by Erme Lander
The dust builds in front of me, shifting into a pile. The panic rises as I watch, feeling ill as the dust solidifies. Feet, legs, the movement of individual grains like a stop motion camera film, shifting ever higher. The waist, the ribbing of the hoody. The arms falling down in a waterfall, the rumpled sleeves becoming visible. No cloak bursts from the shoulders as the head grows this time and the hood is down, exposing my face. A facsimile of myself. My mouth is open as though concentrating, I look young. The grey man that had been stalking the city all this time and this time I am the one who has made it. A word develops from behind my teeth, I clench them, not wanting to say it, fighting the need. It wriggles, sliding out, tickling my tongue. “Go.”
I collapse into a pile, all my strength gone. The grey man bows his head and walks away, feet making no noise against the spotless floor.
I can feel it walking through the night. Everything avoids it. Flashes of sight come to me, buildings, the occasional frightened face. It’s walking with a purpose, it knows where it’s going without me guiding it. I shiver, the last building I recognised, it’s on the way to Igren’s factory. At least the men will be safe indoors. I think through the list of the men I know there. I’d hate anyone to be hurt, even the Eyebrow.
I try to relax, I’ve never seen a grey man force their way into a building. They’ve always seemed to take the closest victim outside. My heart stops at the sight of a line of men walking back to the factory. It must be the ten day trip to the brothel. The figures grow larger, I want to shriek at them, warn them. Why can’t they see the danger? They are getting nervous and looking around, maybe they will notice. Forgetting the lethargy the grey men generate, I will them to react, to run. I’ve never seen a grey man run. My stomach clenches at the slowing line of men, they must run.
Vihaan is on the end, alert in a relaxed way, he’s laughing and joking with the other men. I recognise the way he’s gesturing as an innuendo directed at the person next to him. There’s a pause and he fills my vision. Is there are flash of recognition in his eyes? I see a hand rise to place itself on his shoulder and his face twists in pain. I try to shut my eyes, but can’t stop seeing what happens. His mouth is open and his eyes are wide. His face shrivels, becoming parchment. The silent inner shriek of death. The hand drops and he falls out of my sight. I sit upright, staring into nothing as the grey man turns to walk back the way it came.
The view is stronger as though the grey man has more energy, sucked from it’s victim. Mentally I shake myself, energy taken from Vihaan, a man I knew for a week and who in his own crude way, looked after me. My facsimile walks swiftly now, I can feel it coming back. My body wants what it holds. The anticipation builds, I lick my dry lips, feeling sick. This craving fills me more than the upset over killing a man. I find myself raising my arms eagerly as the grey man returns. He reaches out and touches my palms. A jolt of energy and he dissolves back into the dust on the floor.
I lay back on my pile of rubble. Disgust wars with terror, competing with the complete satiation and the warmth filling my body. My mind is racing, I killed another man. I no longer care about the rough teasing and the first night spent in terror of his advances. Nobody should die like that. Did I mean to send it towards him? Was there something inside of me that actually wanted to make him suffer? I gag, trying to throw up the contents of my stomach and fail. I stare at my hands, try to scrub the stain away and fail again.
The warmth coils down into the centre of me and the lump shifts, sending out a tendril. A thin line of hatred. As I watch, it grows, puts out roots and anchors itself. A thin wail bursts out, the only release I am now allowed. There’s a kernel growing inside of me. A small knot that shouldn’t be there. It’s not me. It’s feeding off the life of the dead man and rooting itself in the dark earth of my soul. It gathers its control over my body, flexing muscles without my permission and exploring me. Alone in the cellar, in the dark, I watch it grow and whimper.
Chapter 15
“Where’s it gone?”
The grey filter of light coming through from the other room hasn’t changed, although Talia has said it’s afternoon. I’ve tried not to complain about her not coming back sooner, at least she’s come back.
Talia walks around me, close to the wall with a bucket in her hand. Water slops over the edges and I notice her knuckles, white on the rim as she puts it down. Another has been placed near the entrance. I flinch, a darker haze rises from the buckets. I know it’s only water and yet it raises a terror inside.
