Ferryman (23 page)

Nothing. She was almost positive she had never been in this place before. Terror gripped her once again and she was very nearly undone, unsettled by a demon whistling perilously close to her ear, hissing menacingly at her. Though she flinched, she managed to fight the urge to turn towards it. Think, she told herself. There must be something.

But there wasn’t. Nothing but the unfriendly jagged rocks and the bleeding ground. That, and the first wisps of souls floating towards her, way out in the distance.

“Where are you coming from?” she wondered aloud.

A safe house. They must have spent the night at a safe house. And they all seemed to be drifting from the same direction. The only sensible thing to do, she reasoned, was to head for them and hope their trail would lead her to where she needed to be.

Pleased that she had at last made a decision, Dylan strode forward purposefully. She tried not to think about the fact that she was leaving the only safe house whose location she was certain of. That only let the fear creep back in, and then it was harder to fight the wraiths.

Tristan. She might find Tristan today. That thought she repeated over and over again, a silent mantra. It gave her strength. Strength to plough her way forward when the ground tilted up in front of her, and strength to battle on when the sun reached its zenith, burning down mercilessly. Strength to ignore the darting shadows playing constantly in the corner of her eye.

When the sun was at its highest in the sky, raining down fire on her, she began to pass the first of the souls walking wearily in the other direction. They were hard to look at; many were wailing and weeping, and every flickering being that she saw, whose face was unlined or whose shadow rippled too short across the ground, was a soul lost too soon. A child, not ready to die. They made her think of the little cancer boy that Tristan had ferried, although she had to remind herself that that tragic soul had been lost to the greedy wraiths and might now be one of the wretched shadows.

She made herself glance at each one, however. She had to. Because any one of them might be being guided by her orb, her ferryman. None of the pulsing balls of light called to her, though, and as soul after soul after soul passed by, her hopes began to sink. She truly was looking for a needle in a haystack. If she made it all the way back to the train and she still hadn’t found him, she didn’t know what she was going to do.

It was a shock to Dylan when she came upon the safe house. She hadn’t expected to be close yet, if, in fact, she was even going in the right direction. The sun was far from setting and was still searing its wrath into her brow. She was still scanning souls, but they were much less frequent now. Most were well on their way to their next refuge. The small stone cottage was almost hidden by the great shadows of two mountainous peaks that towered over it. If Dylan had been paying attention, she would have seen the deep basin beyond, and realised where she was. As Tristan had said, the valley was always there.

Instead, the building crept up on her. Dylan cried out with relief when she saw its crumbling walls, its cracked and rotten windows. It was as unappealing as it was welcoming, and she accelerated to a jerky run, despite her aching limbs, to close the final few metres. Spent, Dylan all but fell into the door and stumbled over to the bed. Resting her elbows on her knees, she propped her chin in her hands and stared around.

As glad as she was to have made it, she didn’t like being back here. This was the safe house where she’d spent a day and two nights alone, waiting desperately for Tristan to come back. Just seeing the wrought-iron fireplace, the single chair that she’d sat on for a whole day, watching the true wasteland go by – the first time she’d ever really seen it – brought a flood of memories and emotions rushing back. Panic. Fear. Isolation.

No. She shook herself free of the despair that threatened to strangle her. It was different this time. She was different. She forced herself to her feet, then grabbed the chair and pulled it over towards the door. Swinging it open, she plonked herself down just inside the threshold, and stared outside, at the wraiths, at the blood-red valley.

In the morning, she was going to go out and search for Tristan. This time, she swore to herself, she would not be held captive by her fear. This time
she
was going to find
him
.

“
W
e’re going to have to move a little faster.”

Tristan made a face as he looked back towards the woman, then up at the darkening sky. They had taken a long time to cross the mudflats. Too long. There wasn’t much light left and they still had the full length of the valley to travel across. It wasn’t her fault; she’d found it hard, wading through the thick mud, weaving a path around the high grasses. She’d needed help, but Tristan hadn’t wanted to touch her.

