by E. E. Holmes
“Are you ready for re-entry?” I joked weakly.
Annabelle’s face was stricken with the same reluctance I was feeling, but she quickly composed herself. “Yes,” she said, and then she smirked. “I’ll let you take her for a spin but take good care of her.”
I grinned back. “Ditto.”
I looked down at Annabelle’s motionless body and visualized myself inside it. The moment I did so, I was drawn irresistibly toward it, my consciousness instantly manifesting my visualized movement. I braced myself for impact.
The sensation was utterly bizarre, an uncomfortable combination of dizziness and the feeling of a foot being squeezed into a too-small shoe. Everything about it felt wrong—the mental space felt sticky, like my thoughts were swimming in honey. The physical space felt hostile, immediately on the verge of rejecting me. I was a parasite—an intruder who had taken this body hostage.
This feeling, powerful in its initial impact, lessened as I calmed myself. I visualized my consciousness flowing through Annabelle’s body like water, filling it up, until I could feel no space between her and me. At the same time, I imagined a million different points of connection within her that I could attach myself to, like the strings on a puppet, but much shorter, much more tightly controlled. It was after I had established those connections that I finally managed to connect my mental impulse to a physical response. I opened Annabelle’s eyes.
It took several seconds for my vision to clear, for the blurriness to recede. When at last it did, I found myself staring up into my own face. I shrieked in surprise.
“Sssshhhh!” I hissed. Or rather, Annabelle hissed through my lips.
“Sorry,” I muttered, “But you scared the hell out of me, standing over me like that.” The words struggled slowly forth, slurred and difficult to manipulate, like my mouth was full of marbles.
Annabelle chuckled. “You sound drunk.”
I frowned. “This is hard, okay? Your body doesn’t want to cooperate. Not that I’m surprised.” I glared at her—or rather, I tried to. I couldn’t tell if the facial muscles were obeying me or not. “You sound almost normal. Why is it so much easier for you?”
Annabelle shrugged. “I’m not sure. Some of us are just naturally talented, I guess.” However, even as she said it, she wobbled and fell over into the grass. I snorted. She managed to successfully stick my own tongue out at me.
“This is so freaky,” I said, watching her struggle a bit to get to her feet. “Seeing pictures and videos of yourself—even seeing yourself in the mirror—does not prepare you for seeing yourself like this—standing right in front of you.”
“Tell me about it,” Annabelle said, staring back at me with a slight shake of her head. “My God, I really must find a new anti-wrinkle cream. Obviously the one I’m using is complete crap.”
I grunted and groaned as I moved awkwardly first into a sitting position and then, staggering, to my feet. I felt like the earth was moving beneath me, like I was a seal trying to balance on a ball. It took several minutes of lurching around like a baby taking their first steps before I’d managed to get the hang of it.
“Clearly, we should have practiced this ahead of time,” I said, managing to walk a nearly straight line between two trees, then gripping one of them for support as I attempted to turn around.
“No time for that now,” Annabelle said, watching me with a critical eye. “You keep leaning to the right for some reason. Concentrate on keeping the left side in line with the right.”
I spent several minutes doing just that, focusing my energy on balancing the tug on those hundreds of points of connection between my spirit and Annabelle’s body, until the movements became more fluid, more natural.
“That will have to be good enough,” Annabelle said, looking down and checking my watch. “We’ve got to walk nearly a third of a mile around this grove to meet the Caomhnóir who’s escorting you in. You can practice a bit more on the way.”
“Are you coming with me?” I asked, hearing my panic clearly even through Annabelle’s naturally honeyed tones.
“Part of the way, yes, but I can’t very well let myself be spotted near the border—the whole point of this plan is to keep you hidden,” Annabelle replied. It was bizarre, listening to my own voice try to reason with me. “But I’ll be close by, and you can always reach me by text.”
“If I manage to find a signal,” I pointed out. “Okay, well, I’m officially just stalling for time now, so let’s get moving,” I said. “The sooner I get in there, the sooner I can get out, right?”
