Eleanor

by S. F. Burgess

  “Conlan, where are my clothes?”

  “You’re wearing them,” he said, without turning round.

  “No, I was wearing my shop uniform. There should be blood...” Her voice dropped off to a whisper. There was a pause, as if Conlan was trying to think of something to say.

  “You left your old body behind,” he eventually replied. Eleanor looked down. The body felt real, felt like her, but if what Conlan said was true – that it was a different body to the one that was shot? Is it really different? She wrestled with her right sleeve.

  “What are you doing?” Conlan asked, twisting slightly in the saddle to look at her.

  “When I was five I fell off the garage roof into my Dad’s scrap pile and there was a piece of wood with a nail in it. The nail went through my arm. I still have the scar...” Having pulled her sleeve up over her elbow, Eleanor examined her forearm. No scar... For some reason this did not frighten her as much as she had thought it would. Perhaps it’s because this body feels anything but alien. On the inside of her wrist the skin was burnt and blistered; it was hard to make out but it looked like a shape had been burnt into it, a radiant-cut diamond seen side-on. It looked like it should hurt. Eleanor gingerly ran her finger over it. Numb.

  “If this isn’t my body, whose is it?” she asked. “And what does this diamond mean? How did it get there?”

  “It’s your body, Eleanor, it was made for you. The symbol represents the element of Earth; it’s a side effect of the ritual that brought you here. Does it hurt?” There was curiosity rather than concern in his question.

  She shook her head. “No, it doesn’t hurt.”

  Conlan tilted his head, scrutinising her again. “Let me know if it starts to hurt, OK?”

  Eleanor rubbed her left hand up and down her arm. “This body was made for me?”

  “How about we leave that as another question for later?”

  Eleanor sighed. “Were you this unhelpful with the others? It might explain the suicide rate!” She had meant it as a joke but Conlan did not laugh – the muscles in his jaw tightened but he showed no other signs of emotion as he stared at her before twisting back round in the saddle.

  “Put your arms around my waist and hold tight,” he ordered. Eleanor obeyed, wondering if she should apologise.

  Rand moved at considerable speed through the trees. The ground seemed very far away and Eleanor judged her position to be rather precarious. She gripped a little tighter, feeling the tension in Conlan’s body. Leaning her head against his back, closing her eyes, she focused on not falling off and settled into the steady rhythm of the horse and Conlan’s movement in the saddle, allowing herself to drift in that pleasant place that comes before sleep.

  A sudden change of pace brought her back to reality. Eleanor opened her eyes and found they had cleared the forest and were now moving along a dirt track that snaked into the distance over rolling, grassy hills. Conlan’s body tensed as he glanced behind him, frowning at something over the top of Eleanor’s head. He gently urged Rand to greater speed. Automatically Eleanor turned to look and gasped. The height of a tall man, weaving a rhythmic dance from side to side on the track behind them, was the tightly spinning cyclone of dirt and dust of a small tornado. Eleanor glanced at the sky. There were no storm clouds, no rain, no wind and no humidity. There was no reason at all for there to be a tornado, which, Eleanor noticed, had increased its forward momentum to match the speed Conlan had just demanded of Rand.

  “Is that tornado following us?” Eleanor asked as she bounced up and down with Rand’s steady gait.

  “Yes.”

  His response was so matter-of-fact that Eleanor was stunned. “Why?”

  “Because Air is curious.”

  “How can Air be curious?”

  “Asks someone who never stops questioning…” Conlan muttered.

  “Is it dangerous?” Eleanor asked, ignoring Conlan’s aspersion but noticing that he had pushed Rand to greater speed.

  “Sometimes. Air is usually quite timid, but I’d rather we didn’t get too close.”

  “You make it sound like a person. Air is just a random collection of atoms; it can’t really decide to follow us.”