He wished he had now, though. The air around them was full of howling. They were out of sight still, but they were there. The light was different, too. A thick layer of cloud hovered over them, and because of it the daylight would be much shorter. He supposed that was only to be expected. It was too much to hope the woman would retain her calm, contented frame of mind. Not when she knew she was dead.

She hadn’t said much about it. There had been tears, but quiet ones. As if she hadn’t wanted to bother him. Another thing to be grateful for. This soul really had made things as easy as possible for him. He felt bad that he had been so cold, so aloof towards her. But it had been the only way he could keep going. They would not even have made it this far otherwise.

“Please, Marie,” Tristan winced. He hated using her name. “We need to move.”

“I’m sorry,” she apologised meekly. “I’m sorry, Tristan.”

Tristan grimaced. Stupidly, he’d given Marie the same name. He had been too suffocated by grief to come up with a new one and it suited the form he seemed stuck in. He hated it, though. Every time she said it, he heard Dylan’s voice.

She started to walk forward with more purpose this time, but one glance at the long shadows pooling ominously in front of them told Tristan it wasn’t enough.

He sighed, gritted his teeth. “Come on,” he said, gripping her elbow as he pushed past, forcing her to go faster until she broke into a choppy jog. He jogged too, and because it was easier, he dropped her elbow to reach down and grab her hand, pulling her along. The howling intensified and the air stirred as the wraiths started to descend, freed by the encroaching dark, the thickening shadows. The woman heard the change and her fingers squeezed Tristan’s more tightly. He could feel her fear, her total reliance on him. Each breath was punctuated by a tiny sob that pierced through his shoulder blades into his chest. It was painful. He had to fight the urge to drop her hand and run, although not from the wraiths; from her.

“It’s not far, Marie,” he encouraged. “The safe house is just between these hills. We’re going to make it.”

She didn’t answer, but he heard her footsteps speed up and the strain where his arm tugged at hers slackened as she moved from a jog into a full-out run. Relieved, he pushed himself faster.

“Tristan!” The word was almost snatched away on the wind before it reached his ears, but he caught the echo of it and snapped his head up. “Tristan!”

Was his mind playing tricks on him? Or was this some new torture the demons had devised, to distract him, to make him lose focus? Because there was no other way that voice could exist in the wasteland. It was gone.
She
was gone.

“Tristan!”

“It’s not her, it’s not her,” he hissed, tightening his grip on the woman. Dylan was gone, and he had a job to do. He had to get the woman to the safe house. Almost there. Almost there. He lifted his head and fixed his eyes on the cottage. The door was open.

“Tristan!”

There was a figure standing in the entryway, waving at him. Just a silhouette, nothing more than that, but he knew who it was. It couldn’t be; it couldn’t possibly be. But it was.

Astonished, Tristan let go of the woman’s hand.

Dylan clapped her hand over her mouth, realising, a second too late, what she’d done.

She’d seen him from across the valley. An orb, much brighter than all the rest. It had caught her eye, drawn her attention like a moth to a flame. As she’d focused on it, strange things had happened. The riotous red of the barren landscape, the deep burgundies and purples of dusk, had flickered, the colour zapping in and out like a badly tuned television. Blood red turned to the muted greens and browns and dull mauves of her Scottish wasteland.

Dylan had rocketed out of the chair, thrown herself forward to the door, toes nibbling at the threshold. The wraiths had screamed in anticipation, but she’d stopped just short, staring out.

Tristan. She could see him.
Him
. Not as a pulsing ball of light, but a person, a body, a face. Dylan smiled, gulping in air as if she hadn’t breathed since… since he’d left her. He was running, pulling at something as the picture cleared. The landscape stopped flickering, and solidified into the heather-clad wilderness she’d known before. The other souls disappeared, the wraiths dimming to shadows. Only their hissing and crowing stopped her running out to meet him.

As she watched, she realised he was towing another soul. She couldn’t see who it was. They were distorted, not quite as transparent as the other souls she’d seen, but still not quite real. Half in, half out. A woman. She was running too. Dylan felt a stab of jealousy when she saw they were holding hands.