“It came back. I killed someone.”
I’d told her I’d made a grey man and that I was somehow responsible for all those deaths before. I was almost crying again. The fits of rage and fear had exhausted themselves through the long night and I’d spent the morning waiting in a fudge of tiredness. The thought of sleeping and what I might do in my half drowsy gave me the shivers, so I stayed awake, swaying slightly until I’d heard Talia’s light step outside.
She sits on the pile of rubble opposite, far enough away to run if necessary and puts her sharp chin into the palm of her hand. Studying me, she asks, “Can’t you control them? Stop doing it now you know how?”
“I don’t know. I caught myself doing it before I’d realised it was happening.”
“So maybe you could stop.”
Hope rears it’s head and plummets again as I felt something shift inside my chest. The thing inside had quietened down after its exploration. I daren’t tell Talia about it, I don’t want her to leave and I can tell she doesn’t want to stay.
“Maybe,” I mutter.
She huffs and begins taking items out of her bag. Food and her little brazier. “You need to eat.”
I watch as she cuts the vegetables, wiping her nose on the back of her hand, skinny legs akimbo in her baggy jeans. There is something else about her, something I need. The ghost of a whisper runs through my mind. I concentrate on the cooking and remind myself that I’d not eaten since the day before. Nothing comes from my stomach. I remember the feeling of Vihaan’s life force shooting through me and felt it lurch. I want more.
Before I can stop myself, I say, “I’m not hungry.”
Talia turns to give me another long look, “You prefer sucking the souls from people then?”
That was nasty and far too close to the truth. I find myself snarling back, “Tastes better than your cooking.”
“Fine.”
She flings the pot in my direction, water, carrots and lentils go everywhere. I cry out as my arms go up to shield myself from the wet. Water all around this fucking place – the thought isn’t my own. The pot hitting me is the final straw, I bury my face in my arms and dryly sob as the water is absorbed. I raise my face as Talia moves to touch me and stops at my hand rising to block her.
“Stay away.” I feel terribly alone.
She sighs and picks up the pot, rifling through her bag to find more food. “I’ll do some more. I need to eat, even if you don’t.” She doesn’t pick up the vegetables off the floor. It’s not like Talia to waste anything edible, I think of the grey man rising from the dust and agree.
Talia hunches over the lit stove and watches the contents bubble. I stare at the shadows dancing on the wall and find myself desperate to see blue skies and green trees. This cellar is depressing, more so with the grey haze covering everything. Can I control the grey men? Despair hits, how can I survive without them? The smell of the food is making me feel ill and I daren’t tell Talia. The steam coils towards me. Unconsciously I shuffle back, the sole of one foot in contact with the floor at all points.
“Can’t you sit properly?” The question catches me out and Talia repeats herself.
“I can only take one foot off the floor at a time.”
Her eyes narrow, “Makes you slower.” I don’t like the satisfied tone she comments in, as though she’s pleased she’s found another weakness. The anger flashes through me and I bite back a snarl.
When I’m able to control myself, I ask, “What are we goi
ng to do?”
Talia’s shoulders sag as she pulls her sleeve down around her hand to hold the small cup of soup. “Dunno.” She brightens, “Maybe I could talk to Bay. They might know something up at the wall. The nobs know all sorts of things.”
Memories of men with pickaxes surge into my mind. The pain of the bright lights they carry and the rush of energy both boiling towards me and dissipating in different directions. The prison holding me contracting into a feeble fleshy shell.
“No. Please don’t tell.” I gasp the words out in the terror of being found in this state and with no way to protect myself. The grey men could only do so much. The last thought trails away and I open my eyes to see Talia’s regard.
“Hmm.” I don’t feel reassured. She finishes her soup, shakes the cup out and yawns.
“Is it that late?”
“No. I was busy last night. Food don’t grow on trees you know.”
I open my mouth to say fruit does and shut it again. Arguing isn’t going to help. I’m tired too. I shuffle into a more comfortable position. “Aren’t you worried about being in the same room as me?”
