That didn’t sound good to Tristan.
“Are you going to try and stop us?” he demanded.
“No.” The being seemed to smile, a sense of puzzlement crossing its strange face. “I am here to welcome you.” It bowed its head. “Welcome home, Dylan, Jack, Tristan, Susanna.”
Welcome home. The words rang in Tristan’s ears and he scarcely dared believe them.
“Please, come with me.” Caeli moved to the side, revealing a metal gate. It was closed, but there was no fence on either side of the gateposts, so anyone could simply walk around. Tristan stared at the gate and then at Caeli, confused, but Dylan started walking.
Of all of them, she was the only one with experience of this side of the line, and she didn’t seem afraid. Moving quickly to catch up with her, Tristan followed Caeli, the quiet sound of feet crunching on dirt behind telling him that Susanna and Jack, too, were following. When Caeli reached the gate, it swung it open and Tristan ground to a halt, astonished.
It was as if Caeli had cut a hole in the world. In the space where the gate had been, was now a window onto a whole other place.
“What the hell…?” he heard Jack gasp.
Dylan took Tristan’s hand, and when he turned to look at her, her eyes were twinkling.
“I want to show you something,” she said.
Walking past the beautiful, glowing being, Dylan led Tristan into the strangest room he’d ever seen. Everywhere he looked the walls seemed to morph and change, expanding, adding nooks and crannies and extra corridors filled with bookshelves.
“This is the records room,” Dylan said.
Jack and Susanna were looking around with awed faces, but Tristan only had eyes for Dylan.
“My book,” he said. Dylan had told him all about it when she’d come back for him last time.
She smiled, a secret smile, and looked towards the being, who had followed them in. “Can you show him?”
It should have worried Tristan that this creature was shadowing their every move, but he didn’t sense any sort of threat from it. On the contrary, it seemed pleased, the warmth emanating from it making Tristan think it was happy to see him and Susanna just as much as it was to see Dylan and Jack.
“What book?” Susanna asked, her curiosity piqued.
“You’ll see,” Dylan said. She towed Tristan along behind her, following Caeli until they were stood at an ornately carved wooden desk, a faded green leather-bound book with pages gilded in gold resting on the surface. The corners appeared worn, soft, as if a thousand fingers had lifted the cover and leafed through.
Tristan wanted to reach out and flip the cover back, reveal what was inside, but at the same time he also wanted to run away from it.
Dylan took the initiative and opened it to a page at random. There, in tiny writing, was a list of name, after name, after name. All the souls that Tristan had ferried.
“My souls,” he croaked. It was incredible, to see them all written down. To see just how many were there. The souls he’d saved… and lost.
Two of the entries on the page, he could see, had been scribbled out, heavy ink almost completely obscuring whatever name had been written there.
“You should be proud,” Dylan told him. “Look how many people are here, because of you.” She smiled. “But you’re finished now. It’s time to live, at last. Here, with me.”
He huffed out a breath, still not quite daring to believe it. Glancing at the book, he looked again at those crossed-out names. “I’m not sure that I deserve it.”
Dylan lifted her hand to the book, her fingers skimming down the list until she hovered over one of those names, a soul who loitered still in the wasteland, turned into a mindless, hate-filled creature.
“You do deserve it,” she said.
“What about those souls?” he whispered. “They deserved it, too.”
“It’s not too late for them,” Dylan reminded him. “We know that now. And we can help them: we can figure out who they are, and then we can find their loved ones and let them know.” Her gaze turned to Jack, who was watching warily, half his attention on Dylan and half on Susanna, who was staring at the book with a mix of emotions on her face. The same ones Tristan was feeling: triumph for all those names written there, and shame for the ones removed.
“Let them know what?” he asked.
Dylan grinned at him. “Let them know that their souls aren’t really gone. That they can be brought back.” Her gaze shifted to encompass Susanna, too. “That if they’ve lost loved ones they really, sincerely care about, and if they’re willing to risk their souls for them, that they can go and get them. They can bring them back.”
Tristan stared at her, pride filling his chest and a new sense of purpose taking hold of him.
“We’re going to let everybody know,” Dylan went on, “that nobody’s truly gone. They’re only waiting to be saved.”