  Conlan did not reply and Eleanor suspected it was not because he agreed with the logic of her argument. The tornado continued to follow for several hours, keeping pace with them but never catching up. Eleanor’s attempts to get more information from Conlan fell on deaf ears, and irritation pushed her into angry silence. Eventually the tornado disappeared and Conlan relaxed slightly, taking Rand’s speed back down to a steady trot. Eleanor looked about her. There was nothing as far as she could see in any direction but grass, hills and trees. The familiarity of it tugged at her memory, reminding her of a trip through France she had taken as a child. The scenery seemed to slip by, like a movie on fast forward. Eleanor watched it, dazed, her head throbbing. Everything was happening too fast.

  The quality of the light began to change as the sun started to drop below the horizon, giving the landscape a more pronounced, dreamlike quality. This isn’t real. Eleanor’s thoughts spun until it hurt too much to think, so she went back to drifting, eyes closed, shivering as the failing sun took what little warmth the day had left.

  “You’re cold.”

  It was a statement; Conlan had felt her shiver through her arms wrapped tightly around his waist.

  I’m also confused, hungry, thirsty and uncomfortable, with what feels like the mother of all hangovers, Eleanor thought, but it was too much effort to explain this to Conlan, so she just nodded her head against his back.

  “We have a little way to go before we can stop,” he said. She nodded again, wondering if they would be safe when they reached their destination, but she was too tired to ask. He patted her arm locked round his waist, reassuring and friendly. Eleanor felt the muscles in his sides flex as he nudged Rand to a faster pace. She marvelled that he could still move his legs, as she had lost feeling in hers hours ago. A question occurred to her, and the more she thought about it the more urgent became her need to ask.

  “Where are we going?”

  “We’re going to join the others.”

  Eleanor sighed. “Helpful as ever... other what?”

  “The other three people who make up the Five.”

  The Five – he had mentioned the Five as she was dying. She wanted to know what they were, wondering if she had inadvertently joined some sort of post-death religious cult, but she suspected that in-depth conversations about who they were would not be forthcoming, so she stuck with simple questions.

  “Where are they?”

  “Hiding in the mountains.”

  “Hiding from what?”

  “The dangers of this world.” That same flat, unhelpful tone.

  Fear shot through her again. “What dangers? That tornado?” she whispered, as if talking about it might make it suddenly appear.

  Silence.

  “Conlan?” Eleanor prodded.

  “I liked you better when you were quiet,” Conlan muttered.

  “I bet you did,” Eleanor whispered into his back. If he was so reluctant to tell her about what they were running away from, perhaps she was better off not knowing for the moment. She closed her eyes and rested her head on his back, trying again to find the comfortable place between his shoulder blades.

  As darkness fell, the temperature dropped even further, and just as Eleanor was thinking holding on was not going to be an option much longer, Conlan reined Rand back to a slow plod. The partial moon lit the road as it wound across the silvery grey landscape of fields and trees into a black horizon. The moon seemed so much brighter than she had ever seen it, resplendent in a sky so full of stars that it reminded her of the black velvet of the diamond tray with a whole bag of the small glittering gems scattered across it, shimmering and mesmerising. Thinking of diamonds took her mind back to a dark place filled with pain and regret, so to distract herself she spoke to Conlan.

  “Your stars and moon
are so much brighter than ours,” she said as she stared up in wonder.

  “They’re the same stars and moon you have, Eleanor; Amelia says they are just brighter because this world doesn’t have much ambient light,” he said quietly.

  “Ambient light?”

  “Your world has street lights, car headlights and so on – it masks the light from the stars,” he answered.

  “How can we see the same moon and stars and not be on Earth anymore?” Eleanor wondered aloud, not really expecting an answer. “Have you ever been to our world?” she continued.

  “No.”

  “How do you know so much about it then?”

  “The others have told me about it and I’ve watched through the portal.” He was beginning to sound irritated.

  “The others, they’re from my world? What’s a portal?” Eleanor asked, trying to get in as many questions as she could before he thought to shut her up.