Talia settles herself down next to the wall. “I’ve got my buckets.” She curls into a ball and stops the conversation.
I’m left with my own thoughts. I want to go home, why did I come here to be the hero? Talia’s streetwise enough to deal with anything. Without me, she wouldn’t be in this position and I’d be back in my shed. I slide back into my fugue, staring at the walls and at some point fall into sleep and dream of a past not my own.
The cold of the obsidian throne flows through me, tremors shaking my hunched body. A pile of gold and rods of rare metals sit in front of me and I raise a hand. Other, colder hands reach out of the ground to pull a man downwards, the others remain kneeling as he’s dragged halfway into the stone floor. My voice is reasonable as I point out that gold and riches were not what I’d asked for. The man’s whimpers grow softer, unable to take a breath, the stone cutting in every time his ribs contract.
One distracts me, tells me that I’ve misunderstood and freezes as another hand reaches for his ankle. He’s a brave man, he stands there and tells me that this is not simply decoration that they’ve brought, it is parts of a machine to help free me. I lean forwards, snarling at the pain keeping me immobile, snarling at the knowledge I now have of their duplicity. Nothing shows but sincerity in his eyes. A final sigh from the floor beside him and he continues to hold my gaze without flinching. I am desperate, my twisted body needs a cure, I can kill anyone, I can do anything but heal myself.
They build the cage around me, explaining with lies to show how it will heal me, to enable me to get off this mountain peninsula. The curse that holds me, that gives me this power is held within this shattered body. I will rise like a star at dawn to come down on the people of the mainland, my stomach warms at the thought and a stone hand comes out of the wall to grasp the arm of a man working next to me. He shakes as I explain in detail what will happen to him if he is lying.
Both in the dream and in real life, my feet cannot resist the call of stone. I can not move, the limits placed on me, bound as I am to this throne. My authority lies in my stone men travelling the trackways and appearing out of nowhere. They are my loyal lieutenants, unstoppable by any blade or distance hold a continent to ransom, nowhere is safe from them.
The cage is finished, I ask questions in excitement, fingers crawling across the shifting carvings on the arms of my throne as I brush them. One of the men is sweating. They answer the best they can. I will feel heat, a light and then I will be free. I am a fool. They trap me with my own weakness.
The light comes, the heat and then the cage fuses, the men holding onto the rods, sinking into ash, their bones incandescent. I scream as the power streams out of me to encase me in a ball of light. I clench my fists, waiting to rise into the dawn and the mountain shakes above me, the vents blowing steam into the air. The ground sinks, the mountain falls and buries me in my cage.
I half wake to stare into the dark room, raging at the fate that has left me broken in mind and body. My abilities are stolen further, centuries later by the men with lights and pickaxes and are now so shrunken that I can only pull dust not stone into my own shape. My fingers press against the unyielding ground and I curse, longing for the madness of my black throne. I can not even open the trackways, weak as I am now, I can only send a single minion through an opening made by the thieves and then it clangs shut in my face. This half clinging to life revolts me, one day I will be free, one day they will pay. I sink back into dreams of gilded cages and thwarted power.
The need pulls at me before I wake. My hands part, I need food. It strengthens and my eyes open to see dust sliding across the floor, the ripples fascinating me in my drowsy state. The dust begins to pull itself up and my fascination turns to horror. Talia is sleeping across the room, my gaze swings to her. Even without a decent light I can see she’s been crying. Shame fills me, I didn’t hear a sound.
The dust climbs higher. How do I turn this off? A struggle within my mind, trying to find the switch. My limbs aren’t my own, I can’t stop this. What’s left of my mind is screaming at Talia to get out, to run. The facsimile grows in the gloom of the cellar, lit by the fish oil lamp that I barely notice, consumed by the desire flooding through me.
