered a cheeky grin.
“All right,” he said at last, “climb back down and I’ll go that way.”
Dylan shook her head. “No. We’re both going. We’ll check together.”
Tristan was shaking his head vehemently before she’d even finished speaking. “Dylan—”
Ignoring him, she started climbing again.
“Dylan!” He hissed her name, not wanting to shout in case there really was a wraith up above them, but Dylan ignored him and kept going. After a moment, she heard a quiet curse then the creaking of the tree shifting as he started climbing quickly, trying to catch up.
Dylan let him. Her bravery only extended so far – she had no intention of checking the treehouse alone.
She paused just beneath the platform; Tristan appeared beside her almost instantly. He put his finger up to his lips, before holding his hand out in front of him in a ‘stay back’ gesture. Dylan shook her head. She wasn’t staying here and letting him take all the risks. He made a face but seemed to realise he couldn’t stop her.
Instead he held up three fingers, then two, then one. A beat after the last, both he and Dylan started creeping up. One step, then another. The platform was just a handsbreadth above Dylan’s head when the tree starting swaying alarmingly under her weight. Clutching at the handholds, she pressed herself against the trunk and stupidly looked down.
They were high.
Like, break-both-her-legs-again high. Tristan had been right, she should have stayed on the ground, but she couldn’t stand the thought of sending him into danger alone. Which was dumb – exactly what help did she think she was going to be?
A gust of wind swept through the copse and the tree swayed once more. Dylan gripped tighter and allowed herself one more moment of cowardice before she drew back and reached up to the next rung, ready to climb again.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Tristan watching her, concern drawing his features tight. She tried to smile reassuringly at him, but it came out more of a grimace. When he saw she was climbing purposefully again, though, he hurried to overtake her once more.
Dylan’s head peeked up over the top of the platform. Empty. At first glance, anyway. Towards the back, the lumpy covering she’d seen was indeed a roof made of old, frayed tarp, but it had long since collapsed, lying in a tangled heap.
Anything could be lying under there.
Or nothing.
Seeing Tristan clamber awkwardly onto the platform, Dylan did the same. The wooden planks were thick and sturdy, but they’d been out in the elements a long time, and Dylan didn’t trust the ropes and nails to hold. She got her feet beneath her, then hunkered down with her back against the tree trunk. Seeing a short length of wood within arm’s reach, she grabbed it up and held it, ready to smash at anything that might fly loose as Tristan crept slowly, carefully, towards the bundle of tarp.
Dylan watched him crouch down, tentatively reach out and grasp the frayed edges of the thick material. He paused, the tarp in his hand, and looked over to Dylan. She nodded and shifted her weight, getting her feet balanced beneath her. Tightening her grip on her makeshift plank, she took a deep breath.
Tristan was obviously the type who believed in tearing a plaster off in one go. Instead of easing the tarp aside, he hauled it back, exposing whatever was inside to the dim light. Dylan half jumped, her legs already primed to leap into action, but then she stilled.
The platform was empty.
But there, gouged into the wood, were deep scratches, and the surface itself gleamed a stomach-churning shade of dark red. As Dylan watched, Tristan reached his hand out a
nd stroked his fingers along one of the grooves etched into the platform. His fingertips came away wet.
“A wraith,” Dylan whispered. Tristan had been right.
“We’re too late,” he said quietly. He looked out, towards the sweeping countryside that could only be seen in brief glimpses through the trees. “It could be anywhere by now.”
Dylan’s heart pounded in a frantic rhythm in her chest, each thump almost painful.
“What do we do now?” she asked.
Tristan didn’t have an answer.
CHAPTER 8
The ferryman, Eve, stood knee-deep in the long grass, the soft breeze pulling tangles of hair out of her sensible braid. She smiled down at the little face before her, the girl’s expression open and trusting even as trepidation widened her eyes.
“Don’t be afraid, Ruby. You’re here now, you’ve made it.”
