Tristan hung his head in shame.
“We were too slow. I was carrying him by the time the sun went down, but it wasn’t enough. I ran. I ran as fast as I could, and the poor kid was getting jostled about. He was crying. He could feel my anxiety, and he heard the howling of the demons. But he trusted me. And I let him down.”
Dylan was almost afraid to ask. But she couldn’t leave the story here like this. “What happened?”
“I tripped,” Tristan croaked, eyes glistening in the muted light from the flames. “I tripped and I dropped him. I let him go to break my fall. Just for a second. A split second. But it was enough. They got him and they dragged him under.”
His voice died but the silence was still punctuated by his ragged breathing, hitching and breaking as if he was crying, though his cheeks were dry. Dylan gazed at him, her expression anguished. Of its own accord, her hand reached out and wrapped itself around his. The room was warm but his skin was cold to the touch. Dylan trailed her fingertips across the back of his hand. He looked at her for a heartbeat, his expression sombre, then he flipped his hand over and wound his fingers around hers. He held her there, one thumb tracing slow circles around the heart of her palm. It tickled, but Dylan would have rather lost her hand than pull away.
Tristan looked up at her, shadows dancing across his face from the fire.
“Tomorrow is a dangerous day,” he murmured. “The demons are gathering outside.”
“I thought you said they couldn’t come in?” Dylan’s voice was half strangled with sudden panic. The fact that he was warning her surely must mean that he was worried. And if Tristan was worried, then the danger must be very real. Her stomach tightened.
“They can’t,” he promised, a serious expression on his face, “but they will be waiting for us. They know we have to come out eventually.”
“Will we be safe?” she asked, her voice rising up into an embarrassing squeak.
“We should be okay in the morning,” he said, “but in the afternoon we’ll have to go through a valley, and it’s always dark down there. That’s where they’ll make their attack.”
“I thought you said that the landscape was from me, that I projected it?”
“You do, but there’s an under-terrain that you create your landscape on top of. That’s why the safe houses are always in the same place. And the valley will be there. It’s always there.”
Dylan bit her lip, curious yet cautious, and decided to ask her question anyway. “Have… have you ever lost anyone in the valley?”
He looked up at her. “I won’t lose you.”
Dylan heard the unspoken reply to her question and pressed her lips together, trying not to show her anxiety.
“Don’t be frightened,” he added, feeling the change in atmosphere. His fingers squeezed her hand with gentle pressure and Dylan flushed.
“I’m fine,” she replied, too quickly.
Tristan saw straight through her denial. He got up from the chair and crouched in front of her, still gripping her hand. He looked her straight in the eye as he spoke. Dylan was desperate to look away, but she was hypnotised.
“I will not lose you,” he repeated. “Trust me.”
“I do,” Dylan responded, and this time there was truth in her words.
He nodded, satisfied, and stood up, relinquishing both her eyes and her fingers. Dylan stuffed her hand between her jean-clad knees, trying not to show that her heart was pounding, the skin on her palm tingling. She tried to quieten her breathing as she watched Tristan approach one of the windows, and stare off into the night. She wanted to call to him, to pull him away from the glass and the demons that lurked just beyond, but he knew much more about them than she did. He must know he was safe. Still, nothing could draw her that close to those things. She hunched a little deeper in the chair, shuddering slightly.
“It’s always the same,” Tristan suddenly said. He didn’t turn, though, and Dylan wondered if he was speaking to himself. He lifted one hand and pressed it to the glass. Immediately the noise from the circling wraiths doubled.
“What’s always the same?” Dylan asked, hoping to draw his attention – and his hand – away from the window. The wailing and screeching was scaring her.
To her relief he did turn, dropping his hand.
“The demons,” he told her. “They are always hungrier, more voracious, when it’s a soul…” He paused. “A soul like you.”
Dylan frowned. The way he said it, it was like there was something wrong with her.
“What do you mean, a soul like me?”
He considered her for a short moment. “The wraiths, they’ll take any soul, and gladly. But pure souls are like a feast to them.”
