“But don’t oracles tell the future?” I asked.
“In a way, it can seem like that,” Lara interjected. “But it is not really the future, because the future is an unwritten work, a blank page. We are all of us scribbling furiously as we go through life, making certain scenarios more or less likely as our tales develop. But only more likely; never certain.”
“So what do the oracles add – or these types of skills, at least?”
“They just give us a little more warning about those events most likely to unfold. If you have honed these gifts, you can see with more clarity – extrapolate out into the future further – not just see the eagle about to swoop down on to the rabbit, but see that likelihood even as the eagle stretches on his nest that morning. That rabbit; that eagle. It is an instinctive knowledge. You feel life as it aligns, as it collides, as it tears apart.
“Minerva knew it was likely you would arrive here on the day you did. She felt that all the necessary conditions were in place to assist you in making that leap. And Raul and I felt it too – very strongly. So we didn’t know for sure, but it was a reasonable bet to be there, waiting for you. Yet you could still have chosen not to come, and we would have waited for another time,” Lara said.
“But I didn’t choose to come here!” I looked around at the small group. “I really didn’t!”
Lara smiled at me. “Sometimes it can feel like that, I know. But the part of you that you are conscious of is like the tip of an iceberg. There are so many parts of you down there in your unconscious who also have a part to play in making these choices, forming these decisions, driving events in your life that you can’t understand. They are poorly named in a way, for labelling it ‘unconscious’ makes us thinks of those parts as sleeping. But believe me, they feel very conscious and sentient to themselves! It is just that we are sometimes unaware of them; we have shut them away. But they are still there, affecting everything.”
“Like lost pieces of ourselves...?” I whispered.
“Not necessarily in the way you mean. They don’t just disappear. They are repressed inside; they become part of what we are unaware of. They are our unconscious, our Shadow.
“It will drive our dreams, trying to bridge that chasm between itself and your known self, trying to make itself heard. And it will call loudest when there is a serious imbalance between our conscious self and our true nature.”
I shuddered. It felt so invasive, the idea of this subconscious; like a creature living within me that I couldn’t see, hidden down there, moving around freely without my permission.
Lara noticed. “It doesn’t have to be bad, Eve. You don’t need to fear it; it just is what it is, and you can get to know it better, know yourself better. Down there in the dark, we will find many things we don’t like about ourselves. But we should at least know they are there – look them in the eye.
“And it is also a gathering of untold strength, energy. A treasure trove, the essence of us, a source of immense power. We need to find ways to bring that energy on board, make it part of us again. Where there is light there must also be shadow.”
“But why should we listen, if we have chosen other ways over them before? If they haven’t helped us before, why would they now?” I asked.
“For the same reason that a parachute is an excellent tool to help you when you need to jump out of a plane, but a damned annoying one to be dragging around after you when you land in the water and need to start swimming. At that point, it might be better to swap to a float!
“Both the darkness of the night and the glare of the suns can be blinding. You need a mixture of the two to see clearly.”
“And what is this Shadow Beast?”
“He is powerful, beyond understanding. He can sap a man of his mind simply by talking to him. He can assume any form, but is usually seen as a prowling beast – something ancient, horned. But he can appear as anything; anything that can help unravel the mind. It can be different for everyone. I’ve known a battle in which he appeared differently to every man I fought alongside. But he is always black – a dense black that swirls and eddies. And the more you fear him, the denser he appears, the more form he is able to take. As if he feeds off your fear, sucks it in and becomes more bodily in this world.”
Could I ever atone for Laila? By helping them find this child, could I fill the aching void inside me? Could this girl Alette even be Laila’s lost soul – my second chance to get it right? Why else did I have a role to play here?
Dream
Newport
I was living in a strange country, where many different types of people lived among a series of cities and urban settlements, all completely distinct and with their own character. Newport was the main centre. It had long, gleaming corridors, quite sterile, high in the clouds, with windows all down one side.
My settlement was an ancient, walled city, with narrow cobbled lanes, brick and mud buildings all jostled together. This was a desert world, full of heat and dust. I had a Vietnamese friend called Tan. We were young boys, pre-teen and full of hope. We spent our days together, making memories in the dust.
There was an ominous feeling in the air. A change was coming. Our world was about to fracture. The different cities were being infused with a sense of apartheid. Over the radio, different ethnicities were ordered to convene in different cities; some of them were to be wiped out. Those in charge remained nameless and remote, but we felt their power.
I was filled with anger and a sense of injustice. I was from an ethnic group that seemed to be in charge, so I would be fine. But my friend would not.
I went with Tan to the old walls of our city. It was hot and dusty. We suddenly knew that we were under attack. A shout went up that we needed to get to Newport. Three Land Rovers started to race from the dusty open square towards the dark tunnel under the city walls, to the enormous, gaping wooden gates. Two of them made it through and out to the desert beyond. The third did not. The gates came crashing shut, smashing down from 60 feet high. We were being hemmed in. The third Land Rover crashed into the sidewall of the tunnel.
