by Ben J Henry
Winter stopped scraping the wood. When she spoke, her words were quick: ‘I talk to Jack. I just—I tell him I’m sorry. For never listening. For never letting him pick the film. Or the food. Or his nose. For that stupid postcard…’
‘I’d say he saw the funny side in that.’ Gus forced a smile as he recalled Winter’s joke: Wish you were dead. ‘He was dating you—he must have had a sense of humour.’
And when Winter said nothing, he added: ‘I talk to mine too, sometimes.’
‘What do you tell them? That you’re mental?’
The stairs creaked and the captain walked down as far as the bottom step. The man was a scarecrow: sallow eyes and sunken cheeks in an unshaven face. He lifted his arm to the wall, either to steady himself or lean upon it, and a greying cuff slipped down to reveal the tattoo on his wrist. He craned his neck and looked first at Gus, long enough for the light on his collar to blink, and then at Winter. Satisfied that both were awake, he turned back up the steps, freezing when Gus called after him.
‘She needs a tourniquet or she’ll bleed out. They won’t be happy if she’s not—if she’s too tired to talk to them. Aldous and Morna need to interrogate her. They’ll be angry with you.’
The scarecrow paused for a moment without looking back, and then continued up the stairs. Winter’s breathing was laboured and she continued to scrape her heel through the inch of water, dissecting oily rainbows.
‘I think we should tell each other things before we die,’ she uttered.
‘Have you been drinking the petrol?’
‘What would you say to them if you had another chance?’
Gus chewed his lip. What was Winter so keen to share? He was considering what truths he might part with when Rainn came down the steps.
‘How are my little detainees?’
‘She needs a—’
‘Oh shut up, Gus.’ Winter elbowed him, as if the embarrassment of his request was harder to bear than the pain in her leg. A phone rang in the bag on Rainn’s shoulder. She dropped the bag on the counter, unclipped the fastener and stared at the name on the screen. Gus was reminded of Melissa’s face in her office when she had received Rainn’s call.
The woman hoisted her lips into a smile and answered: ‘Hello, Aldous.’ She leaned back against the sink with the phone pressed to her ear and drew the lighter from her bag.
‘Yes, cheeky little wastrel. Now you see why I sent Amira to the portal.’ She flicked the lighter on and off, and the intermittent firelight made a grimace of her smile. ‘Well, no, but that’s because she projects her own fears. If you were to grant Peter and me access to…if we had a means of following them—of doing our homework, shall we say—these protective measures could be personalised. Then it would be child’s play.’
Rainn stopped playing with the lighter. She nodded and rubbed a fist against her brow.
‘Well, she won’t be sleeping anytime soon, Aldous.’
Her expression shifted in the shadows like a cloud crossing the moon. Her nostrils flared and her lips were tight. When she spoke, her voice was terse.
‘I only had one collar. I can’t be in two places at once. I was—yes, I understand, but—I instructed him to use the dog if he was unable to wake her.’
She cast her eyes across the water.
‘We’re nearly there. Well, if that’s—I can kill her now?’
Gus felt Winter stiffen against the pole as a drawer opened and Rainn sifted through its contents. She withdrew a knife with a serrated blade.
‘Yes, I understand.’
Rainn hung up and dropped her phone into the empty sink. She lifted Anna’s letters from the bag and tucked them under her arm before approaching Winter with the lighter in one hand and the knife in the other. A low horn sounded on the upper deck and Rainn paused midway to sitting on the small crate. With swift movements, she left the letters by the sink and climbed the steps. A bold light panned through the window, breaking the darkness. It was the beam of a lighthouse.
White orchid
Alicia placed a palm on the igneous rock. She brushed her thumb against its rough surface, wondering whether the warmth that emanated from its volcanic depths existed outside her imagination. Stepping back, she sized up the steep incline that shot tens of kilometres into the sky, tapering to a peak beyond her sightline. This was a mountain with no foothills and no vegetation, nothing but an impenetrable wall of rock.
