The Dark

by Marianne Curley

  ‘You’d better get to bed early then, Isabel. And remember, you have to act as normal as possible, or your mother will suspect something strange is going on. And don’t forget you have to be asleep for transportation to take place.’

  ‘Why are you telling me all this? I know how it works. I’ve been before. Remember? A hundred times.’

  ‘Yeah, but your brain’s not working real good right now,’ Ethan says.

  She kicks him. Hard. Her foot connecting with his shin. It must hurt. He winces, grimacing at her.

  Isabel slowly regains her composure. ‘Where are …?’ She stops and starts again. ‘I mean, where are we going? And … ah, how long will we be away – together?’

  ‘We go back to France, to a year somewhere around the middle of the Hundred Years War, to protect the life of a six-year-old child. And as for how long we’ll be there – together – I really don’t know.’

  Chapter Three

  Isabel

  I’m going on a mission with Arkarian. Arkarian! And it could take days. Maybe months. Who knows? And all this time Arkarian and I will be together. Together!

  As I lie in bed goose bumps break out on my arms and I pull the blanket up tightly around my shoulders. But I’m not cold really. It’s just the thought of my upcoming mission, the thought of spending so much time with Arkarian. Alone! I remember the last time I was this excited. It was my first mission. I was with Ethan and we went to England. We were in John of Gaunt’s bedroom, when suddenly Ethan kissed me. But that kiss was only an excuse to get us out of a sticky situation. Arkarian wouldn’t use that tactic no matter how awkward the situation we might find ourselves in. Or would he? If the situation were desperate?

  I roll on to my side. If I don’t get to sleep soon I won’t be going at all. Of course, my physical body won’t be going anywhere. It will stay here in my bed and appear as if I’m only sleeping. The body is, after all, merely a vessel for the soul. So when I shift to the Citadel, I’ll have a new one that’s kind of on loan. Only my eyes will remain the same. They can’t change, ’cause they’re connected to the soul. The Citadel controls all this. It’s a wondrous place. And most importantly, this new identity will protect me from being recognised in the past.

  I close my eyes, willing them to stay that way, but can’t stop the thousands of thoughts racing around inside my head.

  The moon makes an appearance outside my window and I get up to close the curtains. It won’t make much difference, though. Lady Arabella’s gift of seeing through all forms of light still keeps me awake at night sometimes. Like tonight, when I’m finding it hard to slow down, it takes a greater effort to control the gift.

  While at the window I take a deep breath, drawing in some of the cool breeze that’s blowing. It’s then I notice a silver flash over the mountain. It creeps me out. I shut my window and hop back into bed, hoping that strange bright flash is not the beginning of another eerie storm.

  This time when I close my eyes my mind drifts towards sleep. I sigh deeply, relaxing further, and at last my body is succumbing to the peaceful state needed to make the transition. I lie in this drowsy state of half-sleep, half-wakefulness for a few moments, when images start to form inside my head, and I wonder what’s going on. Am I dreaming?

  I see a beautiful lake with a family of ducks wading in the shallows, surrounded by water lilies. There’s a wooden deck jutting part way into this lake, with a boat moored to a pole by a looped rope. It’s small and painted red with blue writing on its side. A woman is sitting on the deck to the right of this boat, her legs dangling in the water, shoulders hunched forward. Her hands are folded over each other in her lap. She’s looking down at her hands as if she’s holding something precious there. Even though I can’t see myself in this dream, I sense that I’m walking on the deck towards this woman, every step taking me nearer to knowing her identity and discovering the secret she is guarding in her palms.

  The dream intensifies. I can hear the click-clack sounds my shoes make as they strike the boards beneath my feet. For a second I think the woman hears me too. She looks to her left, but remains silent. It’s enough time for me to recognise her though. She’s Laura Roberts, Ethan’s mother.

  ‘Mrs Roberts?’ I ask in my dream.

  She doesn’t respond, just appears to look through me.

  ‘Laura? What are you doing?’ I peer over her shoulder. ‘What have you got there?’

