“Dammit James. That’s not an answer. Please don’t go!”
“Everything will be okay Von. I promise.”
She reaches for his hand. Again, he softly deflects it. He walks up the stream, until he is waist deep in water. The eyes turn away, leading him further into the darkness. The growl bounces around the narrow walls and back towards Von.
“Be careful James!”
“I’ll be fine.”
The water gets shallower to the point of James tiptoeing over the moss-laded rocks. He grips the wall for support and lowers his head as the cave walls become narrow. The distant growl fades until it is barely above a whimper. The red eyes open wide, now only a few feet from James. Then they stop and merge into one as he reaches the point where he entered Navoeth. This time the constellations are gone. In their place is a lone red marker. As James reaches it, he stumbles on the slippery rocks. His entire body is submerged in a pool of water that only seconds ago was ankle deep. He kicks out his legs and reaches for a rock to hold onto. His efforts only force him down deeper. His lungs fill with water as he screams for help.
The water turns black, bubbling up until his senses are numbed. Then he shifts again. He wakes up on the ground, his body completely in the middle of a forest. A thick barrier of Pine Trees surrounds him, blocking out the late-afternoon sun. The dead leaves at his feet rustle about. He looks around to see squirrels as they forage about the undergrowth. Their playful sounds are backed by the distant song of birds. Above him, the clouds lazily slip through holes in the canopy. Beneath his shirt, his fragile chest inflates and deflates, pushing out each of his shallow breaths. He holds his left palm against his smooth, spotless face.
When he looks down, he is shocked to see such tiny hands. Von is not here this time. It is only James. He is 9 years old. He is cold, scared, and alone in the woods. The only comfort is he knows this setting. He is in the woods of West Virginia. These ancient trees border the old hunting lodge he and his family used to visit every winter. They used to love it out here. Surprisingly enough, James loved it too. There was no TV, no radio, no video games, and no one else within a 50-mile radius. The only entertainment was the wilderness, and the capacity of James’ imagination. The winter trips stopped when he was 16, right around the time the dreams began.
The hut is not yet visible through the dense pine, but James can see a plume of smoke rise above the tree line. He stops and recalls the welcome smell of Birchwood. He reassures himself that he will find his way home. He just needs to follow the smoke. As a child, James’ instincts always served him well. He picks up a solid-looking stick and begins a cautious approach to the thicket ahead of him. The visibility gets rapidly poorer as the brushwood surrounds him. He braces himself, ready to confront any predator that may be lurking in the shadows. Then he hears a timely sound of running water. He knows he is on the right track. The stream runs straight past the storehouse out the back of the hut. He throws his stick into the bushes, and casually bounds over a foot-high molehill.
Something stirs. There is movement in the direction of where the stick landed. Suddenly, there’s an off smell. Birchwood is replaced by carrion. The leaves are disturbed, this time much louder. He knows he should ignore it. He knows he should keep walking. The hut would only be another minute’s walk. He hears his instincts, but this time chooses to ignore them. Childish curiosity gets the better of him. He retrieves another stick and creeps towards the sound. He has to haul himself eight feet up and over the slippery embankment. Already the smell is unbearable. He stops to consider turning back as he rests his weight against a giant Sycamore. The caution fades, and he determines to push on. He adopts a fearless stance, raising the stick like a baseball bat as he ventures down.
At first, he sees a fog of bloated flies. It is a foul symphony as the insects create a low, raspy hum. They cover almost every inch of space upon a brown, furry carcass. Even now, watching through his childish eyes, James finds something fascinating about the dead animal. It is repulsive and irresistible for the very same reason. He is so close to something wild and untamed. So close to such an enigmatic being. Eye to eye. Flesh to flesh. James couldn’t get within a mile of a living creature this large and powerful. In the form of rotting skin and bone however, it is now firmly within his reach.
He remembers this moment the most. His face frowns in disgust at the very sight of the creature. The flies disperse before his nostrils adjust to the rancid smell. They leave very little behind, just a pile of crawling meat and jagged ribs. James tries to look away, but is drawn away from its body and up its neck. Against the damp earth lies a gentle face adorned with proud antlers. It is the only remnant of this once majestic being. The flies have had their fill, but now give heed to something sinister. James inches his way back over the embankment, all the while keeping his gaze on the buck. He keeps the Sycamore behind him and slowly slides down the other side.
