by Sharon Sant
THE SKY SONG TRILOGY
SHARON SANT
Sky Song
The Young Moon
Not of Our Sky
Sky Song
Book one of the Sky Song trilogy
Sharon Sant
SKY SONG
Sharon Sant
Kindle Edition Copyright 2013 © Sharon Sant
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www.sharonsant.com
One: Midnight is when everything changes
Jacob couldn’t have known that the man standing before him would kill him. Not at this meeting, not at the next, but soon. And if he had known about the other things this man would do, Jacob would probably have tried to kill him, there and then. Because he didn’t know these things, Jacob wasn’t afraid now, only bewildered. The intruder repeated the question.
‘Do you understand what you need to do?’
Jacob stared for what seemed like a long time, unable to think of a response. When he finally answered his voice was surprisingly calm. ‘I’m not going.’
It was almost midnight when Jacob had been woken by a man’s voice. Bolting upright, he found himself staring stupidly at the stranger, who seemed to have literally materialised in his room. Jacob, in spite of the madness of it, listened in mute astonishment. What the man told him was too incredible to believe, yet Jacob did believe it. On some deep unconscious level he had always known it to be true. He was an invention, a fictional character. Jacob Lightfoot didn’t exist.
A fleeting shadow of anger crossed the man’s moonlit features, but dispersed just as quickly.
‘You have no choice, Ioh. You must come.’
‘Stop calling me that!’ Jacob hissed. ‘My name is Jacob!’
‘Very well… Jacob,’ the man replied, speaking the name like it had a bad taste.
‘If you don’t go I’ll call my parents.’ Jacob pinched his own arm hard as he said this, hoping fervently that he was dreaming. He screwed his eyes up tight and opened them again but the man was still there. Illuminated by the pearly moon streaming in through the open curtains of his bedroom window, Jacob could see that the man was tall and willowy, his head seemed imperceptibly too large for his frame with a smooth bald pate. Large, calculating eyes appraised Jacob from a finely featured face with the smoothest skin he had ever seen on a full grown man. He looked human enough…
Jacob found himself drawn in; something in the man’s dark eyes gave him the same compelling, uneasy feeling he got from gazing into his own in the mirror.
‘You could have called them at any time but you have not, despite my presence and what I have told you.’ The man gave a small patronising smile. ‘That is because you know the truth and are afraid of it.’
‘I’m not afraid… I couldn’t…’ Jacob hesitated.
‘They are not your parents.’ The voice was beguiling, hypnotic; Jacob felt the seduction.
For fifteen years Maggie and Phil Lightfoot had brought him up as their son, had loved him, clothed him and fed him, had filled him full of their beliefs and morality so that he thought as their son and felt like their son. He wanted to be happy with that; he wanted that to be the truth. He forced himself to remember.
‘I’m going to turn over and go to sleep now. If you’re a dream, you’ll be gone by morning. If you are real, then there’s no point in hanging around because my mind is made up.’ Jacob lay down, pulled the bedcovers up over his shoulder and turned to face the wall. It felt like a weird thing to do, after all, there was a stranger in his bedroom, but it didn’t occur to him to do anything else.
Another brief flicker of menace crossed the man’s features, but he controlled his anger. ‘You will not leave these people?’
Jacob didn’t reply.
‘Then you give me no choice.’
Jacob flipped himself back over, but the slender figure of the man was already fading into disparate atoms, leaving nothing but the empty silence of the night.
Sleep eluded Jacob. The slightest noise made his heart beat with a force that seemed to echo through the slumbering house. He half thought about waking his parents, but the conversation he imagined having with them sounded idiotic. He swung his legs out of bed and walked to the window, staring out at the winking stars in the clear night sky, wondering at the tiny pinpricks of light. They were so far away, all at once in the past and in the present, always traversing the heavens as the Earth turned yet seemingly fixed as if they were printed onto some infinite cosmic canvas. Jacob never dreamed they could be any more than stars to him.
