The Shifting Pools

by The Shifting Pools (epub)

  They did it over and over again – coming up to the surface to take in enormous gulps of air, and then kicking downwards to rejoin the colourful throng below.

  With the breadcrumbs finally finished, she saw Hugo turn the bag inside out and shake it. Everything looked so comical and slowed down that she grinned again. Hugo glanced over at her and gestured to the surface. She nodded back, and they pushed off from the bottom and rose back up to the air.

  They lay on their backs on the sand, drying off in the bright sunshine, laughing and discussing which fish they had seen that day. Eve was learning all their names from Hugo, and could identify most of them now, but there were always one or two new ones. He knew so much about them all – their feeding habits, where they laid their eggs, whether they preferred living alone. She always listened intently to him as he taught her about them, but what really captivated her was simply watching them all dance.

  Enanti: long ago

  A Golden Age

  Once, a long time ago, there was a prosperous, peaceful land called Enanti. It knew nothing of terror or darkness. It was a place of light and learning. Its main city, Albedo, was glorious, filled with fountains and open squares, and famed far and wide. This was a Golden Age. And the land was twice the size it is now. It traded freely with other countries, and the people lived in harmony and peace.

  Outside the main city, the land was richly wooded, with rivers full of bounty, and settled with many towns and villages. People travelled easily between all parts of this land, forming a cohesive, unified community. The leader at the time, Eferon, had a council, whose members were wise and fair. Everything was in balance, and life was rich.

  Dream

  The dark mist

  Something was causing increasing numbers of deaths around the world – festering and growing like an infectious disease. News footage showed a loose ball of dark mist rolling along the ground, and simply absorbing any people in its path. It was terrifying. It would appear and form from nowhere, kill, and roll onwards.

  As it developed, this vapour took on more form, killing more and more. It started to be shaped like a strange, dark, lizard-type creature – immense – that would open its jaws and swallow people up. As it ate, its thick tail rose upwards in ecstasy.

  The mist was growing in strength by the day. It was targeting certain people: it consumed those who had lost hope or were in despair. For some, it seemed just a mere day of those feelings was enough to conjure up the mist, which would appear and consume them.

  I was in a dark bedroom that I shared with another girl. There was a packing case on the bed, and we were staying there to attend a school assessment day. The room had a big, wooden, built-in wall of heavy-looking wardrobes, with dense velvet red curtains. I was sitting on the floor, my friend lying on the bed. The mist started to appear behind my friend – looming out of the darkness. She couldn’t see it. The atmosphere plummeted. My friend started to speak: “Everything is going wrong...” and the mist loomed higher behind her, drawing itself up for attack. But then she smiled, and added, “But I really don’t mind – it will all get better at some point.”

  In an instant, the creature disappeared, but it left behind a tangible sense of dread and spiked adrenaline. We had found out how to thwart the creature, and we raced up the stairs to inform others.

  The setting above ground was vastly different – an old-fashioned tea-party was in full swing. Parents were being fêted by the school and staff, all grating smiles and simpering. Soon it was time for the parents to leave, and just we children remained to be assessed.

  There was a dark feeling beneath this school façade. My skin prickled and I smelt the bitter tang of danger. It was some form of research/experimental/torture facility. With their eyes blind, our parents had left us here, and we were alone.

  Home: 25 years ago

  Under a canopy of stars

  “But I’m scared of the dark, Daddy! I don’t want to do that!” Eve said, loudly.

  “But Evie, sweetheart, that is exactly why we are going to try it. We will all sleep outside in the garden together, look up at the stars together, and show you the dark is OK. Together. OK? And if it gets too much…we’ll just all come inside,” her father replied.

  “Can I sleep next to you?” she asked back.

  “Your little camp bed will be jammed up so close to mine that nothing will be able to get between. Promise”. He smiled back at her.

  “And can we have hot chocolate?”

  “We can do better than that!” he laughed.

  And they really did. That evening they set up all the little camp beds in the garden, and built a fire in the middle which cast flickering light out over them. And they did have hot chocolate, which Eve’s mother heated over the fire in a little pan, stirring occasionally and tasting. And Eve’s father gave them each long sticks they’d collected from the garden earlier, and then produced a large bag of marshmallows to toast.

  “You’ve got to have marshmallows with hot chocolate!” he exclaimed, “and it is actually the law to have toasted marshmallows when you have an open fire.”

  Eve grinned up at him, and shook her head in mock exasperation. He tried to tickle her on her side, and she collapsed in giggles.

  This was wonderful, she thought, as she sat there in the night with her family. Laila had given up trying to wander into the fire at every given opportunity, and had now climbed up into their mother’s lap and fallen asleep, her flushed and peaceful face shimmering in the fire glow. As their mother’s arms had cradled little Laila, Hugo had taken on the hot chocolate duties. As he poured the steaming liquid out into their little camping cups, he smiled down at Eve.