Using the stick in his hand as a pivot, he turns around to make his descent. The stick snaps. The slippery slope gives way beneath him. He tumbles down and falls face first into the mud. A few seconds pass before he is able to find his feet. He then wipes the muck from his eyes. He stumbles again, but manages to point himself in the direction of the stream. Once centred, he is met with a set of piercing blue eyes. Attached to them is a set of gnashing canine teeth. The body is thick and muscular and heat rises from its back. The tail is held high. Three other predators form a pack around the first. Four wolves. One boy. They have locked onto the scent of death. That, and the overwhelming stench of fear that sweats through James’ pores. Slowly they encircle him, with the largest wolf approaching him head on. It lets loose a slow-drawn grumble. The others follow suit. The fur raises from their heads to their tails as all four wolves crouch low to the ground. They inch side to side, signalling to their prey that there is no way around.
James is left with only two options, neither of them encouraging. Run or stand still. He thinks back to his dad’s words when he first took him camping. Back away slowly if you ever see a bear. Run from a rattlesnake. Stand your ground when you see a wolf. Do not look it in the eye. Finally, and most importantly, no matter how scared you are, never ever run. Right now, his instincts say to do the opposite. They tell him to sprint his little legs as fast as he can to anywhere but here. But they do not move an inch. His muscles seize up, and he remains anchored to the muddy earth.
One of the smaller wolves lashes out. James pulls his hands in close to his side. Such is the similar stature between man and beast, James face is inches from the wolf’s teeth. He feels the heat from its breath. He smells the rot from its stomach. The alpha snaps its head sideways, causing the smaller wolf to tuck its tail between its legs. Obediently, it falls back into formation. James begins to weep a desperate flow of tears. He wants to scream for his mum. He wants to scream for dad. But he cannot muster a single sound. His bony legs start to tremble, and he feels a warm stream trickling down the inside of his thigh. James cringes inside his infant self, aware of why he tried to repress this memory so deeply. Not only was he about to die. He was about to die a cowardly little boy. Caked in mud. Devoured by wolves. Crying shamefully in the stink of his own piss.
It is the most alone he has ever felt. The alpha glances at each of its three subjects. The message is simple. Attack. It is time to put this wretched little beast out of its misery. They close in as one. James covers his eyes and prays. They hiss and grown and snap at James’ heels. He prays harder. The wolves toy with him, whipping their tails around his ankles. Their panting becomes heavier and heavier. Viscous sheets of drool drip sickly to the ground. Their noses brush against his trembling body. Finally, the alpha rears up. It knocks James over and he cowers further into the mud. In between his stunted sobs, he clears his throat. He gathers the strength to make a sound. He closes his eyes and without any articulation, cries out for help. The sound is astonishing. Looking back, James is amazed at how loud his tiny lungs allowed him to scream. Even the wolves are startled.
; James hears a gunshot. It sends the wolves reeling back from their prey. One single shotgun shell. That is all it takes to scare them away. His cries stop and he looks up. As quickly as they first appeared, the monsters are gone. They scamper off into the safety of the forest. They leave their victim soiled, sobbing and caked in mud, but otherwise unharmed. James can hear his dad screaming out his name. There is a clear desperation in his voice as the woods fall deathly silent. All he can do is follow the direction of his son’s final scream. He sees the disturbance of leaves leading up towards the Sycamore. He leaps the embankment in a single bound. He sees James, wide-eyed on the ground, his entire body shaking with fear. He drops the shotgun and sprints towards him.
After inspecting every inch of his body for cuts and abrasions, he finally allows himself to smile. Using his ripped sleeve, he wipes the mud from James’ face. He kisses his forehead and his cheek. He scoops him up with his giant hands. He heads back towards the safety of the hut, holding James tightly to his chest. James can feel his dad’s heartbeat racing beneath his flannel shirt. He called out for help, and his own dad plucked him from the jaws of death. He nuzzles his face in under his dad’s spiky chin. Sweat pours down his stubble and onto James face. He doesn’t mind a single bit. It is the safest he has ever felt.
