Trespassers

by Claire McFall

  But almost as soon as they were outside, Tristan tensed. His head whipped to the side, peering into the dark. “You know what,” taking Dylan’s hand, he took a step back towards the fire exit. “Let’s just dance some more.”

  “Tristan, what is it?” Dylan whispered.

  After the incredible noise inside the hall, outside was eerily quiet. Dylan’s ears still buzzed from the assault on her hearing, blotting out the usual city buzz. She could tell Tristan had heard something, though.

  Or felt something.

  “What is it?”

  Tristan said nothing, but as he turned back towards the hall, the fire door slammed shut.

  “Perfect timing,” Dylan commented sourly. “Bet that was Dove or something, messing around.”

  “Hmmm.” Tristan was glancing jerkily about. “What’s the quickest way back inside?”

  “We can just bang on the door and—”

  “No,” Tristan interrupted her. “We need to move, now.”

  “Tristan?” Dylan hurried along beside him, one of her hands firm in his grasp. It was dark and she was limping slightly, all the dancing having tired out her weaker leg, so she kept her head down, trying to see where she was putting her feet. Tristan was going too fast, but she didn’t want to ask him to slow down. Something had him really freaked. “Are we being watched again?”

  Tristan nodded curtly.

  “They’re right here.” He cursed quietly. “It was stupid, taking you away from everyone else. I can’t believe I—”

  Then he stopped speaking.

  Stopped moving.

  Spinning to look at him, Dylan saw he was frozen like a statue. His gaze was fixed dead ahead.

  “Tristan?” He didn’t respond. “Tristan?” Dylan turned, stared into the direction that had him so fascinated, so horrified.

  She could no longer see the street that ran along the back of the school, or even the school itself. She couldn’t see anything except the glow that provided a dramatic backdrop to what had appeared just metres in front of them.

  No, she could see something – she could see a pair of piercing eyes.

  Oh God, if this was what had been following – stalking – Tristan, then it definitely wasn’t a being like Caeli. The only thing that the two had in common was the light that made it hard to see their features.

  “Tristan?” her voice wobbled.

  But before he could answer her, the thing spoke. If that was the right word. Its words echoed in Dylan’s brain.

  “Ferryman.”

  If that was a greeting, it wasn’t a good one. Shivers shot down Dylan’s spine at the authority, the power in its voice.

  “You have erred in your duties.”

  It paused and Tristan took that moment to unwrap his fingers from around Dylan’s hand. Without looking at her, still fixed on the towering creature before them, he whispered, “Dylan, go. Run.”

  Run? Abandon him? He couldn’t be serious. “I’m not leaving you.”

  The thing spoke again, cutting them off.

  “Ferryman, hear your crimes. You failed to deliver the soul you had been allocated to the realm beyond; and worse, you allowed that soul to return to its body and the real world, possessing knowledge that is forbidden.”

  The creature’s disapproval was like needles on Dylan’s skin. She was the holder of such forbidden knowledge – the knowledge of what happened after you died.

  “Just go!” Tristan growled out of the corner of his mouth. “Get back inside.”

  “I told you, not without you!” Dylan snagged his flapping hand out of the air. Tugged. “Come with me.” It seemed a foolish hope, but perhaps if they bolted around the buildings, back towards the school reception, they’d run into people and the being wouldn’t be able to reveal itself. “Come on, Tristan! Come with me!”

  “I can’t!” Tristan repeated. “I can’t move. Please,” he ripped his fingers from hers. “Run!”

  “You have left the wasteland,” the creature continued listing Tristan’s crimes, “abandoning your post and your sacred duty. You have tried to present yourself as human, an entitlement you have not been granted. You have allowed evil to seep into this world, bringing about the deaths of souls before their time. You have—”

  “What are you?” Dylan blurted out. She didn’t want to let it reach its final judgement.

  It stopped. Dylan could feel its gaze turn on her like a spotlight, illuminating everything, right down to her bones. Right down to her soul.

  “I am an Inquisitor.”