  “Given our little sister couldn’t make it to the performance, I think you can have a little extra, Evie.”

  She knew that they were all being extra kind to her because they wanted to help her have a happy night, here under the night sky. And that warmed her in a different way to the fire. She was happy, here with them all. She felt safe – she didn’t get that familiar adrenaline rush that she got at night when she woke up and the house was all dark. Sitting here, surrounded by the dark, actually within it, she felt held and at peace. Because she had everything she needed. There wasn’t anything to fear here. In fact, she thought, as she looked up at the night, it was stunning. The sky was alive with stars. They seemed to pulse and glow, arching overhead like a protective shield. Little bits of light to accent the darkness.

  “You know, Evie, the stars are still there in the daytime,” said her father. “Did you know that?”

  “Are you sure? How come we can’t see them then? I thought they set like the sun.”

  “Because the rest of the sky is too light to reveal them properly. They are there but you don’t notice them. So you don’t stop to wonder at their beauty. Sometimes you need a bit of dark to show up the special bits – a bit of contrast. So, that’s why I like the dark: it can show you the stars.”

  Eve loved that. She snuggled closer into her father’s shoulder, and his arm came around her, flooding her with warmth.

  London: the present

  Still somewhere else

  I sat as still as I could in the waiting room, retreating into my shell. I didn’t want my body to betray my nerves. I was glad we were meeting in an office, actually – it was far less intimate. As I was shown into Claire’s room that first time, I saw books jostling for position along one entire wall. I liked that – it seemed a funny contrast to the clean lines and orderliness of the rest of the small room.

  She was probably about 15 years or so older than I, and she smiled as she indicated where I should sit. I liked this chair. Its vintage shape had been re-upholstered in a beautiful pink and grey felt, which was slightly worn on the arms. I liked the slight abrasion under my fingertips as I stroked it. I wondered how many people had sat here, rubbing it as I was, wearing it a
way by degrees.

  I think we were speaking of my issues concentrating at work, the disappointment I felt from my immediate boss, why that bothered me – that kind of thing. I could feel my mind was wandering, trying to calm itself by looking around and finding other things to focus on. I squirmed in my seat.

  And then I mentioned that I wasn’t sleeping well.

  “That sounds important, Eve,” Claire said, waiting for me to go on.

  I felt a rush of frustration. Why couldn’t she just ask some simple questions I could answer more quickly – which would help me more quickly?

  Without thinking too carefully about my next choice of words, I said: “I’m having bad dreams at the moment. They are happening all the time, and I often wake up and find it hard to get back to sleep.” Then, more quietly, “They are more like nightmares, really, and they can hold on to me for the rest of the day.”

  “That must make being at work extremely hard – when you have a lot to do, but you are still somewhere else,” Claire stated.

  I looked up at her. “That’s exactly it. I feel I am somewhere else. That is just how it feels. But I should be used to that.”

  Home: 25 years ago

  Creeping chill

  “Not today Evie, I’m afraid”, said her father. “You and Hugo must stay at home in the garden this afternoon.”

  “Why, though? Why can’t we go out?” Eve asked. “We were going to go diving for shells today!”

  Her father pushed his hair off his forehead, looking down. He looked worried and unsure. She couldn’t remember seeing him look like that before, and it jarred.

  “What? What is it?” Eve asked again, an edge to her voice now. “Why aren’t you at work today, Daddy? What is happening?”

  “Probably nothing, sweetheart. Just some people in high-up places having a bit of an argument with each other. I’m sure they will sort it all out. But until they do, we just want you where we can keep an eye on you. That’s all. Where we can make sure you are safe. Why don’t we all do something here at home today? What would you like to do?”

  Normally Eve would have loved a day at home with the whole family. It was a rare treat to have her father home during the week. But something felt wrong. It tasted metallic and cold on her tongue, and it made her throat feel tight.

  Enanti: long ago

  Cracks

  All had been peaceful in Enanti for as long as people could remember. But there came a time when discord crept quietly into the land.

  It came when the council fell into disagreement about whom the leader, Eferon, should marry. He was already in love with Quella – a beautiful, wise woman who had been by his side in the Citadel for several years. Everyone knew they were lovers, and that their bond was deep and precious. But a proposal of marriage had come from across the sea: the King of Teo was offering his daughter to the leader of Enanti, and, with this union, advantageous trading terms and diplomatic ties. The council was split: half advised him to marry his lover – a proven aide – while the others urged him to accept the proposed marriage from afar.

  A disputatious campaign ensued, with each side constantly needling Eferon to accept its own recommendations, while warning him against those of the other camp. The pressure told on him. He started to behave erratically. His judgement faltered. He felt the opposing pulls of being a man in love, and the leader

  of his nation. And he remained caught in indecision.