Horses were brought into the square, and home-made rockets were launched from blasters on their noses: blowing our way out through the closed gates. The Land Rover was reloaded, set off and we exploded out into the heat of the desert, through enormous, splintered gaps in the gates.
Newport wasn’t safe but there was nowhere else to go. I knew I could not be hurt or killed, but I still felt the claustrophobia, the panic of those around me; the horror of their situation. I had somewhere else to go if I chose, and I felt ashamed by this.
We were then in one of the high-up, blindingly white long corridors of Newport. There was a huge gathering of people. They were all going to be killed.
Many months later, I was living in a quiet suburban house on the outskirts of Newport, surrounded by a beautiful flower garden. A conservatory on the front of the house jutted out into the garden, embraced by roses, and bright, bright light.
I had visitors who had come from very far away – from another country entirely. They were mocking the coverage of recent events from here: the shocking slaughter of many thousands. They were making it clear that they thought it had all been grossly exaggerated. Because, look! Here we were in the bright sunshine of the conservatory, having lunch, enjoying the flowers. All was perfectly normal.
I felt a gulf between us that I couldn’t bridge. Their failure to grasp what we had lived through burned an uncrossable chasm between us. I felt shame that I was living this peaceful life so soon after what had happened here, immense anger at my relatives’ lack of awareness, and overwhelming grief at what I had lost.
Just then, we heard noises in the road. Army noises, the militant drum of boots marching. A helicopter flew overheard, beating the air. A pure, clean terror knifed into my chest as I realised soldiers were coming up the garden path to search for people. People to
be killed. It wasn’t over. It would never be over.
I wasn’t invulnerable this time, and neither were my guests. I made them duck down behind the wooden panelled lower walls of the conservatory. We crouched there as soldiers moved up my path, centimetres away on the other side of the wall, rattling our windows. We held our breath. My guests’ eyes were wide with shock as they entered into my world.
Enanti: the present
Feeling with a thousand fingers
I strode off into the woods, needing some time to myself. The strain of constantly being outdoors, in full view of everyone, was wearing me down. I wanted a place where I could shut the world out, lock the door, rest behind the walls, and come out only when I was ready. It was unnerving to be living outside, surrounded by unfamiliar noises. I felt encircled, cornered. The fresh cool of the dawn gave way to the blustery warmth of the day, then receded back down as dusk fell, as if someone had removed the plug, and the warm air simply drained away. The intimacy of living this close to nature and her rhythms was too personal.
Among the trees, I came to a small clearing and leaned down against the tangled roots. The solidity of the trunk behind my head allowed me to think that someone had my back. Living in the camp was like living with your back permanently exposed. Even in the evenings, when the night was inky black around us, we sat out around the fire. I thought they were mad, that first night. Anything could be out there in the gloom! And when it came for us, we wouldn’t even see it. It would find us there, sitting staring into the flames, unguarded, oblivious of what moved under cover of darkness.
No, this was much better, I thought, as I settled back against the tree. As I rested on the moss, I felt myself starting to relax. This was actually pleasant, restful. Shards of sunlight cut through the canopy and danced on my face. I closed my eyes, enjoying the changes of light that played across my eyelids.
Sensation started to climb up the hand which lay resting on one of the larger roots that snaked away from the tree. I discounted it at first, but then stiffened as I felt a faint pulse drumming through the root to me. There was a sudden screech from the forest, and my eyes slammed open. I didn’t realise I was holding my breath until I started to wonder why I felt so peculiar. The next breath came in a deep rush, and with it, strange sensations on my tongue. Yew, sap, sharp tangy fir, earthy grit, bracken and the metallic punch of rock. I instinctively wiped my tongue against my cloak, and, rather than finding relief, I was assailed by pungent animal essence, chalky dust and a choking smokiness.
As I scrambled to my feet, the screech came again, accompanied by the crunch of bone splintering, ragged breathing and a low growling. The sounds were too loud in my head, as if the dying animal was breathing out its life into my ears. I heard the thumping of its heart as it slowed, felt the tearing of its flank as claws raked through it. As I listened, there was a faint gurgle, and then a rush of expelled air as life left that body. I glanced wildly around the clearing, trying to connect the savage hunt I heard with something my eyes could verify. But nothing. Then birds started calling around me, deafening me with the volume, as they rose from the trees and pulled themselves into the air.
Away! was my only thought, and I ran from the clearing. I clutched at my ears, trying to block it out. Around me the forest had erupted, screams and whoops, howling and…noise. Unbelievable noise. Like an explosion, sound waves rippled past me as I ran. I wanted to get out, get away. A small incline lay ahead, and I struggled up the rocky outcrop, trying to take myself out of the trees. I slowed as I neared the top, and spun around to see what was coming behind me. There was nothing; nothing was chasing me. Out of the trees the noise was less, but only a little. As I scanned the canopy from above, I thought I might see some immense beast tearing through the trees, or an army on the march.