That’s when she’d shouted out, shouted his name. She’d had to do it one, two, three times to be sure he’d heard her, but at last he’d looked up towards the safe house. She’d waved energetically, delighted and frantic – because Tristan and the soul were cutting it close, just as she had done – and he’d seen her. She’d seen it in his face. Shock. Horror. Joy. All at the same time.

And he’d dropped the woman’s hand.

It was instantaneous. The twisting, writhing shadows, that had hovered above them like their own personal thundercloud, descended on the woman in a thrashing swarm. She panicked, clawing at empty air. Dylan watched, her hand still wrapped over her mouth, as they took hold. It was more horrific, more solid, more real than watching the soul being taken into the depths of the lake.

And it was all her fault.

They grabbed the woman’s hair, her arms, attacked her torso, all in the blink of an eye. Tristan turned almost at once, saw what was happening, and Dylan watched as he tried to save her. He reached up, seemed to be trying to pull at the air, but nothing happened; the demons continued their assault on the woman. Astonishment flickered across Tristan’s face, but a heartbeat later a determined scowl had wiped it out. He waded in, hauling wraith after wraith off her, but they simply circled back and came again from another angle. Dylan stood in the doorway, her hand reaching out in sympathy, and gazed as the soul was dragged down beneath the surface.

Guilt tumbled over, crushing her with its weight. She’d killed the woman. Whoever she was, Dylan had killed her. Did she have a husband? Children? Had she counted on seeing them again? A flash of Eliza, waiting endlessly for someone who was never going to come, screamed in her brain. All because she had shouted out. She clapped her hand over her mouth to stop herself calling for him again. It was too late though, the damage was done. The woman was dead.

What had she done?

Tristan didn’t turn to look at her, but stared down at the spot in the long grass where the soul had disappeared. He didn’t seem to notice the remaining wraiths, who were circling him like sharks, teeth bared, ready to rip into their prey.

He still didn’t react when one swooped down, tearing at his shoulder. Or the next, which smashed into his face. Dylan gaped. Was that blood, running down his cheek? Why wasn’t he moving? Why wasn’t he doing anything to defend himself?

Why wasn’t he running for the safe house? For her?

Another wraith went for him, and another. Then more. They seemed delighted at his apathetic stance. Without realising it, Dylan threw herself from the doorway and was pounding down the path before her brain caught up with her actions. It was very dark now. The fire burning in the cottage behind her glowed much more brightly than the dying light of day. If he didn’t move, if she didn’t reach him…

“Tristan!” she gasped, flying towards him. “Tristan, what are you doing?”

Wraiths were whipping round her face, but it had never been easier to ignore their darting movements.

“Tristan!”

At last he seemed to come awake. He turned, still besieged by the smoking black shadows, and his face, blank at first, seemed to come alive, like waking from a trance. He reached for her just as she barrelled into him.

“Dylan,” he breathed. Then he took control. “Move!”

Whatever had paralysed him before was gone now. Wrapping one hand around her lower arm and squeezing so tightly it hurt, he bolted back the way she had come. The wraiths screeched and snarled, but he was moving so fast they couldn’t find any purchase, and their claws were helpless to snag at Dylan, yanked along in his wake. A metre at a time, Tristan pushed and fought against their grabbing talons and biting teeth. Head down, jaws clenched, hand firmly wrapped around Dylan’s wrist, he drove them towards the safe house.

“What the hell are you doing here?” He rounded on her the instant they were inside. The clamour from the wraiths faded into the background and the cottage was quiet and tranquil but for the anger that seemed to emanate from Tristan’s every pore.

“What?” Dylan looked at him, confused. Wasn’t he pleased to see her? The icy fire in his eyes said no. They glowed as they stared at her. Not a trick of the light, it was frightening.

“What are you doing here, Dylan?”

