Dylan was anxious to begin, wanting to dash through as quickly as possible, but Tristan paused on the threshold to the valley. He seemed to be bracing himself. Dylan eyed him surreptitiously. Was he thinking about the other souls he’d taken through this place, some that he’d lost? How many had walked this path with Tristan and not made it to the other side? Feeling nervous, Dylan stretched out her fingers and curled them around his left hand. She smiled timidly up at him and squeezed. He returned the smile tightly and then gazed back down the valley, looking almost defiant.
“Almost there,” he muttered, so low that Dylan wondered if she’d even been meant to hear it.
Chapter Thirteen
It should have been a fairly pleasant walk through the valley. The path was flat and wide, made of little pebbles that made Dylan think of country walks down long abandoned railway lines. It wound its way gracefully down the trough between the two hills. The sides did not feel confined or restricted, but gently undulated upward, covered with short grass and wild flowers. It was picture perfect. Or would have been if it wasn’t for the sheer cliff walls that erupted from the grassy slopes. The cliffs curved inwards as they rose up and pinched the sky until it was little more than a narrow slit of light that wasn’t quite bright enough to banish the shadows that pooled across the ground. Darkness enveloped this place. Dylan shivered as the cold shade embraced her.
Beside her, Tristan remained silent and tense, moving quickly and glancing constantly around. His stress triggered her own. She didn’t dare look at her surroundings, but stared straight ahead and willed them to pass through without incident. In her peripheral vision she could just make out the swooping blur of bats. No, not bats, she realised. Wraiths. They scythed down the rocky face then circled low overhead. Dylan gripped Tristan’s fingers tightly, trying not to look at them.
But she couldn’t ignore them. She found herself listening for the familiar but haunting howling that she now associated with the demons, but there was no high-pitched wailing echoing in the air. There were, however, other noises.
“Can you hear that?” she asked tersely.
Tristan nodded his head, his expression grim.
It sounded like the gentle rumbling of a thousand whispers. Although there were no distinct words, the sound was nonetheless menacing.
“What is it?” she warbled. Her head jerked about as she scanned the sky, the cliffs, hunting for the source of the noise.
“Not from above,” Tristan told her. “It’s beneath us. Listen to the ground.”
It seemed a strange request to Dylan, but she tried to concentrate on sounds that might be coming from underneath her feet. At first the only sound she could hear was the crunching of their feet disturbing the gravel and small pebbles that littered the trail, but now that she was listening for it, she realised the eerie hissing was, in fact, coming from beneath them.
“Tristan what’s happening?” she asked, her voice almost inaudible even to herself.
“The demons. They’re gathering beneath us. As soon as they spot an opportunity to attack, they’ll rise up in a mass. It’s what they do here. Always.”
“Why?” Dylan whispered.
“We’re in the heart of the wasteland,” Tristan explained. “This is where they lurk, thousands of them. The shadows almost never die here. They know they’ll get their chance.”
“What sort of opportunity do they need?” she choked out.
“As soon as we’re deep enough in shadow, they’ll strike. They don’t need night, not here.” His voice was matter-of-fact, but there was a note of panic there that frightened Dylan more than the words he was speaking.
“What can we do?”
He barked a humourless laugh. “Nothing.”
“Shouldn’t we run?” Dylan was not a strong runner. Though thin, she was not fit. Exercise had never been part of her daily routine, and enforced PE lessons had been torture. She had always insisted that she would only run if she were being chased. This situation seemed to qualify, she thought ruefully.
“Not till we have to. Save your energy for when you really need it,” he said, smiling slightly. The smile didn’t last long.
“Hold on to me, Dylan. Don’t let go. And when I tell you to run – run. You follow the path, and when you’re through the valley there’s another cottage. You run towards it and you don’t look back. Once you’re through the door, you’re safe.”
“Where will you be?” she whispered anxiously.
“Right beside you,” he said grimly.