He crept across the carpeted floor and clambered back into bed. There was a scuffling noise outside in the garden; he felt a chill like an icy hand on his neck that spread through his body and set his skin prickling to the point of pain. Jumping out of bed again Jacob crossed to the window. He cupped his hands round his eyes and peered out with his face pressed against the pane. Was that the figure of a man in the garden? The harder he looked, the less sure he was, the figure becoming indistinct, a hazy shadow. Jacob briefly pressed the heel of his palms to his eyes and then looked again. The garden was silent and empty, the neat lawns and borders bathed in an ethereal moonlit glow. He tip-toed across the landing to his parents’ room and pressed his ear to the door, listening to the reassuring low grunts of his father’s gentle snoring for a few minutes before creeping back to bed.
The sound of a slamming drawer woke Jacob. Golden daylight streamed into his bedroom and his mum’s busy figure swam into view.
‘You’ll be late.’ Maggie tossed a clean white shirt onto his bed and swept out of the room. ‘I’ve just ironed that, try not to crease it before you even leave the house,’ she said, her voice trailing down the stairs.
Jacob fell back onto his pillow and lazily rubbed his scalp, staring up at the ceiling. He couldn’t remember falling asleep. His eyelids drooped and he dozed again for a few minutes, until he was dragged back to wakefulness by his mum yelling up to remind him of impending detention if he was late for school. Yawning widely, he stumbled out of bed and over to the mirror. He stared at his face, and his face stared solemnly back. He looked more closely. Blue. His eyes were dark blue today. Heading into the bathroom to wash, his thoughts turned once again to the strange dream, if a dream was what it was, of the previous night.
Jacob couldn’t explain it, nor could he dismiss it. He had always known he was different. There were the obvious physical peculiarities, but there was something else, something more profound than that. Sometimes Jacob would lock the door to his room and gaze at himself in the mirror for hours, staring into the depths of his own ever-changing eyes and see things that he couldn’t explain, things that frightened him. Sometimes, he felt possessed - there seemed to be someone else in there, a stranger. Jacob would often lie awake at night trying to feel the other person, trying to imagine what it would be like if he woke the next morning to find the secret him had taken over and he, plain old Jacob, had been discarded.
Shaking such thoughts, he dried himself. Going back to his bedroom mirror, he scooped some wax from a pot and tousled his blonde hair, twisting and preening bits here and there until he was satisfied. He checked again. His eyes were still dark blue; his eyes were almost always blue on sunny days. It was a comforting sign. He pulled on his clothes, wandered over to the window and gazed out, scanning every shaded corner of the garden for anything unusual. The early May sun dazzled as it bounced off his windowsill. As his eyes got used to the glare, he could see
that the garden looked clinically neat – just as always.
‘Jacob!’ His mum’s shrill call made him jump.
‘Coming.’ He threw a last cursory glance around the garden. Something made him catch his breath. Had he imagined some movement, a shadow, instantly retreating? He stared hard at the spot, his breath held, until his eyes watered and the privet hedges seemed to dance like a desert mirage. The neighbours’ black cat sauntered across the lawn on an early morning hunt. Jacob exhaled, dismissed the incident and went down for breakfast.
‘Have you read that passage for History?’ Maggie passed Jacob a heavy book across the table as he shovelled cornflakes into his mouth. The spoon clattered into the bowl as he dropped it and lunged at the book, dragging it towards him. ‘Don’t sulk,’ she said, ‘It’ll only take you a minute.’
Jacob found the chapter. His eyes flicked across the page lightning fast, left to right, top to bottom, and then the ten more pages after that in less than a minute. An ironic smile played at the corners of Maggie’s mouth.
‘Got all that?’
‘The Chartist Movement was founded as a protest to -’
‘Ok, ok. No need to show off. Just checking.’ Maggie looked at her watch.
‘You’d better get going. Do you need picking up tonight?’
Jacob shook his head. ‘No, don’t worry. I’m doing homework with Ellen later; I’ll walk back to hers and her mum will bring me home.’ Ellen’s mum couldn’t drive, but it was simpler not to mention it and to walk home. The last thing he wanted was his mum sniffing around Ellen’s place. Maggie’s eyes twinkled, though she managed to keep the smile from her lips.
‘Ellen’s house again?’
‘I’m not going out with her, Mum!’ Jacob stuffed the book into his rucksack and headed for the kitchen door.
‘Of course you’re not! When are we going to meet her?’ she called after him.