“In theory, yes,” Annabelle muttered.
We set off along the western side of the road, keeping the Travelers’ grove in view on the eastern side, but taking care to stay out of sight. At last, we reached the spot where Annabelle had arranged to meet the Caomhnóir.
“Perfect,” Annabelle whispered. “Right on time.” She reached out and squeezed my shoulder. “Good luck. Don’t invite conversation. Keep your answers short. Try to stick to the topics we talked about. When in doubt, revert to what you know about me—talk about my shop back home, the ghost hunting team, any subject you feel comfortable with that doesn’t require you to make shit up on the spot. Beg off as soon as you can with a headache and find your way to Ileana’s tent. After that, just use your head.”
“You mean your head,” I replied with a weak chuckle. Annabelle managed half a smile in response.
“It’s going to be okay,” she told me. “Agnes Isherwood knew what she was doing.”
“I’m glad one of us does,” I said. I reached out, gave my own hand a squeeze, and felt the thrill of connection. Then, reluctantly, I pulled away from her and turned this strange new vehicle toward the road, wanting to look back, but focusing instead on moving smoothly forward, putting one unfamiliar foot in front of the other.
By the time I reached the far side of the street, a lone figure had appeared in the shadows that crowded the edge of the Traveler grove. He kept himself so well-hidden, so still, that if I had not been looking for him, I could surely have passed within a few feet of him and never noticed he was there. As he stepped out into the fading twilight, I realized that I knew him.
“Fennix!” I cried in surprise.
Fennix narrowed his eyes at me and nodded. He was one of Flavia’s friends—I had met him the last time I’d been to the Traveler camp. He had been part of the rowdy young crew who’d convinced me to Rift for the first time. Of course, for them, it had all been a lark—just something to do when the boredom of the encampment began to drive them mad. For me, of course, it had altered the course of my life, allowing me to find the only way to save Irina, but also leading to my long and torturous separation from Finn. Fennix looked much the same as the last time I’d seen him—barrel-chested, with a wide-featured, pock-marked face and thick black hair barely restrained in a bun on the back of his head. But he looked different, too—older, more serious. Based on the fact that he was meeting me on his own, he must have passed his Caomhnóir training at last.
“That’s right,” he said. “Have we met?”
I froze for a moment, horrified by my error. For God’s sake, had I already blown my cover with the first damn word I uttered? I dug quickly through my knowledge of Annabelle’s family tree. “Um, Mina pointed you out to me. She’s my second cousin on my grandmother’s side.”
Fennix’s suspicious expression cleared at once, replaced by a flush of embarrassment. “Oh, right. She… uh… she told you about me, huh?”
I suppressed a smirk. Mina and Fennix had been very friendly around the fire when I’d last hung out with them. Apparently, I now had some kind of gossip leverage over the Caomhnóir escorting me into the camp. Score one for Jess.
“Oh, yes,” I said, deciding to keep it vague. “You know how she likes to talk. Anyway, thank you for meeting me.”
Fennix shrugged, looking moody. “I was assigned. I didn’t ask for the job.” The way he said it made me realize that escorting a mere Dormant into the
grounds was considered a poor assignment. Although I wasn’t actually Annabelle, I felt resentful on her behalf.
“Lead on, then,” I said, gesturing forward.
Fennix turned without another word and stalked off through the woods. The walk was treacherous, no less so because I was so clumsy in my ability to maneuver Annabelle’s body. Fennix wore no shoes, and yet he seemed utterly unconcerned with staying to any visible path. He padded deftly over tree roots and through low brush, barely making a sound as he moved. I was sure this was a skill valued in a Traveler Caomhnóir, being able to move swiftly and silently through the woods. I, on the other hand, blundered about so badly that I sounded like an elephant crashing through the undergrowth. Practicing moving about in the clearing had been difficult enough, but it had not prepared me for this. I tripped several times, once landing right on my face, and causing Fennix to grumble and swear under his breath as he slowed his pace over and over again to compensate for me.