Ruby’s lower lip trembled and the sun disappeared as a flurry of low-hanging clouds skittered over the mountainous crags to their left. It didn’t matter now, though, the ferryman thought. They were at the line. They’d made it through the wasteland.
“I want to stay here with you,” Ruby lisped. “Can I?”
Ruby moved forward to take Eve’s hand and, though it almost broke her heart, she stepped back out of reach to prevent it. Ruby’s lip wobbled again and Eve knew tears were coming. She steeled herself. Put on the stern face she imagined a teacher might adopt when faced with a stubborn child. That was the role she was playing, after all. Ruby was very fond of her teacher. She hadn’t balked at all about walking away from the piles of shattered tile and splintered wood that was all that remained of the old school gymnasium roof, brought down by a violent gust of wind, and out into the countryside for a nature walk, side by side with Miss Higgins.
“You don’t want to stay with me, Ruby,” she said firmly. “The bad creatures live here, remember? Besides, we came all this way to visit your grandma. Don’t you want to see her?” Ruby looked like she was going to burst into tears and say that no, she didn’t want to see her grandma. That she wanted to stay with Miss Higgins – or worse, that she wanted her mum. Sympathy twisting a knot inside her chest, the ferryman softened her tone. “She’ll be ever so disappointed if she doesn’t get to see you. I bet she’s even made your favourite treat. What did you say it was, fudge?”
“Tablet,” Ruby whispered. “She likes to make tablet.”
“She’s probably got some waiting for you.” Eve forced herself to smile.
Her grandmother was the only person Ruby had lost in her short life. Eve didn’t know what was beyond the line, but she hoped that Ruby’s grandmother would be there to watch over her until her parents could join them.
She tried not to consider that Ruby’s grandmother hadn’t made it, that she was one of the wraiths who had wailed and moaned outside their safe house, frightening Ruby into Eve’s arms. She’d cuddled and rocked the little girl until she’d fallen asleep every night – her child’s mind unable to comprehend what was happening to her, slow to understand it didn’t need things like sleep any more.
Surely the world couldn’t be so cruel as to steal Ruby from life at such a young age and then give her nobody to offer comfort in the afterlife?
Eve held firm to that belief, even though she knew, first hand, just how harsh and cruel life – and death – could be.
“All you have to do is take just a few more steps that way,” she said, her voice tight with emotion, “and your grandma will be there.” Ruby didn’t move. “Go on, now.”
Haltingly, uncertainly, Ruby turned away from Eve and started walking. She took one, two, three steps before looking back over her shoulder as she lifted her foot for the fourth. The last image Eve had of her was the frightened, vulnerable look on her face, a single tear tracking down her cheek, before she vanished across the line.
Though she knew souls never came back through, Eve lingered. Just for a while. She imagined Ruby could still see her and, though she felt foolish, she found herself lifting a hand to wave to the empty air. She hoped there was someone there for the tiny soul; she hoped she found her grandmother somehow.
Knowing she’d done everything she could for the child, the ferryman turned away. Ruby’s wasteland began to fade even before she started walking, as though chastising her for remaining there when there were other souls who needed to be ferried. But there was always another soul, and another. The cycle was never-ending – and few were as innocent and sweet and undeserving of their fate as Ruby. Eve was in no hurry.
As usual, the colour leached away from the ground and the sky, the mountains to her left and plains on the right melting away into nothingness. Eve kept walking, waiting for the next world to form. Would it be a city this time? Or the desert? A war-torn landscape showing the scars of decades of hate and violence? She hoped not.
Step after step. White mist swirled around her feet and the sky seemed to drop down on top of her, as if, should she reach out, she’d be able to touch it. On a whim, Eve lifted her fingers and skimmed what should have been nothing, and instead felt like smoke. Heavy, colourless smoke. It swirled around her fingers playfully.
This was definitely not normal. Something, somewhere, should have appeared by now. What was happening?
“Hello?” Eve called. “Is anyone there?”
No voice answered. No wasteland appeared.
Instead, the smoke thickened, pressing in at her from all sides until she felt she might suffocate. Eve tried to push it out of the way, to force herself through it, but it just slipped and slid round her form, coming closer again as soon as she stopped.
