12-08

by Bethany Chester

  “I…I can’t…” she breathes, as the earth advances another inch. She can’t keep this up, and she knows it. I’m scared for her past self, even though I know for a fact that she’s going to be okay.

  Then she changes her plan. She drops her hands to her sides, and the earth rushes forwards. For a moment, I’m paralysed. What is she doing? Why is she letting this happen?

  Then her arms are back up in the air, but this time, rings of pulsing energy radiate outwards from her body, slamming into the mass of earth. They chip away at it, breaking away one small piece at a time.

  It seems like an impossibly slow way to fight the wave, but as the battle progresses, Clemency’s rays of energy seem to gain in strength, and the falling pieces get larger and larger. The strength of the earth, by contrast, is diminishing. Its movements are slower, more lethargic. I hardly dare to believe that she’s winning, but she’s gaining more ground with every moment that passes.

  Then, with one final, shuddering movement, the remaining earth collapses, sending up a cloud of dust and soil. The common is devastated, scarred like a battleground.

  Clemency doesn’t even stop to catch her breath. She runs over to the place where Aiden lies and tries to revive him. She does her best to clear his airways, feels for a pulse, places her hand in front of his mouth to feel for his breath, but all to no avail.

  She doesn’t waste time on CPR; she knows it won’t help. Instead, she begins to radiate energy again, but more gently this time, on a smaller scale. Desperately, she spreads it over his body, focussing mostly on his heart. Every now and then, she stops to feel for a pulse, but she finds nothing.

  Tears stream silently down her face. I’ve never seen her cry, and I don’t like it. It seems so wrong.

  Eventually, she accepts that there’s nothing more she can do and abandons her efforts. She doesn’t go wild with grief, because that isn’t how she is, but I can see how much this is killing her. Kneeling at his side, she lets the anguish flow out of her, wholly unrestrained for once. I feel like an intruder for witnessing this, but there’s nothing I can do about it, nowhere else I can go.

  One last time, she traces her fingers over his face, before getting shakily to her feet. Restlessly, she surveys the scene. With one final burst of strength, she stretches out her hands, and the earth begins to move back into place.

  It was impressive when she held back the tide of earth, but in my opinion, this image is more powerful still. Against the backdrop of the sunset, the ground smooths over, and the grass springs back up. To my shock, Aiden’s body is caught up in the movement. It rolls gently into the earth, disappearing from view beneath the surface. It’s unconventional, but it seems right, more natural than a traditional burial. Clemency watches as the land is restored, victim of a grief too overpowering to be expressed with tears.

  As she stands there defiantly, watching the world fall back into place, she is omnipotent, regardless of her dirty face and the leaves caught in her hair. She is linked to the earth as inextricably as the trees and the mountains, in command of a power older than the Earth. The world is hers to manipulate, hers to maintain, and woe betide anyone – or anything – that tries to stand in her way.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  I wake up, filled with awe and dull horror. Without stopping to think, I pick up my phone and call Clemency.

  She picks up almost instantly, as if it’s the middle of the day rather than four o’clock in the morning. I’m a little suspicious, until I remember that she’s an insomniac. It’s hardly surprising that she can’t sleep, considering everything she’s been through.

  “Another dream?” she asks.

  “Yes,” I say, only now considering the implications of telling her about this. I might seriously upset her. I probably should have kept this to myself. It’s not as if it’s relevant to the Sidney Smith thing.

  “Tell me,” she demands. It’s too late to back out now. I have to say it.

  “It was about you,” I admit. “You and Aiden.”

  Reluctantly, I relate the whole dream to her. She listens so silently that I have to check the screen to make sure she hasn’t hung up on me.

  “That’s all?” she says, when I’ve finished.

  “Yes.” That’s all? I don’t think either of us could handle it if there was any more. “So? What does it mean?”

  There’s a long pause, as if she can’t decide how much to tell me.

  “It means exactly what you think it means,” she finally says.

  “So all of that really happened?”

  “It did, yes, exactly as you related it.”

  She sounds strange, which is to be expected. She’s probably thinking about Aiden. I feel terrible for bringing up the subject again; I haven’t been the most tactful of friends lately.

  “There’s so much that I don’t understand,” I say, trying to distract her. “Why am I getting these dreams – or visions – now? I’ve never had them before.”

  “It’s because you’ve become more aware of your connections to the earth and the other side,” Clemency says. “You’re developing the power to gain almost any knowledge you want. If you’re curious about something, chances are, you’re capable of finding the answer. Our conversation this morning must have planted the seed, and your mind subconsciously found the answers to its own questions.”

  It’s a strange idea. Can it be true that almost every time I wonder about something, I could, in theory, find the answer?

  “In fact,” Clemency says, “I’m beginning to think I underestimated your level of intuition. You could probably become as powerful as I am, if you had a mind to. I could teach you.”

  I consider it. Clemency’s powers intrigue me, but do I really want everything that goes along with them? The danger, the stress, the heartache, the inevitable isolation from the rest of humanity? I’d rather not have to deal with that.

  “It’s not what you want,” Clemency guesses. Or perhaps it’s more than a guess – I can’t tell.

  “I don’t think it is,” I say.

