Kitabı oku: «Volumes 7 and 8 - Death’s Shadow/Wolf Island», sayfa 2
FIRST CONTACT
→From the spot on the road in the forest, I make the five minute walk to Carcery Vale, but keep to the edge of the village, circling the houses and shops. I look on enviously at the ordinary people leading their ordinary lives.
Dervish is supposed to be tutoring me at home while I recover from the loss of my mother. Meera has supplied us with school books and equipment. Of course, Dervish hasn’t once sat down to help me with schoolwork, but I’ve been doing it by myself. I complete the necessary exercises so that Meera can show them to the relevant authorities and keep them happy.
I enjoy the homework. I never did anything like this before. I learnt how to do practical things in my rath, like cook, wash and sharpen weapons. I memorised lots of stories and Banba taught me magic. But I never studied books—they didn’t exist then. I knew nothing about global history, geography, science, mathematics.
It’s fascinating. I know a lot already, courtesy of Bill-E’s memories, but I’m discovering much more. Like most people, Bill-E didn’t retain all that he learnt, so I only have access to the bits he remembered. But my own memory is perfect. I have total recall of anything I see, hear or read. By devouring the books Meera gives me, and watching scores of television documentaries and the news, I’ve pieced together many of the facts of this brave new world. Ironically I probably know more about it than most of the children who are natives of this time.
I’d love to go to school and learn from real teachers. I study as best I can at home, do my homework, watch educational programmes and surf the Internet. But that’s no substitute for being taught by another person. There’s so much more I could do with my brain, so many things I could uncover about the world, if I only had someone to instruct me.
But I’m not ready to mix with other people yet. What would I say? How would I mingle and pass as one of their own? I’d have to guard my tongue, always afraid I’d say something that gave away my past. I have nothing in common with these folk. I know much about their ways, from Bill-E and what I’ve read about them and seen on television. But in my time girls married when they were fourteen. Warriors fought naked. Slavery was a fact of life. There was nothing odd about eating the heart of a defeated enemy. We worshipped many gods and believed they directly influenced our day-to-day lives.
As I brood about the gulf between me and these people, someone coughs behind me. I’m instantly on my guard—in my experience, if somebody sneaks up on you, they’re almost certainly an enemy. Whirling, my lips move fast, working on a spell. There’s virtually no magic in the air, so my powers are limited, but I can still work the odd spell or two. I won’t be taken easily.
It’s a girl. A couple of years older than me. We’re dressed in similar clothes, but she wears hers more naturally. I haven’t fully got the hang of shoes and laces, soft shirts and buttons. Her hair looks much neater than mine and she wears make-up.
“Hi,” the girl says.
“Hello,” I reply softly, putting a name to her face and letting the spell die on my lips. She’s Reni Gossel, the sister of a boy Bill-E hated. Grubbs liked this girl. Bill-E did too, although he never said, because he didn’t believe he could compete with his older, bigger, more confident friend.
“I’m Reni,” she says.
“Yes.” I think for a moment. “I’m Rebecca Kinga.” That’s the fake name Meera provided me with. “Bec for short.”
Reni nods and comes closer, studying me. There’s a hostile shade to her eyes which unnerves me. This girl has no reason to dislike me – we don’t know each other – but I think she does anyway.
“You’re Dervish Grady’s niece,” Reni says, circling me the way I was circling the village a few minutes before.
“That’s right,” I mutter, not turning, staring straight ahead, shivering slightly. This girl can’t hurt me, but I’m afraid she might see through me.
“Grubbs never said anything about you.”
“He didn’t know. It was a secret.”
“A Grady with a secret.” She smiles crookedly. “Nothing new in that.”
“What do you mean?” I frown.
“Dervish has always been full of secrets. Grubbs too. We were close but I’m sure there were things he wasn’t telling me, about his parents, his sister, Dervish.” She stops in front of me. “Did you meet Grubbs?”