The shade of the stone was unmistakable: a burnt maroon, almost black against the eggshell blue of the sky. She had seen this shade in her parents’ bedroom. From her approach on horseback, she had seen a single peak, while on her mother’s canvas there were two. In the landscape painting, a higher peak on the right dipped with the gentle curve of a hammock to a lower peak on the left of the crater. To the right of the higher peak, the mountainside fell at a moderate decline, sweeping to the ground and almost reaching the edge of Anna’s canvas. The lower peak on the left dropped in a considerably steeper bank, almost vertical in comparison. In her mind’s eye, Alicia visualised the shape of the volcano as roughly that of a shoe, and was confident that she now faced its heel.
It was conceivable that Mount Psarnox was a replica of a volcano in existence on Earth and, by coincidence, her mother had found inspiration in this same volcano. Yet Alicia was again in the position where the fantastical option was the more plausible: her mother had also laid eyes on Aldous and Morna’s creation in the immaterial realm, but had approached it from another angle. In painting the volcano on her canvas, Anna had taken something from Vivador and reproduced it in the waking world: the immaterial made material.
‘So, Mum,’ Alicia said aloud. ‘What next?’
Rainn’s words surfaced: Straight to the—
‘To the top, then.’
Alicia mounted her horse and urged him into a wide arc across the grass, creating a distance between her and the foot of the mountain. Lowering her eyes between black velvet ears, she kicked the beast into a gallop.
A thunderous crack rent the air as hooves leaped from grass to rock. The gradient was impossible from the outset and Alicia glanced over her shoulder to see the plains fall away beneath her. She was riding vertically up sheer cliff face. Loosening her grip on the horse’s neck, she let her fear dissolve. For there was no volcano. There was no horse. She was not defying gravity, but denying it. She released her grip, spread her arms outward and accelerated up the wall of rock, soaring toward the sky.
The mountainside quaked under the formidable strength of the black stallion. Did the pounding hooves resonate through the volcano to those awaiting her? With a crunch underfoot, the terrain shifted from rock to scree. The gradient declined and Alicia saw a second peak on the far side of an enormous crater. Sending sheets of gravel and ash in her wake, she reached the lower peak, beyond which tendrils of smoke rose to a thin cloud overhead.
On a narrow ridge, she slowed the stallion to a trot and rode along the lip of the crater. The horse navigated the uneven rock with the agility of a mountain goat, clip-clopping over fissures that breathed steam against Alicia’s bare feet. As she surveyed Vivador from this tremendous height, vertigo plunged through her like frigid water.
Casting her eyes over the plains they had crossed, she was just able to discern a blurred fringe on the horizon—all that was visible of the pine forest. It thrilled her to consider that she might close her eyes to reappear at the well beyond that forest and then return to this ridge in a blink, crossing that continent of green in a heartbeat, as if the space between these two points did not exist. From her vantage point upon the lower of the two peaks, Alicia saw what lay beyond the volcano—behind the image on her mother’s canvas. Spilling out from the foot of the mountain was a rainforest, suffusing mist from the canopies of a million trees. The tropical expanse was broken by the light brown cliffs of a gorge that twisted to the left. Towards the horizon, a river issued from the gorge until it met a cerulean band, darker than the sky. She narrowed her eyes at the distant shore,
wondering whether it marked Vivador’s edge, or the beginning of an ocean larger than all that she had seen.
‘Not a bad sight for blind eyes.’
She spun on her horse to find Rainn looking down at her from the highest point of the ridge. She stood with hands on hips, a smile on her face and a distracted look in her eyes. Alicia hopped from the back of her horse and sent him trotting off along the rim of the massive crater.
‘What did Aldous want with you?’
Rainn’s eyes flickered, her expression as treacherous as the craggy terrain. With graceful steps, she joined Alicia on the flat section of the ridge.
‘Don’t get cocky, Alicia. It’s unbecoming.’
Sweeping the sapphire dress beneath her, Rainn perched on the edge of a flat rock that was nearly the width of the ridge and motioned for Alicia to sit on the far side. The warmth of the volcano rose through Alicia’s jeans. Here the rock was a dark grey, rough as pumice and glistening with the lustre of a thousand tiny minerals embedded throughout. Rainn gazed into the space between them and her thin eyebrows shifted infinitesimally. Between two bands of iron red, the dark rock split like the hatching shell of an egg and a green shoot rose from the cracks. The plant matured into a white orchid and Rainn met Alicia’s eyes.