  “That’s a sensible decision,” she says. She sounds a little bitter. “Count yourself lucky. Some of us don’t get a choice.”

  Is it selfish of me to turn down her offer? I don’t know.

  “There’s still something I don’t understand,” I say. I’m about to bring up the dream again. I’m a terrible friend.

  “What is it?” she asks.

  “You were fighting against the earth,” I say, hesitant. “I thought you worked with it, not against it. Why was it trying to hurt you?”

  “That wasn’t the earth,” she says flatly.

  “I don’t understand…”

  “Obviously, it was physically earth,” she says impatiently, “but it was being controlled by something else, something darker, something that wanted to hurt people.”

  “But what was the ‘something else’?”

  “I can’t go into that now,” she says. “It’s too complicated.”

  “I’m sure I’ll keep up.”

  “That’s not the point. It’s better if you don’t know.”

  “Now you’re contradicting yourself.”

  “Look, I’ll talk to you in the morning,” she says. Her voice cracks on the last syllable.

  “Hey, are you okay?” I ask, alarmed.

  “I’m fine. Don’t worry about it.”

  She’s as brusque as ever, but I’m sure something isn’t right.

  “You don’t sound so great,” I say. “Do you want me to come over?”

  “No,” she says hurriedly. “You really don’t need to do that. I’m okay.”

  She isn’t convincing me. I don’t think she’s okay at all.

  “I’m coming over,” I say. I wait for her to protest, but she doesn’t. It takes me a moment to realise she’s hung up on me.

  I’m worried. Hanging up on people is typical Clemency, but she did sound very upset, which isn’t typical Clemency at all.

  I tug on some clothes and g
o to the kitchen. Grabbing my car keys, I dash down the stairs and out of the front door.

  Clemency’s flat isn’t far away, but I don’t feel like navigating the dark streets alone in the small hours, so the added security of the car is welcome. Also, it’s freezing outside.

  As I drive, I wonder why Clemency hung up on me. Is she angry at me for intruding on her grief? Was she trying to maintain the illusion that she has an impenetrable veneer, not cracked by even the most extreme of circumstances? Or was she just so overcome with emotion that she couldn’t keep up a conversation any longer?

  I don’t suppose it matters, really. The only thing that matters is that she needs a friend right now.

  It takes me a while to work out which building is Clemency’s – it’s dark, and I’ve only visited her once before. I feel hopelessly middle-class in this street. It seems so much more threatening by night. I double-check that all the car doors are locked before I begin to climb hesitantly up the front steps.

  Only then do I realise that I can’t get in; I don’t want to wake anyone up. I get out my phone to call Clemency, but just then, the door opens and she ushers me inside.

  “Hi,” I say. She puts a finger to her lips, pushing me towards the stairs.

  I don’t speak again until we’re safe in her flat. Even then, I try not to raise my voice too much, remembering that there are neighbours on either side. It’s not like Hamilton House, where each floor is one flat.

  Clemency motions for me to sit on the sofa.

  “Why are you here?” she asks plainly.

  I try to gauge how she feels about my presence. She obviously doesn’t resent it too much, or she wouldn’t have let me in. I know how she is.

  “I’m here because you’re my friend, and you’re upset, and I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry? You’re always sorry, and there’s nothing to be sorry about.”

  “Yes there is. I keep reminding you about all the terrible things that have happened to you, when you’d probably rather not think about them. And it’s upsetting you. You hate showing that you’re not as strong as everyone thinks you are.”

  She sits down beside me. “You’re right about all of those things, but you speak as if they’re negative.”

  I frown. “Well, they are, aren’t they?”

  “Not necessarily,” she says. “Think about it. Bottling things up is all well and good, but it doesn’t help in the long term. I’ve spent the past two years avoiding my own emotions; it’s about time someone came along and made me feel them. Maybe now I can get over them at last.”

  I raise my eyebrows. “Well, if that’s really how you see it –”

  “I wouldn’t have said it if I wasn’t.”

  “I know you like to keep things to yourself, but if you ever want someone to talk to…”

  She sighs. “That’s the problem, though. I’m no good at talking about things.”

  This is the first indication she’s ever given me that she might be willing to talk about it in the first place.

  “You could try,” I suggest.

  She tucks her knees under her chin, staring at the wall. “I wouldn’t know where to start. You can’t even begin to imagine…first Aiden, and then my mother…I know the separation isn’t forever, but it’s a whole lifetime, and it already feels like a century…and they were all I had, and now I don’t have anyone except you…and your friends, but they’re yours really, not mine. And I feel so guilty – he’d still be alive if he’d never met me, and being with me was a death sentence, and sometimes I’m so scared it will happen again, only with someone else…”

  She tails off, burying her face in her arms.

  “I’m sorry,” she says, her voice muffled. “I didn’t mean to…you didn’t need to hear that.”

  “Now who’s apologising unnecessarily?” I say. “Of course I needed to hear that. I wanted to understand.”

  “Nobody ever wants to understand,” she says quietly. “Not usually.”

  That’s when I realise she’s crying.

  This time, I don’t have to think twice. I reach over and wrap my arms around her.