“This is why I love you,” Tristan told her, reaching up to cup her cheek. “Your compassion, your strength, your determination to do the right thing.”
She blushed, her eyes flickering away in embarrassment at the compliment, but a heartbeat later her gaze returned to his. “I hope so,” she said, “because now you’re stuck with me, for ever!”
“Trust me,” Tristan murmured, moving closer so that she was near enough to hold, to kiss, “it won’t be long enough.”
Feeling, finally, that he was right where he belonged, Tristan pressed his lips to hers.
Acknowledgements
So this is it, the end! Over the last seven years, the Ferryman series has changed my whole world. I can’t quite believe that I’ve written the last words and that I’m saying goodbye to Dylan and Tristan, Susanna and Jack. I remember exactly sitting down in my (damp) flat in Peebles, Scotland, and typing out the first couple of lines – what later became the beginning of Ferryman’s third chapter.
Back then I could never even have imagined the book being read by anyone other than my mum and husband, never mind people across the globe. It’s mind-blowing, and has only been possible with the help of the following lovely, lovely people.
Huge thanks are owed to my agent, Ben Illis at the BIA, who found Ferryman amongst a heap of manuscripts I threw at him when he was brave enough to take me on. In addition, thank you to Helen Boyle, who guided me through my first editing process and helped shape the book with a sympathetic hand and a lot of patience.
Thank you to my friends and family who were the very first readers of Ferryman, Trespassers and now Outcasts: Chris, Clare, Ruth and Mum. I admit I’m not the greatest at receiving criticism, but your encouragement and support means a lot to me. Further thanks to the many bloggers and journalists who helped bring the Ferryman series to readers.
I need to say thank you, of course, to the team at Floris, who breathed new life into Ferryman, and brought Trespassers and Outcasts into the world. I’m very grateful to you for believing in Dylan the way I do. In the same vein, thank you to White Horse Time, who discovered Ferryman and brought it and the following books to readers in China. The love I’ve felt there is incredibly heart-warming.
Finally thank you to you, the reader. Whoever you are, wherever you are in the world, I’m humbled that you chose my stories to read out of the millions of books out there, waiting. I hope you enjoyed them.
Claire -x-
EPILOGUE
She stood in front of the door, her body hunched over with age, her joints riddled with arthritis that was nothing but a ghost her body couldn’t shake, a prison her mind had built. Her hair was wispy, hanging limply to her shoulders, and the skin on her face sagged, sinking her chin into her neck. Everything about her was tired and worn, except her eyes, which shone bright and alert. And afraid.
Eliza stood in front of the door and she was deathly, deathly afraid.
She wasn’t alone, she knew. Countless souls had come to her, wanting to know the secrets of this place, how to get back, return to the real world. Countless souls, and not one had ever ha
d the nerve to do it, to open the door… until recently. Until one frightened but fierce girl had found the courage to risk her soul for the one she loved.
That girl made Eliza feel like a coward.
And so here she was.
Heart thudding in her chest, hand trembling, she reached out for the doorknob. In her mind’s eye she conjured up the vision, the picture she held dear in her heart. Her husband, who she’d thought lost for ever, twisted and warped and turned into one of those wretched beasts. Her husband, who she’d abandoned to that fate. No longer, not with the knowledge those four young people had brought with them. Not with the knowledge that there was a chance.
She gripped the circular handle, took a final breath, and twisted.
Eliza expected nothing to happen. She thought she’d meet an immovable force, a lock she could never unpick. She honestly believed she’d have to stand there for hour after hour, searching for her courage, her conviction, until she was sure, utterly sure, that she wanted to do this.
But the door opened easily in her hand.
COPYRIGHT
Kelpies is an imprint of Floris Books
First published in 2019 by Floris Books
© 2019 Claire McFall
This eBook edition published in 2019
Claire McFall has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patent Act of 1988 to be identified as the Author of this Work
All rights reserved. No part of this book maybe reproduced without the prior permission of Floris Books, Edinburgh
www.florisbooks.co.uk
The publisher acknowledges subsidy from Creative Scotland towards the publication of this volume
British Library CIP data available
ISBN 978–178250–574–7
Outcasts Page 24
