Lord of Dust

by Erme Lander

  He chuckled, remembering his thought about heroes from long ago. He’d changed a world, vanquished an ancient evil and time travelled. What was he going to do next? Go back to paperwork? The office? His gaze transferred itself to his feet and he gradually fell asleep in the sunshine.

  “Hey, nob!” A poking finger woke him and he wriggled away. The sun was beginning to set, turning the mists into an orange sea with the black islands of buildings sticking up. “I’m busy sorting the world out and you’re here sleeping.” She was laughing at him.

  Daniel stretched, “How’s it going?”

  “Lots of people are joining. I’m going to be the leader of the biggest clique in the city.” She waved her hands, her eyes enormous at the power she held.

  “You’ll have to look after them and make it work,” Daniel warned. “Watch out for Bay too. He’ll turn on you if you don’t keep him on a short leash.”

  “That’s easy. I’ll just go back and get a grey man every so often. That’ll keep them in line.”

  “Talia!”

  She laughed, Daniel had never seen her so happy. She sobered, “You can’t stay, can you?”

  “No, I want to go home. You can come and ask me things if you need to.” He tried not to sound hopeful.

  The sound of people talking excitedly spilled out into the evening air. Talia held out her hand, “Let’s get you home then.”

  “What about them?” He nodded at the noise.

  “I can come back any time, remember?”

  The beech trees of home, gold and bronze in the autumn. Talia had brought him back to a grey day, threatening rain. She looked up, curious.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen your sky like this.”

  “Best get down the hill before it starts.”

  They walked down still holding hands. Sneaking under Mrs Pickles’ hedge, they giggled about what they would say if she saw them. Daniel jumped over the fence and grabbed Biggles, delighted to feel his strong body shoving against him. Biggles investigated Talia who petted him gingerly. Daniel took a deep breath, breathing in the smell of the apples and sighed – home.

  Talia’s eyes grew wistful, “Can I wash?”

  “Aren’t you going to offer to cut something off?” Daniel teased her and quickly agreed as her expression grew black. “I’ll sort some more clothes for you too.” Talia came out, glowing at the new clothes and Daniel offered to finish cutting the hair hanging in front of her eyes.

  When he stepped back, his own eyes widened, “Hang on, was it you I saw in the woods, the day before I came through? You were on your own, dressed as you are now. You were laughing at me.”

  She shook her head, “I don’t remember that.”

  A smile lit his face, “Maybe you haven’t done it yet. Nothing to follow you through this time.”

  An answering smile came from her, “Best fill that one in then, hadn’t I?”

  Ending

  I’m still coming to terms with the fact that I’ve died or one of me has. I don’t know what to call what I’ve done, I killed myself that day in the cellar but it’s not called suicide or murder. All the jumping through different times and not quite remembering makes my head ache. I got a refund on the counselling sessions, it’s not the sort of thing you can talk about.

  It’s funny, after having been in hospital and on sick leave for so long, Clive took my place in the office. They were a little embarrassed when I found out. I didn’t want my old job back anyway and asked to work in the morgue instead. Mr Davies was delighted when I asked to become an apprentice undertaker and despite Clive taking the piss, I fit in far better. It’s less money but I no longer care. Unsurprisingly, dead bodies don’t bother me anymore – I’ve seen far worse.

  We’d had the usual Sunday meal with the family today. I’d spent most of the day on my shed floor with Dominic, building the most enormous layout for his trains. Sarah had been her usual self, full of mocking comments until I’d stopped her in mid sentence by sniffing my hands and mentioning the difficulties of getting the stink of embalming fluid off. In fact, the whole conversation had stopped and Mum had actually snapped at Sarah. The general consensus is that I’m not to be upset. Sarah had eyeballed me and then carried on her conversation as if she hadn’t noticed. I’d found it funny, she doesn’t realise she’s got nothing on Talia.

  My smile grew wider and faded. I wonder if Talia is happy. It’s been a few days since she said goodbye. Her dancers are waiting for her. I’ve painted them in pretty colours, knowing she’ll like it and mended a few rods that have nearly broken. I miss her already and hope she will pop up at some point. I’ve been looking up books to help her world, simple things like seed drills and harvesters, anything to help the mill workers survive. Knowing they won’t be able to read the books, I’ve drawn pictures showing the mechanics – someone will be able to work them out. I sigh and carry on watering the flower beds on the driveway. The threatened rain never came, it’s been warm and humid ever since.

  The cat had taken one look at the hosepipe and disappeared. It’d been a small ball of malevolence in the last few days but had stayed away from me. Biggles was shut in the shed, whining at the unfairness of not being allowed to play in the water spray.

  The sound of Mrs Pickles revving her engine in the driveway beyond nearly stops me hearing a familiar ripping. I blink and my heart starts to race. Was it Talia? Was she having problems? My mind begins working overtime at the thought of talking through all my ideas with her. I scan the garden, going on tiptoes to peer over the hedge to where the footpath was. The water from the hosepipe dribbles onto the ground, forgotten.

  A small figure moves lightly along the road, her feet almost skipping. Her hair is translucent in the light, she’s dressed in cut offs and a vest, showing her skinny arms and legs. An ethereal child. She dances over to the hedge on the other side of the road to look at the leaves, her hand reaching up to touch and she jumps back at the cows in the field.