  I see her hands clearly, and the sight of that much blood has me gasping and stepping backwards. My own hands come up to cover my mouth as I take a closer look. Trying not to retch at the sight, I study her carefully. She is bleeding from vertical slits to her arms that stretch from her wrists to half way towards her elbows. Blood has soaked through her skirt, through the timber decking, to the water below. A long-bladed knife slips through her weakening fingers to splash softly into the lake.

  I try to scream, but find myself sitting up in my dark bedroom, the dream very much still with me. I shake my head to rid myself of the image, but it doesn’t disappear. It’s as if there is more to this dream that I must see. Gathering my thoughts, I try to reach out to Laura, but some invisible force holds me back, as if my role is to watch and not interfere. Shocked, and unable to get rid of the image of Laura Roberts attempting to kill herself, I scream out.

  My scream brings Matt, with my mother behind him, bursting through my bedroom door.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Mum pushes past Matt in her hurry to get to me. ‘Did you have a nightmare?’

  Matt comes over to the other side of my bed and switches on my bedside lamp. The room fills with light that hurts my eyes. I squint and try to cover them; that dream still causing my heart to pound like a horse at full pelt.

  Mum pushes the hair off my forehead with tender stroking fingers. ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘She’s all right, Mum,’ Matt says. ‘I’ll look after her.’

  Mum looks at me and I try to reassure her. ‘He’s right. There’s nothing to worry about. It was just a dream. You can go back to bed. Really.’

  She hesitates. ‘Are you sure, darling? Can I make you a warm cocoa first?’

  I force a smile to my face. ‘No, I’m fine, really. I don’t need anything.’

  She finally relents. ‘All right, but if you want to talk you know I’m just across the hallway.’

  ‘I’ll call out if I need you, but Mum, I’m OK.’

  ‘Jimmy will be back soon. You can talk to him too, you know.’

  Matt’s jaw drops open. ‘She doesn’t need Jimmy. I’m here!’

  ‘Of course you are,’ Mum says. ‘I didn’t mean—’

  I grab her hand. ‘It’s all right, Mum. Don’t worry about Matt. I like Jimmy. I really do. I don’t mind at all that he lives here now.’

  Mum smiles and looks more relaxed. And once she’s sure I’m all right, she goes back to bed.

  Matt makes himself comfortable in my green inflatable lounge. ‘What was all that screaming about?’

  ‘I had a bad dream. And I thought I only screamed once.’

  He shrugs. ‘You didn’t have another of those weird visions, did you?’

  As soon as he says this, my heart, which is only just starting to slow down, leaps half-way up my throat. Could it have been a vision? Everyone knows how depressed Laura is. She never got over losing her daughter, Sera, thirteen years ago. And didn’t Ethan say something only the other day about how she isn’t getting any better, even though his father’s been so supportive? And that even the doctors think she should be making a recovery by now, but can’t understand why she isn’t?

  ‘Oh hell!’

  ‘What did you see?’ Matt asks.

  Matt’s question has me shifting straight into denial. I mean, it was a dream, not a vision, like that other one when my head felt as if it was going to explode. There was none of that pain or light this time. My concern for Ethan and his mother brought it on, that’s all. If I tell Ethan it will only make him more worried, and he worries like hel
l as it is.

  ‘Isabel?’

  But if I don’t tell Ethan, and it was a vision …? Maybe there was no pain ’cause I was in that relaxed state of near sleep, and wasn’t in a position to fight or tense up.

  ‘Isabel! What the hell is going on? Speak to me.’

  I hold my hand up to stop Matt’s questions from interrupting my thoughts. I need a couple more seconds to figure this out. The last time I experienced a vision, the reality occurred only seconds later. This notion has me scooting out of bed and stumbling through a dark hallway towards the phone.

  Matt follows and switches on a light. ‘When are you going to realise that you don’t have to solve every problem on your own?’

  I bring the phone half-way to my ear. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘You’re not alone in this world, Isabel. You don’t have to prove you can do everything by yourself. It’s about time you realised he’s not coming back.’

  My mouth forms a soundless gasp. He never talks about Dad! ‘You’re out of line.’

  ‘Am I? Then why do you resent my help so much?’ He turns away.