‘On my deathbed!’ Jacob shouted and slammed the front door shut.
The oldest part of St Joseph’s Academy had stood since the nineteenth century. An elaborate Victorian baroque, the building oozed prestige and parents were willing to commit criminal acts of fraud to get their kids in there. As Jacob approached the scrolled iron gates, he could see Ellen perched on a low wall against the railings near the entrance. Luca sat next to her, dark hair and Roman nose like a breathing classical statue, one arm draped lazily over Ellen’s shoulder, his free hand picking his ear.
Sometimes Jacob wondered why a boy like Luca bothered with someone like him. With his unfeasibly high IQ, which he found difficult to hide, and his pre-historic parents, Jacob had always felt he was a strong contender for the nerdiest boy in school. And there were some serious nerds at St Joseph’s. Luca, on the other hand, was the boy that everyone wanted to be seen with - handsome, charming, roguish, and extremely cool - and there were many who were as puzzled by the friendship as Jacob was.
Ellen turned and squinted up the bright street, spotting Jacob.
‘Come on you!’
He quickened his step. Ellen disengaged herself from Luca’s slovenly grip and shook out her sleek black hair, watching as Jacob drew nearer.
‘Let’s have a look then.’ She put her face close to Jacob’s and peered carefully into his wide, clear eyes. ‘Blue. Good, I haven’t got my jacket.’
‘I’m not a barometer!’ Jacob stated. Ellen replied by giving him a flirtatious pat on the cheek before flashing a dazzling smile.
‘Come on,’ Luca piped up, still slumped idly on his brick seat, ‘what about the Chartists?’
Jacob sighed as Luca handed him a chewed Sharpie. He began to write dates and the briefest notes on Luca’s arm.
Luca grimaced as he read the blurred marks on his skin. ‘It’s not fair. Why didn’t I get a photographic memory? I need it more than you.’
‘Everyone needs it more than Jacob.’ Ellen was observing Luca’s doodled arm with interest. ‘That date’s wrong.’ She pointed to a black pen mark.
‘Where? It can’t be!’ Jacob grabbed Luca’s arm. Luca winced and snatched away, rubbing it.
‘Just joking – loser!’ Ellen teased.
‘Cow!’ Jacob flashed a grin.
Ellen smiled with sweet mock innocence. ‘Come on, we’d better go in or Dulson will do her nut.’
As they walked towards the imposing gates, even in the warm sun, Jacob suddenly felt icy cold. The feeling trickled down his spine, making him shudder and catch his breath.
Ellen turned round sharply. ‘What’s wrong?’
Jacob glanced up and down the street. There was nothing to see but the last stragglers making their way to the gates and the brilliant sunlight bouncing off the bonnets of newly waxed cars. There was nothing to hear but hurried footsteps and the roar of traffic from the busier road behind the school. He shook his head uncertainly, the reply catching in his dry throat.
‘Nothing…’
The school day was as uneventful as always. Predictably, Jacob sailed through his history test and Mr Galley gave the mark with the air of one who has begun to find his pupil's continual high performance tedious. Luca’s cheating narrowly missed discovery when he lifted his arms in a loud yawn and exposed the black smudges of information that Jacob had put there. Luckily, Mr Galley had been distracted by Chloe Winsome’s phone going off in her bag and Jacob had managed to mouth a reminder to Luca to cover up. Lunch was a turgid affair of undercooked chips and overcooked sausages, haute cuisine by the school cook’s standards, accompanied by Luca’s usual repertoire of toilet humour and visual gags involving items of cutlery placed into various orifices, all greeted by rolling of eyes from Ellen and self-conscious sniggers from Jacob. Everything seemed normal, but still Jacob couldn’t shake the completely illogical sense of unease and foreboding that had settled over him.
After school Jacob and Ellen walked back to her house without Luca, who had managed to get detention.
‘You’ve been quiet today,’ Ellen said.
Jacob shrugged. ‘Sorry.’
‘I’m not bothered. I just wondered… do you want to talk about something?’
Jacob shook his head. What could he say? During the night some mental bloke turned up in my room, told me I was from another world and asked me to go back there with him. Then he threatened me because I said no, and I’m terrified of some random act that may or may not happen with no idea of what it might be.