‘It is your wish for the flower to be blue and my wish for it to be red.’
Rainn lowered her eyes to the head of the flower and the petals snapped to red without blush or transition. It was as though a light switch had been flicked and the white petals cast under a ruby filter. Settling herself on the rock and leaning a fraction closer, Alicia focused on the petals and willed for the colour to change from red to blue. As with the Unbreakable Door, the moment she laid her mind on Rainn’s creation she felt a strong conscious resistance. Unlike the pines, which had been raised in an instant and crumbled before her, the flower was imbued with a persistent will. This living intention that embodied the flower head felt different to the one that Alicia had encountered when placing her palms on the door. Like a flavour, or perhaps a tone or timbre, the resistance resembled the emotion she had felt when Rainn projected words into her mind. She would later wonder on the timbre of her own thoughts.
Clenching her teeth, Alicia willed the petals to blue, flooding them from the centre to the tip until all red had been driven from them. There followed a jarring sensation, like travelling at high speed and hitting a bump, as Rainn snapped the flower head back to red.
Blue.
Red.
The petals fluctuated furiously, faster and faster, until the flower head flickered violet.
Gripping the warm rock and focusing on the head of the orchid until it was all she could see, Alicia set the full force of her mind upon it and the petals trembled a deep blue. There remained a moment of pause in which the blue orchid stood resolute before bursting into flame and withering to ash.
Alicia unlocked her eyes and blinked, acknowledging the truth: her will was stronger than Rainn’s. With a nostalgic smile, Rainn stared at the empty space and said: ‘That’s how Peter taught me.’
‘Taught you what?’
Rainn looked up as if surprised that she was not alone. The corner of her mouth twitched.
‘When his son tried to kill me, Peter brought me here. He needed to protect me from what Ryan had become.’
Alicia found it hard to imagine Rainn requiring protection from anyone, let alone that lost young man with tranquil eyes. What had Peter done to Ryan? Had he really raised his son as a killer?
‘Taught you what?’ Alicia repeated.
Rainn stood and faced the crater. The steam rising from below played with the ends of her hair.
‘Ryan tested you with the shards of glass—to rise above expectation and deny the natural pain response of your projected body. With the Unbreakable Door, you demonstrated an ability to break rules. Expectation and will, Alicia. Expect a breeze and a breeze will blow, will it to rain and the rain will fall. But then, there is the will of others.’
Alicia stepped beside Rainn until her toes met the edge of the cliff. Eddies of wind tousled her hair and filled her ears with violence: the clash of metal and the stutter of gunfire. The vast crater of Psarnox stretched before them, bearing a lake of lava that bubbled and spat. In the centre of the crater was a large circular platform, rotating slowly with the churning of the molten rock. This sheet of obsidian caught the rays of light permeating the smoky cloud and glistened like polished marble. On the platform, so distant that they appeared no larger than insects, two figures were engaged in combat.
Alicia cast her vision deeper into the volcano and the distant platform magnified before her. With the blast of laser beams and an explosion that rocked the platform on its viscous bed, two teenage girls fought to return one another to the waking world. These girls were identical: olive skin and black hair plaited over the left shoulder. Amira was battling her simulacrum.
‘Welcome to the Playground,’ said Rainn.
Blowhole
We’re nearly there.
The beam of the lighthouse swept the cabin, playing through Gus’s mind like a silent alarm. It must have been half an hour since the horn had summoned Rainn to the deck, and she had yet to return. Unable to reassure Winter, Gus trawled his imagination for a plan that might buy them more time.
‘Winter, are you…?’ he whispered.
‘Awake? Alive? None of the above.’
‘I’m going to pretend I’m dreaming, all right? When she comes down, tell her that the water shorted the collar and it’s broken.’
In their reflection, her eyes narrowed on the green light blinking insolently on his collar, but neither commented on the flaw in his plan.
