The Voice Of The Voiceless
Page 8
“No. And I was born so long ago; I couldn't tell you how old I am exactly anyway. It was before the Dark Ages, before the Dark Reign. I do have a specific insight, but it has nothing to do with it.”
Victoria knew she wouldn’t get more out of her friend and changed the subject.
“So tell me, Beatrice? Now what?”
Beatrice didn’t answer, and Elisabeth chuckled.
“She’s asleep. Poor woman got quite a scare when she saw us charging towards her. Especially me, with my blood-stained suit. Don't worry, she’s safe now, and once I drop you off and fly back to London, she will be placed somewhere else with a new identity - you know how it goes. Unless she wants to help with the cause, that is, which would be a big win for us.”
“What about the three Sniffers?”
“Funny story that. See, when I called Antoine, he came with a couple of friends. Turns out, the two accompanying Rayneheart were all part of the same group of Scorchers. They were in charge of the Polar massacre, and it just so happens that Antoine's friends also lost a couple of people that day.”
“I don't suppose they will face judgement,” Victoria mused, sighing. She had been hoping the entire process would be drawn out. The more painful, the better.
Her friend stopped smiling and sighed with her.
“Eons ago, no matter how badly hurt the Physicals would be, they would always give a fair trial. But that was before the Purge, Vic. I'm sorry. Their deaths will be swift if you are worried about our methods.”
Victoria shook her head vigorously.
“Oh no Beth, no. Goodness no. I was hoping Antoine had left me Rayneheart as a gift or at least would let me witness their execution. They were monsters, and monsters should be put down. The Purge turned your people more into animals, but deep down you still yearn for justice. I, on the other hand, am human, and all I want to do is make them suffer.”
Elisabeth didn’t answer. Soon after, Victoria spotted some road signs.
“Oh look, there is the sign for Tourne! We must be close. We need to take Adrian to the hospital.”
Elisabeth made the turn and slowed down.
“Yes. The paperwork has been transferred and Antoine will stay in the vicinity, just in case the Black Rose comes sniffing around. The hospital staff has been paid off and mesmerised, so they won’t ask too many questions.”
“Alright then, where to?”
“St Roch's maternity, it's another thirty minute drive from here. I will leave you the car with the baby seat at the back, and all the essentials, nappies, bottles… Your house has been set up already. You'll have to put up with Marianne and Charles for a couple of days, until you find a place you like. Just give me a ring and I'll make it happen. I'll be leaving as soon as possible - the fewer Physicals there are in one place, the better. In fact, I'll be sending your daughter and son in law on missions around the world as soon as possible.”
Victoria nodded and looked at the sleeping child a little sadly. It wouldn’t be easy getting old, it would be painful and she knew she was going to hate it. It would also be tough being outside the Fold for two decades, being poor, and not being able to see Lord Daemon. But when she looked at him in the car seat, with his big round cheeks and soft, tiny hands…
“Why Adrian?” Elisabeth asked her suddenly, sounding puzzled.
“Beg your pardon?”
“I heard you call him Adrian while you were holding him. Why did you choose that name?”
“Oh. Because of the man who recruited me for the Black Rose. I guess I gave him the name of the love of my life.”
There was a short silence.
“Do I know this man?”
“Yes.”
Elisabeth was polite enough not to push the issue, and Victoria felt grateful she wouldn’t have to speak of him further. It was painful enough as it was. She looked down at the baby, thinking of the flowers that had opened and turned to face him.
“Beth?”
“Hmm?”
“How important is he?”
“Who?”
“On a scale from one to ten, how important is this child?”
“If there are none of us left but him, it will be enough.”
“What the hell have you gotten me into?”
“You'll see.”
“Oh come on, you've got to give me more.”
Elisabeth sighed.
“It's difficult to quantify. But if all Physicals were captured and killed, all to the last one, including me, well, it wouldn't matter as long as he survived.”
“But what is his role? What is he supposed to do?”
“It's complicated… don't think I don't trust you Victoria, it's just really hard to explain. All you need to know is that as long as he lives, as long as he fulfils his purpose, you will one day taste the world as it was meant to be.”
“What on earth does that mean?”
“It means Adrian will save us all… He is the Dreamwalker.”
They sat in silence as they drove along the roads of Tourne to the hospital. It had started to rain, a light summer shower, nothing Victoria couldn’t handle. If the rain hadn’t stopped by the time they got there, she’d use one of the little covers at the back of the car to protect him. What she hadn’t been expecting though, was the exceptional view: she wasn’t sure if it was specific to the French skies as she’d never seen such beautiful colours before, but in the distance, a storm had started to rumble, turning the dark sky into a red stained amethyst.