Smart. Ellen would probably lock him out of her house and call the funny farm. He put on the brightest smile he could muster. ‘I’m fine.’
Ellen gave the peeling wooden gate a rough shove. She led Jacob through the tangle of weeds that choked the path of her front garden, ignoring the chip papers, sun-bleached crisp bags and squashed plastic bottles. No matter how many times she cleared them away, it seemed the swirling winds that blew across her estate always brought them back. It was easier to overlook them. She rattled her key in the lock of the front door and it opened to reveal a half-naked boy of about four chasing a terrified mongrel dog along the hallway. The smell of old frying oil wafted through from the bare plastered kitchen at the end of the passage.
‘Tommy, get some pants on!’ Ellen snapped as her brother raced past. Tommy ignored her and, with a squeal of delight, continued to hound the little dog. She turned to Jacob, colour rushing to her cheeks. ‘Mum’s been ill again. She did tell me she felt up to cleaning today, though…’
‘It really doesn’t bother me,’ Jacob reassured her. He had told her the same thing a thousand times before.
‘My room’s ok. Let’s go before Mum sees you. I don’t know what time Luca will be here, but he’ll just have to deal with her.’
Ellen’s bedroom was always clean and neat, completely at odds with the rest of her chaotic home. Each of the four walls was a different colour from spare bits of paint found lying in the cellar and finished with an unsteady hand, but Ellen was proud of her handiwork. Hers was the only room in the house that had been decorated since she, her mum and her br
others had moved in when Tommy was a baby. She had furnished it with an eclectic but homely mix of scavenged items and Jacob always felt comfortable in there.
Jacob slid off his backpack and flung himself onto the bed. Ellen perched on a dressing table stool and grabbed a packet of sweets, throwing one to Jacob who caught it neatly.
‘I’ll get you something to drink. Stay here or she’ll see you.’
Jacob nodded, chewing as Ellen closed the door behind her. He finished his sweet and lay back on the bed, gazing up at a rippling shaft of sunlight on the ceiling. The indistinct sounds of Tommy squealing and cupboard doors being slammed below in the kitchen carried up to him. He vaguely wondered what was taking her so long. But he was warm and the bed was soft and fragrant with the scent of Ellen, and by degrees he became drowsy. His eyes closed and he drifted, balanced on the brink of sleep.
Ioh…
Jacob shot upright looking wildly around. He was still alone in the bedroom. The sound of Ellen arguing with her mum echoed up the stairs. Feeling sick, he staggered over to the window overlooking the forlorn garden and opened it wide. Sticking his head out he gulped in the fresh air, scanning the street and surrounding gardens as far as he dared to lean out.
A creaking door made Jacob spin round and almost lose his balance.
Ellen surveyed him with concern. ‘Are you alright? You’ve been weird all day.’ She held out an earthenware mug.
Jacob struggled to regulate his breathing as he closed the window. His face was burning, he was shaken, but also painfully conscious of the fact that he looked like an idiot. He sat on the bed and gratefully took the mug. It was empty and he looked up at Ellen with a silent question.
‘I found this…’ Nestled in the crook of her arm she had a bottle of coconut liquor. She smiled. ‘It’s horrible stuff, but it’ll be a laugh!’
If Jacob’s mum could have seen him right then she would have been horrified. The idea was enough to make him grin and hold out his cup. Ellen poured a generous slug and he sipped it, his face contorting into an involuntary look of disgust. But the warm numbness of alcohol had an immediate effect. He took another sip, then another, until he had drained the cup and leaned back in dizzy contentment against the headboard. The fear that had seemed so real to him moments earlier quickly evaporated into a tipsy memory. Ellen sat next to him, sipping her own. Jacob looked at her. Snub nose, green eyes, a sprinkling of freckles across perfect cheeks, hair like black satin: all the parts that made the whole seemed to appear to him in separate snapshots. His stomach was filled with thousands of wriggling, gnawing maggots, nibbling in tiny bites. He listened to songs about love all the time and it always sounded incredible, life affirming, magical. Was this what it actually felt like, this sweaty, stomach churning sickness? He forced himself to think of something else.