Here Lies Love

by Dan Thompson

  “Abbey -” Ryan started.

  She placed her hand onto his shoulder, feeling the demarcated bone underneath, and shook her head to quieten him.

  “Now look, I don’t need a thank you or any long talk about what happened. OK? I didn’t really do much, honestly. And besides, you pulled that rope in with me dangling behind it, didn’t you? You need to get yourself better. I’m not trying to be funny, but you don’t look good at all. Can I get you a hot drink?”

  “Abbey,” Ryan choked, violently rubbing his newly shed tears away, “if you wasn’t there to help me, I -”

  “Come on now, what I have I just said. A thank you isn’t necessary.” She was slightly taken aback by his sudden upset temperament and fast flowing tears. It was the first time she had ever seen a boy cry; it was uncomfortable, yet honest. Ryan must really be shaken up, she thought. Abbey gently and sympathetically flayed her fingers over his shoulder, stroking him delicately. What could she say to cheer him up? She didn’t want to upset him further, but the curiosity to discover something new was profound.

  “Erm, can I ask though, what was it like? Do you remember any of it?”

  “I remember the flickering haze. It gave me such a headache, but I can’t remember anything after that as such. I can’t even recall what we were talking about. I woke up feeling ill, as if someone had given me a bloody hard smack across the back of my head with a hammer or something.

  “Saying that,” he whispered, “I think I was between awake and asleep at some point. Yes! I think I recognised your hair over me. It is such a vivid colour, like the embers from a fire. I didn’t know where I was. I kept thinking to myself: ‘Am I dead?’ The dizzying limbo was supernatural almost.”

  “Tristan had said it wasn’t the first time you’d had an epipleptic fit.”

  “Epileptic,” Ryan chortled.

  Abbey giggled. “At least I made you laugh.”

  “I’ve had a few before,” Ryan continued, “but nothing on that scale, I don’t think. Have you ever had a dream where it feels very real, but when you wake up, everything is just a blur and your head feels all groggy? It feels like that. It all seems a little surreal.”

  “I will admit, it was very scary. Don’t do that on me again.”

  “You won’t tell Tristan I’ve been crying, will you?” he coughed, rubbing at his sore eyes once more. At least it had brought a bit of colour into his cheeks; a scarlet tinge of red that looked intense against his porcelain skin.

  Abbey laughed quietly. “No, I won’t tell him.” She had two secrets to keep now, one from each boy. Ryan was turning out to be a real character. Seeing him vulnerable like this was reassuring, especially when compared to her earlier thoughts about him. The way things were progressing, her mistrust of him was turning out to be wholly unfounded.

  “A hot drink would be great,” Ryan said cheekily.

  Abbey smiled at him, thankful for the change of subject. Although she had asked about his experience, it had made the air somewhat tense and heavy. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

  The rest of the evening seemed to fly by. Ryan had fallen asleep after his drink and Abbey didn’t have the heart to wake him. The rest would do him some good and for the most part, he seemed to be over the worst of his ordeal. She wasn’t looking forward to another epileptic fit, but she was silently thankful too when Tristan had explained that this phenomenon wasn’t virulent at all; people couldn’t ‘catch’ it. Ryan was an unlucky person who must have been born with the condition. It may have furthered her knowledge, but it was an unfortunate story, which made feelings of sympathy arise within.

  There was no cure for Ryan’s ailment, not anymore at least. Tristan was a wealth of information. Abbey guessed that his skill at reading would all stand them in good stead for whatever lay around the corner. Apparently many illnesses and diseases were treatable in the olden days of history; science and medicine had progressed to a state where people were immune to the most deadly of infections. Today, if the wind didn’t get you, or starvation even, people were forever fighting maladies that Abbey assumed would be laughable back then. Memories of her gran come back. A sore throat and runny nose soon progressed into wheeziness and spluttering turns.

  Abbey had tried to ply information out of Tristan with regards to his ‘special brew’ but he answered with a wry smile. His lips revealed nothing. She couldn’t understand why she wanted to know so badly, becoming ever so slightly annoyed when he wouldn’t tell. Despite her exasperation, she had to admit, Tristan had her hooked.