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The Boy who Forgot: A Delacourt Short Story (BOOK 2)
Elisabeth lay in her bed sighing.
How odd. She was feeling unusually tired, which meant something was wrong. Or about to happen.
She waited, hopeful sleep would claim her anyway, but gave up after a few minutes and rolled out of her sheets instead, stretching from head to toe and yawning without restraint.
Might as well have a quick shower, she thought, feeling slightly put out, yawning again as she made her way to the bathroom.
She opened the door and entered, but instead of the usual hard floorboards, her feet sunk into soft, spongy grass.
She shook her head, her long golden locks bouncing around her face as she ordered herself to become fully alert.
Her bathroom had turned into a forest.
She glanced back to see if her bed was still there, but the door had disappeared, leaving her stranded, wearing nothing more than a nighty.
“This is a dream,” she said, matter-of-factly.
Which could mean only one thing: someone was trying to send her a message.
She looked around, crouching down automatically, claws and teeth extended, just in case.
This was her forest, by the great lake, of her Academy. She knew the grounds by heart of course, from the specific tint of green in the blades of grass, to the shimmer of the dragonfly's wings, and the deep musky smell of earth beneath her feet. Everything seemed to be identical, except for the atmosphere around her that was slightly… blue, like a moonlit forest in winter, after heavy rains. She had never seen the Academy in this particular light, and imagined the grounds would soon be covered in fog, adding to the haunted look.
The light breeze against her skin felt so real she shivered and closed her eyes, focusing on the ambient noise instead of her other senses.
Maybe she just needed to listen.
“Elisabeth…”
The whisper came from afar and she turned to face the sound.
“Elisabeth… He is close…”
The voice that came to her was followed by the sound of wind chimes.
She snapped open her eyes, recognising them instantly.
There on a rock above her, in between the luscious thickets tainted with sapphire, stood the last of the White Elks. The Voice of the Voiceless.
Sh
e smiled and bowed her head, but before she could approach, a terrible pain in the back of her head pulled her into darkness.
It took her a little under a minute to calm the nauseating pain and focus her senses on the world around her. Sitting up in her bed, she frowned.
Hadn’t she just dreamed about something important? Something vital even?
What was it?
The more she tried to concentrate, the more she felt the memory of it slip away.
Elisabeth started to relax and decided a shower would be welcome.
Hmm… she thought. Déjà-vu.
As she got out of bed, the morning breeze swayed the curtains and she realised she must have left the windows open - which was strange to say the least. She always closed them at night.
She wrapped herself in her dressing gown and went to the glass doors leading to the stone balcony. They were indeed ajar and she decided a little fresh air would do her good.
She opened them wide and stepped outside.
Closing her eyes, she let the early morning rays of sun warm her face as she leaned against the balustrade.
Elisabeth slid her hands along the stone lazily, and the tip of her fingers brushed against something strange. Something that definitely was not there the day before. She snapped open her eyes and picked it up, drawing it close to her face for inspection. It was a bell, round and small enough to fit snuggly in the palm of her hand, the metal glinting softly in the light. It was tied to the end of a silk white ribbon, and she looked at it in surprise, letting it dangle freely. A gust of wind made it tinkle and for a second, she smiled, enjoying the purity of the sound. She loved bells, and wind chimes.
Suddenly, the memories of her dream came flooding back, and she turned, letting the ribbon slip through her fingers. Her claws extended as she ran out of her room and down the hall as fast as she could.
Elisabeth reached the bottom of the stairs before the bell had time to touch the ground and she accelerated her movements using the walls as springs, jumping from one side to the other faster than the human eye could detect, whizzing past an unaware Alfred who was ironing clothes in the laundry room.
It took her maybe 15 seconds to reach her office and the phone on her desk - instead of the three minutes it could have easily taken her - and she punched in Victoria's emergency number frantically.
They hadn't spoken in over ten years, but if He had come to see her in her dreams, it must mean that something was wrong.
“Allo?” answered a boy.
“Err, allo, Victoria?”
Elisabeth froze in fear as she heard a voice other than her friend’s and she forgot how to speak French altogether.
“Je suis désolé, vous vous êtes trompé de numéro, il n'y a pas de Victoria ici,” replied the boy.
The phone went dead before she could even think of a reply.
What did he mean, there was no Victoria? It was NOT the wrong damn number; she knew it by heart and - oh. Of course. How could she have been so careless?
Before she could even think how to fix her mistake, the phone rang out and made her jump.
She picked up the receiver.
“Hello?”
“Beth?”
“Victoria?”
“Yes, what is it, what’s happened?”
“I need to talk to you - wait how did you know I was the one who called?”