  She hadn’t expected it to answer her. What the hell was an Inquisitor? She tried to ask another question but Tristan shushed her.

  “Soul, this is no concern of yours. You should not even be witness to this judgement.” Its voice rumbled inside Dylan, sounding frighteningly like a snarl. “You should not be able to see me.”

  And she probably wouldn’t be able to, Dylan realised, if she hadn’t journeyed to the wasteland and returned, having somehow mortally attached herself to a ferryman. She wasn’t the same person she had been.

  The Inquisitor turned back to Tristan. Dylan struggled not to sag with relief as she was released from its stare.

  “Ferryman,” it thundered. “You have heard your crimes.”

  Tristan remained frozen to the spot, as he had for the entire time. He still had some freedom of movement in his neck as well as his arms, though. Hearing the Inquisitor’s words, he dropped his head. In the eerie glow that eminated from behind the Inquisitor, Dylan could just make out the shadow of Tristan’s tightly clenched jaw.

  “You are guilty,” the Inquisitor went on. “For your transgressions, you forfeit your right to be a guide to those newly delivered to the wasteland.”

  Though his head was bowed low, Tristan managed a small nod of acknowledgement.

  “You forfeit the life you have stolen in this world.”

  A small hesitation this time, but Tristan nodded again, his eyes scrunched shut. Dylan gasped. Forfeited the life he had stolen? This life? No.

  “Wait!” she yelped, but the Inquisitor ignored her.

  “You will be returned to the wasteland, where you will join the ranks of those forsaken creatures—”

  “Wraiths? No!” Dylan choked, stepping towards the Inquisitor. “Wait!”

  Tristan snapped his hand out and wrapped it around her upper arm in an iron grip, stopping her in her tracks.

  “I accept your judgement,” he said. “But please, I beg you not to punish Dylan.” He lifted his chin defiantly while she struggled in his grip. “She is innocent in this. It was my fault.”

  What? Dylan ripped Tristan’s hand away, elbowing and wriggling to try to break his grip on her. “No, it wasn’t. It was my idea – if you’re going to punish him then—”

  Tristan got his hand over her mouth before she could finish the sentence.

  “I have no interest in the soul,” the Inquisitor said, eyeing Dylan with disdain. “So long as she does not speak of what she knows, no harm will come to her.”

  “You can separate us?” Tristan asked, stifling Dylan’s scream. “Each time we have tried to move apart, we feel pain. The further we go, the worse it is. As if the injuries that killed her in the train crash are happening all over again – to both of us.”

  The Inquisitor shifted in a subtle movement.

  “Then she suffers. The soul is not my concern. I have come to take you to your fate.”

  “She’ll die!” Tristan said. “If you take me away from her, she’ll die!”

  “Then she dies.”

  The Inquisitor could have been discussing the weather for all the emotion in its voice. Given that it was talking about her and Tristan’s imminent demise, that annoyed Dylan. Increasing her struggles until Tristan released her, she stepped away from both him and the Inquisitor, giving herself a safer distance from the blazing light.

  “You can’t do that!” she burst out.

  “You should have died already,” the Inquisitor poi
nted out. “I shall simply set things back to the way they should be.”

  “I don’t care about me!” Well, she did, but she cared more about Tristan at this moment. And so did the Inquisitor. “You can’t just take Tristan away. We just fell in love! And it was my fault he came back with me. I talked him into it.”

  “Dylan!” Tristan growled at her, but she was out of reach.

  Dylan ignored him. “You can’t do this.”

  “I can. I must. You may say goodbye.”

  “Dylan,” Tristan said. The expression on his face was utterly haunted. “I love you.”

  The words cut Dylan right to the core. Split her open and made her bleed. Instantly, Dylan felt the anxiety, the nausea, the agony that came whenever Tristan moved from her side. Her heart thumped frantically in her chest and she knew she was a beat away from dying. Again. She wanted to say those words back to him, desperately, but if these were their final few seconds she couldn’t afford to waste them on that. She had a last opportunity to reason with the thing – she had to take it.

  “He can’t just disappear. He’s made friends, he’s registered in the school. If you take him away, there will be lots of questions.”