  Was there anything he couldn’t do? Where he was experienced, proficient and informed, she felt callow. She secretly wished she could be so dextrous too.

  While she pretended to look through some more of the dusty, well-used books, or even as she skittered about, generally tidying things away, Abbey spied Tristan as he watered the produce and trimmed the green stalks. He had such a calm manner, whatever it was that he did. His body was well defined, but he never knowingly showed it off. He lacked the arrogance and egotistical mannerisms of both her father and of Stefan.

  If Tristan turned to look at her, she would hastily return to her own leisure.

  “Do you think you could help me a minute?” Tristan said to her sometime later.

  “Sure. What you up to?”

  “I need to light a fire outside.”

  “Why? Can’t you just use the fire pit in here?”

  “No,” he shook his head, elongating his response. “I’ll show you.”

  Abbey joined Tristan outside, where to her surprise, he had stacked up a small pyre of old wooden beams. The wooden tree-like structure was almost as tall as her. Some of the beams even looked as if they were already charred black with soot, others a wet shade of a brown.

  “Is this dangerous?” Abbey remarked.

  “What?” Tristan sniggered, “oh no. It’ll keep us all warm.”

  “It looks like a funny sort of funeral pyre.”

  “I guess, but this is a pyre of joy, not sadness.” Abbey scrutinised the construction. He sounded cryptic and she was beginning to be sceptical of Tristan’s intensions. What was he up to?

  “What do you need me to do?”

  “Right,” Tristan said, crouching down close to the base of the bonfire. “I need you to grab those papers and waft the flames when I get it going.”

  “I need to what?”

  “Waft. You know, fan.”

  “I’m confused,” Abbey uttered, irritated.

  Tristan plodded over and grabbed the papers and flapped them up and down so as to cause a little draft. “Waft, see.”

  “Won’t that put the fire out?”

  “Nah, it’ll feed it. You’ll see,” he informed her, passing over the papers.

  Abbey looked down objectively. Not really sure of what she was still expected to do. Why go to all this trouble? She glanced at the article on the front. It was the same paper Tristan had shown her regarding the ‘artificial light’. There was so much she didn’t understand about the world. It didn’t matter how many questions she asked, there would still be a gaping hole in her brain that just couldn’t comprehend the scale of the unknown. Maybe it was time for her to stop with the questions and follow Tristan’s informed example.

  Tristan rubbed a flint aggressively, praying out loud for a spark to take hold. Abbey bent her knees, ready and waiting to waft at the fire. She sucked one her lower lip to curb the laughter brewing as Tristan began to get angry at the flint. It wasn’t violent anger, more comical. Abbey snorted.

  “You’re putting me off,” he fired without looking towards her.

  “Sorry,” she quipped as she held in her breath a few seconds before collapsing into a giggle. “Wow, there is finally something you are useless at.”

  “It’s not funny!”

  “It is.” She threw the papers into his lap. “Here, I’ll light it, you waft.”

  Snatching the flint from his hands, Abbey rolled it and the stone in her hands. The stone had a porous
feel to it, like it contained lots of tiny holes. The flint was relatively sharp, but was also eroded in some areas.

  “You need to find the best striking surface,” she said smugly on purpose. It felt good finally able to teach Tristan a thing or two.

  “Alright, smarty pants. Get on with it then,” he mocked. His rubicund cheeks gave away that his ego had taken a bit of a hit.

  Abbey swiftly and fluently cracked the flint and stone together, which created a tiny blue-green spark, but it miscarried. A slither of smoke rose in the chilled air, a distinct smell of sulphur disbanding aloft.

  “Aha, not as good as you -”

  Abbey registered a second time, quickly backing away as a minute flame jumped up at the wooden beams as if it didn’t really want to be there. Tristan’s words trailed off as he sprang into action, fanning the flame gently, coercing it, nurturing its power until the orange flicker began to grow.

  “You were saying?” Abbey gloated.

  “You know, nobody likes a smart arse.” Tristan stuck his tongue out at her.

  “Careful, something may snatch that too.”

  “Something like you?”

  Abbey turned away, slightly nervous by her forward flirting. This wasn’t like her. “So,” she hummed, “what’s this all in aid of?”

