Absence_Mist and Shadow

by J. B. Forsyth

  A Tortoise Robbed of its Shell

  Ormis ran behind Suula, breathing hard and struggling to match her pace. Kring was falling further behind, his broad chest heaving and his bald head glistening with beads of sweat. By his reckoning they had chased the boy for nearly a mile. Suula had taken them around several noose vines, a patch of sneezing willow herb and the trapdoor of a large pit spider. Under normal circumstances, Kye would have fallen foul of these dangers within seconds; but he had seen him talking to thin air at the foot of the bank and knew the ghost children were guiding him. He didn’t know what game they were playing, but if Izle Rohn sent them it wouldn’t end well. He had warned Kye repeatedly about meddling with spirits and all evidence to date suggested his warnings had floated straight through his head. Whatever the boy hoped to accomplish with his reckless run, he was doing a good job of alerting the jungle. And as he ran on, he cursed Kass Riole’s decision to send him.

  In part he was angry at himself for not keeping a closer eye on the boy. He should have expected him to react like this; for such reactions were common in those who witnessed the purge of close friends. But the girl’s exorcism had left him reeling and he hadn’t been in his right mind.

  An exorcism was rarely a clean process and between the draw and the purge, transient blends would sometimes occur. Such blends were the precursors of possession and he had been taught to deflect them around his mind, so they ran off like water. But the girl had taken him over during her expulsion and instead of purgefire, chains of flowers had erupted from him. The thawing of his emotions underwent a sudden acceleration in that moment and it was like a sheet of snow was sliding off his heart. The feeling hadn’t lasted long though; fading with the flowers and disappearing altogether when the boy started running his mouth. But whatever change was upon him, it had crossed a boundary and his competence to perform his duties was now in question. He had been wide open to the girl - a shameful vulnerability through which she could have possessed him. And when they got back to the Caliste he would disclose his inadequacies to the High Exorcist and submit to whatever rehabilitation he deemed necessary.

  Suula stopped and when he puffed up alongside her, she simply pointed. Kye was standing at the foot of a dead tree in a patch of ravaged jungle. His eyes were closed and a broad grin was marooned on his face. The expression was inane - an expression at odds with his own thunderous scowl. Suspecting a trap, he fired up his draw; using its Membrane tension to cast around for signs of the ghosts. Kring caught up, unsheathed his swords and began circling the tree.

  Ormis felt nothing in his draw to suggest the spirits were close, but when he saw a thin mist rising from Kye’s chest, he charged over. He didn’t know what was going on, but he was determined to put an end to it. He thrust a spanned hand into his face and pushed him to the ground. Then with his anger firmly in charge, he flouted the protocols governing the scour, expanding into him like a blast of air into a paper bag. Kye yelped and squirmed, but he held on long enough to prove him pure. He hauled him to his feet and glared into his glassy eyes.

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘I helped them,’ replied Kye triumphantly.

  ‘Helped them how?’

  ‘To pass!’

  ‘That’s impossible.’ The idea that the boy could perform anything close to an exorcism was absurd.

  ‘Well they’re gone and it doesn’t matter what you think.’

  It was too much for him - the boy’s petulant words were like thistles in his ears and he struck him with a whipping backhand that sent him staggering away. He fell heavily and curled up as if expecting him to follow with a boot.

  ‘Get up! I’ll not strike you again. What I should do is leave you here. You’ll regret your stupidity when the jungle takes a closer look.’

  Kye got to his feet and faced him with childish defiance. ‘Della’s alive. Her light came back together?’

  A look of exasperated incredulity crimped his face. ‘Is that what they told you?... You saw what happened. Without a soul she’s dead. Those ghosts beguiled you and brought you here for who knows what purpose.’

  ‘Look over there and see for yourself,’ he said, pointing to the base of the tree where Suula was already squatting.

  ‘She was here,’ the tracker said. ‘Less than an hour ago.’ She straightened and peered into an oval hole at the base of the tree. ‘Came out of here and sat for a while.’ They watched as she surveyed the area, bending and sniffing, sifting through the debris and picking up severed vines. ‘The torucks were here as well. They were seized by the jungle and one of them was dragged into that rotten stump and didn’t come out. The bigger of the two escaped, but came back later to carry her away.’