“Just once,” I answer honestly.
“Strange how he moved out just as you moved in.”
I shrug. “He was upset. When Bill-E’s grandparents were killed, he wanted to get away from here. It reminded him of when his parents were murdered.”
“Maybe,” Reni sniffs. “But who did he go to?”
“His aunt.”
Reni shakes her head. “Grubbs didn’t like his aunt. Or any of his other relatives. He told me about them. Dervish was the only one he loved. Bill-E loved Dervish too. Yet both of them have gone without warning and neither has bothered to pay him a visit in all the months since. Like I said—strange.”
Her eyes are hot with mistrust and anger. For reasons she maybe doesn’t even know, she blames me for the disappearance of Grubbs and Bill-E. And to a certain extent she’s right.
I say nothing, figuring silence is better than a lie. After a minute of quiet, Reni asks softly, “Do you have a number for Grubbs?”
“No, but I could probably ask Der—”
“Don’t bother,” she interrupts. “I asked already, when I couldn’t get through on his mobile. He said Grubbs didn’t want to talk to anyone. He told me to email, and I did, but it wasn’t Grubbs who answered. I’m no fool. I could tell it was Dervish pretending to be his nephew.”
I’m not sure how to respond.
“This has something to do with what happened to Loch,” she whispers, and her expression changes, becoming more haunted. “You know who Loch was?”
“Your brother,” I croak.
She nods. “Some people might say it wasn’t coincidence that the pair who were with him the day he died have gone missing. Or that the grandparents of one were butchered. Or that the uncle of another has spent the last six months looking like a man who’s lost everything – everyone – dear to him.”
“What do you want?” I ask stiffly.
“I want to know what happened,” she snarls and grabs both my arms, squeezing tightly. “Loch’s death was awful, but I believed it was an accident, so I dealt with it. Now I have horrible, terrible doubts. There’s more going on than anyone knows. Dervish is hiding the truth and I think you know what it is.”
“I don’t know anything,” I gasp, as images and memories come flying through my head. I want to make her let go, but I can’t. I’m learning far more about her than I care to know, unwillingly stripping her of her secrets. “I came here after they went away. I know nothing about them.”
“I don’t believe you,” Reni says, glaring at me with outright hatred. “You know. You must. You’re part of it. If you had nothing to hide, why stay locked away or skulk around like a thief when you come out?”
“Please… you’re hurting me… let me go… I don’t want to…”
“What?” Reni snaps, shaking me. “You don’t want to what?”
“Learn any more!” I cry.
She frowns. I’m weeping, not because I’m afraid or sad, but because she is. I know why she’s doing this, why she feels so awful, why she’s desperate to uncover the truth.
“You can’t change it,” I moan. “You can’t bring him back. He’s dead.”
“Who?” Reni hisses. “Grubbs? Bill-E?”
“Loch,” I wheeze, and her hands loosen. “You mustn’t blame yourself. It had nothing to do with you. He wasn’t distracted or angry. That wasn’t why he –”
“What are you talking about?” Reni shouts, clutching me hard again.
“You had a fight with him the day he died.” She releases me, eyes widening, and the images stop. But I can’t let it end there. I have to push on, to try and help her. “You fought about what you were going to watch on television. It was a silly, stupid argument. I’m sure Loch had forgotten it by the time he left. It had nothing to do with his death, I’m certain it didn’t.”
Reni is trembling. Her lower lip quivers. “How do you know that?” she moans. “I never told anybody that.”
“It was an accident,” I mumble. “It wasn’t your fault, so you shouldn’t –”
“How do you know that?” Reni screams.
I shrug. This hasn’t gone like I wanted it to. I hoped to ease her pain, but instead I’ve terrified her.
Reni starts to say something, then closes her mouth and backs off, crying, staring at me as if I’m something hideous and foul. It’s how people in my time stared at a priestess or druid if they thought that person was an agent of evil. She backs into a tree, jumps with fright, then turns and flees.