  “Let’s wake Ryan and get this party going,” he hollered.

  Ryan was taken by surprise by his sudden wake up call, but sportingly wrapped up warm like Tristan advised. Abbey wrapped one of the blankets around her and watched her misty breath spiral upwards, dispersing outwards before it vanished completely. The fire was now crackling gently and reassuringly gave off more warmth than Abbey expected. The sizzling was soothing and the shadows of the flames danced and played jovially on the wall behind. The yard had been transformed into a spirited theatre; cosy, inviting and more importantly, all theirs.

  Ryan plonked himself down beside her. “What is all this for?” he yawned.

  “I have no idea. Tristan’s being really secretive about it. All day he’s been skipping about with a cheesy smile on his face.”

  “Ta da!” Tristan exclaimed, as if on cue, jumping out of the yard door. He breezed over with three mugs. “Get this down your neck.”

  Abbey peered into her chipped mug as he passed them over. She didn’t know what to expect, but whatever it was, it most certainly wasn’t what she found. It was completely underwhelming. “What am I supposed to be looking at? It looks like water.”

  “It doesn’t smell of anything either,” Ryan chipped in.

  “Who gives a monkeys if it doesn’t smell of anything,” Tristan booed before downing his drink in one go. His face screwed up instantly after, which made both Abbey and Ryan look at each other with uncertainty. “Man, that is good!”

  “I don’t think I’ll bother,” Abbey said, turning her face away from the fire. It was nicely warming her, but staring into it for too long made her skin prickle. It was a strange sensation. On one side the fire was cosy and heavenly almost, whereas away from the fire, the cool night kissed them with bitter and glacial lips.

  “Oh no. Drink up,” Tristan impelled.

  “We’ll do it together,” Ryan croaked.

  Abbey thought for a minute, glaring into the clear liquid. What harm could it do to play along? “OK, on three?”

  “One, two,” Ryan started.

  “Three!” Tristan cheered.

  Abbey clenched her eyes tight and flung her head back, slurping at the drink. It burned the back of her throat with an astringent grip and left a sour aftertaste in her mouth. “Sodding hell.”

  “Ergh! That’s vile,” Ryan agreed in unison.

  “Good stuff. Let’s have another,” Tristan danced from side to side, overly confident.

  “No way,” Abbey gagged.

  “You won’t be saying that in a minute,” he tried to reassure them.

  Despite much defiance and rebuffing on her part, Tristan had been right. Abbey had agreed to one more cup, more to get him to shut up than anything. Albeit, no matter how much she stood her ground, a little sparkle of her mind was curious to the effects of this special brew. It had obviously affected Tristan a little. One more led to another and before Abbey and Ryan knew it, they were dancing and giggling along with the ringleader; inebriated jesters who mischievously passed away the minutes in ecstasy.

  “This stuff is magic, mate,” Ryan sang, sloshing his drink over the sides of his mug. “Where did you get it from? The Market?”

  “A magician never reveals his secrets,” Tristan slurred as he tapped the side of his nose playfully, although, Abbey cracked up as he missed and poked himself in one of his eyes. Tristan eyeballed his incriminating finger with a look of fabricated disdain. “You are a naughty one, you.”

  “Come on, Tristan. Where’d ya get it from?”

  “I bet it was from one of his books,” Abbey said. Her words came out much quicker than she had anticipated and she cocked her head to one side, wondering if she made any sense.

  “And the prize goes to …” Tristan joked, “the lady in the white jumper.” All three of them cheered with delight.

  “I knew it!”

  “I found this book on fermenting. Or at least that’s what I think it was called. Anyway, I gave it a whirl. Some bits were too complicated, but the bits I did understand, I thought why not? Let’s give it a go.”

  Abbey swayed from side to side, relishing the smooth euphoria that surged through her. It was as if she was surrounded by a golden aura, a glow that somehow made everything all right again. Ryan was right, it was like magic. Her body felt like it was now unlocked to the freedoms of the universe, every worry banished and evil was a forgotten adversary of the past.

  It was definitely a special brew, she thought.