Pure souls? Dylan rolled that around her head for a moment, waiting for it to make sense. Pure wasn’t exactly a word she’d use to describe herself; her mother certainly wouldn’t.
“I’m not pure,” she said.
“Yes, you are,” he assured her.
“I’m not,” she disagreed. “Ask my mum, she’s forever telling me that I’m—”
“I don’t mean that you are perfect,” Tristan interrupted. “A pure soul… it’s an innocent.” Dylan shook her head, ready to deny his words again. But then he said it, that word that made the room totally erupt into flames. “A virgin.”
Her mouth opened and closed a few times, but no sound came out. Tristan was watching her carefully, but she seemed to have no control over the muscles of her face, or her blood as it rushed into her cheeks, painting them crimson.
“What?” she finally managed to stutter.
“Virgins,” he repeated. Dylan struggled not to roll her eyes to cover her embarrassment. She really hadn’t needed him to repeat that word. “Any time a soul comes into the wasteland that is still untainted, in that way at least, the wraiths are more aggressive, more dangerous.” He looked at her, making sure he had her full attention. “They want you – you specifically. To them, your soul would be a feast. More desirable, more delectable, than the bitter taste of a soul who lived too long.”
Dylan just gaped at him. The words he was speaking didn’t make it past the haze in her brain. She was stuck on that one word. Virgin. How the hell did he know that about her? Was it written across her forehead? But then she remembered, how he’d told her he knew each soul. Inside and out. She cringed. How humiliating! And the way his lips kept twitching as he watched her squirm; he was laughing at her. Had that been what he was thinking, when he was hanging onto her hand: that she was pure and innocent? A virgin?!
Mortified, she writhed in the chair, but that wasn’t enough. She was still trapped under his gaze like an ant under a magnifying glass. She exploded out of her seat and her momentum carried her forward a few steps until she was facing the window Tristan had been looking through just a few moments before. She approached it, purposely avoiding catching his reflection, and pressed her forehead to the frigid glass, trying to cool the red-hot embarrassment that had painted her cheeks red.
Chapter Twelve
When they emerged from the cottage, the wraiths were nowhere to be seen. Dylan looked around her, eyes wide and frightened, and then sighed with relief. There was still the valley to travel through, though, she thought.
It was a gloomy morning. The sun was shining brightly, but its rays were unable to break through the thick, swirling mist that coated the landscape. Tristan took a long, measured look around and then glanced back at Dylan, smiling sympathetically.
“You’re nervous.” It wasn’t a question.
Dylan gazed at the mist and comprehension dawned. “I made this?”
He nodded. He walked over to her and grasped both of her hands in his. “Look at me,” he commanded. “You don’t have to be afraid. I will protect you. I promise.” He bent his legs a little so that he could look into her eyes. She tried to hold his gaze, and felt a glow tingle into her cheeks.
“You’re cute when you blush,” he said, laughing as his words caused the blush to go int
o overdrive. “Come on,” he said, letting go of one hand as he turned, but keeping hold of the other and gently tugging her forward.
As Dylan stumbled after him, she was dimly aware of the mist thinning as the sun’s rays finally began to fight their way through. She thought she understood why, and so her blush was slow to fade. Two minutes later she had convinced herself that his words were nothing more than a strategy – to lighten her mood and evaporate the mist, lessening the risk from the demons. Still, his hand remained tightly folded around hers as he led her on.
At the top of the first hill, Tristan paused and surveyed the landscape. He fixed his gaze on something to the left and pointed towards it.
“See those two hills over there?” Dylan nodded. “The valley we have to pass through lies between them.”
“That’s a long way,” Dylan said dubiously. It was already mid-morning, and the hills looked fairly far away. Surely it would already be dusk before they reached them? She certainly didn’t want to be caught down there in the dark.
“Optical illusion, it’s much closer than it looks. We’ll be there in about an hour. We should be fine as long as your good mood holds out.” He smiled down at her and squeezed her hand. Dylan felt as if the sun shone a little brighter. How humiliating, to have your emotions made so obvious, she thought.