A pressure builds inside my mind. Alien thoughts sweep through – she has what I need. I can see a golden light in the gloom, it sparkles around her. The cracked, crusty skin of an ancient oily want fills me. That golden nectar she holds, it’s rightfully mine. A part of the energy that was mine, that was used for years to imprison me now lies next to the wall, encased in a meat skin. My lips draw back in anticipation.
I scream inwardly at myself – I’m Daniel! This isn’t me! All those grey men I’d seen when around her, they weren’t coming for me. I’d never been in any danger from them. They’d wanted Talia. The grey man turns as the dust climbs, seeking her. I can’t hold it back, I’ve no control, a passenger in my own body. Slack hands burst from the sleeves and clench into fists.
“Talia.” I force her name out. Her eyes open immediately to dart around the room and meet mine. Her foot lashes out as she scrambles up and kicks the bucket out of reach. My heart wars with terror and exultation as it tilts and half falls over, staining the floor.
“I need you.” The words are dragged from me. An all consuming desire rises at the life in her. The light she holds, I want to smother it, feed on it. I haven’t seen one like her in years. So few of the thieves are left, what is left in the larger population is now weak, unable to do more than sustain me for long. I remember with satisfaction the feast I’d had years ago, of another woman and the power coursing through me as she died, a brief gleam of what I once had. My mouth opens in hunger at the memory and I bat away the feeble horror of my host. I begin to drag myself across the floor, the dust swirling around me.
I twist inside, fighting a losing battle as I raise my arms to command my doppelgänger. Talia backs away, despair in her face. She’s in the wrong place for the doorway, she’d got too cocky with her buckets. Guilt hits me as I realise I also didn’t warn her. This being inside of me has been sneaky and wormed its way around to block her off, it’s made me do things without being aware of them.
I can feel myself being assessed and the contempt generated by my weakness. My body isn’t strong enough, I’m dismissed as a means of locomotion. So much energy expended simply to exist, no way of moving, chained to this room. The thoughts crawl through my mind, grey fingers prodding every sensitive space.
Talia trips over backwards, scrambling away from the door. The grey man steps forwards, swipes at her and misses. I can no longer move, drained and held into place. Everything is quiet apart from Talia’s ragged breathing and the scuffle of her hands and feet. The grey man is expressionless, a monster attempting to touch and suck the life out of its victim.
I begin to hope against all reason as my facsimile fails to grab Talia
. It’s clumsy, and I can feel how the being is enraged at the stuttering control it has. Thoughts flick through my mind that aren’t mine. I want to be sick at the stain running through them. I catch a glimpse of a smooth stone figure from times past, recalling the expressionless assassin and how it would move instinctively to catch it’s victim and quail. Rage flows through me at being forced to be this helpless. I should be able to catch this insignificant person easily. I snarl, forced to wait for my minion to bring her to me. How dare she cause this trouble, many greater than her had once sat at my feet vying for the honour of giving themselves to me.
Talia’s moved behind me. I’m held and I can’t turn to see her, I can only hear the shuffle of her feet. I imagine her twisting out of the way, shifting constantly until I hear her breath catch. A muffled cough and my heart sinks. I’ve heard that cough too many times, the precursor to a major coughing fit. She moves to the other side of me and I can see her chest heaving with the effort of containing the cough, her movements jerky, her face reddening. She bends over in her fit and the part of me that isn’t me laughs in exaltation.
Her fingers close around the rim of the other bucket and flings it, her throat closing as she chokes. Her aim is bad, it hits the side of the grey man, only half going over it. For a moment it stands, no emotion on its face and then it sags like a sand castle in the tide, slopping and dissolving. Talia sinks to her knees coughing and the backlash of energy hits me.
I scream in pain as it courses through my body, igniting every nerve end. The fury of the being inside me thwarted. No, it’s no longer something inside me, it is me. It uses the moment of shock to delve deep inside, merging itself, taking advantage of every point in my memory where I’ve been put down and laughed at. I can feel the rage growing, the hatred, I will make them pay. My sister, Clive, the receptionist. Talia. The darkness deepens around the edges of my eyes and I feel the thrill of finally throwing off the chains of convention.
