The Ward Crucible: Even the strong will be broken

by Grayson Crew

  The howling resonates as does the bristling of leaves.

  White petals cover the ground.

  Around me, covering the walls and dropping from what’s left of the roof is a cascade of the sweet-smelling flowers Ana told me to stay near.

  There’s a metal-framed bed covered in rust, leaves and petals. I curl up under the stained, sweet-smelling sheets and curl into a corner as tight as I can.

  The forest becomes completely silent. A silence I can feel. It's almost unnatural.

  Then, I hear something like a voice, but it's distant and hushed--more like the sound of breathing than the sound of words.

  I huddle deep under the sheets and against a pile of petals, hidden from the moonlight and hiding from the sound.

  The Whispering sounds get closer.

  I pile petals around me and cover myself in the budding vines. The Whispers stop.

  Even though the sound doesn’t come again I can’t ignore the sense that something is out there.

  Something is watching me.

  The Gate

  Somehow, I fall asleep. Now, morning has come. My muscles feel weak and battered, but I need to keep moving. I don’t want to stay in the forest another night.

  Outside, I see the moon fading into sunrise through massive trunks that rise higher than I can see.

  By midday the path becomes more worn and clear. It twists alongside a strengthening creek until finally, at the top of a ridge, the trees fall away to a glittering lake surrounded by a field of white and jade-green wildflowers.

  Behind them, framed by green mountains that rise and fall like shark’s teeth, is a house, a walled monolith of stone and ivy with towers that glisten in the sunlight.

  Far ahead, a gate opens and out comes a young woman in a gray dress. Wild black hair blows behind her.

  Whatever strength got me this far is failing me now. I collapse onto my knees and lean on my elbows. Then I start to dry heave. I hear a scream.

  Near the lake’s edge, a little girl, chubby with rosy cheeks, is pointing at me and waving hysterically. The scene around me spins.

  I think the little girl is coming closer. There’s someone else with her. I have to close my eyes and roll onto my side to make it stop.

  Cold water drips on my lips. I open my eyes just long enough to see a woman leaning over me. Fiery hair floats around her face.

  “Goodness, another one,” she says in an Irish accent. She dabs a wet cloth on my lips. “Don’t worry, we’ll get you inside in just a moment.”

  “I told you to hurry!” says the chubby girl.

  “Not now,” the woman says calmly as she drops more water on my lips. “Please excuse Kettle, she gets so worked up. I’m Moira. Can you tell me your name?”

  I’m too sick to answer.

  “It’s okay, it’s probably too hard to talk. We’ll save proper introductions for later.”

  Kettle grins and leans over me. “I can’t wait for you to meet the Mister and the Misses.”

  “Kettle, go tell Cliff to hurry please.”

  “Oh, fine.”

  She runs down through the meadow and into the walled mansion, her stubby little legs moving surprisingly fast.

  “Cliff should be here soon. He’s getting the serum.”

  The breeze picks up around us, and with it, something like a Whisper again.

  At first it seems like it’s the wind. But it’s not the wind. There are words in the Whispers.

  I look at Moira. She’s staring into the woods, her pallor changing.

  “Whatever you do,” she says, “if you hear something, don’t listen to what it says.”

  I close my eyes. Colors dance in front of my lids. The Whispers get louder. My headache gets worse.

  The minutes pass, then a rough hand takes a hold of my arm.

  “Keep your eyes closed,” a man with a rumbling voice says.

  Then, as quick as he says it, there’s a sharp pain in my upper arm that spreads through to my chest and all the way down to my legs.

  The pain slowly fades into a tingle. The Whispers start to fade.

  “One more coming.” the man says.

  Before I can object, there’s another stab in my arm.

  Then, lights out.

  The Girl with

  the Yellow Bow

  There’s a mattress under me, soft and warm. Swirling colors of green and gray slowly disappear as my eyes focus.

  A sheer canopy drapes around the bed. Windows with drapes dropping from the ceiling let angular shafts of sunlight into the room.

  Colors are everywhere, displayed on paintings, tapestries, rugs on the floor. Lamps with glass shades reflect jewel-toned colors across the walls and ceiling. Chairs and couches of dark wood are covered with plush cushions and pillows.

  “Morning,” says a man in a pinstriped vest and slicked hair. The left side of his face is tattooed like mine, but with more marks.

  I sit up.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa, lay back down. You’re going to make yourself vomit again, and no offense but it’s not fun to clean up.”

  “Sorry.”

  “I’m starting to think that’s the only thing you know how to say. Relax, it’s no problem, but you need to keep what fluids you can from coming back up. You’re extremely dehydrated.”