I watch until she vanishes behind the houses of Carcery Vale, then slowly return through the forest for another lonely night with the aloof and morbid Dervish.
SPONGE
→Beranabus is only half human. His father was a demon who ravaged his mother against her will. In later life, Beranabus tracked the monster down and slaughtered him. He took the beast’s head as a trophy. Held it close to his chest that night and wept for hours, stroking his dead father’s face, hating and mourning him in equal measures.
Meera loved Dervish when they were younger. She wanted to marry him and have children. She dreamt of teaching their kids to be Disciples, the entire family battling evil together and saving the world. But she knew he would never father a baby. He was afraid any child of his might catch the curse of the Gradys and turn into a werewolf. So she never confessed her love or told anybody.
Reni saw her mother steal a purse from a shop. It was the most shocking thing she experienced until Loch died. She spent many restless nights wondering what else her mother might have stolen, worrying about what would happen if she was caught. She wanted to discuss it with someone, but it wasn’t something she could talk about, so she kept it to herself.
I know these things because I’ve touched those people and absorbed their inner thoughts. I’m a human sponge—I soak up memories.
I became aware of my gift not long after I returned to life. I spent hours with Beranabus that night, hugging and holding him. Memories seeped into me thick and fast, but it was a time of great confusion and I wasn’t able to separate his memories from Bill-E’s until later.
It took me a few days to make sense of what happened. I had all these images of the distant past swirling around inside my head – starting with his wretched birth in the Labyrinth – and I wasn’t sure where they’d come from. When I worked it out, I thought it was a temporary side-effect of my miraculous return to life. Or maybe Beranabus had fed his memories to me, to help me cope with the new world.
I didn’t touch anybody else until Meera hugged me, in an attempt to comfort me when she found me crying. As soon as we touched, I began absorbing. When I realised what was happening, I broke contact. I felt like a thief, stealing her innermost secrets. The flow of images stopped as soon as I let go.
I learnt less about Meera than Beranabus, since we were in contact for only a handful of seconds. The flow of information was fast, but not instantaneous. I took many of her big secrets and recent memories, but little of her younger life.
I hadn’t touched anyone since then. I don’t like this power. It’s intrusive and sneaky, and I can’t control it. I don’t seem to do any harm. I think the person retains their memories, but I can’t be certain. Maybe, if I held on for a long time, I’d drain all their thoughts and they’d end up a mindless zombie.
I wish I could experiment and find out more about my unwelcome gift, but I can’t without the risk of damaging those I touch. If I was in the Demonata’s universe, I could test it on demons—although I’m not entirely sure I want to get inside a demon’s head!
Nobody knows about it. I’d tell Beranabus if he was here, but he isn’t. I could search for him – I learnt what he knew about opening windows when we touched, and I’m sure I could open one myself – but I don’t want to disturb him. He’s on an important mission and this would distract him. If I’m lucky, the unwelcome gift will fade with time. If not, what of it? I live in seclusion and almost never touch people. I’m sure Reni Gossel won’t come back for another face-to-face. What harm can a secluded hermit do to anyone?
→I’m in Dervish’s study, telling him about Bill-E’s problems at school. Bill-E was a shy boy. He found it hard to make friends or fit in. Dervish wants to get to the root of his nephew’s difficulties. There’s no point – he can’t do anything to fix them now – but he’s persistent.
“Was it his eye?” Dervish asks. “Billy had a lazy left eye. He often asked me to correct it with magic. If I had, would he have been more confident?”
I shrug.
“Come on,” Dervish presses angrily. “You know. Don’t pretend you don’t.”
For a moment I feel like telling him to stop pestering me. I want to scream at him to stop obsessing about a dead boy and let me start living a life of my own. It’s not fair that I’m forced to spend my days and nights playing these sick games.