A narrow path wound its way down the side of the hill, wide enough for only one of them to negotiate at a time. Tristan led the way, finally letting go of her hand as he picked his way over small stones and clumps of weeds. Dylan walked slowly and cautiously behind him, leaning back slightly to compensate for the slope and taking tiny, shuffling steps as she sought out safe footholds. She held her hands out away from her sides, both to help keep her balance and to save her if she fell.
It took them about half an hour to make their way to the bottom of the hill, and Dylan sighed with relief when the ground evened out beneath her feet and she was able to stretch her legs and take longer, bounding steps. From here, the two hills guarding the valley appeared to tower above her. Tristan had been right, they seemed much closer now. All that stood between them and the hills was a flat expanse of marshland. Large puddles shimmered at intervals, and reed-beds grew in sporadic clusters. Dylan internally cursed, imagining the cold mucky water that would soon be seeping into her socks. She glanced at Tristan.
“I don’t suppose a piggyback is part of your guide duties?” she asked hopefully.
He gave her a withering look and she sighed. Plunging her hands into her pockets, she rocked back on her heels, reluctant to take the first steps forward.
“Maybe we should just take a little rest here?” she suggested, hoping to postpone trudging into the muck.
“That’s a great idea.” He frowned at her, unimpressed. “We can just wait here till mid-afternoon and then hit the valley at nightfall. Live dangerously, why not?”
“Okay, it was just a suggestion,” Dylan grumbled as she took the first step into the marsh. Her trainer squelched ominously. She winced, but her foot stayed warm and dry. Not for long, she thought to herself as she continued to trudge along.
The marsh was not more than a couple of miles across, but carving a path through the large puddles and reeds, and slogging through the mud, that at times sucked her down below her ankles, was hard work and they made slow progress. Tristan seemed to have much less trouble with the mud than Dylan did. His feet were able to find the firm ground more easily, and even when she trod in the same spot as him, she was sure that she sank deeper. It stank as well. It wasn’t like anything she’d ever smelled before. It was a putrid and wafted up with each step.
About halfway across, they hit a patch that was boggier than the rest. Dylan’s foot sank down almost to her knee in the sludge and when she tried to jerk herself free, nothing happened. She rocked backwards and then threw her weight forwards. Still nothing. She tried twice more and then, panting, was forced to admit defeat.
“Tristan!” she yelled, even though he was just a few metres from her.
He turned and looked at her. “What?”
She raised both arms in a gesture of hopelessness. “Stuck.”
A wicked look came across his face. “And what do you want me to do about it?”
“Don’t be funny, get me out!” She put her hands on her hips, a cross look on her face. He grinned and shook his head. Dylan decided to try a different tack. She dropped her arms, hung her head and looked up at him from underneath her lashes, pouting.
“Please?” she whimpered.
He laughed louder, but began to slosh his way over to her. “You’re pathetic,” he joked. He grabbed hold of both of her arms, locked his knees and braced his body, then leaned back and heaved. Dylan heard a sucking, squelching sound but her feet remained firmly stuck.
“Bloody hell,” he panted. “How did you do this?”
“I stepped,” she snapped, slightly peeved at his mocking attitude.
Tristan dropped his grip on her arms and took a step forward. He wound his arms around her waist, hugging her tightly, their full bodies touching. Dylan froze a little at the close contact, her pulse racing. She hoped he couldn’t hear it. Squeezing her hard, he pulled backwards. Dylan felt the mud start to loosen its grip on her legs. With a disgusting, plopping sound, the bog finally released her. Without the marsh to hold her, Tristan’s pulling launched her forward. She let out a sound that was a cross between a yelp and a cackle as he staggered backwards, trying to keep his balance. Splodges of muddy water splashed up and spattered their faces and hair.
