The Mind's Eye

by K. C. Finn

  “Are you all right Leigh?” I asked.

  I wanted to sit down beside him on the top step but it was a little too ambitious a move. I had visions of toppling down the stone staircase and landing with a crunch at the bottom, so I settled for reaching down to pat his head before edging away again gingerly. Leighton took the hint and followed me back to my room, sitting down on the bed with me.

  “Blod and Doctor B are snogging,” he said with a ghastly look on his face, “It’s disgusting.”

  “I don’t want to know,” I laughed, patting his knee. “That’s not what’s upset you is it? I know the atmosphere’s a bit funny today, but everyone’s very busy with the wedding.” Not to mention the dam full of Price family secrets that was fit to burst and flood Ty Gwyn.

  Leigh shook his head. He looked more thoughtful than I had ever seen him, usually my little brother was fairly empty-headed, concerned only with where and when his next meal was coming and how best to play and fill up the time until it was served. Today he looked pensive and a little sad. I hugged him to me and he wrapped his arm around my back.

  “We’ll see Mum soon,” I offered, “You can have the day off school for the ceremony, you know.”

  “That’ll be good,” he mumbled against my side.

  “What’s up?” I asked again, “You can tell me Leigh. I won’t be cross.”

  He shook his head and pulled away. “I think I had a funny turn, that’s all. I feel better now.”

  “It wasn’t a fever, was it?” I questioned warily, thinking of Mum and her little visits to his mind.

  “No,” he said certainly. I breathed a sigh of relief. “It doesn’t matter.”

  He got up to leave and gave me a smile, but it looked a little forced. I caught him by the wrist before he could escape.

  “Tell me if you feel like that again,” I urged him, “Don’t keep it secret.”

  “Course not,” he replied; smiling a bit more genuinely, “We don’t have secrets, apart from you thinking I don’t know that you kissed Henri. A lot.”

  “You little git!” I shouted with a laugh, but he was already running away from me.

  I sat giggling on the bed until a guilty kind of sadness washed over me. We don’t have secrets, he had said. But I did. Big secrets. Tears threatened behind my eyes as I realised I was just like Mum and Dad, hiding everything from Leigh, pushing him out and ignoring him when I needed to. It was easy to do. Actually, it was so easy I hadn’t realised how I had lied to my brother every day of his little life, spied on him, even messed with his head when I was younger. I made a silent vow to myself that I would give Leighton the truth after the wedding, once Mum was away again and couldn’t interfere. He deserved to be prepared for the madness that awaited him in his future.

  ***

  The plot to help the escaping prisoners of war was simple and it would be highly effective if the whole thing came off according to plan. Dad had been taking it in shifts to dig out the sturdy tunnel with other members of the Free French Resistance, those who called themselves Gaullists because they believed in the political leader Charles De Gaulle. The tunnel was secured with wooden splints, poles, girders and anything else that had been donated to the cause by collaborating villagers. It began in the barn of a farm not too far from the camp itself, the place where Henri had been taken to the meeting, and in another day’s time it would connect with the underground attempts that had been made by the Wing Commander and his men under the floorboards of their bunk house.

  That was, if I did my part of the operation correctly. It had become my job to go to Ieuan and tell him that Dad and the Gaullists would be using a bird call underground to let them know when they were close to making the tunnels connect. That way the men in the camp would know which way to dig. The only real potential problem with the plan was if Ieuan didn’t believe the voice in his head. If I wasn’t convincing enough and he threw a fit or thought he was going mad, it might alert the German guards and the whole operation could go up in smoke. A tangible pressure lined the back of my throat, making me feel queasy at the prospect of being the sole reason that everything went wrong, but I agreed confidently to play my part in the plan.

  The time came to do my part quite late the next evening. I found Ieuan sitting at a table with some of the other prisoners with a handful of playing cards that he wasn’t looking at. Occasionally one of the men threw a card down, but none of them appeared to be playing a proper game. They were all watching the clock above the door to their barracks and looking out at the silhouette of an armed soldier standing right outside their door. I had never seen the solider there before. Something was wrong.

  “Right chaps, lights out.” The Wing Commander was standing by a little brass switch. “Into bed until the evening inspection’s passed.”

  The captured fighters moved as one, obediently throwing themselves into their beds. Ieuan wriggled out of his uniform under the covers and screwed up his trousers and jacket, shoving them into a pack that was waiting under the bed. The lights flickered off. All was still. I took my opportunity to begin.

  Mam wouldn’t like you treating your clothes that way, Ieuan.

  He jumped like most people did when they first heard my echoing tone in their mind. The fellow on the bunk above Ieuan’s told him to shush. He lay back down staring up at the underside of that bunk, but now every muscle in his body was pulled into tense knots, nerves trickled like an electric river up and down his sides.

  Don’t talk, just listen, or the others will think you’ve gone mad.

  I felt him let out a tiny laugh. He clenched his fists.

  I know, I know that this is strange. But don’t you know my voice? It’s Kit. I’m here in your room at Ty Gwyn.