‘You’ll say that I’ve gone to speak with the man in the tower. That I want to strike a deal. And when she thinks I’m in Vivador…Winter!’
Her head was back at an awkward angle and the sound of droplets hitting the floor had ceased. She was taking the petrol into her mouth.
‘What are you—stop it. We can get out of this.’
It was his turn to prod her roughly in the back, but she continued to catch the drops of liquid falling through the rusted crack in the ceiling. Before Gus could protest any further, steps on the staircase signalled Rainn’s return.
‘Sorry to keep you waiting,’ said Rainn with an exasperated sigh as she lifted the letters from the work surface. ‘Busy night!’
She settled herself on the small wooden crate, flicked on the lighter and rifled through the letters.
‘Ah, here we are.’ She spread the letters flat across her thigh and placed the knife on the crate beside her. ‘Melody spoke fondly of Jack, having met him down the well. Fancy that.’ She caught Winter’s gaze and shook her head distastefully. ‘Your boyfriend kisses you goodnight and then goes home to share his dreams with an elderly woman. Each to their own, I suppose.’
Winter said nothing. A tense pause followed and Gus wondered how much of the petrol she had swallowed. Rainn pouted, her shoulders lowering as she flicked the lighter on and off.
‘I would have liked you as a protégé. When you painted that message on Anna Harrington’s wall—threatening a woman while she searched for her kidnapped son—I saw potential. Pride, confidence and humour are a lethal combination when guided by the right hands. Perhaps I saw in you what Peter had seen in me. But there’s no use in crying over what could never be.’ She brushed the point of the blade across Winter’s lower eyelashes to collect a single tear. ‘People like us don’t make friends, we make allies. And when you play our game, all allies are enemies in the end.’
She lifted the knife and ran the flame along the serrated blade. When it reached the tip, the teardrop shrivelled on the heated metal.
‘Any last words?’
Winter opened her mouth and sent a spray of petrol into Rainn’s lap. A scream rent the cabin as the liquid crossed the open flame and the pages caught alight. Leaping to her feet, Rainn emptied her hands and beat the flames climbing her white dr
ess. Screams ricocheted between the metal walls as the woman hurled her blazing self up the narrow steps.
Anna’s letters burned readily on the small crate. The fire inched down the wood towards the petrol-soaked panels. Kicking the lighter aside, Winter used the heel of her shoe to scrape at the fallen knife.
Silently, his mouth open, Gus watched the fire in the window, waiting for a stray flame to lick the contaminated water that soaked their clothes. Winter screamed as she used the full force of her mauled leg to kick the knife towards her. There was a clink as it struck the pole. Working together, the pair shimmied lower until Gus caught the knife with straining fingertips. The corner of a burning page fluttered from the crate and sizzled impotently in the water, missing its mark. The glossy sheen of petrol rocked between Winter’s bare calves.
Gus spun the handle of the knife and began to hack blindly at the cable ties. Rainn’s screams had stopped and with every passing second he waited for footsteps to reach the stairs or fire to strike the petrol. Winter gasped as her hands fell free of the pole. Twisting around, she snatched the knife from Gus and slashed at the plastic ties that bound him. Large splinters of wood dropped from the edges of the crate, still burning as they drifted across the water. With a snap, the cable tie gave way and Winter stuffed the knife into her belt. She clambered up the stairs after Gus, gritting her teeth as searing pains shot through her leg. As the pair emerged, they were met with a gust of sea air and the empty expanse of an overcast sky. A roar filled the cabin below as fire claimed the petrol-soaked panels.
They were at the stern of the boat, facing the sea. Gus turned and ran his gaze from the dark windows of the captain’s cabin to the bow, where the loose flaps of a tethered sail buffeted in the breeze. The cabin obstructed his view and if Rainn was on the deck beyond, he could not see her. Winter gripped his arm as the door to the cabin opened and a scarecrow emerged from its dim interior. A pair of empty eyes. A rifle raised. Without hesitation, Gus yanked Winter to the edge of the boat and the pair leaped into the black water.