  Eventually, those in the council who opposed his relationship with Quella conspired to make Eferon believe that her love for him had died and that she had abandoned him. They took her captive, and rode with her for many days, to the very edge of the land, where they chained her to the wall of a cave by the sea, at the foot of a long flight of rocky steps. They left provisions there for her, enough for at least a week, and one of their number to guard her.

  They knew Eferon would take her absence hard, but hoped that by forcing his hand, clearing his line of vision, they would be helping Enanti to move towards a bright future.

  Eferon was devastated by her disappearance. Wracked with anger and grief, he tore apart the Citadel looking for her, desperate for answers. Quella consumed his mind. He was tortured by visions of them together, entwined, fused, urgent. He wondered if she had meant any of it. Doubt crept into his mind.

  Dream

  Crossing the field

  I was recuperating from something serious, in a live-in facility. There was a large open field outside, fringed by woods. There was a war going on. I had just put some henna in my hair when we were told we had to go – we were to be evacuated immediately. The building was being attacked. I wasn’t allowed to take anything. But as we scuttled through the bushes, watching the explosions happening around us, I felt I was carrying more and more, and kept stumbling.

  We were going to try to get to my sister’s house, through the woods. She was visiting me, along with my brother. We started to cross the field to the tree line. Little red, white and blue bombs kept dropping down from the sky, and we had to keep looking up to dodge them all. When we reached the tree line, there was an enemy marksman. We fell to the ground, pressing ourselves into the mud. We became smaller. But my brother stood up and walked into the wood so that they would follow him and we would be safe. We shouted at him, screaming for him to come back, but he disappeared into the trees.

  Home: 25 years ago

  And then the world changed...

  “Evie, Evie – wake up.” She started to come to, aware that someone was shaking her, whispering in low, urgent tones. It was Hugo. She pushed him off grumpily, but he continued. “You must wake up Eves – please.” Something in her brother’s voice made a slow icy line start to travel down her back, and she turned to him and sat straight up.

  “What is it?” she whispered back.

  Hugo took her hand, still warm from sleep, and led her silently over to the window. She could feel his hand trembling. He pulled the curtain back a tiny fraction and she gasped. Right there, in front of her house, tanks were rolling up the street, scraping against the bougainvillea tendrils, bristling with guns. It was only now that she started to tune into the other sounds that were alien – the crunching of heavy vehicle gears, the distant whine of aircraft and the ominous throb-throb-throb of helicopter rotor blades. She shrank back against her bother. ‘What’s happening, Hugo? What’s happening?”

  London: the present

  Dislocation

  I told her then. I told her about the war. I told her about it taking my family, and my home. How I had come here and started again. I’m not sure why I told her; I never really told anyone. Why would I? I couldn’t bear the awkwardness that came with it. Of course, I had to roll out some prepared statements sometimes – like why I had no parents, why I lived with my aunt and uncle. And of course, there were the scars on my back – ugly and ridged.

  That explanation had come sooner than I would have liked as a girl – at school in the showers after a hockey match. I’d been so elated over a home win, and the feeling of being a proper part of something again, that I had actually forgotten about the scars until someone had gasped in the shower next to me, and pointed them out to everyone. I hadn’t been ready for it, and it had felt as if I had been stripped bare, far below the skin. I think I had stammered out some workable response that had said enough, but it had ruined things. I remembered that.

  The nascent camaraderie I’d been building with these new friends now became more guarded. The irony was not lost on me that they, by knowing more about me, were now allowed to see far less. I wasn’t ready to give them more.

  And yet, down the years, I’d sometimes wished the scars were scratched right across my face – that my damage was visible to all. I would not have had the option to hide it away, conceal myself. Hidden wounds were a toxic burden, holding me apart from the world around me – a world that carried on in blis
sful ignorance. Why couldn’t they see what the world was really like? My physical scars meant nothing to me; just the tip of an iceberg.

  Even my own appearance reinforced my sense of isolation from the world playing out around me. When I looked at myself in the mirror, I looked as if I belonged exactly where I was; right here. Perhaps if I had looked like an outsider, the sense of dislocation I felt would not have jarred so much. But nothing marked me out – from my slight frame, to my father’s pale complexion.

  It was only my eyes that I felt could betray me, their grey-blue depths speaking of other worlds, other lives. I saw it when I looked in the mirror. There was occasionally something unknown, wild and alien in my gaze. It captured the distance that the wild keeps in front of humans. But, even then, maybe it was something that could only be seen if you knew what you were looking for, or if you had been there yourself. Perhaps no one else could see what I saw in that glass.

  I sighed deeply. Perhaps it was just easier that way; easier to blend in, live anonymously.

  When Claire had asked me what I did that helped, I told her that, too. I thought it would shock her, but it didn’t seem to. The drinking, the empty sex. I told her about the people I pick up in clubs – people I will never have to see again. That helps. And for some reason I needed her to understand that it helps.

  “Why do you think it helps?” she asked.

  “It reminds me who I am, what I deserve.”