Sea Change

by Francis Rowan

  “You under-estimate me, boy. I still have enough in me to end you, to end them. Although I might not kill your sister. Just cripple her perhaps, enough so that she never walks again. Or that girl-child, maybe just an accident, burns, her face marked ugly for life. That will satisfy me more than their deaths. But you, you, I will not let see the sun rise."

  "You don't have the power," John repeated. "You've used too much of it up chasing us. You're too slow, too late, too weak."

  "Much is gone. But there are still bargains that I have made,” Elias said, and shook, as if the memory of those bargains was almost too much to bear. "You cost me dearly, but it will be worth it."

  "Sold your soul for a chance of revenge on me?" John asked.

  Again Elias hissed, but this time it was not anger, it was laughter. "That was one trade I did not have left to make."

  "What sort of existence can you have? What sort of life...death...whatever? How can it be worth it?"

  "There speaks one who is young. Who does not know. If you are asked on your death bed what you might trade for another week, another year, what then would you answer? And for another century, two, three, what then?"

  “How old are you, Elias?”

  “Older than these walls.”

  "I wouldn't choose what you have chosen. Not for all those years.”

  "You have not yet been on your deathbed, staring at death coming for you. Yet. Although you will shortly have the chance to test your principles."

  "You're nothing, now, Elias. You're just going to fade away, a shadow, mist that will be blown away by the wind. Your time is coming to an end."

  "Soon, maybe. But not as soon as it is for you. I have enough left for that." The old man raised his arms, and curls of mist rose up from the floor of the alley way. The curls twisted together and began to slide towards John. He was trapped, Elias at one end of the alleyway, a blank wall at the other. There were people sleeping in the houses around them, but John knew that no matter how loud he shouted, they would not hear him. He was not part of their world anymore, had not been since Elias had appeared at the end of the alleyway. He did not panic though, just stood and watched the mist roil and seethe as it grew in size, grew darker, grew toward him. As it became denser he could see shapes begin to form inside it. Then suddenly, the shapes collapsed into one vague cloud, and that cloud took form and the mist was gone.

  In front of John stood a boy of around his own age. He was dressed in the uniform of John's school, but his face was terrible and pale, and his eyes were black. His uniform dripped with water.

  "Hello John," he said, and his voice came from an impossibly long way away. "Why did you leave me? Why didn't you help me? We're the same, you and me. I’ve been so lost, and so cold, and so lonely. But now I’ve come to take you with me.”

  "No," John said, in a conversational voice. "You are not Alex."

  "I am, John,” the Alex-thing said. "He's brought me back. Brought me back from the other side to fetch. It's so cold over there, John, so cold and so lonely and you left me to go there on my own. I've come to take you with me, John."

  "No. You're not Alex. You look like Alex, you sound like Alex, but you aren't him. I'm not frightened any more, Elias. I'm not frightened by your conjuror's tricks. They bore me. You're an evil man whose time has passed. Finish with these games."

  "John," the Alex-thing implored. "Please don't leave me again. Don't make the same mistake twice. You can help me. You can bring me out of that cold, dark place where I am so, so lonely. Take my hand. Just take my hand, John.”

  The thing that looked like Alex walked another step down the alley, and held out its hand. John stood on the spot. He was filled with a fierce joy at his own courage, a joy coupled with amazement.

  "Whatever you are, go back to where you came from," he said. The dead boy kept on coming towards him. From the distance, as if it from the end of a very long tunnel, came Elias's voice, soft, persuasive.

  "Take his hand, John. Go with him. Put your mistake right."

  Enough, thought John, with a flash of annoyance. "Yes," he said. "It is time to put it right." He raised his arms in front of him, held his hands out, fingers spread wide. I have no idea what I'm doing, he thought, but somehow I know what to do.

  "Stop," he said, and this time his boy's voice was filled with something more, something like a terrible wind tearing in from the sea. The word caught the thing that looked like Alex as it walked, froze it in mid-stride, and then the boy turned to an insubstantial cloud that was torn away in shreds, a thousand fading tatters of something that in seconds became nothing. Then there was just the alley, John in the middle, Elias at the end, nothing between them except the knowledge of what had just happened.

  John took a step forward.

  "No," Elias said. "No, I will not have this. You are just a boy, you know nothing."

  "That's true," said John, "but I held it, Elias. I held the stone. The Hob's stone. I held it for an hour, more.” He took another step forward.

  "That means nothing," Elias said, but his voice wavered. "You cannot use its power. You are just a boy."

  John smiled. “I am. But if I didn't have the gift, you would never have chosen me, Elias." He stepped again. "You have brought me upon yourself."

  "No," Elias said, but for the first time he took a step backwards.

  "Yes," John said.

  "John, John I can teach you so much. Together we could—" Now Elias's voice was wheedling, pleading, trying to fill his words with honey but nothing could hide the fear.