Dylan’s eyes were wide with panic. She tried to focus them on the path in front of her. Her hand was wrapped so tightly around Tristan’s that her fingers were throbbing. The rumbling seemed to grow louder, and it appeared as if the ground was bubbling, melting to let the demons through. It took a moment for her eyes to make sense of the pattern on the ground, then she realised that it was shadows. Dark shadows. Her breathing began to come in shallow, ragged gasps as she saw that the valley was darkening around them, the cliffs pressing in more tightly. They were deep within the heart of it. How long before the demons broke free?
The air seemed to chill instantly. A gust of wind drove up the valley and lifted Dylan’s hair around her face. The breeze whispered in her ears, echoing the noise from the ground, and she picked out the distinct howling of other demons, keening somewhere above them. They were gathering on all sides.
For a heartbeat she felt as if time had stopped, suspended on the brink of chaos. Every nerve in her body was stretched tight, adrenaline pumped through her veins. Her muscles seemed to tingle, ready to respond to her commands. She took a long, deep breath, and the air rushing into her lungs thundered in her ears.
Before she could exhale, before she could blink, time sprang back into being and everything seemed to happen at once. The ground smoked as countless demons erupted through the surface like black, wispy snakes, twisting and writhing in the air and hissing threateningly. The howling from above descended from the sky, diving and weaving around her. Hundreds of them. Thousands. The air was black with wraiths, blinding her. Dylan simply gaped; this was nothing like she’d seen before. Her heart turned to ice as one demon glided straight through her chest, snatching inside her before breaking out of her back. Faceless things caught in her hair and tugged and pulled at her, causing needle-like pains in her scalp. Claws grasped at her shoulders and arms, wrenching and hauling at her.
“Dylan, run!” Tristan’s voice broke through the confusion of sound and movement, straight to the centre of her brain.
Run, she repeated to herself. Run! But she couldn’t move. Her legs were frozen, as if they had forgotten how to function. She had always laughed scornfully at the victims in horror movies who were paralysed by fright and fell foul of the crazed axe-murdering villain, but here she was, indisputably immobilised by fear.
A yank on her hand made her stumble into motion, jerking her legs into action. They caught up with her before she fell, and began to pump her forward. Run, run, run, she thought, tearing as fast as she could down the path, one hand glued to Tristan’s. The screaming demons still swirled around her, but they appeared unable to get a firm grasp.
The path laid out the route in front of her, and although she couldn’t see the cottage, she knew it couldn’t be too far. It had to be close now. She was running at full tilt and knew that she couldn’t keep up the pace for long. Her legs were already burning, protesting now at every step. Each time she lifted a foot it felt heavier and heavier. Her breathing came raggedly and unevenly, each intake causing cold, stabbing pains to rip across her chest. Her arms pumped rhythmically, valiantly trying to keep her going, but she was slowing with every stride. The clawing demons were beginning to find purchase, pulling backwards and slowing her further. She knew she would not be able to hold out unless the cottage was very close.
Something pulled on her hand hard enough to almost topple her backwards. Dylan yelped as her shoulder was wrenched in its socket, then, a heartbeat later, realised
what had happened. Both her hands were clenched into fists. Empty fists.
“Tristan! Tristan, help!” She coughed feebly between breaths.
“Dylan, run!” She heard him holler. He was no longer beside her. Where had he gone? She didn’t dare turn round to search for him in case she fell. Instead she concentrated on doing what he’d told her: running. Running as hard and as fast as she could.
What was that? Directly in front of her, about four hundred metres away, was a murky square shape. It had to be the cottage. She sobbed in relief and tried to galvanise her exhausted muscles into one last effort.
“Come on, come on, come on, come ON!” she muttered under her breath, ordering her body to keep going. Ignoring the pain, she moved her legs even faster, forcing them to sprint the remaining metres. The door was already open, inviting her in.
“Tristan, I can see it! Tristan!” But that final thought choked in her throat as several demons dived at her at once and ripped their way into her body. They seemed to have no substance, yet she could feel them grab at her heart. She stuttered and stumbled, finding it hard to control her limbs.