  Ieuan’s face was screwed up in thought; he rubbed his chin where I felt a layer of ginger fuzz had been growing. Suddenly the door to the pitch black bunk house opened and Ieuan closed his eyes, plunging us into further darkness. I heard a set of footsteps echoing around the beds, the familiar click of jackboots that I wished I didn’t recognise so well.

  Bloody Germans, I told Ieuan, but don’t worry. I know about the Resistance digging in to help you. I’m here to help too.

  Being told not to worry didn’t seem to do anything calming for the body I was in. Ieuan had started to sweat, his heart forcing out rapid beats. The footsteps of the inspecting solider walked away again and soon after the door closed. Ieuan opened his eyes again, now adjusted enough to the dark for me to make out other soldiers climbing silently out of their beds. Ieuan did the same, but his legs were now shaking as he put his bare feet into his boots and picked up his pack of clothes.

  Please don’t be scared, I tried in a calm tone, you’re not going mad. I’m the one with the strange abilities, not you. You’ll be fine after this. I’ll never put words in your head ever again, I swear. Okay?

  He nodded a little in the darkness and I breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Price, you lead us in,” the WC said.

  Ieuan gulped and saluted the superior man, then marched to the very rear corner of the bunk house where the opening to the concealed tunnel was. In the dark I could just make out that the other men had removed the floorboards in the space, leaving a gaping pit below which Ieuan leapt into. He landed on crumbly earth, his body still shaking.

  The Resistance are going to give a bird call so you know which way to dig.

  He didn’t respond, but he set off with purpose, crawling down into a wide chamber before entering a tunnel slightly to his left. I could feel its damp freshness wetting his skin as he crawled in, picking up a spoon and a tray as he passed by its entrance. The murmurs of other men behind him started to pick up.

  They’re counting on you Ieuan, I said happily, so listen for the birds.

  Again he showed no sign of response, but continued deep into the murky tunnel, his knees scratching on exposed stones. When he reached the tunnel’s end he stabbed his spoon into the wall with great force and little but a second later the
re came a squawking like the cry of a crow. Ieuan’s ears twitched, he looked around for the source of the noise. It was fairly loud; Dad had said he was sure they were very close to the desired bunk house.

  Dig Ieuan, I encouraged, dig towards it.

  Ieuan’s nerves were as shaky as ever, but on he dug. The crow called again now and then, getting louder and louder until I was sure it was right beside our heads. In the darkness a loud scrape like that of a shovel caught my attention somewhere near Ieuan’s hands.

  They’re here for you, they’re breaking through.

  The crow called once more this time the whistle it was coming from was right beside us. A shovel broke through the thin layer of earth and caught Ieuan on the hand with a painful stab. He winced and pulled his hand back, using the other to scrabble through the now collapsing wall of dirt until a flashlight and a face came into view. Dad’s face.

  “Hello boys,” he whispered, “come on, it’s this way.”

  Ieuan, relieved, passed the message back to the others in the line, then started crawling over the mound between the two tunnels and into a much larger, well-supported space.

  “I see you got the message about the bird call,” Dad told him with a cavalier wink.

  I could feel that Ieuan’s expression was horrified, but I stifled my amusement at Dad’s attitude. He couldn’t feel how scared the young man was or couldn’t remember how frightening it must have been the first time my mother put her voice in his head. Through Ieuan’s eyes I watched Dad crawl on casually in the wider tunnel, his huge muddy boots threatening to kick us in the face.

  “Keep to whispers ‘til we’re out of the camp boundary,” Dad instructed, “shouldn’t be long.”

  Tell him your name, I urged Ieuan, I’ve told him about you. He’ll help you get back home to Mam and Blod.

  “Sir,” he whispered, catching up to Dad so they were almost side by side as they crawled, “I’m Ieuan Price sir.”

  “You’re acquainted with my daughter Kit,” Dad answered with a nod, “Is she with you now?”

  I could feel how much he didn’t like the question, a bolt of electricity shot down his spine as he tried to answer.

  “I… Her voice is…”

  “It’s all right,” Dad said. I could see his little grin illuminated by the flashlight hanging from his shoulder. “Don’t even try to explain it. In fact you’d be better off forgetting this whole night once you’re home and dry.”

  “Yes sir,” Ieuan murmured, taking a look back to see the row of happy men trailing behind him.

  “Hang on,” Dad said, trying to crawl with one arm as he fumbled in one of his pockets, “we’re at the camp limit I think. I need to give a call to say we’re coming through.”

  Tell him I could do that, I pressed to Ieuan, thinking that I could nip over to Henri at the tunnel’s end and let him know.

  Ieuan hesitated too long and when he did begin to speak Dad was already using the crow call again, giving three bursts in a row of the baying call. The second he did there was a great eruption of noise like something heavy was falling somewhere and a second later something unbearably sharp hit me. Dad covered Ieuan’s mouth instantly, masking the horrifying scream that he would have let loose. A searing agony made my stomach twist as I saw my father’s horrified face. Ieuan tried to move and I felt its cause.

  A long blade.

  Straight through his shoulder.