“Sorry,” I said, picking myself up for the fifth time. “I’m not used to walking through the woods like this.”
“Settlers rarely are,” he growled.
I knew this was meant to be the direst of insults to anyone with Traveler blood, but I didn’t rise to the bait. The last thing I needed was to piss him off still further. I bit my tongue and took heart in the fact that I could now smell the smoke from a campfire; we were close.
At long last, we broke through to the clearing in which the Traveler encampment was nestled. It was an entirely different experience, sensing the place through Annabelle’s body. The sights and smells and sounds were familiar to me, but there was a deep connection to them that seemed to tingle in every cell of the temporary vessel I now occupied. I recognized the sensation, for it was the very same one I had when I’d looked out over the rolling hills of the Cambridgeshire countryside for the first time. I smiled, happy to realize that she had forged this kind of connection with the Traveler camp. The smile faded, however, as I realized how irreparably I had the potential to fuck it all up for her.
“You know where you’re going from here?” Fennix asked, clearly eager to get rid of me.
“Sure, not a problem. I assume Zina and the other Boswells are still on the north side of the central fire?”
Fennix nodded curtly and stalked off, clearly glad to be rid of me and, luckily, seemingly oblivious to the fact that I wasn’t who I claimed to be. I took a long, deep breath and blew it out slowly.
Okay. I was in.
* * *
I reach beyond my body's door and yet retain the key, to Walk awhile amongst the dead and then return again. ↵
9
The Messenger
I LOOKED AROUND for a familiar face from Annabelle’s family tree. Now all I had to do was convince Annabelle’s relatives I was, in fact, Annabelle, and somehow make contact with Ileana. I had absolutely no idea how I was going to pull the second half of that plan off, but there was no time to dwell on it. Luckily, the first half of that equation began to work itself out in the form a short, buxom woman with a cheerful smile and cheeks as red and round as apples who came hurrying over to me from the central fire, wiping her hands on her apron and pulling me into a hug that made all of Annabelle’s bones crack in protest.
“Annabelle! There you are!” she cried. I recognized her right away from Annabelle’s descriptions and photo album as her great-aunt Zina. Zina held me out in front of her and examined me like she thought I might have brought the chickenpox in with me.
“How are you keeping? Your journey was good? No trouble at the border from those upstart Caomhnóir? This young batch is such a gang of jumped up little buggers, aren’t they? Such insolence, such insolence. Come warm yourself up, now, you must be frozen.” She asked all her questions so quickly that I couldn’t tell if she actually wanted me to answer them, or if it was simply a formality to ask them.
“I’m… I’m fine, thanks,” I said, in an effort to blandly answer all of her questions at once. I scanned my memory for all of the facts I had memorized about Annabelle’s family and seized on something specific to ask, and remembered something about Zina’s husband. “Um, how is Mariuz’s gout? He could hardly walk when last I visited.”
Zina rolled her eyes and spit on the ground. “Oh, that man. Such a fool. If he laid off the drink, his gout would be fine, but will he listen? No! He prefers to suffer rather than give me the satisfaction.”
I laughed. “Well, that’s men for you.”
“Why I put up with the fool, God only knows. Perhaps I like to suffer, too, eh?” Zina said, and then threw back her head and roared with good-natured laughter.
I laughed too, though not too loudly, since it wasn’t my husband we were roasting. When Zina finally calmed down, I took my chance to cement my legitimacy in the Traveler circle. “I brought the pictures I told you about, the ones I found in my grandmother’s trunk,” I said, reaching into Annabelle’s beaded bag and pulling out a small, crumpled paper sack of photographs. “I thought you might like to have them for the family history you’re working on. There are some great ones of the Boswells in here.”