The forest was vast, and stretched away from me to the horizon. I knew roughly from which direction the sound had come, so I scanned the trees a few hundred metres away, but nothing. My eyes travelled out further towards the horizon, and I let my vision blur as my body calmed. Suddenly, a movement caught my eye, and my eyes snapped back into focus. In a clearing, several kilometres away, there was a wildcat, eating its prey. And I could see it! I blinked, and looked again. I could see it; how was that possible? It was so far away. I focused on it and my vision jumped in even closer. I startled as it raised its head and looked me in the eye, then, assessing the level of danger as low, returned to its kill. I was amazed, I could watch this creature, eating its meal, over kilometres. I saw the blood on its fur, congealing now, the hunger in its eye, the shafts of sunlight on its fur. It growled low, then sought to tug the lifeless body of…what was it? I turned my attention to what it had killed, and saw the glassy-eyed stare of a rabbit. Its empty eyes stared out at me.
A wave of emotion hit me. I could feel the panic of its last few moments, taste the desperation hanging in the wind. Simultaneously, I could feel the sating of the predator’s hunger, his alertness as he sought to protect his kill. As I watched, transfixed, the wildcat tried again to tug the rabbit forcibly back to the cover of the trees. With his head up, and his shoulders working powerfully, he lifted his prey in his jaws and trotted to the trees, the rabbit’s legs dragging pitifully across the ground. And then he was gone. But I knew exactly where he was; I could hear every leaf that crunched as he passed, every twig he brushed past, every stone the dead rabbit’s legs bumped over. And then I tuned out, exhausted. I must have blacked out.
Lara had been out looking for me by the time I returned to camp. I had been gone longer than I had intended, and I felt so much older.
“Eve! I was worried! You left hours ago, and no one knew in which direction you had headed. You must tell someone. Please.” She held my face in her hands and looked at me earnestly. “Please, Eve, please tell someone next time.”
“Sorry,” I mumbled. I wasn’t used to this kind of concern from an adult. I’d only experienced it with Peter, and I thought it had stemmed from a childlike need. I allowed Lara to hold my face a few seconds longer, and then stepped away at the first possible chance I could without being rude, laughing awkwardly. But then I paused. I felt a wave of something coming from Lara; gentle but insistent. I felt her concern, her genuine, adult worry for me, out there alone in the woods. It was different from Peter’s response, I saw. This wasn’t Lara’s need of me, this was her concern for me. I didn’t need to do anything for her; she just wanted me to look after myself better. I felt I’d been rude.
“Thank you. Sorry. I’m sorry if I worried you – I hadn’t meant to be gone so long. Something happened out there.”
“What happened? Are you OK?” Lara asked.
“I think so. Just very confused.” I smiled at her. “Nothing new there! I’ve been pretty confused since I got here! Really; I’m fine. I just need to eat and sit down somewhere.”
“Easily achieved,” Lara beamed. “Three of the men that went out looking for you came back with boar, so we’ll eat well tonight.
And Eve, if you want to talk, you know where to find me.” She smiled back at me as she walked off.
Sula walked over to me shyly. I could see that someone had tried to brush her hair and wipe down her face. “Hi there. Had a bit of a bath today!” I said. She dipped her chin down to her chest, a gesture that I was beginning to understand as an acknowledgement that I had guessed correctly. She slipped her hand inside mine, but wouldn’t look up at me. We walked together towards the main tents and the fire, and then she darted me a quick smile and hurried away. I looked down at where her hand had been, and saw a tiny piece of paper. It had been folded over and over until the fibres had refused to bend over even once more. I unfolded it carefully. In the centre was a simple drawing of a butterfly, and the words: ‘You can save her’. They were the first words she had ever given me.
* * *
Sula’s words ate away at me. Save her. She hadn’t even been asking for anything for he
rself. From the little I had managed to find out since I had got here, I realised she must mean Alette. So much seemed to hinge on that little girl, and I needed to understand more. I sought out Raul that evening.
“This is one land – it was always meant to be one, but it was split into two. All I know is that that split has caused us great pain and suffering. Somehow, the Oracle says that if we save Alette – save innocence – the land will be whole again,” Raul said.
“But why her? Why Alette?” I asked.
“I’m not entirely sure. Perhaps it is simply because the Shadow Beast has her: it is miraculous that she is still alive and has not become one of the Riven, his personal guard, or the Craven, the creatures of the Shadow Beast. Perhaps it is because the Shadow Beast himself prizes her, and keeps her just out of our touch, taunting us. And perhaps it is simply because she is alive, she is a child, and we have a chance to save her. If you had the chance to save a child, wouldn’t you take it? Wouldn’t that be enough reason in itself?”
“Yes.” I whispered. Oh, I would have died a thousand deaths to have the chance to save Laila again. I had replayed that moment so many times in my mind, what I could have said, could have tried, should have done differently.
“Yes,” I repeated. “But I don’t think I am the person to help you. I think I will let her down.”
“You’re talking of Laila,” Raul said, very gently, and it wasn’t a question.
I nodded, unable to trust my voice, not even able to ask him how he knew.
“Lara told me. I hope that’s OK? She didn’t mean to betray a confidence, Eve. She just felt I should know, so you weren’t pushed into something you couldn’t take on.”
The Shifting Pools Page 10