  Kring stiffened, his eyes turbulent with a new sadness.

  ‘See!’ said Kye. ‘What would he want with her if she’s dead?’

  ‘Proof she’s dead,’ said Ormis. ‘If she’s important to Izle, his word won’t be enough.’ He turned to Suula. ‘There’s nothing more to be gained by going on. Take us back to Rockspur.’

  ‘You can’t just leave her?’ Kye protested.

  ‘She’s dead.’

  ‘But you don’t know that for sure!’

  ‘Lower your voice or I’ll gag you. You’ve already stoked the jungle with that reckless run.’

  As he spoke a line of uplifted earth about six inches high ran out from between two trees and came at them. Kring stepped forward to meet it, turning one of his swords point down and stabbing it into the ground. The burrower veered away and Ormis gestured after it: see.

  ‘We’ll return with more men. Perhaps there’ll be a chance to recover her body.’ He turned from Kye and spoke to Suula. ‘If we hurry, we might beat the mist.’

  Suula started away, but when Ormis pulled Kye’s shirt to get him moving, he saw that Kring was still rooted to the spot. He was staring east, along the line of his brother’s footprints.

  ‘Kring?’

  ‘I’ll not be going with you.’

  ‘But you must.’

  ‘Must I? I’ve seen plenty I need to speak to Karkus about. I’ll continue east till I find him.’

  Ormis called after Suula, signalled her to wait then walked to the giant. ‘We’ll return with fresh men.’

  ‘And let his trail go cold? Giving him time to slip further into the dirt? No, I’ll go on while there’s still hope.’

  Ormis studied him.

  He had no authority over the giant now. Kring’s heart and mind had already gone ahead to Joebel and nothing he could say could keep the rest of him from following. He had wanted him arrested at the Wall. Not because he suspected him of involvement in the girl’s kidnapping, but out of concern that family loyalty would steer his hand.

  But he no longer believed that.

  The evidence of his brother’s crimes had stricken Kring like an illness. He had to go on - to see what had happened to Karkus and to understand it. He couldn’t take back his iniquities, but he could serve sentence on those responsible.

  If they parted now, he might never see the giant again. Despite their close company over the last two years he had never allowed their relationship to stray beyond the boundaries of work. Kring was warm natured and good humoured, but he had conversed with him through a sheet of ice - treating him like a disposable accessory. He had been blind to this before, but he saw the truth of it now.

  They were all waiting for his response - no doubt expecting him to leave the giant with a blunt farewell or to rebuke him for going on. But in that moment he felt a rare squirt of sympathy. It was a delicate thing, but it was enough to jam the cold cogs that usually dominated his thinking. ‘If you’re going on, then I’ll go with you.’

  Kring’s face was a picture of surprise. ‘That won’t be necessary. You take the lad back. I’ll make my own way.’

  ‘What good are your swords against spirits? You might need me.’

  Kring held him in a lengthy appraisal. His offer had broken with form and he felt something new f
orming between them. ‘Alright,’ he said finally. ‘Together then.’

  Ormis turned back to Suula. ‘Take the boy to Rockspur and make a report to Lord Formin. Have him assign you a dozen men and bring them to Joebel.’

  ‘You can’t send me back!’ said Kye. ‘You brought me here to help her!’

  ‘At Lord Riole’s behest! He wasn’t to know what a liability you’d be.’

  ‘But if she’s alive I could still help.’

  Kring stepped over and placed a big hand on his shoulder ‘You should go. You’ve showed great courage to come this far and you should be proud.’

  Kye had come to like the giant, but his gentle words sounded patronising and he slipped his grip, dropping to the ground and folding his arms. ‘I’m not going anywhere. And if you want her to take me back, she’ll have to carry me.’