  “Yes, the others are from your world, but the portal is a question for later. Now be quiet!” he ordered. Eleanor sighed, but she was too weary to argue. Conlan brought Rand to a complete stop. “Eleanor, you need to let go so I can get down.”

  She released her death-like grip on Conlan’s waist, her arms throbbing miserably. She tried rubbing normal feeling back into them as Conlan swung his right leg over Rand’s head and dropped gracefully to the ground, his many hours in the saddle seeming not to have affected him at all. He looked up at Eleanor expectantly.

  “Rand will stand still – slide off, I’ll catch you.”

  Eleanor nodded, doing as instructed and Conlan did indeed catch her, which was a good job because her legs felt like jelly and buckled as she hit the ground, her full weight landing in Conlan’s arms. Again she was surprised by his strength as he held her easily while she struggled to find her feet. Rand turned his head to watch as Eleanor forced her legs to take her weight.

  “Sorry,” she mumbled into Conlan’s chest. It seemed like an eternity before she was able to stand up. She noticed Rand still looking at her.

  “Is your horse laughing at me?” she asked.

  Conlan chuckled, the soft, amused sound Eleanor had liked.

  Taking Rand’s reins, he led them into a copse of what looked like silver birches at the side of the track. Eleanor stood, shivering in the dark. Conlan sat her on a fallen tree trunk, wrapped the smelly blanket around her and then began pulling bark off the birch trees, after which he collected a good supply of twigs and larger branches for a fire. Once it was blazing merrily, he regarded her silently for a minute.

  “I’m going to get us something to eat – stay here.”

  Eleanor looked at the dark trees around her with apprehension.

  “What about the wolves?”

  Conlan shook his head. “They won’t come this far north, as there are too many people.”

  Before Eleanor could ask him if she should therefore be scared of the people, he had gone, disappearing into the darkness without a sound. Eleanor pulled the blanket tighter around her narrow shoulders. As the heat from the fire began to warm up her sore, cold body she found it harder and harder to stay awake. Fragmented, half dreams came and went. Her head ached and everything still felt so strange, like a nightmare from which she was unable to wake.

  She woke with a start when Conlan dropped two small grey birds at her side, their dead, vacant eyes staring at her. Wood-pigeons, she thought distractedly.

  “I’m a vegetarian,” she said out of habit, more than any real desire to get him to change the menu.

  “A what?”

  “A vegetarian – I don’t eat animals, or birds or fish,” she said, trying to decipher his expression.

  Conlan regarded her pensively, processing this new information. The firelight moving across his damaged face made him appear even more menacing, but when he spoke his voice was soft, gentle even.

  “Why not?”

  While she had felt passionately since she was a small child that killing animals was wrong, Eleanor felt stripped of any conviction as she trotted out the reason she had always given. “Why should another living creature have to give up its life to feed me when I can survive just as well without it?”

  Conlan continued to stare at her in silence. The quiet, insistent voice in the back of her head told her she still had no idea who this man was. He appeared to notice the fear spreading across her face and his voice was still soft and gentle when he spoke again.

  “What do you eat?”

  “Vegetables, tofu, rice, fruit, nuts, pasta...” She stopped as it occurred to her that this world most likely lacked pasta. She would miss pasta. All the other things she would miss began to flood though her mind. Her parents, her friends – were they crying somewhere over her shattered former body? Several hours of near silence and she was already craving her iPod and her favourite music, her books, the holiday in the sun she had been planning. Every new loss stabbed at her. She had exchanged a life of comfort for running, frightened, with a man she barely knew and was not sure if she trusted. Perhaps death would have been better. She began to cry, the pain of it all becoming unbearable. Large, bitter tears ran down her face as she hugged her knees to her chest. If I squeeze hard enough, can I make myself disappear? She felt a hand on her shoulder, but this time she was too exhausted, too beaten down, to pull away. She raised her head. The look in his eyes stopped her tears instantly. He looked haunted, as if her pain were his own and his words came back to her: “They couldn’t handle the shift in reality, they lost all hope.” Was this how it had begun for the others? Does he think I’m going to kill myself, too? Drying her eyes on her sleeve, Eleanor tried to smile. It must have been a poor effort because it did nothing to dispel the torment in his eyes.