  ‘Look,’ I call out. ‘I didn’t mean to ignore you before. My dream has nothing to do with … whatever crazy place your thoughts are right now. And just for the record, I’m used to doing things for myself. I like it that way. That’s all there is to it.’ I can see he doesn’t believe me. ‘Your idea of helping me is more like total suffocation.’

  My words sting, but I don’t have time for this right now. ‘I have to ring Ethan, OK?’

  He glances around the hallway as if searching for a clock on the wall. ‘Isn’t it a bit late to be making phone calls?’

  I brush him away with a wave of my hand, covering the mouthpiece for a second. ‘I have to make this one.’

  He groans. ‘Don’t tell me you’re still fantasising over Ethan. Were you dreaming about him again?’

  Now why does he have to bring my past infatuation into the conversation? ‘Go away,’ I hiss at him. ‘I told you I’m over Ethan.’

  ‘Well I don’t believe you,’ he says, but wanders back to his room anyway.

  On the seventh ring Ethan answers in a groggy voice, ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Ethan, it’s me.’

  ‘Huh? Isabel? What’s up? Aren’t you supposed to be sleeping so you can be transported to the Citadel?’

  ‘Yes, but …’

  He reads my silence correctly. ‘Oh no, did you have a vision or something?’

  ‘Or something is right.’

  ‘What did you see?’

  Suddenly ringing Ethan feels like a really bad idea. ‘I don’t know how to tell you. It probably wasn’t a vision at all. It was probably just a dream, really.’

  ‘Stop babbling, Isabel. Just tell me.’

  I take a deep breath, releasing it slowly. ‘I saw your mother.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I think she was … Ethan, she was killing herself.’

  Silence. Except for his breathing, strongly, in and out.

  ‘Ethan? Are you OK?’

  ‘Tell me everything you saw,’ he says with words carefully spaced.

  I tell him about the lake and the timber decking. I tell him about the family of ducks and the water lilies. He remains silent as I explain, just listening. But when I mention the boat, and particularly the part about it being red in colour, he jumps at me. ‘Did you see a name on the boat?’

  I think hard, my eyes squinting at the memory. Then I see the words painted in blue script, obviously done by a fluent and artistic hand. ‘It was called the Lillie-Arie, or something like that.’

  He moans. My hand grips the phone tightly. ‘What is it, Ethan?’

  ‘You’ve just described perfectly the sanatorium Mum goes to sometimes. There’s a boat there they take out on to the lake. It’s called the Lillie-Marie.’ He sucks in an audible breath, as if his body needs an added burst of oxygen to verbalise his next thoughts. ‘So it had to be a vision, Isabel. It wasn’t a dream. You see, Mum’s booked into this place.’

  ‘Oh no, when?’

  He pauses and I can almost hear him thinking, working it out. ‘A week from Friday she’ll be going there for a five-day stay.’

  ‘What are we going to do, Ethan?’

  ‘The first step will be to stop her from going.’ He sighs, a weary sound. ‘After that, I’m not so sure.’

  My heart goes out to him. How hard must it be to cope with a mother who is continually on the edge? And Ethan’s done so for thirteen years. ‘You sound exhausted.’

  It’s the cue he needs to unload some of what he’s going through. ‘If only there were something I could do that would make a difference. She’s not getting any better, and well, sometimes I get tired, you know?’

  I make a small acknowledging sound and he goes on, ‘Isabel, this is going to sound terrible, but sometimes I think Mum’s being selfish. I understand that she can’t help how she is. She tries, you know. She goes to the sanatorium, and she’s right into meditation and group counselling. You name it, she’s given it a go. It’s just, inside sometimes, I get this frantic, desperate feeling that I’m going to lose her. It scares me. It scares me to know how fragile she is. And that’s when I get mad. Why can’t she be like other mothers? Why can’t she be the supportive one for a change?’

  ‘I wish I could help.’

  Ethan takes a deep breath. ‘It’s not that bad, really. I don’t mind being strong for her, especially when she’s going through a rough patch – like Sera’s birthday, the anniversary of her death, Mother’s Day. They’re the worst. Lately there’s been a string of days like that, one after another. It feels like there’s a crisis every day. That’s why I’m tired. And now your vision.’