“I…” Dylan opened and closed her mouth, but no sound came out. This wasn’t how she had imagined this conversation. There was a lot less hugging and a lot more coldness.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Tristan continued. He started to pace in an agitated manner, running a hand through his hair and then gripping a handful. “I took you across, right to the line. You weren’t supposed to come back.”

A strange feeling crept over Dylan. Her cheeks grew hot and her stomach squirmed. Her heart was thumping at erratic intervals in her chest, hurting her. She dropped her eyes before Tristan could see the fat droplets that were trickling towards her chin.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered to the flagstoned floor. “I made a mistake.”

She could see that now. The words he had said had been nothing more than lies to get her safely across. He hadn’t meant any of it. She thought of the soul he’d just been ferrying, the woman she’d accidentally killed with nothing more than her own stupidity; thought about the way they’d been holding hands as they’d run from danger. Had she swallowed Tristan’s lies as easily as Dylan had? Her gaze burning into the ground, she suddenly felt incredibly childish.

“Dylan.” Tristan said her name again, but much more gently. The change in his tone gave her just enough courage to look up. He’d stopped pacing, was scrutinising her with much softer eyes. Embarrassed, she scrubbed at her cheeks, sniffed back the tears that still lingered. She tried to look away as he approached, but he walked right up to her until he was close enough to rest his forehead against hers. “What are you doing here?” he murmured.

The same words, but this time a question, not an accusation. This one was easier to answer, if she closed her eyes, if she didn’t have to look at him.

“I came back.”

He sighed. “You weren’t supposed to do that.” Pause. “Why did you come back, Dylan?”

Dylan swallowed, confused. Now that his anger was gone, now that he was touching her, his face just in front of her, if she had the nerve to lift her eyes, she was back to being muddled. There was only one way to discover the truth. She took a deep breath.

“For you.” She waited for a reaction, but there wasn’t one. At least not that she could hear. She still didn’t have the courage to open her eyes. “Did you mean it? Any of it?”

Another sigh. But that could be frustration, embarrassment, regret. Dylan trembled, waiting. Something warm pressed to her cheek. A hand?

“I didn’t lie to you, Dylan. Not about that.”

Her breathing spiked as she processed his words. He’d meant it. He did feel what she felt. Dylan curled her lips up into a timid smile, but she held a tight rein on the warmth building in her chest. She wasn’t sure she could trust it, not quite yet.

“Open your eyes.”

Suddenly shy, Dylan hesitated for a moment, then dragged her eyelids back. Taking a deep breath, she looked up until she met his gaze. He was closer than she’d thought; close enough for their breath to mingle. Still holding her cheek, he drew her face forward until their lips pressed together, blue eyes still boring into hers. He held her there for a moment, then pulled away and curled her into his chest.

“I didn’t lie to you, Dylan,” he whispered into her ear, “but you shouldn’t be here.”

Dylan stiffened, tried to pull away, but he held on tightly, refusing to let her move.

“Nothing’s changed. I still can’t go on with you, and you can’t stay here. You saw what happened to that woman. Sooner or later, that would happen to you. It’s too dangerous.”

Dylan’s breath caught in her lungs as she processed his words and an avalanche of guilt smashed down on.

“I killed that woman,” she mouthed into his shoulder. There was no volume in the words, but Tristan somehow heard her.

“No.” He shook his head, the motion rubbing his lips against her neck. The skin there tingled. “I killed her. I let go of her hand.”

“Because of me—”

“No, Dylan,” Tristan cut her off, firmer now. “She was my responsibility; I lost her.” He took a deep breath and the arms coiled around her tightened, almost uncomfortably. “I lost her. That’s what this place is. It’s a hell-hole. You can’t stay here.”

“I want to stay with you,” Dylan implored.

Tristan shook his head at her gently.

“Not here.”

“Come back with me,” she begged.

“I told you, I can’t. I can’t ever go there, I…” Tristan made a frustrated noise, his teeth snapping together.

“What about the other side, then?” Dylan pulled back again, fighting against his grip when he tried to hold on to her. “My world. Come back across the wasteland with me, back to the train. We could…”