“No,” she gasped. “No, no, please. I’m there! I’m there!”
It was impossible to move. Cold hands gripped her insides and twisted, chilling her to the bone and taking her breath away. Every inch of her longed to stop. To lay down on the ground and have the demons pull her gently downward to where it would be dark and she could sleep. A place where she could cease struggling and be at peace.
Suddenly Tristan’s words burst into her head. “You run towards it and you don’t look back. Once you’re through the door, you’re safe.” With it came an image of his face, speaking to her earnestly.
Sheer will drove her forward, step by step, towards the open door. Every movement was agony, every breath stabbing pain. Her body screamed at her to stop, to give in, but she determinedly and doggedly pushed on. As she inched closer, the screaming, howling and hissing intensified. The demons doubled their attack, pulling and ripping and scratching at her. They swirled around her face and attempted to blind her eyes. Just a few metres away she fell to her knees, exhausted. Screwing her eyes shut tight, she forced her aching lungs to breathe and began to crawl. The ground was cold under her hands, small stones scraping at her palms and digging into her knees. Move, she thought desperately. Just move.
She knew instantly when she had crossed over the threshold. The noise died away immediately and the cold chill inside her dissolved into a numb ache. Spent, she collapsed onto the floor, breathing hard.
“Tristan, we made it,” she croaked, unable to lift her head from the floor.
He did not answer. And there was no sound of breathing behind her, no movement in the cottage. The ice in her heart returned, multiplied tenfold. She was afraid to turn around.
“Tristan?” she whispered.
Dylan rolled over onto her back. She lay there for a moment, too scared to open her eyes, afraid of what she might see. Her need to know won out. She forced her eyelids open and surveyed the scene before her.
No.
Unable to speak, she let out a pitiful whimper. The doorway was empty, the night outside black.
Tristan hadn’t made it.
Chapter Fourteen
Dylan didn’t know how long she lay on the floor. She couldn’t take her eyes from the doorway. Any moment Tristan was going to walk through it, windswept, breathless, but fine. He was going to appear and be okay and take control. He had to. Her heart was crashing in her chest, straining painfully against muscles that felt locked in stone. Completely drained from her exertions, her body started to shake.
After what may have been mere minutes, but felt like an eternity, the cold seeped through from the floor and penetrated to the very core of her bones. Her trembling limbs began to seize up, and she knew she had to move.
Her muscles protested painfully, making her groan as she pulled herself up into a sitting position. She still didn’t dare take her eyes from the doorway. Tristan was going to arrive any second, as long as she kept looking. Somewhere at the back of her mind a small voice told her that this was ridiculous, but she held on to the belief, because it was the only thing keeping the panic from rising up in her throat and erupting in uncontrollable screaming.
Dylan managed to get her quivering legs underneath her and, with the support of the doorframe, hauled herself to her feet. She kept a firm hold on the rotting timber, swaying dangerously. Fear and fatigue had stripped her of every inch of energy. Standing on the threshold, she could hear the whispering and screaming outside, although something about the safe house seemed to dull the noise. Keeping her feet firmly behind the line, she leaned her head out, searching the night for a glimpse of blue eyes or tousled blond hair. Her eyes found nothing, but her ears were assaulted by a barrage of noise; outraged shrieking as the demons attempted to assail her but were frustrated by whatever supernatural charm the safe house held. Gasping with shock, she yanked her head back and the noise instantly dimmed.
Dylan backed away from the door slowly. Her feet caught on something on the floor and she almost tripped. She ripped her eyes away from the doorway for a fraction of a second, but it was almost pitch black and she couldn’t make out what she’d stepped on. That sent another wave of terror through Dylan. She could not bear a night alone in the dark here. She would go insane.