  The acidity of its first taste had given way to a mellow warmth that when fused with the actual heat of the pyre, allowed for a most relaxing evening. Life was so full of drama, which in itself was ironic, for life was drab and uneventful; survival and a cumbersome existence forming a most unnerving union. Although it had to be said that Abbey’s life of late had been anything but humdrum. Tonight was the first night where everything was so still.

  Abbey, Tristan and Ryan huddled together as a threesome, all perched amongst one another for support. If she thought about it, Abbey would have to admit that she barely knew these two boys, but being out in the big, bad world together had highlighted their same cause. From the pictures in the books, Abbey quickly deduced that people supported one another, no matter what dangers they faced. When The Sun had slipped away beneath the horizon, never to return again, people bonded together and endured. And now, many, many years later, abandoned upon a shell, an orphan planet, humanity once again managed to find one another and fight their way through.

  When the liqueur ran dry, Ryan overturned his mug on the ground and tapped a beat. Its sharp, but addictive beat echoed around the yard. Tristan tutted and clicked a beat with his tongue, while Abbey closed her eyes and rocked along to the harmony, her body taking Ryan and Tristan along for the ride.

  Ryan interrupted the mood. “Oh, need to go. Very quickly.” He staggered up, his legs almost buckling as he clobbered over towards the door.

  “Ryan,” Tristan called after him, “just go behind the screen.”

  “Not with Abbey here,” his voice echoed back.

  Abbey slapped Tristan’s arm. “Too right. I don’t want to think about boys’ toilet habits, thank you.”

  Tristan sniggered as if they were talking about naughty things. His fingers filtered through Abbey’s hair and she could feel his cool breath against her neck. Although for some strange reason, she didn’t recoil, her skin didn’t tighten up, wanting to flee as far away as she could possibly get to. She quite enjoyed his gentle touch and so she allowed her head to rest against him, watching the fire crackle and burn.

  The pyre, an inferno in itself, radiated with all shades of sanguine orange and flaming tips of red. As the wood that fu
elled its hunger crumbled, it seared pure white, which made the blue haze swirl along the fire’s outline turquoise and cerulean; colours so vivid and new to her, that Abbey became hypnotised by them. She didn’t know that such dreamlike colours were possible. Perhaps it was her mind allowing her to see mirages, or of course it could have been the fermented brew, but the pyre gave birth to tiny speckles of flames that pirouetted and gambolled in the air, spiralling like birds with gold dust sewed into their wings, up, up, up into the sky.

  “I’m glad our paths crossed, you know,” Tristan whispered. His body had a sweet aroma, Abbey could almost taste the scent. His voice was so sincere and tranquil that it relaxed her further into a state of pleasure.

  “Me too,” she replied softly.

  “I was thinking, maybe next time, I could show you the market.”

  “I would love that.”

  Tristan reached down further, his cheeks rubbing against her own. His slight stubble prickled her skin with an electricity that set her whole body into a flurry of sensations. Desire, excitement, thrills. To be this close to him, intimate and personal, was liberating for her. Her stomach sang a harmony, her heartbeat quickened to the rolling beat storming inside her head. Her mouth became wet with saliva as Tristan neared her lips. She could tell his breathing had picked up too, feeling it against her skin; a gentle caress that envisaged carnality and desire. Their noses touched and Abbey’s body jolted with delight. She had to swallow the excitement down. Through no instructions at all, Tristan ran his fingers further down her hair and pulled her in close. As their lips touched, Abbey melted. They felt soft and plump in between her own and she gasped without thinking. She dared her tongue to venture outwards; an explosion of sensuality surged within as it found Tristan’s.

  Tristan nibbled the very ends of her lips before moving to her neck. Abbey’s body twitched in a retort that came out of nowhere, her breath too catching in her throat. She didn’t want him to stop. She groaned lightly and pulled him in closer still, their bodies joining as one. His hair was silky and she kissed him again and again. They were both shaking slightly, but not in fear, more through sheer rapture. As she gazed into his eyes, she remembered what her gran had said: how eyes were a window into your soul. This was good, pure and true, she didn’t know how she knew, but she just did; an unwritten language passed down by humankind before them, unknowing and not through voice. Abbey had never done anything like this before, how did she know what to do? How did Tristan know what to do? Had he much previous experience, or perhaps he had read about it in his books?