  I stand, mesmerised, until the sound of the car coming down the lane intrudes. Panic forces it’s way through – Mrs Pickles always takes that corner too fast. I drop the hosepipe and shout. “Talia!”

  She turns to smile, “Daniel! I made it!”

  A wave and she begins to run towards me, delight in her face. The car rounds the corner. The sun comes through the clouds and shines onto the windscreen. Terror seizes me. I run, cursing the hedge in my way, knowing I’m going to be too late. Talia hears the car and stops in the middle of the road, staring. Her face twists at the machine flying towards her. Mrs Pickles sees her at the last moment and slams the brakes on, no time to stop.

  I swear I hear the bang as the car hits. Is she thrown into the air or did she jump away in time? I hear the cry for her mother, hear Mrs Pickles’ wail through the closed window and my heart dies.

  All I knew is that Talia wasn’t there when the car came to a standstill in the hedge. The engine has stalled and I am left staring at Mrs Pickles in the quiet. I walk over and open the car door. She’s clutching the steering wheel, her face grey in shock.

  “Did you see the child?”

  I take a deep breath, “No. The sun came out. You were blinded.” Something twists inside me, Mrs Pickles was responsible for Talia being like she was. If Talia had been well, she wouldn’t have jumped back to her mother. There wouldn’t have been a trackway to the tower, they’d have been safe. I force the anger down, Mrs Pickles wasn’t to know what she’d done.

  “There was a child,” she insists.

  “You must have been seeing things. Look, there’s no one else here.”

  I help her out and show her. She’s trembling. I wrap an arm around her and give her a hug. She clings to me and I’m surprised to find she’s the same size as Talia, bird boned under the thin cardigan and bluster. I guide her onto our drive and pat her arm, “I’ll deal with your car.”

  I start the car and reverse it out of the hedge. The steering drags on one side. The wheel’s burst from a pot hole. I wonde
r if that was the bang I’d heard. I park the car on the drive and absently turn the hosepipe onto full as I pass.

  Mrs Pickles is still standing next to the hosepipe, staring into the hedge, the water pooling into the grass at her feet. I’m feeling light headed, unsure if Talia’s survived. I remember Talia’s scared face the first time I’d followed her and the look of her being out of place. I wouldn’t know if everything had happened as it should until she came back to see me – if she ever came back. I turn Mrs Pickles around to take her into the house.

  “Here, let’s take you inside.”

  The thread of lethargy spreads through me and I know I’m too late. I turn slowly, the dread fixing me to the ground. A shape is beyond the hedge, not ten feet away. The sun is still shining, a light wind rustles the leaves but I know it’s there. Sweat drenches me, part of the hedge is darkening. The grey man from Talia’s first ever jump in time.

  Grey mud appears around the leaves and twigs, it’s coming straight through the hedge at us. Mrs Pickles whimpers and I absently rub her arm. It moves slowly, I can actually see the chest and legs forming themselves around the leaves and twigs. The dread stays – something not of this world. The sunlight seems to dim in its presence as the bulging eyes turn to us and I notice the cracks across its chest aren’t filling in. Another step and it’s clear of the hedge. I carefully bend down and pick up the hosepipe.

  As though from a vast distance I heard Mum call from inside the house and know she won’t see anything from here. The last gap on the grey man’s shoulder made by a branch stays. It raises its hand and points to me. My eyes wander in their own dream, noticing tiny details, the smears on the leaves, a grey stain marking footprints as it staggers towards us.

  A whisper from beside me, “What is it?”

  I look down at Mrs Pickles and say dreamily, “It’s a grey man but it’s okay, it only followed the child you didn’t hit.” She gapes at me, white faced and with tears in her eyes.

  Slowly I pull the weight of my hands up and press my thumb over the end. Water spurts and soaks us. Mrs Pickles squeals and recoils. Another lurch and it’s less than five feet away. Could it actually do anything now? Could it drag the liquid from me while it killed me? I fumble at the pipe, despite my preternatural calm, I curse my clumsy fingers. My thumb finds the end again and this time it goes in the right direction.

  It hits the grey man square in the chest and goes through it, a hole showing the hedge behind. Water darkens the rest and my brain clears instantly. A joyful madness fills me and I blast the rest of it into the ground leaving a grey stain spreading over the pool of water. I spray the garden, arcing the water high. Finally I drop the hose, remembering the old lady stood beside me. “There, all gone.”

  Mrs Pickles moves her mouth a few times without speaking and eventually manages, “What was that thing?

  “That was the last facsimile of the Grey Lord. You don’t need to worry, I helped kill him. Shall we get you back to the house and have a cup of tea?”

  “I’ll...I’ll...” Her brain isn’t working properly.

  “Say you knocked over a child that’s no longer there and were stalked by a being that was vanquished by a hosepipe?” I wait, a tiny sadistic part of me enjoying her shocked bewilderment. A kinder emotion intrudes and I rub her arm, “Let’s get you back.”

  I take Mrs Pickles back to our house to be looked after by Mum. She has no objection to my story that she was blinded by the sun and drove into the hedge. The dust I deal with, it soaks into the soil with the water. Afterwards I lean against a tree in the orchard and absently fuss Biggles. I have to trust that Talia will be fine. One day, she will be back.