But Dervish scares me. He’s not big, but he’s strong, I can see that in his pale blue eyes. He might hurt me if I crossed him. I’m not sure how far he’d go to keep learning about his nephew. Bill-E loved him unconditionally, so he saw only good things in this balding, bearded man. But Dervish has a tougher side which Bill-E never saw. I’m afraid he might punish me if I annoy him. So I let my anger pass, bow my head in shame and mutter softly in response to his accusation.
“I don’t know, because Bill-E didn’t know. It was lots of things, all jumbled up. The death of his mum, his eye, just feeling different. There was no simple reason. If there had been, he could have dealt with it.”
Dervish studies me silently, face creased. Finally he nods, accepting my answer. He doesn’t apologise for snapping at me—he doesn’t see any need to.
“Was he happier when Grubbs came?” Dervish asks, leaning back in his chair. We’ve talked about this before. We’ve covered most of Bill-E’s life. The only part we’ve never touched on is the night of his death. Dervish never asks about that.
“Yes,” I say, raising my head and flashing a short smile across the table. I know Dervish likes hearing about Bill-E’s lighter moments, his friendship with Grubbs, hunting for buried treasure, life with his mum before she died. “Grubbs was his best friend ever, even though they didn’t know each other for long.”
“Did he suspect they were brothers?”
“No. He sometimes wished they were, but he never had any idea who his true father was. He thought it was you.”
Dervish flinches. I knew, even as I was saying it, that I shouldn’t. He feels guilty about not telling Bill-E the truth. He doesn’t like to imagine he was the cause of any unhappiness in his nephew’s short life.
“That’s enough for now,” Dervish mutters, turning away from me, switching on his computer.
I stand up and edge around the desk. My gaze settles on Dervish’s narrow back. I feel an almost irresistible urge to put a hand between his shoulder blades. Partly I want to touch him just to make contact, to say, “I’m real. I have feelings. See me.” But mostly I want to absorb his memories and secrets, learn what makes him tick. If I knew more about him, maybe I needn’t be so afraid. I might find some way to break through the barriers he’s erected and make him see me as a person, not just a direct line to his dead nephew.
But that would be wrong. I’d be stealing. I already feel bad for unintentionally taking from Beranabus, Meera and Reni. I won’t do it on purpose, not even to make life easier for myself. So I slide out wordlessly, leaving Dervish hunched over the computer, his secrets intact, the coldness between us preserved.
FRIEND INDEED
→Meera Flame roars to a halt in our driveway, turning up out of the blue, the way she normally does. I’m watching television when she arrives. I know it’s her by the sound of her motorbike, which is much louder than Dervish’s, but I wait for her to knock before going to let her in. I don’t want to appear overly desperate for company.
“Hey girl, looking good,” Meera laughs, giving me a quick hug before I can duck. She breaks away quickly, spotting Dervish on the stairs. I don’t take much from her, but what I do soak up is new, memories I hadn’t absorbed before. It seems like every time I touch a person, I steal something fresh. That’s useful to know.
“How have you two been?” Meera shouts, taking the stairs three at a time. She grabs Dervish hard, halfway up the giant staircase which forms the backbone of the house, and hugs him as if he was a teddy bear.
“We’ve been fine,” Dervish replies, smiling warmly. He never smiles at me that way, but why should he? I’m an interpreter, not a friend.
“Sorry I haven’t been by more. Busy, busy. It must be spring in Monsterland—demons are bursting out all over. Or trying to.”
“I heard,” Dervish says. “Shark has been in touch. It sounds bad.”
Meera shrugs. “Demons trying to invade are nothing new.”
“But in such numbers…”
She shrugs again, but this time jerks her head in my direction. Dervish frowns. Then it clicks—“Not in front of the girl. You might frighten her.” I see a small, unconscious sneer flicker across his lips. He doesn’t think of me as a girl, certainly not one who can be frightened by anything as mundane as talk of demons. But he respects Meera’s wishes.