Fire. There was always a fireplace in these cottages. But she was going to have to turn away from the door, and that meant facing the fact that Tristan might be gone. No, she told herself. He would come. She should just get the fire sorted for when he arrived. She felt her way across the cottage, and sure enough at the other end of the room was a stone fireplace. Kneeling, she searched with her fingertips. Her fingers brushed against ash and lumps of wood in the grate. To the left of it she found some dry logs, but no matches, and no electronic switch like the one back home that would make fake flames dance and jolt while a fan heater blew out hot air that was almost as welcome as the light.
“Please,” she whispered, aware that she was begging an inanimate object to work but unable to stop herself. “Please, I need this.” On the last word her composure broke and strangled sobs broke through. Her chest convulsed and her eyelids squeezed together as the first teardrop slipped down her cheeks.
A crackling noise made her open them, momentarily afraid, but what she saw made her gasp with shock. There were flames in the fireplace. They were small and flickered in the draft from the open door, but they refused to be put out. As if they were acting of their own accord, Dylan’s hands reached out and grabbed a couple of logs. She placed them delicately on the fire, holding her breath in case her clumsy actions smothered the fledgling flames.
They held, but continued to sputter because of the draft. Dylan turned and looked at the door. Closing it felt like closing her hope, and meant closing the door on Tristan. But she couldn’t lose the fire. Feeling as if she was moving in slow motion, she rose and walked over to the door. She paused there, fighting a desire to run out into the night in a desperate attempt to find Tristan. That would mean surrendering herself to the demons, though, and Tristan wouldn’t want that. Unable to watch, she shut her eyes, and then the door.
As the latch clicked closed, something broke within Dylan. Tears blinding her, she blundered sightless across the room until she met what felt like a bed. She threw herself onto it and gave way to the sobs that threatened to overwhelm her. Panic engulfed her, and she battled desperate cravings to run and scream and break things.
“Oh God, oh God, oh God,” she repeated again and again in between gasping sobs. What was she going to do? Without Tristan she had no idea where she was going. She would get lost, wander till it was dark and then be a sitting duck for the demons. Or would she have to stay here, and wait? But who would come for her? If she didn’t need to eat or drink, would she wait here for an eternity, like a cursed princess in some ridiculous fairy tale, hoping for a prince to come and rescue her?
And
then other thoughts crept into her head. The loneliness and fear dragged up issues that hadn’t had a chance to surface since the crash. Visions of Joan swam before her eyes. She imagined where she might be now, whether there had been a funeral held yet. In her mind’s eye she pictured her mum receiving the call at the hospital, saw the devastated look on her face, her perfectly arched eyebrows crumpling as her hand reached up to cover her mouth, as if she could hold the truth out. Dylan thought of all the arguments they’d ever had, of all the mean things she’d said and never meant, and all the things she wanted to say and never had. Their last proper conversation had been a fight about seeing her dad. She could still remember telling her mother she was going to visit him, could remember the look on her face. Joan had stared at Dylan as if she’d betrayed her.
This thought wove into another as naturally as day follows night. Her dad. How had he reacted? Who had told him? Had he mourned for the daughter he’d never really known?
All of a sudden her situation, her death, hit home. It wasn’t fair. How much could she be expected to lose? Her future, her family, her friends… all were gone. Now her ferryman, too? No, not just her ferryman. Tristan. Stolen away, just like everything else. Dylan didn’t think she had any tears left, but as his face burst into her mind, more bubbled over, hot and salty on her cheeks.
It was the longest night Dylan had ever endured. Every time she closed her eyes, haunting images flashed through her head: Joan, Tristan, a father figure who was terrifying without a face, flickers of the nightmare from the train. Slowly, sluggishly, it passed. The fire dimmed to an orange glow, and the dark outside dissolved into a soft light that filtered through the windows. The first rays of dawn chased away the colourless grey and brought life to the cottage, but Dylan didn’t notice. She continued to stare at the logs in the fire till the warm colours of heat had dimmed to grey ash and the spent pieces of wood could do nothing but smoke softly in their grate. Her body seemed to have turned to stone. Her mind was shell-shocked, and took refuge in stupor.
Ferryman Page 10