  I kind of expect her to pull away, but she doesn’t. To my surprise, she leans her head against my shoulder. Her sobs are soundless but violent, wracking her body.

  There’s nothing more to say, so I just keep holding her, waiting for her to get it out of her system. I keep thinking about the dream, or rather the vision, when I saw her cry. At that point, I’d never seen it in real life. It’s as if that image of the past was also an image of the future. Now I have seen it, and I don’t like it any more than I did in the vision.

  I’m not sure how long we sit there, but after a while, her sobs subside and she goes very still.

  “Clemency?” I ask hesitantly. “Are you okay?”

  There’s no response. It’s not until I reach over and flick on the table lamp that I realise she’s fast asleep. I guess all she needed to do was release her hold on her demons.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Clemency tells me she’s sleeping better now. I’m glad. It’s a shame the same can’t be said for me.

  For the past two nights, I’ve been visited by terrifying, suffocating dreams that grab me by the throat and won’t let go. I haven’t told anyone about them yet.

  It’s difficult to say what the actual subject matter is, because it’s either very vague, or not very memorable. I always feel oppressed and short of air, like the vision where I saw Sidney’s family die, but the images are never as clear as they were that time.

  It’s almost as if I’m surrounded by a fog that prevents me from seeing what’s going on. Sometimes, I hear distant, murmuring voices, voices that sound familiar even though I’m sure I’ve never heard them before. Then they fade away, and everything closes in until it’s hopelessly claustrophobic. I try to scream, but I can’t, because there’s no air to fill my lungs with.

  Both nights, I awake opening and closing my mouth in a soundless scream. It’s probably a good thing my screams aren’t audible, because otherwise Jamal and Annemarie would start to ask questions, and I don’t really have any answers. At the same time, I’m holding out for Clemency to mention my dreams so I can ask her to decipher them. Then she’ll come up with a reasonable explanation – well, reasonable as far as the other side goes – and she’ll say something vaguely reassuring that will enable me to deal with it.

  Bizarrely, though, she doesn’t seem to pick up on it, or if she does, she doesn’t say anything. She does ask if I’ve had any more visions, but I don’t really think these dreams qualify, since I never actually see anything. I say no. She gives me a dubious look, but doesn’t question me.

  Clemency’s ignorance is more worrying than the dreams themselves. It used to make me uncomfortable when she picked up on things, but now I’m so used to it that I’ve started to see it as a positive thing, since it means we’re always on more or less the same page.

  What scares me the most is not knowing why. Clemency can find out pretty much anything she wants to, so why hasn’t she found this? It occurs to me that the wraith could be responsible – it’s probably perfectly capable of blocking things from Clemency if it wants to. I should just tell her what’s going on, but I can’t bring myself to stress her out any more.

  In the first two dreams, all my sensations were muffled, but the third night is different. The fog is still there, but I’m barefoot, and I can feel the ground beneath my soles. I think it’s grass, damp and springy and sweet-smelling.

  That’s another thing – I can smell the place, too. It smells like nature, with an added hint of that city smell, all smoke and exhaust fumes and tarmac and burger vans. I know it because I smell it every time I walk out of the front door.

  This dream ends the same way the first two ended. All the air is sucked away, and I wake up screaming silently.

  On the fourth night, the fog thins out. It’s still there, but through it I can make out various distorted shapes – several trees, iron rai
lings, and some other objects I can’t identify. I strain my eyes, but to no avail. The air is cold, suggesting that it’s nighttime.

  There are more sounds, too – the chirping of crickets, and some birdsong too, though not the friendly kind you hear in your back garden. Occasionally there’s the murmur of a car engine, a more artificial sound. That, combined with the city smell, hints that there’s a road nearby. Those are the only clues. The dream ends in the usual way.

  On the fifth night, my senses are the clearest they’ve been so far. I can distinguish some colours, distinctly enough to confirm that it’s nighttime. I can even make out the branches on the trees, the flaking paint on the railings. The sounds are louder, more intimate. I try to turn around to get further clues about where I am, but the instant I do so, the suffocating feeling starts up again, and the dream ends.

  With all this going on, it’s a wonder I manage to convince my friends that I’m okay. You wouldn’t think I’d get any sleep at all, but I’ve discovered that I only ever have one bad dream per night, so once I get through the vision, I can go back to sleep without fear.

  I no longer have the excuse that the dreams don’t qualify as visions, since it’s pretty obvious that they’ve graduated from nightmares to something more meaningful. But Clemency hasn’t asked since, and something prevents me from broaching the subject.

  When I get into bed on the sixth night, I’m thoroughly exhausted, dreading the prospect of another replay of the vision. I know it must be giving me valuable information, but I’ve no idea what that information is, and I’m not sure it’s worth the price.

  Tonight is different again.

  At first, it’s more or less identical to last night’s vision. I’ve come to expect new developments every night, but so far there aren’t any. I’m immeasurably frustrated. What’s the point of reliving exactly the same thing all over again? I’ve already seen it once.

  Then it changes. I’m at the point of the vision where I usually begin to gasp for air, but my breathing is still normal. I take a deep breath, bracing myself for the feeling of suffocation, but nothing happens.