  Any other time Ormis would have frothed at such puerile stubbornness. But for now that side of him was strangely absent. He had no doubt Suula could drag the boy to Rockspur by his ears, but he could see by her face she had no appetite for it. She wanted to go on to Joebel as much as Kye did.

  ‘A boy has no place here. There’s only four of us now and Joebel’s a dangerous place.’

  ‘Please don’t send me back,’ said Kye. His voice was watery and tears were running down his flushed cheeks. ‘I came to help you find Della and I don’t care how dangerous it is. I’ve got no friends or family worth having and there’s nothing left for me back home.’

  A few minutes ago Ormis would have heard insolence in the boy’s words, but all he heard now was selfless courage and he felt it in the centre of his chest. His supressed emotions were breaking through his hard exterior and he felt soft and naked - like a tortoise robbed of its shell.

  ‘Very well. We all go… But there can be no more games. Give me your word you’ll do as I say.’

  Kye’s tears were shocked into cessation and it was as clear as the blue sky above him he wasn’t expecting him to give in. ‘I promise,’ he said, wiping his face with his sleeve.

  ‘Then get up. We’ve wasted enough time already.’

  He sprang to his feet in a show of keen compliance and without another word between them they set off for Joebel.

  Silk Ribbons

  Della was purged from the exorcist ablaze; her essential faculties reduced to streamers of energy that snaked across the Membrane. Her light faded as she became more dispersed and soon disappeared altogether – spread out so thin she should have dissolved into the Membrane and passed into the forever darkness on the other side. But she was still bound to a living body and as such she did not pass. She began to condense; reappearing like a cloud of mist and coalescing to a ball of light so bright, it sent jungle creatures scurrying and flapping away. She cooled, taking form like a goddess born from a fallen star.

  From a black oblivion came a rush of disparate images; flashing through her mind as quickly as pictures could be revealed on a deck of fanned cards. Memory and understanding followed; cementing together in a gasping sense of self. She opened her eyes and was nearly blinded by light. The last thing she remembered was Kye taking her hand and the mist blowing away. It had felt like everything was going to be alright; but then the exorcist drew her out of him and burnt her in his fires.

  Was she dead? And was this the afterlife on the other side of the Membrane?

  The mists were no longer poisoning her mind and her thoughts were running clean and pure - the way they did when one of her mist fevers lifted. A dreamy hope began to blossom. If she was dead and this really was the Last Place, then her uncle might be here. With joyful anticipation she began searching for him. But everywhere she turned and however far she went there was nothing but bright white light.

  Her search was approaching desperation when she began to feel physical sensations. First a pressure in her belly and a tightness around her legs, then the feeling of her arms hanging in the air and her head lolling from side to side. She drifted with this sensory puzzle – trying to fit into it. And in a matter of seconds, she was wearing it. Her body was being carried by someone with muscular shoulders and huge hands…

  Karkus!

  But the only way she could be feeling this was if she wasn’t dead.

  The possibility appalled her. The pain she suffered during her exorcism was the spiritual equivalent of being thrown onto a raging fire. But now it was all behind her, she hoped it had served its purpose. The good life had died with her uncle and now more than anything, she wanted to be with him again.

  As if waiting for her suspicions to arise the light began to fade, revealing what was hidden behind it. She drifted forward to take a closer look and was surprised to see a tree. It was the first of many to emerge from the featureless expanse and in a matter of seconds her true environment was revealed. It appeared first in grey monochrome, but as she turned a full circle it came alive with vibrant colour.

  Oh no, please no! It can’t be...

  But it was.

  She was in the jungle and its creepy flowers seemed to be mocking her for thinking otherwise. And to top it off she could hear the whispers again and they were carrying her east, towards their source. She flew out of the stream, but something took her in again.

  The Shadow! She still carried the shadow!

  She moaned and started to cry. What kind of cruel twist was this? The shadow had survived her exorcism and now it was guiding her to its master. In a sudden fit of fury, she willed herself back out of the whispers and took off at a right angle. But after a mile or so she stopped. What exactly was she was planning to do?

  Go looking for Kye again?

