“Bye mum, bye Sam.”
“There really is nothing more you can do here.” Father Eamon was now by her side, his voice quiet and sympathetic.
All Emma could do was nod, any energy for speech now gone. He turned to the door and the shimmering returned. Emma took one final look at the house as sharp pangs of guilt picked away at her for not having the strength to stay longer.
The journey to the station passed without Emma realising it, with her only aware of the occasional supporting arm from Father Eamon or Taryn, offered when it looked like she was about to keel over. They arrived and headed down to the London bound platform, where Emma sat down and waited for the train to arrive to take her away from her old life and back to her new one.
Chapter Seven
Voices In The Mist
The smell of freshly ground coffee and stale pastries hung in the air at London Bridge station. The three of them had passed unseen along the concourse and were now in the mid-afternoon sun. In front of them taxis purged their human cargo only to take on more before completing their trip around the tarmac crescent and leaving.
They left the station and headed back towards London Bridge. At the southern approach Father Eamon turned to them.
“We have to return to our plane.”
Our plane, the words struck Emma as absurd. Her natural world was here. If nothing else she’d managed to reduce her pirouette to an elaborate side step and she was pretty sure she could reduce it even further, maybe to a nonchalant flick of her hips, with a little practice.
“I want to stay here.”
“You cannot stay, Emma, staying here takes energy. Energy that you do not yet possess. Staying here is but temporary respite.”
Emma shuddered and looked back at the station before giving Father Eamon a weary look. “Ok, let’s get this over with.” She took his wrist whilst Taryn went to take the other.
“Come now Taryn, Sister Ignacia tells me that you are becoming quite the expert in crossing over. Surely you do not need me to help you.”
Taryn looked a little nervous, “okay, I’ll give it a try.”
Emma closed her eyes and felt a rushing sensation as her world was turned upside down. Even with her eyes closed, she sensed the darkening sky as the air changed around her and the smell of exhaust fumes was replaced with an overwhelming stink that caused her to gag as her nose and throat were overwhelmed. London Bridge had once again been replaced, only this time there was no mist and she could see all the way across. The long cobbled roadway was bordered by high walls and at regular intervals gas lamps burnt brightly atop ornate iron columns. At the start of the bridge, there were two stairways, one either side. They were long and wide and disappeared downwards towards the water.
Emma couldn’t take her eyes off of the opposite bank of the river. The bridge led in to a city that had undergone a transformation in her absence. The flames and rubble she had left behind had been replaced by high spires and low roofs topped with terracotta pantiles. Clouds drifted lazily overhead and Emma had to wait for her vision to adjust to the gloom before she could make out the full extent of the change. As her eyes adapted a huge gothic behemoth of a building with a spire soaring up to the sky came in to view. It was by far the biggest building there, its presence looming over everything around it.
They headed across the bridge and the smell got stronger. Emma covered her nose but it didn’t help, it seeped through her fingers regardless.
“I know; it stinks doesn’t it?” Taryn was following the same vain course of action “It helps if you shallow breathe.” She took two short breaths to emphasise the point.
They carried on walking with Emma speeding up to reach the other end of the bridge as quickly as possible. At the halfway point, the burning in her chest got too much and she had to suck in a deep lungful of air. The sudden taste of excrement and filth that struck the back of her throat was too much for Emma and she retched and leant forward, staggering into a nearby recess to gather her senses. Placing a hand against the wall, something sharp then crumbly dug in to her palm. She removed her hand to see the stone flake away from where she had put pressure. The bridge had been a pristine white when they started out but there was now a grimy film covering it, which was eating away at the stonework as if ages long past now touched it.
A deep, mournful toll filled the air; the sound came from the large church she had seen from the other side of the bridge. A bell was being rung somewhere inside and every chime felt like a knife to Emma. She looked to Father Eamon and saw a clouded expression cross his face, as Taryn turned away, unable to hold Emma’s eyes with her own.