Zina grabbed the packet excitedly from me, and then gave me two kisses on each cheek. “Thank you, Annabelle, this is wonderful!” she said, eagerly tearing into the bag. Within moments she was cackling again and hurrying off around the fire to share the memories the photos had dragged from the past and into the present. I heaved a sigh of relief. It felt as though my infiltration had been successful. All I needed to do now was figure out how to slip away to Ileana’s tent—though this was likely going to be much more difficult than what I’d managed to accomplish so far.
I slumped down into an empty folding camp chair, and almost instantly, someone handed me a steaming mug of something that made me dizzy with its heady fumes. Intoxication was definitely not going to help my abysmal coordination skills in Annabelle’s body, so I simply nodded and pretended to drink. Within moments, though, I nearly spilled the entire contents all over myself as a wriggling little creature climbed under my chair and hid in the folds of my skirt.
“What the hell—?” I began, but was quickly shushed by a high, fluting voice.
“Shhhhh! I’m hiding!”
I froze, looking around to see if anyone had noticed, but no one was paying the slightest attention to me anymore, now that Zina was making her highly animated rounds with the photographs. Surreptitiously, I leaned down and pulled at the hem of my skirt.
A small girl of about six or seven years old was crouching beneath my chair, giggling madly. She had a wild tumble of dark curls and a smile that was missing several prominent teeth. I couldn’t help but smile back at her.
“And am I a good hiding place?” I asked her.
She shrugged. “You’re the Dormant. Most of the kids won’t go near you because they’re too scared. So yeah, you’re a good hiding place.”
I probably should have been indignant on Annabelle’s behalf but, to be honest, the little girl’s pluck had disarmed me. I smiled again. “But you’re not scared?”
The little girl gave me an appraising look. “You don’t look frightening to me. Just kind of tired.”
I laughed out loud at that. “I am tired. And don’t worry, I won’t give you away.”
The girl smiled broadly. “Cheers!” she said brightly.
I allowed the giggling little thing to hide under my chair for a few more minutes, watching several children go by in obvious pursuit. She was right—none of them so much as looked at me as a potential hiding place. At last, the little girl ducked out from under my skirt, peeked around, and, determining the coast was clear, climbed out from under my chair.
“Thanks! I never win this game!”
“Really?” I asked her. “You seem like a really good hider.”
She grinned. “They’re all bigger than me. But I showed them, didn’t I?”
“You sure did!”
With one last brilliant smile, she took off between two nearby wagons
and disappeared. I chuckled, glad to have helped the underdog scrape a win. Not a minute later, a woman came searching through the raucous gathering.
“Naomi? Naomi! Heavens, where has that blasted child got to?” she grumbled to herself, peering through the crowd.
“Lost her again, have you?” another woman called out with a broad smile. “She’s trouble, that one!”
“She’s not trouble!” the first woman snapped. “She just likes to be included with the older children.” She headed off in the direction the little girl had vanished. I decided in that moment that Annabelle, though eager to establish her place amongst the Travelers, was not a dirty rotten snitch, and trusted that the child would eventually answer her mother’s calls.
Sure enough, a little while later, I watched as Naomi was led back through the central gathering area, rolling her eyes and pouting as her mother shouted her way through a stern lecture. Poor kid. I hoped she’d at least outwitted the big kids she’d been playing with.
Being inside Annabelle’s body was like captaining a ship I’d never seen before; much of it felt unfamiliar, but certain impulses are universal, and I recognized one of them right away: hunger. I was ravenous—or rather, Annabelle was ravenous, and as I was in charge of her body for the moment, it was my job to feed her. Luckily, plates and bowls and trays of food kept being passed along through my hands, and so I made sure to snatch a hunk of bread and a small bowl of stew for myself as they made the rounds of the bonfire. Dunking the bread into the stew and eating it was akin to heaven, I realized, as the physical and mental processes synchronized with each other.
I had barely taken a few bites, however, when a young woman slid into the seat beside me, her eyes wide and anxious. It was lucky that my mouth was full of food, or I would have completely given myself away by blurting out her name in surprise.
“Hi. We met once before, but you might not remember me. I’m Jeta. Flavia’s cousin?” she said, rather breathlessly.