  The Inquisitor seemed unconcerned. “They may ask questions, they will not find the answers.”

  It turned back to Tristan, and Dylan knew this was it. It was going to take Tristan away. In one fell swoop it’d kill her and hand Tristan over to—

  “What about the wraiths?” It came out as a yelp, but the Inquisitor paused. “They’re finding their way through, and unless we close the hole it will keep happening. But we could get them. We’ve done it already, at the tunnel.”

  “You lie,” the Inquisitor accused. “Wraiths cannot be killed.”

  “I’m not lying, I swear!” Dylan stared at the Inquisitor beseechingly. Desperately. “Tristan was hurt during it. Show him your wound!”

  The Inquisitor didn’t wait for Tristan to reveal it, but moved instantly closer and grabbed his skeleton costume where Dylan pointed, tearing the material and the dressing beneath. The Inquisitor saw the furrow in Tristan’s flesh, healing almost human-slow.

  “They can be killed here,” Tristan said. “They are more solid in this world.” He touched his wound. “Like me.”

  The glow that enveloped the Inquisitor seemed to dim momentarily. “I cannot control the wraiths,” the creature admitted. “Nor can I close the tear that you have made between worlds.” It fixed its eyes on Tristan, “You see how your actions have grave consequences?”

  Tristan said nothing. Dylan opened her mouth to speak but the look on Tristan’s face stopped her. It was… hopeful.

  What was happening?

  Suddenly, the Inquisitor let go of Tristan. “I offer you a chance, though you do not deserve it.”

  A chance? Dylan’s heart soared, the relief overwhelming her so thoroughly she almost didn’t hear the rest of the Inquisitor’s words. “You will find a way to close this… gateway. And you will destroy any remaining wraiths that have found their way into this world.”

  “If I do this?” Tristan asked.

  “If you do this, I will allow you to remain. To guard this realm, preventing others from coming through, and killing any wraiths you find. Do you accept?”

  “Yes!” Dylan gulped. “Yes, we’ll do it!”

  The Inquisitor completely ignored her, its eyes on Tristan.

  “I accept,” Tristan said.

  “You have three days,” the Inquisitor said. “Three days, no more. I will not have mercy a second time.”

  And it was gone.

  TWENTY-THREE

  “I need time to think,” Tristan said, when Dylan woke to find him halfway into his school uniform. He had laid hers out on his – already-made – side of the bed. “We don’t want to go off half-cocked and—”

  “Half-cocked?”

  “Half-cocked. It means unprepared, to just barge in when you’re not—”

  “I know what it means!” Dylan snapped, exasperated. “Just… don’t say that word in front of anyone at Kaithshall, all right?”

  “What… half?” Tristan shot her a quizzical look.

  “No! The other—” she broke off, staring suspiciously at Tristan. He tried to hold on to his wide-eyed, innocent expression, but his lips were twitching.

  “Idiot.” Dylan snorted, shoving at his arm, before getting them back on track. “We need to come up with a plan. We’ve only got three days – we need to do something, not go to bloody school!”

  “Yes, we need a plan,” Tristan agreed. “And for that, I need to think. Until I’ve worked out the best thing to do, we should follow a normal routine. If you truant now,” he said, raising his voice because Dylan had opened her mouth to argue, “then Joan will clamp down on us just when she’s beginning to trust us again. We won’t be able to do anything.”

  So they went to school, although Dylan lectured Tristan about how stupid it was all through computing class, and planned to continue doing so until he listened to her.

  Dylan couldn’t stop thinking about what seemed an impossible task – finding any other wraiths that may have escaped.

  “There haven’t been any more killings,” she said.

  “No,” Tristan agreed. “I suspect the one in the tunnel was not the one that killed those four men. It’s still out there. But perhaps it hasn’t killed again because it glutted itself. Eating a real live person is more of a feast than eating a soul. And it went through four.”

  Dylan made a face against the image that raised in her mind.

  “It could get hungry again any time then,” she reminded Tristan. “So we need to go there, make sure we’re in the right place.” No response. “Tristan?”