A shadow was cast across the rooftops by the church. It was clearer now, its profile thrown into sharp relief by the few rays of sun that cut through the desolate sky. The spire was in the middle of a long and ornate edifice and it towered over everything around it, its regular sides standing in stark contrast to the low-roofed and uneven buildings that made up the surrounding streets. Along its walls were large, ornate stained-glass windows, broken up by slender brick columns whilst above them, and just below the roof, were smaller windows set at the same intervals. It seemed to Emma that the building had just landed there, instead of being built from the ground up like everything else.
“It’s St Pauls.” Taryn’s voice brought Emma back.
Emma looked at the church and then at Taryn, “That’s not St Pauls.”
“No, I didn’t believe it at first either, but it really is St Pauls.”
Emma couldn’t believe the monument in front of her bore any relation to a building she had known all her life. She looked over at Father Eamon.
“Taryn’s right. That is St Pauls. It’s the cathedral that stood before the fire.”
“The fire?”
“The Great Fire.”
“Oh, right.” She could remember seeing pictures in old school textbooks and knew that there had been a previous cathedral on the site, but to see it standing there, looking down at her, caused Emma to shrink in to the bridge wall. “Wow.”
“Wow, indeed.” Said Father Eamon smiling “Come, we should make haste. ‘Tis getting dark.”
At the north end of the bridge marble way to mud and stones and it became apparent to Emma that Father Eamon had been correct when he had said that London could change.
Emma found herself surrounded by buildings stretching haphazardly upwards, each additional story jutting out a little further than the one below. The road was wide but it was little more than a dirt track and Emma’s ankles became unsteady on the pitted surface. The smell from the river started to fade only to be replaced by the smell of animal dung and human waste
As she looked at the surrounding buildings, all made of half-timbered oak frames, with walls of wattle and clay and windows of filthy, opaque glass; Emma felt a chill set in to her. Everything was different. The buildings were uneven and in some cases looked like they were about to topple over, such was the overhang from some of the upper floors. The walls had splits in them, with reeds poking out where water damage had caused the beams to warp and splinter. Everything was in a neglected state but for all of this the thing that made Emma shiver the most was the silence. There was nothing, no wind or background noise from the river. It was an artificial, unnatural silence brought on by a complete lack of life. By the houses lay wicker baskets and large wooden water carriers, three quarters the size of Emma, thrown to the ground. To her left a small bucket, half full of cloudy and stinking water sat unattended beneath a lead pipe protruding from a wall, all the signs showed that people had been here but now there was nothing. It was as if everybody had suddenly just dropped what they were doing and disappeared.
“Where is everybody?”
“It’s getting dark. They don’t stay out after dark.” Taryn’s voice was quiet, her words down to a whisper.
“Why?”
“It’s not safe.”
“Why? Who are these people?”
“They’re fallen initiates.” Fa
ther Eamon sounded distracted
“Initiates? Like us?”
“Not like you. They faded into the twilight long ago. They are but shadows now, drawn to those who still have a chance of redemption.”
“Why?”
“Because you have hope and they are drawn to that. Their existence is one of permanent hunger. They can see people around them but cannot talk to anybody unless they are in the presence of initiates. They cannot eat; they cannot love. All they have are the memories of their previous life and the knowledge that this life is all that they have to look forward to. It’s a slow torture that starves them of their soul until all that is left is a husk. They live in a permanent spiritual penury.”
They walked further up the road until they came to a junction and Father Eamon guided them down a side street. Emma was starting to lose her bearings. Apart from London Bridge, nothing she had seen leant itself to her old world. What roads there were led off in unfamiliar directions. She looked at the terraced houses that lined either side; their walls were the soft colour of earth and clashed with the broken red pottery and rotting straw thatch of their roofs. A harsh wind started to play between the gaps in the houses, stinging Emma’s face and causing the hairs on her neck to bristle.