  The idea appealed to her. Their spirit blend had forged some deep connection between them that could never be undone. He immersed her in his fundamental nature and through his memories she glimpsed the experiences that shaped his character. In the space of a few seconds she came to know him from the inside out, unfettered by the barriers of custom and formality. She had risen to where he was thinking about her and his compassion blew the mist right out of her mind. He infused her then – appearing in the refuge of her heart – on the lawn outside the hideaway, around which her old friends were gathered. And for as long as she drew breath he would remain there - one of those special people she would remember with a flower if she ever got the chance. But seeking him out again would be selfish. He had risked too much for her already and she wouldn’t involve him anymore.

  She thought about flying back over the mountains and realised it would only delay the inevitable. Izle had her body and she had his shadow. She couldn’t flush it out with a herbal remedy or cut it off with a knife. She had sworn on her uncle’s memory to do everything in her power to prevent him becoming whole again, but it was an oath she was going to break. The shadow was a stain on her soul and if the only way she could be rid of it was to go to him, then she would go. So with a dreadful reluctance she flew back to the whispers and allowed them to carry her east.

  After a few miles the jungle thinned and she was soon drifting over the vast expanse of vegetation that smothered the ruins of Joebel - an intricate weave of vines and flowers that was interrupted only by the occasional jut of stone columns and the long depressions of overgrown roads. The flowers shone brilliantly in the midday sun and from her perspective it looked like the Wilderness had laid a wreath on the old city – an admission that the people whose land it had taken were worthy of remembrance. But she knew it was romantic thinking and was fully aware that if she took a closer look at the flowers, she would see the horrors lurking behind them.

  She watched the scene speed by with great sadness. The bones of her old life were hidden under the vegetation and after five centuries she still hadn’t put them to rest. Somewhere down there her mother had sung over her cradle and her father had taught her to swim. Somewhere down there she had once played tig, chalked cobbles and skipped rope. Somewhere down there she had spent many hours, first in frustration and then in exhilaration, learning the secrets of Absence from h
er parents. She plugged the sentimental hole that was opening inside her. If she succumbed to such thinking the whispers would carry her to Joebel like an army of ants and she would be nothing more than a stunned victim, riding their backs.

  As she neared the city centre there was a sudden change in her physical sensations. The pressure in her belly disappeared, replaced by a feeling of falling that terminated with a thudding impact on her back and skull. Big hands manipulated her arms and legs and a cold surface pressed against her skin. For the second time she closed her eyes and puzzled out the sensation; eventually concluding that Karkus had dropped her onto a stone slab. The whispers grew stronger now; from the sort heard across a room to those spoken into an ear. There was an excitement in their mantra and she knew Izle was looking at her.

  Up ahead; protruding from a thick lattice of vines was Joebel Clock Tower – the highest point in the old city and a landmark she had been able to see from her bedroom window. Its face was marred with lichen and its rusty hands were seized at twenty-five to one - the time the Uhuru poured from the glass tunnels. Beyond it she could see the vast gape of the Abyss and the ruins of the eastern half of the city, perched on the other side.

  Joebel Town Hall was hidden beneath the waxy leaves at the base of the clock tower and she could almost see Izle’s whispers rising through them. They were stronger now and she could feel his frustration woven into them. He was trying to reel her in; the same way the spirit lure had done all those years ago behind the Tickled Pig Tavern. But to her surprise and satisfaction she resisted him, easily. She sank through the roof and emerged into the space beneath.

  The whispers ceased.

  The hall was once a bright atrium, but now it was a dark cavity; lit only by the low light of a wall mounted alushia torch. Its twelve windows had lost all but a few shards of the stained glass that once filled the space with colourful light and were now entry points for bristling clots of jungle. Her body was laid out on a granite slab at the centre of the hall. Her clothes were filthy and torn; stained with blood and covered with splinters of wood. Her left hand hung off the slab and the stump of her little finger glistened in the weak light. The sight allowed her to connect more directly with her physical sensations and she gasped. Her body was a landscape of cuts, bruises and stings and it sang out in pain. If her uncle had been alive, it would have crushed him to see her like this.