“Hello?” she called again, louder this time. “Hello?”
She turned left, then right, but she’d lost all sense of direction. In a blind panic she started running, relieved when the smoke gave way to let her through. She ran and ran and ran, until sweat poured down her forehead and exhaustion drove her to her knees.
The scenery didn’t change. Nothing but endless, fog-filled white. A sob burst from Eve’s lips, followed by another until she was gasping and crying, tears running down her face.
“Help!” the ferryman screamed. “Somebody please help!”
CHAPTER 9
“Just stay here. Just stay in here, Jack, sweetie. OK?”
Jack’s mum’s face was tight and drawn as she pulled the door closed behind her. Susanna heard the snick as the door locked, then Jack’s mum’s footsteps pattering on the wooden floor as she rushed away.
Susanna watched Jack’s hand reach out and trying the doorknob, rattling it when it refused to give on the first attempt.
“Mum!” he hollered. “Mum!”
He sounded different, she realised. It wasn’t just the fear and panic making his voice high like that, this was a much younger Jack. The wallpaper surrounding the door wasn’t the cool grey she’d seen during her stay, but sky-blue, with an aeroplane pattern. Susanna was dimly aware of toys littering the carpeted floor nearby, but it was hard to concentrate on anything other than the terror and desperation that led Jack to twist and rattle and yank at the doorknob that wasn’t going to budge.
“Mum!” he yelled again.
Jack fell silent and stopped trying to get the door open, instead pressing himself close to it and listening, hard. Muffled, as if coming from several doors away, Susanna could just make out a voice shouting. It was a man’s voice, and though the words were lost, the angry tone wasn’t.
A sharp bang was followed by a woman’s scream, quickly cut off.
“Mum!” Jack pulled away from the door and started kicking at it.
Thump! Thump! Thump!
Susanna felt the jolt rattle up her knee but Jack didn’t stop, kicking it again and again. The Jack Susanna knew today would have turned the door into a pile of useless splinters, but the Jack in the memory had only a child’s strength and no matter how hard or how many times he threw himself against it, it wouldn’t budge.
Eventually admitting defeat, Jack dropped to
the floor, leaned against the door, and wept.
“Susanna! Susanna, come on, it’s just a dream. Wake up!” A hand shook her shoulder with enough force to rattle her teeth and Susanna jolted into consciousness.
“What?” she said stupidly. “Jack?”
“I’m here.” The hand that had been on her shoulder wrapped around her to draw her into a hug and Susanna found herself sagging into Jack’s chest. Instinctively, she inched her arm around his back, trying to still the little tremors still wracking her frame.
All too quickly, Jack shifted away, and a moment later the muted glow for the hearth intensified as he poked and prodded at the logs, making fresh flames dance there. Susanna grimaced, watching him butcher her carefully arranged tepee structure, but she knew he was giving her a moment of privacy to get herself together, so she didn’t complain.
“I’m sorry,” she said, embarrassed. “I don’t know why this keeps happening.”
“Another memory?” Jack asked.
“Yeah.”
“What was it about?” Jack turned back to her but the fire threw him into silhouette and she couldn’t see his face.
“I… nothing. Just a soul I lost. An old woman.”
There was no way she was admitting that the memory she’d relived this time hadn’t been her own, but one of Jack’s. He’d want to know which one, and she knew with absolute certainty that he would die before he’d voluntarily agree to her witnessing what she had.
Carrying the memories of her souls was nothing new to Susanna – it had happened with every soul she’d ever ferried – but it was different, now, with Jack. She knew him, and her heart broke to witness the things he’d endured in his too-short life.
“You were shouting ‘Mum’,” Jack told her, suspicion lingering in his words.
Susanna didn’t miss a beat. “That was the role I was playing. I pretended to be her daughter.”
“You seemed pretty upset.”
Susanna couldn’t deny that. Jack’s pain and helplessness still tore at her, and she was struggling to keep her emotions in check.
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