  He hands me a glass along with a couple pills, which I swallow in one gulp.

  Moira comes beside the bed and puts a cool rag over my forehead and chest. “Good morning,” she says with a soft smile. “These will keep your temperature down. You’re going to be chilly, but I can’t give you more than this sheet until you cool off.”

  She takes a bowl of water with rags in it off the table and heads to the door. The fiery color of her hair strikes against her soft and layered dress, flowing from her shoulders to the floor.

  “I’ll have some tea sent in,” She says, then shuts the door gently behind her.

  The slick-haired man is at a cabinet pouring a drink.

  “So what’s your name, kid?” He says before taking a sip.

  Kid? He can’t be that much older than me. This guy’s definitely American.

  “West.”

  “Good to have you, West. Name’s Cliff.”

  I nod.

  He points to my tattoo. “How long were you in the camp?”

  “I don’t know for sure. Not very long. Maybe a few months?” And then my stomach rises to my throat. Cliff grabs a bowl and shoves it into my hands.

  I heave but nothing comes up.

  “So sorry,” I say when I finally stop.

  “You’re heat-sick,” he says. It’s going to take a day or two of resting. If you’re well enough by this evening, you can join us downstairs for dinner. Until then, we’re taking shifts keeping an eye on you.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “Of course you will.”

  Settling into a chair, he puts his feet up and grabs a book from a nearby table. “Just doing my morning reading.”

  While he reads, I hear the ticking of a winged clock hanging between the windows. There’s a knock at the door. A young girl with a yellow bow in her hair enters with a tea tray.

  I remember the girl in the chumming and the yellow bow in her hair just before she was dragged under. I feel like vomiting again, but keep control.

  She doesn’t say anything. She just smiles and lays the tray in front of me.

  Her eyes remind me of Hiro.

  “Thank you,” I say. She nods and exits the room.

  “Violin is mute,” Cliff says.

  A Man’s Only as

  Good as His Wingtips

  Cliff and Moira switch shifts around midday. Moira closes the curtains, says I need to sleep. I try to stay awake, but can’t fight it.

  “Time to wake up.” Cliff is walking around the room opening all the drapes. Rosy golden light tints the room. I sit up. There’s a glass with fizzing water in front of me. “It’s got electrolytes.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Thi
nk you can join us for supper?”

  I’m so dizzy I have to hold onto the bedpost to stay steady. “Of course.”

  “Good. It’s good to get you moving again as soon as possible.” He places some washcloths and a wash basin beside the bed. “I pulled out some clothes for you. They’re not perfect but I’m pretty sure they’re your size.” He starts ringing out the washcloths and comes to me.

  “What are you doing?”

  “You need help washing up.”

  “I can handle it,” I reply.

  He chuckles. “Good by me kid. I’ll give you a few minutes to wash up. Just ring if you need help.”

  I nod and start washing once he leaves. The rash on my back is cracked and peeling, but it doesn’t itch like it did before.

  I slip on the clothes he brought. They’re soft and fine, not like the rough, polyester stuff from the facility.

  “All finished?” comes Cliff’s voice.

  “Yeah, come on in.”

  He tosses me some polished black shoes that look just like his along with a jacket, then, we’re out the door and walking down the hall.

  Occasionally I have to stop because I get a spell of dizziness, but Cliff is patient. The hall is lined with carved wooden trim.

  Scarlet and dark green patterns swirl along the cream walls, paintings lining every one of them. There are at least a dozen doors we pass.

  Cliff bends down and wipes a scuff off his black shoes with his handkerchief. “A man’s only as good as his wingtips.”

  We approach a stone stair, curving into a courtyard a floor below. Light filters down through the glass roof in a kaleidoscope of soft yellows and blues over the space.

  I slide my hand along the grain of the smooth, polished railing as it glides into the open space. The air is thick and fresh with the scent of burning oil.

  “This room is the atrium,” he says, “you can get to most any wing of the Estate from here.”

  We move from the atrium into a maze of corridors. The crisp, heavy smell of cooked potatoes wafts through the halls.

  We enter a room with one wall of solid windows, the drapes stretching two stories to the ceiling.

  A wooden table spreads the length of the room, lit by a field of candles.

  Behind the candlelight is a woman’s silhouette that stops my breath.

  Raven hair cascades over a trim, gray gown.

  My heart lunges through the floor and into the earth.

  She hasn’t seen me.

  Cliff guides me forward.

  Her eyes catch mine.