  Ieuan struggled to breathe as the blade, which had been stabbed down into the tunnel from above, twisted behind his shoulder blade and made me feel like I wanted to vomit. I felt every moment of his unbearable pain. I could hear the frantic whispers of the men behind him now realising what had happened. They were retreating, leaving us there to die. The blade retracted and this time Ieuan bit hard into the dirty skin of Dad’s hand so as not to make any more noise, but the puncture left him breathless and weak. The tunnel was getting darker all the time; all panic had run out of Ieuan’s body, leaving only a sickening, unending pain.

  Somewhere in the top of his chest was something still out of place. Even though the blade had gone, I felt a sharpness, a foreign body sticking into the back of his shoulder blade. It was horrid, I felt like I wanted to reach in and tear it out, but the ache of the object was too deep to get at. I didn’t know if Ieuan felt it too, there were so many wild and agonising sensations swilling around his frantic mind.

  “Dear God,” Dad whispered, grabbing us by the torso. He struggled along, pulling Ieuan onto his back so he could crawl with him down the tunnel, but it was little use. My vision was almost gone; all I had were Ieuan’s ragged breaths, growing weaker by the second as he lost the ability to breathe.

  I snapped out of his head desperately and fled to Henri, finding it hard to change from the dark scene to the faint light of the cosy little barn. My words came so loud and frantic into Henri’s head that he leapt a mile from the tunnel opening where he had been waiting.

  Henri, oh God Henri please help them! I tried desperately to collect my thoughts for the proper words. Dad… Ieuan’s been stabbed. Dad’s trying to carry him. He can’t manage. He might be dying. He can’t breathe. And they might stab down again!

  Every terrifying thought that hit me came out in a jumbled mess in Henri’s mind and though there was fear in his heart he jumped head first into the tunnel mouth and starting to crawl down in at once. All the training on his hands and knees with Sergeant Cross in Essex had paid off; he scurried down the dark tunnel like a rat, I could already hear Ieuan’s desperate gasps and Dad’s effort-fuelled grunts echoing back at us. They couldn’t be far away. If Henri got to them and pulled them out in time, things might be okay.

  My vision began to fade, but this time there was no cold shiver to mark that my psychic trip was coming to an end. Instead I felt a wet sort of a heat all over my face as the sight of the tunnel dissolved and when I came back to Ieuan’s little room in Ty Gwyn I was soaked all over in a cold sweat. A headache slowly made itself known in the back of my skull and my eyes shot open as the all-too-familiar sensation of a fever kicked in.

  “Mum!” I shouted furiously.

  You’ve done well sweetheart, she promised, but you really can’t see this next part.

  “No!” I protested. My eyes shot to my door as Idrys poked his head in. I had woken him up. “Please don’t put me under! Not a fever, please!”

  There was a pause, but my headache raged on. The dark room was already growing black as I felt Idrys put his smooth, dry hand on my clammy head.

  I’m sorry, love, but I just can’t trust you not to go back there.

  In all fairness, that was exactly what I wanted to do, but I struggled all the same until the world became one big dark bubble once more.

  Mercifully it was only the next afternoon that I came round. Idrys was there watching over me, so I told him everything I could as floods of tears poured down my face. His expression had a ghostly pallor to it when I was done; his calloused farmer’s hands were trembling. He took me downstairs as soon as I was able and we piled into Bickerstaff’s room where he and Blod were sat on the bed sharing his lunch. I didn’t know when or how Idrys and the former doctor had realised that each other knew about my gift, but there seemed no need for a preamble. Idrys launched right into the tale of Ieuan’s injury and made me repeat it to Bickerstaff.

  “Could he survive that Steven?” Idrys urged, “Is there any way?”

  Blod clutched Bickerstaff’s arm tightly, her lip trembling as she took in the shocking news. Bickerstaff considered things very carefully for a moment.

  “When Henri was approaching,” he asked gingerly, “was he still breathing?”

  I nodded furiously from the chair Idrys had dropped me into. “I could hear him… gasping.” I shut my mouth quickly as my stomach gave a lurch. I took a few breaths in through the nose to calm down.

  “Oh God,” Blod said, burying her head against her beau’s shoulder.

  Bickerstaff was largely ignorant to everyone’s pain, h
is mind consumed by matters medical. I could see the process of his thoughts behind his huge eyes. His breathing became sharp as he thought things out.

  “It could just be a collapsed lung, but not a punctured one,” he suggested, “if so he’ll make it.”

  “And if not?” Idrys asked, biting hard on the knuckles of his clenched fist.

  “If not I don’t think he’d be breathing loud enough for Kit to hear him from that distance,” the former doctor replied carefully. For once his emotionless face was extremely useful; its blankness seemed to calm everyone down. “Remember it’s only one lung that’s been affected. He’s got a fighting chance if they get him to proper care right away.”

  “But we don’t know if they have,” Blod pleaded, surfacing from Bickerstaff’s now soaking wet shoulder.

  “They seemed to be very well organised,” I offered, “I’ll bet they have medics and all sorts.”

  “But you don’t know that, do you?” Blod snapped at me with damp eyes, “You didn’t see any yourself?”

  I felt exhausted and defeated. “Well, no but-”