“Come on up,” he says. “We can discuss business in my study.”
“To hell with business,” Meera laughs, pushing him away. “I’m here to let my hair down. I thought it was time me and Bec had a girls’ night in. I bought some lipstick, mascara, a few other bits and pieces I thought might suit you,” she says to me. “We can test them out later, discover what matches your eyes and gorgeous red hair. Unless you don’t want to?”
“No,” I grin. “That would be coolio.”
Dervish winces – that was one of Bill-E’s favourite words – but I don’t care. For the first time in months I have something to look forward to. I experience a feeling I haven’t known for ages and it takes me a while to realise what it is—happiness.
→We eat dinner together, which is a rarity. I normally dine alone. Eating is one of the few pleasures I’ve been able to relish since my return. I love the tastes of the new world. I never imagined anything as delicious as fish and chips, pizza, sweet and sour chicken. The strange flavours baffled and repulsed me to begin with, but now I look forward to my meals as I never did before.
After dinner Meera banishes Dervish to his study and the two of us shut ourselves in my bedroom. Sitting on the edge of my huge four-poster bed, Meera teaches me the basic tricks of applying make-up. It’s harder than I imagined, requiring a subtle wrist and deft flicks of the fingers. We try different shades of lipstick, blusher, eyeliner and mascara. It all looks strange and out of place to me, but Meera likes the various effects.
“Didn’t people wear make-up in your day?” she asks, working on my eyelashes for the fourth time.
“Nothing like this. The warriors were the most intricately decorated. Many had tattoos, and some used to colour their hair with blood and dung.”
“Charming,” Meera says drily and we laugh. She runs a hand through my hair and tuts. It’s longer and wirier than it’s ever been. “We must do something with this. And pierce your ears.”
“I’d like that,” I smile. “I couldn’t grow my hair long or be pierced before.”
“Why not?” Meera asks.
“I was a priestess’s apprentice,” I explain. “Priestesses couldn’t marry, so we weren’t meant to make ourselves attractive.”
“I bet that was a man’s idea!” Meera snorts.
“Actually it was practical. Our magic worked best if we were unsullied.”
“You mean you lost your powers if you made out with a guy?” Meera asks sceptically.
“Yes.”
“Rubbish,” she snorts. “I’ve made out plenty and it hasn’t done me any harm.”
“It’s true,” I insist. “Things were different. Magic was in the air, all around us. It wasn’t like when a window opens now. We were more powerful than modern mages, but we had to live a certain way to tap into the magic. Love of any kind was a weakening distraction.”
“Hmm,” Meera says dubiously, brushing my hair from left to right. I’m soaking up memories each time she touches me, but contact is brief so I’m not taking too much. I try not to absorb anything at all, to block her memories, but I can’t.
“You sound like Billy sometimes,” Meera says casually. “You said ‘coolio’ earlier, and ‘weakening distraction’ was the sort of thing he’d say too.”
“There’s a lot of him in me,” I admit. “Bill-E spoke much faster than I did, and he used odd words sometimes. I find myself mimicking him. It isn’t intentional.
“I have his handwriting too,” I confess, lowering my voice to a whisper. “I never wrote before. I wouldn’t have been able to without Bill-E’s memories to show me how. When I write, I do it the way he did, exactly the same style.”
“I wonder if you have the same fingerprints?” Meera says.
“No,” I frown, studying the tips of my fingers, recalling the whorls from before. “This is my flesh. I moulded it into my own shape. On the outside there’s nothing of Bill-E left. But in here…” I tap the side of my head.
“That must be weird for Dervish,” Meera chuckles. I go very quiet. She applies new lipstick in silence, then says, “Dervish never talks about you. I haven’t been able to phone often, but whenever I call, I ask how you’re doing. He’s always vague. Says you’re fine, no problems.”
I grunt sarcastically.