“I did what you told me, dad. I didn’t run.”
“I know James. I’m proud of you.”
The memory ends as James’ father carries him back inside the hut. To reach the clearing, he walked straight past the shotgun. He never went back for it. He gets James inside, locks the front door, makes him a hot chocolate and collects a handful of kindling. For the rest of the night they sit by the fireplace. His dad stokes the fire, and bundles James up in a grey woollen blanket. The impending darkness of night is lit by stories with happy endings. Finally, James is warm enough for his dad to carry him off to bed. Both of their hearts beat slower. His dad softly whistles the tune of an old U2 song. His skin feels so warm it burns like fire. He lays by James’ side until he falls asleep. All the colours bleed into one as he dreams a peaceful dream. It is the most terrifying day of James’ life. It is the easiest night’s sleep he’ll ever have. The memory fades with a hope. One day, James will sleep peacefully again; once he has found what he’s looking for.
CHAPTER 18: The Intermission
James had been looking at the world through gloomy eyes. Both worlds in fact. While the colour of Navoeth drains, the real world seems to brighten up. The rosy picture of Navoeth is now coarsely sketched in black and white. The flat-pack buildings beyond old Battleground Avenue slowly become three-dimensional. The colour was always there in the real world. It was James’ sepia-tinted lenses that dimmed the cityscape. What he really needed were the blue rings of his mind’s eye. Near death has a funny way of pulling back the veil. Being so close to the edge, literally tiptoeing the borders between both worlds, gives one a unique insight.
Step one upon James’ journey was to admit to who he wasn’t. Step two is figuring out who he is. He keeps on thinking it, but for the first time ever there’s another human being with whom he can be completely honest with. Verbalising his inconsistent nature to Von has helped James weed out the incorrect answers. He used to be whatever the real world needed him to be. He played his part to keep the story ticking over. What a waste of a life.
Everything has become so backwards since he woke up in Navoeth. He wants to stay, but he wants to go back. He is nostalgic for the future, and hopeful for the past. Each sideway step through a new dimension brings him closer to the truth; the truth that every dream he ever had is a part of who he is today. That is what makes them all so scary. He asks himself how long has he spent in Navoeth? Was he here all along? Was he falling asleep in this place and waking up in the real world? Either way, he has been a boundless disappointment to himself. Up until this point he had convinced himself that his misfortune was someone else’s fault. After all, it is easier to blame bad luck than poor judgement. Maybe caves and castles and eagles are poorly-drawn totems for the feelings they represent. Maybe James is stupid for not realising this earlier. Maybe he’s not real at all. So many maybes.
CHAPTER 19: The Sum of Two Ill Fitting Halves
James emerged from his cave for the second time. Navoeth looked more regretful than it did the first day. He looks at Von, then below them. The roaring falls are supposed to be there, but they have choked themselves to a mere trickle. He remembers the smell of water evaporating from sun-drenched rocks. It reminded him of summer rain upon the bitumen. He longed for that smell again. Stepping onto the ledge, a fishy odour licks his face. The glorious ocean is gone. The point where it once lapped the shore is now an endless cemetery of unmarked graves. He almost wells up at the sight before him. It is a grim vista; skeletons of giant whales, midnight sand and hollow reefs. The salt blows across the gutted bay, sweeping the black sands upon the rocky shoreline. As the wind picks up, the thick haze swirls off the rocks and gradually litters the entire mountainside.
The higher ground suffers the worst, with its skin a sickly jaundice. Soon, the pale landscape is coated in a thick soot. Ugly black heads begin to sprout from the outer crust. They bulge until they rupture, spewing out a mixture of blood and pus. The very depths of the world overflow and scar the desolate land. Back towards the castle, the hills have also changed. The gentle swathes of green pasture have been replaced by leafless pine trees, as far as the eye can see. James recognises them instantly as the woods from his memory. Despite the distance, the scene is crystal clear. His vision is magnified to the point that he can see each imperfection on each single tree. He can see the dead buck and the smattering of blood upon its antlers. He can see thousands of fattened maggots as they feast upon its putrid flesh. He can see the wolves, though this time they look much different. They are unnourished and weak; rotten from their teeth, to their skin, to their barely beating hearts. They stagger through the undergrowth, hopelessly searching for scraps.