“Adrian said a woman asking for Victoria with a cool British accent was just on the line. How shall I put this? You're the only one who knows where I am and who has my number. So what happened?”
“Nothing - yet. But you’re not safe : I think something is coming. You have to get out of there, take the boy and run to the safe house by the lake in Carcassonne. I will get there as soon as I can.”
“Understood.”
The Headmistress hung up and opened the top drawer of the desk, grabbing her passport. She needed to get to the South of France as soon as possible.
She left her office calling out to Alfred.
“Alfred? I need you to phone Francis. Ask him to fuel the jet - I need him to set a course for Carcassonne. Also, can you please… Alfred? Alfred?”
He didn’t answer.
She frowned and went to the laundry room, but the ironing board had been left unattended.
“Alfred?!” she called out in concern.
The iron was still on, and her worry grew exponentially. In the many years they had been together, she had never needed to call him more than once.
Elisabeth would have used her nose to find him, but he had no odour whatsoever. It would take her ages to find him through that sense, she’d have to sift through her surroundings looking for something that gave off no smell at all and she didn’t have the time.
There were, however, other ways.
She opened the glass door leading outside to the Academy grounds and sat under the giant apple tree.
Time to use them all, she thought, focusing her senses to become one.
After a few moments, she felt the blades of grass in the forest bend under the weight of her friend. He was heavier than usual.
Damn.
She stood and bolted to the forest, but before she arrived at the line of trees, she saw Frank, her trusted handyman, flying above them, shirtless, his wings spread wide.
Elisabeth hadn't seen him use them in centuries. And what a sight they were…
“Frank? What are you doing?” she shouted out to him, awestruck by her angel-like friend.
He plunged to the ground, bowing his head apologetically as he reached her and tucking his wings into place so he could walk freely.
“So sorry Ma'am, I know it ain't safe to have me old feathers out, but there is somethin’ in the forest.”
“Where is Alfred?”
“He went there the second he sensed it too.”
“Get inside Frank, and pull the alarm.” The Headmistress ordered.
“That won't be necessary, Madam,” came Alfred’s voice.
Elisabeth turned towards the trees where the snowy-haired butler stood.
He had pulled up his trousers and was walking in the forest barefoot. In his arms, lay a young man, completely naked and covered in dried blood, scabs and wounds of all kinds.
The Headmistress instinctively sniffed the air, searching for the natural scent of the man under the layers of dirt and open flesh. She covered her mouth and nose with the palm of her hand in shock. It couldn’t be…
“I'll take care of him, Madam, the smell of blood must be too much for you.”
“No Alfred, it… it’s not,” she said, starting to cry, and Frank and Alfred looked at her in surprise as she opened her arms to the unconscious boy.
“Oh Alan… what have they done to you?” she wept, while Alfred asked Frank to fetch the doctor.
He turned back to face her.
“Madam, I shall carry him back, but we need to take this boy to the infirmary,” he said soothingly.
She nodded, sniffing, and as they walked back, she held Alan's lifeless hand in hers.
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The Boy who Forgot: A Delacourt Short Story (BOOK 2)
“If you’re so scared of me, why come at all?”
“I came because I need your help. A necessary risk.”
Elisabeth Delroy has been searching for decades – to no avail. Her beautiful Alan is nowhere to be found. That is, until Alfred walks out of the forest carrying him in his arms, bloody, broken… and dying.
Now she’s in a race against time, desperately trying to save him from the white magic filth that’s poisoning him.
Only one person has what it takes to help her, but can she risk it all by contacting such a powerful member of the Black Rose?
And can she really stand for him to become… The Boy Who Forgot?
Elisabeth Delroy return
s in a brand new Delacourt Short story!
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Sign up for the Author’s New Releases mailing list and get a free copy of her latest book:
The Boy who Forgot: A Delacourt Short Story (BOOK 2)
Hello, and Welcome to the Fold.
Stephanie Althea Tedman, writing under the pen name S.A. Tedman is a half-British, half-Maltese novelist, translator, and English teacher.
Born in Pembury, Kent, she moved to France at an early age and discovered in her teens the exciting world of role-playing games, needing only paper, dice and an huge amount of imagination.
At sixteen she was given the coveted role of Game mistress, and created The Fold, an incredible world of magic and immortality that she continued to develop over a decade.
After completing a BA in English literature and an MA in Creative writing, she started writing The Delacourt Chronicles, including two short stories The Voice of the Voiceless and The Boy who Forgot.
Other series in the Fold will include The Academy, The Black Rose and The Moira Chronicles.
S. A. Tedman is currently living in Montpellier, in the South of France, with her husband and beautiful baby boy.
Author Page : www.satedman.com