  ‘Yeah, and we’ve got so little time to think of a solution.’ I don’t want to scare Ethan any more than he is already, but I can’t see how his idea to simply stop Laura from going to the sanatorium is going to work. ‘If we stop your mother from going, who’s to say that will be enough to stop her from doing this somewhere else?’

  He’s silent for a long moment. ‘I don’t know, Isabel. All I know is that we have exactly ten days to figure out a way to save my mother’s life.’

  Chapter Four

  Arkarian

  Isabel is late. Something is keeping her. I hope Marcus Carter hasn’t run into any problems co-ordinating this mission. Even though he’s worked in the Citadel for a long time (as well as teaching at the local high school), tonight he’s filling in for me, and he’s not used to working the equipment in my chambers. Maybe I should give him a brief visit. I could use my wings and be back here in a few minutes. It would be a relief to get out of this room. This room in particular. Why is the Citadel doing this? Choosing such a room for our first mission together?

  Suddenly Isabel arrives, landing squarely on her feet, her back to me. But the room gets her attention before she notices I’m here. Of course it would.

  She whistles, softly, then turns and sees me. ‘Wow. This is really something.’

  ‘Well yes, though I do find the bed a bit over the top. Don’t you?’

  She giggles at the heart-shaped structure covered with pink and white heart-shaped cushions. Her laughter eases the tension of being thrown together in a room that could only be described as a lovers’ paradise.

  ‘It could be a honeymoon suite at a really posh – no, tacky, hotel,’ she remarks. ‘Why do you think …?’

  Her words drift away, while her face changes colour to a deeper shade of pink than the half dozen cushions sprinkled across the double bed. But it’s plain what she’s asking. I shrug my shoulders and smile. ‘Hmm, who knows the mind of the Citadel, or its keepers? I have no idea.’

  And I really don’t. The Citadel is an enigma. Even while I live here I can still be amazed. It’s as if the building has a mind of its own. I’ve seen the high-tech machinery that lines the walls of its central work station, but sometimes it reacts as if it is working on instinct, or emotions. Though I
suspect Lorian, and of course the others that live here, may have something to do with this aspect of its functioning.

  I try to switch Isabel’s thoughts away from this replica of Cupid’s own bedroom. ‘I think we’d better get going. You’re late. Did you know that?’

  ‘Sort of,’ she answers ambiguously.

  In another room, this one decorated more appropriately, we find ourselves clothed in period dress fitting our destination. Isabel ends up wearing a long green gown, with flowing sleeves, belted slightly above the waist. Her hair is now black, falling in an array of wild ringlets.

  I stare at her for ages, completely speechless. She notices, and her hand slips to touch the bottom few curls, twirling one round and round her finger. She twirls it so tightly I think it’s about to cut off her circulation. Especially when her finger starts turning purple.

  I go over and unwind it. At first she doesn’t get what I’m doing and stares up at me.

  ‘Your finger’s about to drop off,’ I explain.

  ‘Oh?’ she says in a voice that sounds detached. Then she looks at her fingers and gasps, ‘Oh!’

  She spins away from me and shakes her hand a few times. After a minute she turns back. ‘Well, I guess we should be going. But … I don’t know who I am yet.’

  ‘Hold on.’

  Just as I say this a sprinkling of shimmering dust comes down on top of us, filling us with the knowledge and language skills we’re going to need on our journey.

  ‘Ah, so I’m a governess.’

  ‘Phillipa Monterey,’ I confirm with a bow.

  ‘And you, who are not quite so elegantly dressed?’

  I glance down at my woollen hose and coarse over-shirt secured roughly at the waist with a plaited cord, and take my cap off to reveal a mess of light brown hair. ‘It appears that I am going to be a stable hand, I believe, by the name of Gascon.’

  ‘Well, Gascon, I’m going to miss your long blue hair. How on earth will I find you in a crowd now?’

  Her humour makes me laugh, easing any lingering tension between us. Lately she’s been so mysterious. I’m concerned she’s keeping something from me that might affect our mission. I think I know what it is anyway. Perhaps she doesn’t want to mention it yet because it frightens her. As we step into our departure room, I can’t help asking, ‘Has your second skill emerged, Isabel?’