  “Damn…”

  His low-muttered curse made her look over at his screen. Rather than the lines of code they were supposed to be working on, his monitor was filled with angry red lettering: BLOCKED.

  “What did you search for?” Dylan asked. Dove had been hauled out of class in second year for trying to look at dirty videos, but there were other things that triggered it.

  “How to create home explosives,” Tristan admitted, looking a little sheepish.

  “What!” Dylan’s yell made every head in the class turn her way – even Mrs James looked up from what she was doing. Dylan ducked down and waited until her classmates’ attention drifted elsewhere before glowering at Tristan. “You can’t google that!”

  “I can see that,” Tristan mumbled.

  “Not just’cause it’s blocked – it causes an alert to the government or something. They’ll think you’re a terrorist!”

  “Well, give me your smartphone. I’ll search on that.”

  “That’s even worse!” Dylan squeaked. Sometimes she forgot how little Tristan knew about the inner workings of the world. “If you really need to, we’ll have to go to an internet café.”

  “You know what,” Tristan said, his gaze suddenly fixed over her head, “I’ve got a better idea.”

  “What?” Dylan spun round, tried to see what Tristan was so interested in. All she could see was Dove and his cronies messing around with the wires at the back of their computers. “Tristan, what?”

  “I’ll tell you in a minute,” he murmured, and without another word he got up and went over to join the small crowd of boys, sitting down beside them and drawing Dove – David MacMillan of all people! – into conversation.

  ***

  “Are you going to tell me what you’re up to?” she asked as they left computing. She figured she’d been patient long enough, sitting watching Tristan talk and joke with Dove’s gang of morons as if they were all best buddies.

  “Explosives,” Tristan murmured, opening the door for Dylan.

  “What on Earth does that have to do with Dove?”

  He looked at her, surprised, and she knew he’d assumed she understood what he was thinking. “I’m going to blow up the tunnel. Well,” he shrugged. “Try to.”

  Dylan s
till wasn’t getting it. “But why did you need to talk to Dove about it?”

  “Remember the other day in the science lab? He nearly blew the whole place up. I asked him what chemicals he was messing about with.”

  “I doubt he remembered.”

  “He did,” Tristan told her. “He knew exactly.” Tristan paused to glare at a little trio of first-year boys who’d come too close. As one, they scarpered. “He told me he’s tried it at home, just using household stuff. Cleaning supplies, mostly. Nearly took the roof off his mum’s place.”

  No, he couldn’t possibly. “You can’t do that! Tristan, we’d get into so much trouble! If the police found out, we’d get arrested! And you don’t have any ID or anything. Tristan, you can’t!”

  “More trouble than having to tell the Inquisitor we’ve failed?” He let that sink in. “Dylan, it’ll take me back to the wasteland and let the wraiths have me. I’ll become one of those slathering, mindless vermin, and you – you’ll die, Dylan.”

  “Yes, but—” she shook her head. “Even if you did blow it up, it’s one of the main train lines to Aberdeen! They’d just open it back up and uncover the hole again. Think about this, Tristan!”

  “I have thought about it,” he told her, deadly serious. “I’ve done nothing but think since we heard the news about those four men who died. And I’ve got the answer: I’m not blowing up the tunnel here, I’m going to do it in the wasteland.”

  Dylan just stared at him, absolutely aghast.

  ***

  It was disturbingly easy to buy the ingredients for a bomb. They went to Homebase, and Tristan loaded up a trolley with chemicals and duct tape, a small reel of copper wire and some other miscellaneous bits and bobs. He also bought a jerrycan. It all looked very suspicious, but the middle-aged woman at the counter didn’t even blink as she stuffed it into a carrier bag. Dylan winced when the bill rang up.

  All the way around Homebase and on the long walk home, Dylan barely said a word. They ate dinner with Joan – pork chop and mashed potato – and then sat through a cookery show that she usually really enjoyed. She went through the routine of getting ready for bed like a robot and then, while she waited for Joan to go to sleep, she stared up at the ceiling.