  III

  WHISPER

  The Prayer

  My impulse is to rush toward her, take her in my arms and hold her.

  Impulses work much better in dreams. I don’t move.

  “Jael,” I say.

  “West,” she replies.

  Cliff is looking at us both with a raised brow.

  “You’re okay?” I ask.

  “I’m okay.”

  How did you get here? What happened? The thoughts get stopped up in a funnel of silence.

  There are clinks and taps of porcelain and silverware as the food is brought out by the girls.

  Cliff moves into the kitchen, leaving Jael and I alone on this end of the table.

  She pulls out a chair, her dress flowing around her as she takes a seat.

  I catch her eyes.

  They’re so much darker now, pulling me in.

  She breaks the gaze, Leaving me dizzy.

  Cliff pulls a chair out for Moira then takes a seat at the head.

  “We pray before every meal,” he says. They take each other’s hands and bow their heads. I follow their lead.

  “Let’s dig in,” Cliff directs after the prayer, then passes a plate of steaming mashed potatoes and stew. I scoop ladle after ladle.

  “Don’t leave out the fish,” says Cliff, “I caught it this afternoon.” The rich smell of lime rises as he passes the dish.

  “You’ll have to go fishing with Cliff,” Moira says with a grin, “It’s the only time he talks.”

  Paradise

  After supper we’re led to the tea room. Bright, colorful rugs spread across the floor in a carefully planned layout. Violin lights the candles and lamps around the room, while Kettle and Moira bring in dessert.

  Kettle starts playing with a fat cat on the floor, rolling it around and talking to it in a strange high-pitched voice. She calls it Lady Fluffins.

  Soon another cat strolls in. Mr. Puffins. Before long she starts chasing them around the room, grabbing up the fatter one and standing her up like a person.

  “Fluffer nuffins wants to dance,” she says in her baby voice. “I wanna dance too,” she says in a deeper voice when moving to Mr. Puffins. The conversation continues until Moira intervenes and they both escape, running past the window in front of Jael.

  I go and sit on the floor beside her. My headache and nausea has gone down since dinner, but now my pulse quickens and my head starts to hurt again. In the background I hear Cliff and Violin laughing about something they’re reading, while Kettle is belting out a song.

  “You don’t have to sit with me,” says Jael. The first words since dinner.

  “I know,” I say. Jael was always quiet before, but this is different. Now, she’s more than quiet, she’s vacant.

  Moira pours everyone some tea and passes a plate of biscuits.

  “You should play us some music, Cliff,” she says.

  “I concur!” pipes in Kettle.

  Picking up a rose-stained guitar, Cliff begins plucking the thick nylon strings. Mellow notes spread colors through the warm room.

  “He started teaching himself not long after we escaped from the camps,” Moira says.

  We finish our tea to the sound of Cliff’s melody. When he finishes, he points at the clock and looks at Violin and Kettle. “Bed time, let’s get you kids to sleep.”

  “I hate bed time!” pouts Kettle.

  Violin grabs a book with no spine and hands it to Moira.

  “This one again?” says Moira.

  Violin nods.

  “Okay, but just one chapter tonight. Any more and I’ll be asleep before you. Cliff, could you pour some more tea for West and Jael. I’d like to visit some more before they go to sleep.”

  “Of course,” he says, then kisses each girl on the cheek as she heads out.

  I start to rub my head.

  “Headache still?” asks Cliff.

  “Just a bit. No problem.”

  I listen to the crackling of the dry wood, watch the shadows of the flame. I feel like I should say something, just to be polite. Something almost comes out, but the words freeze on my tongue. I don’t know how much time passes in silence, but it must be quite a bit.

  “Not much of a talker?” He finally asks.

  “Yeah,” I reply.

  “Same here,” he clears his throat, then rolls a log into the fire. The flame jumps up, sending shadows over to where Jael is. She’s still looking out the window. “She’s had a rough time of it,” He continues.

  “Yeah,” I say while swirling the tea in my cup. “What happened?”

  “I don’t know. She showed up a while back. Came racing out of the woods, screaming. I think the Whispers got to her. Took some pretty strong stuff to calm her down.”

  If there were a number I could put on the amount of questions I have right now, I don’t think I could count to it.

  A warm light bounces through the doorway. Moira enters with an oil lantern swaying just slightly in her hands. “What did I miss?” she says as she takes a seat beside Cliff. He wraps his arm around her as she nestles into his shoulder.

  I’ve imagined Jael doing that and how it would feel. To be that confident, that safe. Close.

  Moira follows my gaze toward Jael.

  “You two were in a camp?” She asks me.