“Ehmma…How do you like our whorld, Ehmma?” The voice rung in her ear and at first Emma wasn’t sure she had heard anything at all “Ehnjoy it while you can, Ehmma. Your time is limited.”
“Ignore it. All they can do is talk, nothing more. They cannot touch you or interfere with you in any way.” Father Eamon was by her side but his words were lost in her fear.
“You cannot protect her forever Eamon. You have failed before, you will fail again.”
Emma looked over at Father Eamon but he was unruffled, acting as if nothing was happening, Taryn, for her part, looked terrified and had moved closer to the two of them, all the time looking straight ahead. As Emma watched, she could see why. Through the half-light, she could just make out movement in the alleyways that ran off in between the buildings that they passed. Dark hooded forms hung just out of sight but just close enough that they could follow the group’s progress. Emma watched as one came forwards from the shadows. It was only a fleeting glimpse because as she noticed it so did Father Eamon. He turned to look and whatever it was melted back into the shadows with a hiss which tickled Emma’s ears.
They moved further in to the warren of roads and alleyways and it seemed to Emma that they were getting more and more lost, with no hope of finding their way out. The straight roads with regular intersections were long gone and they were now in a darkening maze of alleys and courtyards. It seemed like they were the only people in the world and Emma found herself fighting off pangs of loneliness.
“Where are we?”
Father Eamon responded without looking back, “Just south of Fenchurch Street.”
Emma felt the cold breath of air hit her again, only this time it came from somewhere to her left. A snorting noise came from a nearby street and she strained to see what was causing it. Just as she thought she could make out a shape, it was gone with a sharp cracking noise and a low guttural moan as something took off into the dark.
“It’s nhearly night, Ehmma. Don’t get caught out after dharkk or we will hhave our fun. Sssuch beauty, ssuch poise. Iit will be a pleasure breaking yhou.”
Emma heard a whimper coming from behind her. She could almost taste Taryn’s fear. She tried to ignore the voices but they were in her head and it was impossible to get rid of them.
“We’re nearly there, Emma.” Father Eamon turned them down another road. Eventually the houses gave way to an open field, on the other side of which was a large wall. There was now a mist drifting off the Thames. It hadn’t been there a minute ago but it was starting to encroach on the land in front of her. Emma became aware of a soft lapping noise to her right. At first she thought it was the Thames but that was still a little way off. For a second the mist parted and Emma gasped as she saw a full moat surrounding a large fortified wall. Beyond this were the roofs of a multitude of different buildings but in the middle, towering over them all, was a large square keep. In the distance, she could see small black figures circling in the sky, their caws carrying on the wind. The Tower of London had never looked quite like this in the tourist guides.
Through all this a gentle creaking noise could be heard. It was out there somewhere hidden from sight. The mist was clagging down and Emma was having difficulty following the road but Father Eamon’s step was assured and he carried on forward.
Shapes and shadows seemed to twist around them, close enough for Emma to feel their malevolence but too far out to touch. Her breath condensed into tiny droplets of water, and a trickle of sweat started to work its way down her spine. She looked for Father Eamon, ensuring that he was close. She needn’t have worried; he was making sure that both she and Taryn were right next to him. A low whisper carried by the wind seemed to seep through every one of Emma’s pores, indecipherable but full of malicious intent. Her hair was lank where the fog particles had soaked it through and her clothes were sticking to her through a combination of that and sweat. She was starting to shiver uncontrollably. Emma looked around to see Taryn in the same condition, her eyes like saucers as she tried to ignore all the whispers and hissing.
And all the time the creaking got louder.