  “I can find you something else to eat.” He spoke slowly and carefully, as if to a terrorised child, his gaze holding hers.

  It’s not about having food to eat. She nodded as her grumbling stomach argued against her. “I’m sorry, I’m just tired, and sore, and hungry, and…” It was just all too much. Her throbbing head and tired body felt so disconnected from everything that she was no longer sure that anything was real.

  Conlan hung his head. “You have nothing to apologise for. I’ll find you something to eat. Will you be OK on your own?” Eleanor felt a hysterical giggle coming on. Where is he going to get me something to eat? Did I miss the supermarket on the way in to the woods? She forced herself to nod. Conlan stood but seemed reluctant to leave.

  “I’ll be fine, Conlan,” she said, as much to reassure herself as to reassure him. He nodded once and ghosted into the darkness again. Eleanor pulled the blanket around her and fell asleep almost immediately.

  The tantalising aroma of food pulled her from her slumber. There was a small iron pot resting in the embers at the edge of the fire and the most wonderful vegetable stock smell was rising from it. Conlan gave it a slow stir, watching her intently.

  “You looked peaceful, I didn’t want to wake you. Are you hungry?”

  Eleanor nodded. He spooned some of the vegetable stew into a small metal dish and handed it to her with the spoon. Her stomach twisted in anticipation. It tasted as good as it smelt. The tastes were familiar – carrots, parsnips or sweet potato maybe, herbs and mushrooms – every mouthful made her feel better.

  “Is it OK?” he asked.

  “Conlan, it’s wonderful!” This, at least, must have sounded convincing because he smiled. It lit up his eyes, giving them a life and softness she had not expected. Eleanor felt the world lurch again, but this time it had nothing to do with fear. His smile made him a handsome man.

  “What?” The inscrutable look was back.

  “I was just thinking how different you look when you smile, you should do it more often,” she said. He seemed to consider this suggestion but made no further comment, and to Eleanor’s disappointment his smile did not return. After another helping of stew and several cupfuls of brackish water Conlan swore was safe to drink, she curled up on her side under the bl
anket and allowed the crackling of the fire to lull her back to sleep.

  She woke with a start, riding the torrent of jumbled memories until she remembered where she was. The fire had died down to glowing embers, and she could just make out Conlan’s sleeping form across from her. He lay on his side, his left arm supporting his head, his right arm wrapped into his chest. He looks cold. Eleanor realised his jacket was back under her head. No wonder he’s cold. Quietly she stood, shook the jacket out, and moving around the fire laid it across him. She built up the fire with what was left of the wood he had collected, poking at the embers until the fresh timber caught.

  “Are you alright?” He had not moved or even opened his eyes. Eleanor jumped at the sound of his voice.

  “Yes,” she said, not trusting the tears to stay back if she indulged in a longer response. She curled herself back up into a ball and pulled the blanket over her, but she was no longer exhausted and the hard ground and strange environment kept sleep away. Her parents had never been into camping; her mother preferring ‘select’ hotels with hot- and cold-running room service, so sleeping outside was a new experience. Over the crackle of the fire, Eleanor could hear the rustling movement of nightlife around her and wondered if this world had any poisonous bugs. A thought, one that had occurred a while ago, but which she had been trying to ignore, kept popping into her head. If this body is new, do I look the same? Her shoulder-length wavy, dark brown hair seemed the same unruly mess, but was her face the same? If I look in a mirror, will I recognise myself? Her fears went beyond mere vanity, because if her face was hers it would be something familiar – and she desperately needed something familiar. She began to cry again and tears spilled down, dripping onto her shirt where her arm supported her head.