At the tip of the mountain, an enormous black head erupts. Like a bloodied nose, it pours uncontrollably down the steep ridge. With the wound failing to clot, it soon cuts a trail to the edge of the woods. As the blood leaches through the black sand, it coats the fallen pine needles in a thick tar. Suddenly there is a spark and then a flame. The woods become alive with fire. The four emaciated wolves dance around the dead buck. They tear at the spoiled meat and howl as the flames creep upon them. They are blissfully ignorant to the fact they will soon die, caring only to satisfy their hollow guts with one final meal. James is disgusted. As the scene plays out, his sick trepidation soon turns to keenness. He watches with pleasure as the fire swallows the wolves. The maggots roast, and slowly burst open in a procession of horrible popping sounds. The buck turns to ashes. He feels relief that the proud creature receives a dignified funeral. Equally, he finds himself amused to hear the wolves’ anguished cries.
James knew the deed was his to claim. He wanted the wolves to suffer. He told the fire to take them. The flames served his wish. The howls grow quiet. James turns away, his appetite for revenge suitably quelled. But the horror show is not yet over. The alpha male emerges in a screaming ball of flames. It heads for the ocean, or at least where it used to be. Instead of meeting with cooling waters, the sands present a razor tipped rock. James scoffs at the irony. The wolf impales itself; the stone’s sharp edge easily piercing through its paper-thin flesh. It misses any vital organs, but the entry wound haemorrhages steadily. If it doesn’t bleed to death, the burning black tar will finish it off. James marvels at a job well done. If the land must suffer, at least the nasty little beasts can suffer with it. He looks at Von’s pale cheeks, her face struck with revulsion.
Then the wolf makes its death rattle. It is a vociferous shriek from the depths of its melting soul. James’ smile softens just as quickly. The sound fills the empty ocean and echoes across the mountain. It reverberates along the rocky coastline, rising up to bleed the sky of its last remaining light. He gulps back, tryi
ng to force down the sick feeling in his mouth. He reaches down and tries to feed his hate for the wolf. It deserves to die the same way it lived. Violently. But James cannot help himself. He aches for this thing; a dreadful, wicked creature. He feels guilt. He feels remorse. He feels empathy. It is the very same monster that toyed with his life as a little boy. It would have killed him in a second if not for its fear of the bullet. So traumatised was James, he repressed this memory to the psychological equivalent of a black hole. Yet here he is, feeling the wolf’s pain. Once more, he turns towards Von. A single tear rolls down her cheek.
Not for the first time in James’ short lifespan, his emotional intelligence wins over his logic. The wolves were never monsters. They were not vengeful. They were the predator. James was the prey. Their intentions were to simply prolong their existence. That is how wise old Nessa explained the Shadow. Prolonging its own existence. Just like Von. Just like Dale. Just like James.
Von sits on the cliff’s edge, letting her feet dangle free. While she wipes the tears from her eyes, she looks longingly towards the fading second sun. Very soon Navoeth will be destroyed. Neither she, nor James know how long they have left. It could be a matter of days. Hours even. It does not seem to matter much anymore. Like all things in Navoeth, things just happen when they should.
James sits down beside her, and gazes upon the same sad world. He cannot stand to look her in the eyes this time. They are just too black and full of sorrow. He wishes he had the right words. If he had his journal, he could at least write them down. But what good would that do? It was his muted voice that got him here in the first place. There were a million words in his head when he first arrived here. He could arrange them like dominoes, and with the flick of his tongue he could knock them down and watch them fall over in a perfect crooked line. Not this time though. His words are unable to stand themselves any straighter than the crumbling pillars of a broken city. Now, when he needs them the most. Von may already be too far gone. He looks at the physical distance between their two bodies and knows it’s a bridge too far. He still feels close to Von, but sometimes they seem to speak different languages. They both want the same thing but their modes of operation are vastly different. They are two pieces of a puzzle that just do not fit.
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