  "Elias, you have already taught me so much. Thank you." Then John raised his arms again, and simply said, “Let it end now," in a quiet voice. This time there was no fury in his words, but as soon as he spoke them the air around them felt like the worst storm in a lifetime was just about to break.

  "No," Elias said again, but his voice was overtaken by a sound that started as a whisper, out at sea, and then came howling in across the land, a sound that built and built until John had to cover his ears. It increased in pitch and volume until John could feel it through every bone in his body. Elias stumbled backwards, arms flailing out around him.

  The sound took shape, vague blurs dancing around Elias, making him throw his hands around his head as if he were trying to fight off a swarm of bees. Then the sound dropped in pitch to a deep roar, but increased in volume. As it did, the blurs circling around Elias dropped back, fell together, became one, a spinning, twisting thing. Then it slowed, formed and grew into a shimmer of light that took shape and became a shape, shifting, like nothing John had ever seen before. The air smelt of storms, of heather, of the moors, of salt and the sea.

  The Hob took a step towards Elias.

  Elias shrieked, and the Hob reached out a slow hand, and gently touched it to the man.

  Then it seemed as if the world blinked, and the figure and the light and the sound and Elias were all gone, and there was just John, a boy standing on his own in an alleyway.

  I'm tired, he thought. I'm so, so tired. And he trudged out of the alley, back to Laura's cottage, through the alleys and streets that were nothing more than those of a sleeping village at night. Magic was gone from the world, and it was filled instead with a beautiful and solid ordinariness that made John grin with joy. The bricks of the houses were rough, the night air was cold, the stars were sharp and hard, the paving stones were uneven under his feet and he felt more alive than he ever had done. The sea change had come, and he had changed with it.

  Chapter Nineteen

  John stood at the bus stop with Sal and Simon, waiting for the clattering red and blue bus that would take him back home, back to the normal life of mum and dad, and a school that was now nothing more than a school. He had said his goodbyes to Laura back in the shop, so she didn't have to close up to walk to the bus stop with him.

  Simon had dribbled a football all the way up the hill from the village, and now he was kicking it into the air, playing keepy-up, ball off his foot, his knee, his foo
t. Then he misjudged it, and it bounced off his shin and went bouncing down the street, Simon in pursuit.

  John and Sal laughed, shaking their heads.

  "Bus'll be here in a minute," Sal said.

  "Yes," said John. "Guess it will." He shifted from foot to foot, knowing he had so little time left, so much that he wanted to say, so little ability to say it. "It's been an amazing time. All of this."

  "For me too," Sal said.

  "I'm coming back, you know," John said. "I've decided, talked to Laura about it and she's more than happy. I'm going to be back in the summer holidays, help her out in the shop. Maybe I can be here for a couple of months."

  "Good, I'm glad you're coming back," Sal said, and there was a moment of awkward silence, and John wanted to say something else but he couldn't find the words to say it. Then the bus rattled around the corner, and Simon ran back to them, and the moment was gone. Simon slapped John on the back.

  "Did well for a townie," he said. "Next time, try and not fall in the water so much, eh?"

  John laughed. "I'll try."

  Simon walked away a few steps, and the bus shivered to a halt, its doors hissing open.

  "Well, I'll see you then," John said to Sal. She grinned, stepped up to him, put her arms around him and gave him a long hug and the world changed again.

  "You will," she said, and for a long moment she didn't let go. Then she said very quietly, "Come back for me." Then she let him go, and stepped back, Simon looking at the bus as if it was the most interesting thing that he had ever seen in his life, and John grinned at her, and grinned at him, and got on the bus and grinned at the bus driver while he paid for his ticket, and kept on grinning even when the bus moved off, and Sal and Simon waved goodbye, Simon running alongside the bus for a few metres, grinning even when the bus picked up speed and turned the corner, driving out of the village, grinning even when he could not see them anymore.

  He sat back in his seat, working out in his head how many days there were until the next time he would see Sal again.

  The bus hauled its way up the hill and away from the village. As it turned to head inland John looked back out at the cliff top, the sea shimmering silver and endless beyond it. He saw movement beside the bus, and looked down into the field next to the road.

  A large black dog raced along, keeping pace with the bus for a while, and then it veered away into the field, running back towards the village, faster, faster, and then it was gone.

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  ABOUT THIS BOOK

  Thank you for reading Sea Change, I hope that you enjoyed it. I always like to hear from readers, and you can email me at francis@littorally.com. It would be very interesting to know if you’d like to read more books like this one, as that feedback helps me to decide what I write next.

  Please think about leaving a review of the book at Amazon or Smashwords, even if just a short one – it helps other people find the book too.

  I always like to hear from readers, and you can contact me via my Facebook Page or email me at francis@littorally.com.