A shape started to break through the mist. At first Emma couldn’t see what it was but slowly she could make out two thick posts, set ten feet apart, with another, heavy, wooden post running between them at the top. Emma let out a low groan as she realised that she was looking at a gallows. Hanging in the middle was a limp body; a raven sitting precariously on its shoulder but this wasn’t what was making the creaking noise. That was coming from a little way further on. Another post started to show through the fog and slowly, Emma could make out a long metal gibbet, hanging from it. In the cage a rotting corpse was being picked at by yet more ravens, their cawing carrying on the wind as they took to the air, startled by the sudden appearance of the three travellers. Emma wanted to vomit as she saw the final raven pluck an eyeball before leaving with its trophy. The smell of the corpse was overpowering and she could hear Taryn gagging behind her.
The voices started up again,
“Do yhou like what we did with hhim? Wee have a gibbet just for you. But thhat’s nhot all. Look again Emma. Take a closer look.”
“Don’t do it.” Taryn’s voice had regained some of its composure but despite herself, Emma began walking, slowly, towards the gently swinging cage.
“Emma.” Father Eamon’s warning was too late. Emma was now at the base of the gibbet. She looked up she saw strips of skin hanging off the feet of the corpse, where the sinew and muscle had been too strong for the ravens to fully strip it. Emma turned away in disgust as the faintest sound came from the cage.
“Help me.”
At the top of the cage a head slowly turned and looked down at her. The carcass was just raw flesh and sinew but somehow the man that owned it was still alive and now he was focusing his one remaining eye on her. Emma let out an involuntary scream and stumbled backwards. Her breath was coming in short, sharp gasps and her hands were becoming clammy.
“Emma, ‘tis but an illusion. Touch the wood, see for yourself.” Father Eamon had run to her side. “They will try to trick you with false words and pretence but if you are strong you will see through them. Now bring your hand up to the wood. Show them that you cannot be intimidated.”
Emma had to fight with herself to force her hand up. Revulsion and a feeling of dread rose inside her. It would have been so easy to walk away but, slowly, she raised her arm.
“Good. Now touch the wood.”
Emma’s pulse quickened and her breathing became ragged. She could start to feel her legs go numb and as she placed her hand on the wood, screwing up her eyes, she looked away.
Except that there was nothing for Emma to touch. She looked back in surprise as her hand went straight through t
he gallows, which for their part turned to mist before reforming when her hand came out the other side. She did this a few times before stepping back and catching her breath. It may have been an illusion but it had served its purpose. Emma was completely drained of all her energy and emotion and just wanted to collapse onto the ground and go no further.
The air filled with raucous laughter. “Did you like that? Take a good look Emma, wee hhave a special gibbet waiting just for you. Whho knows maybe we can fit Taryn in it alongsside yhou.”
This was too much for Taryn. She had just about been holding it together but this sent her over the edge.
“Fuck you! I’m not failing! I’m going to pass and I’ll be out of this fucking shithole! Just wait I’m going to ….”
“Taryn! Calm yourself! They are trying to catch you out.” The retort was swift and sharp and caused Taryn to catch herself. The laughter became a scream of delight.
“Nearly, Taryn, nearly. We’ll hhave fun with you. Father Eamon can’t protect you all the time. One day he won’t be around and it’ll just be you and uss. Won’t that be exciting?”
The voice was taunting her and the tears were flowing freely now “Fuck you! Fuck you!” but it only had the effect of causing the voice to laugh harder and louder until its tones were ringing all around them. Father Eamon came over and walked Taryn away. Emma joined them as they carried on through the fog.
“Oh, don’t cry, Taryn. There’ll be plenty of times for tears when we finally get you. Don’t worry; we’ll leave the tear ducts intact.”
Taryn’s defiance had been reduced to a whimper as she hid her face on Father Eamon’s shoulder.
Finally the fog rolled back to reveal the sanctuary’s stone archway. Emma felt a weight rise off her shoulders as they hurried through into the garden. The fog didn’t extend past the archway and as Emma looked back, she could see an impenetrable bank of white and grey through which she was sure she could see shadows cluster around the entrance. Behind her she heard the racking sobs of Taryn. All pretence of normality had now dissolved and she had collapsed on a bench. Father Eamon was consoling her but it wasn’t helping much.
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