Tristan’s arms tightened around her as he tried to stop the two of them from falling into the marsh. Taking a couple of awkward steps backwards, he finally managed to steady them. Looking down, he saw Dylan’s mud-freckled face staring up at him and he was caught for a second in the dazzling green of her eyes as she laughed.
Held tight in Tristan’s embrace, Dylan swayed, not yet sure of her feet and still a little giddy. She grinned up at him, momentarily losing her shyness. He was staring right back at her. The moment deepened and the laughter died in Dylan’s throat. Suddenly it was hard to breathe. She drew in shallow gasps and her lips parted slightly.
The next instant, he had released her. He stepped away and looked off towards the hills. Dylan stared at him, confused. What had that been? She had thought he’d wanted to kiss her, but now he didn’t even seem to want to look at her. It was very puzzling, and not a little embarrassing. Had she just made a fool of herself? She wasn’t even sure. She stared at the only safe place: the ground.
“We should get going,” he said, his voice oddly rough.
“Right,” Dylan mumbled, still slightly dazed. He turned and splodged on, and she traipsed after him.
Tristan waded ahead through the bog, trying to put a little distance between them to give him time to think. He was perplexed. For decades, maybe even centuries – it was hard to accurately count the passage of time in the wasteland – he had protected and guided souls as they made their journey. In the beginning he had taken the role to heart in a way that had proved impossible to sustain. He had cared for each one, listened to their stories and tried to comfort them over the loss of their lives and futures and, of course, the pain of leaving those they loved behind. Each soul that waved goodbye at the end of the journey had taken a small piece of him with them, torn off a tiny piece of his heart. After a while, he had hardened. He no longer reached out to them, and so they could not get inside him. In the past few years, guiding souls had been little more than a chore. He had spoken as little as possible, and attempted to hide the truth for as long as possible. He had been a cold machine. A sat nav for the dead.
This girl had somehow managed to cause his old self to resurface. She had uncovered the truth at an astonishingly early stage, and had accepted it with more maturity than many who had spent a full life on Earth. She treated him like a person. Here in the wasteland that was a rare thing. Souls were too wrapped up in their own demise to even entertain the thought that th
eir guide was someone. She was a soul worth protecting. A soul worth caring about. A soul that he wanted to give a piece of himself to.
But there was something more than that. He couldn’t define the feeling. Holding her in his arms had caused something inside him to stir. Odd feelings, feelings that had him thinking about her instead of watching the sun lowering dangerously in the sky. He felt almost… human. That couldn’t be right, but Tristan had no other word for it. Human.
But he wasn’t. He shook himself awake with a jolt. Feelings like this were dangerous; they could cause him to lose his focus. They put Dylan at risk; they needed to be smothered.
“Tristan.” Dylan’s voice broke through his reverie. “Tristan, it’s getting dark. Maybe we should wait and go through the valley tomorrow?”
He shook his head and kept on walking. “Can’t,” he replied. “There’s no safe house this side of the valley. We’ve got to make it through tonight. We’ll just have to go as fast as we can.”
Dylan heard the repressed panic in his voice and felt a tight knot it the pit of her stomach. She knew her fear would not help the matter – in fact, it had the capability to make the situation far worse, but she couldn’t smother the emotion.
Ten minutes more of trudging and the ground started to firm up beneath their feet. The grass held her weight when she stepped on it. She tried to scrape off some of the mud that now coated her trainers and jeans by trailing her feet and rubbing them against the tough stems. She didn’t dare stop to do the job properly; she could feel Tristan’s impatience to move faster. At last the puddles became less frequent and Dylan was astounded to see, when she looked up, that they were in the shadow of the two hills. Before her was the valley Tristan seemed so concerned about.
It looked unremarkable. A fairly wide path wound through it, and the sides sloped gently upward. Dylan had expected a narrow crevice, claustrophobic and tight. She felt relieved, but a glance at Tristan’s tense posture had her stomach somersaulting again. She reminded herself that he was a much better judge of where the danger lay. Grimacing, she tried to shuffle faster, closing the distance between them.
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