“I don’t know about your time,” Meera says slowly, “but in today’s world, girls love to share. Boys don’t so much—they bottle things up inside, hide their pain even from their best friends. But girls know that a problem shared is a problem halved.”
“Bill-E hated that cliché,” I tell her. “He thought if that was true, all you had to do was tell your problem to dozens of people. Each time you told it, the problem would be halved, until eventually it would be of no real importance.”
“That definitely sounds like Billy,” Meera laughs, then looks at me seriously. “If I can help, I will, but first I need to know what’s troubling you.”
I chew my newly painted lower lip, wondering how much – if anything – I should tell her. She’s Dervish’s friend, loyal and once in love with him. Maybe she can only see his side of things and will turn against me if I…
No. She’s not like that. Meera’s criticised Dervish before when she thought he was in the wrong. She believes in being honest with everyone. I’ve no guarantee that she’ll side with me, but from what I’ve absorbed, I believe she’ll give me a fair hearing.
“He’s only interested in Bill-E,” I whisper, then fill her in on all that’s happened since I stepped out of the cave, only holding back the information about my gift, since that has no bearing on what’s been going on with Dervish.
She listens silently, her brows slowly creasing into an angry frown. “The idiot,” she growls when I finish. “I guess anyone in his position would want to know what was going on inside Billy’s head, but he’s taken this way too far. Who does he think he is, treating you like dirt?”
She stands up, fire in her eyes, and strides towards the door. My heart leaps with excitement—she’s going to confront Dervish and subject him to a tongue-lashing. Brilliant! But then she slows, stops, thinks a moment and turns.
“No,” she says quietly. “I can’t say anything to him about this. You have to.”
“Me?” I cry, disappointment almost bringing tears to my eyes.
“I can take you away from here,” Meera says, returning to my side. “Dervish is no kin to you, so you don’t have to stay with him.”
“Actually,” I correct her, “we are distantly related.”
She waves that away. “Like I said, I can take you from him, but I don’t think you’d be any happier. If you run away now, you’ll always be running. You need to talk to Dervish, make him see you’re not Billy’s ghost, but a real child with real needs. I wouldn’t treat a dog the way Dervish has treated you.”
“He doesn’t do it on purpose,” I mutter, surprised to find myself sticking up for him. “He’s sad and lonely.”
“So are you!” Meera exclaims. “If I was in your place, I’d have set him straight long ago. But you’re just a girl. You were afraid to hurt his feelings… maybe afraid of what he might do if he lost his temper?”
I nod softly, amazed that she can read me so easily.
“I’ve known Dervish a long time,” Meera says. “He’s not as shallow as he must seem. You’ve caught him at a bad time, the worst of his life. He’s lost Billy… Grubbs… that horrible Swan cow didn’t help matters.” Dervish had been in love with Lord Loss’s assistant, Juni Swan. He thought she was a wonderful, kind-hearted woman. When he learnt the truth in the cave, he killed her.
“Any other time, Dervish would have welcomed you warmly,” Meera continues. “But he’s mixed up and you’ve become part of all that’s wrong with his life.
“That has to change,” she says sternly. “He can’t carry on like a spoilt child. If he can’t see sense himself, we have to make him. You have to. Because you’re the one who lives with him. I could shake him up, but he’d feel guilty and shameful, and that might makes things worse. You need to sort this out yourself.” She smiles encouragingly and nods at the door.
“What… now?” I stammer.
“No time like the present,” she grins.
“I don’t know what to say,” I protest.
“You’ll think of something,” she assures me.
“But what if you’re wrong? What if he doesn’t want to hear from me? What if he only wants access to Bill-E?”
“He can’t have it,” Meera says softly. “Billy’s dead. Dervish has manipulated you to hide from that, but he can’t any more. It’s not healthy. Now quit stalling, get up there and put him in his place. And remember,” she grins, “he’s only a man. They’re the inferior half of the species. He’ll be putty in your hands.”
Ücretsiz ön izlemeyi tamamladınız.
