Of Breakable Things

by A. Lynden Rolland

  “I’ll give you a hint. There once was a girl who fell off a cliff because there were confederate soldiers chasing her. Well, actually, this says they pushed her. I never heard that before. She died when she smashed into the rocks below. She paces the beach and haunts the woods around it, digging up the ground. Ring a bell?”

  “What does the Parrish Cove Ghost have to do with anything?” Chase asked.

  “The Parrish Cove Ghost is all over the time period I’m supposed to research.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “It gets better.” Kaleb’s voice shook in anticipation. “She died there twice. In life, soldiers chased her to the edge, and then in death, Syrus Raive found her there once the Restructuring War ended. That was where he killed her again.”

  Chase laughed. “So we were afraid of those woods for nothing? She only haunted them from … ” He glanced at her death dates. “Eighteen sixty-five to nineteen-oh-one?”

  “Guess so! Hey, don’t tell Jonas. If we ever go back there we can make fun of him for being afraid.”

  “You’re sure this was our ghost?” Alex asked.

  “Unless there were two of them.”

  “Because that doesn’t explain why footprints still show up on the Parrish beach.”

  “Oh, don’t ruin the moment, Alex. Half the time the people who attempt to see the ghost pass out in a drunken stupor. Any idiot could walk by and leave footprints.”

  He’d never heard the name Josephine Anovark in Parrish, but then again, he’d never tried to uncover the true identity of the cove ghost. According to his research thus far, before Josephine was recruited to help the DeLyres, she assisted the Ardor Service. She’d spent years helping them track down spirits who became unstable or who broke the law in significant ways. One of the spirits she’d helped to imprison was Syrus Raive, the man who later killed her.

  The creepiest part was that according to the statements following her second death, the two had been friends.

  August 1866

  Dear Sephi,

  I worry so often about a world the mind engineers. Your gifts cause you to question your sanity, and I admit I have similar concerns.

  Sanity. Insanity. The line between the two blurs in dreams. You can get away with so much in the dream world. What makes this world any different? What is real, and what is not? I’ve been inside your head. Are things really the way you see them or the way I see them?

  I’m pleased you were invited to speak to the Ardor Service at the Dual Tower. If you are amongst the strongest in the city, the risks are diminished.

  If all goes well, perhaps you can introduce me to the infamous Ardor Westfall.

  ***

  The man was up so high Alex could barely see his shiny shoes. Due to the gaggle of girls huddled at the foot of the ladder, she wondered if the invisible man was the notorious professor, Dr. Darby.

  “Some of the animals get distressed in bad weather,” she heard a cheery voice call down. “Best to calm them before they get too worked up.”

  Oh, it was Darby, all right. Gabe called him the zoologist to the dead.

  Darkness lurked behind the glass of Duvall’s aquarium. Storm clouds blocked what little sun could break through the massive cover of trees. Alex took her seat, pulling out several of Eviar’s letters. She carried them with her now, justifying her obsession with the idea that it was comparable to carrying around a novel. And even if she wanted to leave them behind, the box found ways to sidle across the room and wait patiently by the door like a faithful dog.

  Eviar’s talents kept growing, the most interesting being his ability to persuade. He began by willing other newburies to give him their belongings or homework, but he grew bored and began to use his skill for amusement. Alex had laughed out loud when she read about the day Eviar persuaded Paul Bond to dive into the fountain and flail like he was drowning. He insisted to Sephi that he was just very influential. Sephi believed the ability would more aptly be termed mind control.

  And that was just the tip of the iceberg. Eviar was a mover, but even that grew into something extraordinary. Typically, advanced newburies learned to elevate pencils and books. Natural movers were usually able to channel their energy into more substantial objects like furniture. Eviar, on the other hand, had taught himself to move clouds and treetops. With such gifts, there was no possible way that his life wouldn’t be documented somewhere besides his letters to Sephi. But no matter how much she searched, Alex failed to unearth any spirits with powers like his. She couldn’t find Sephi’s name in history either, which was even more frustrating because Eviar had said she was well known.

  The more Alex read, the more she felt attached to the two of them. She would frequently find herself entranced by Eviar’s words, unable to move, losing track of time and responsibilities.

  She was forced out of her reverie when a man slid down Duvall’s ladder, calling to order the giggling girls and irritated boys. Thin and lanky, yet polished and proper, he was the type of dazzling man one could call pretty and get away with it.

  Alex searched for Duvall and found her hovering in the back of the room where she could freely cast the weight of her glare onto Reuben and the Bonds. She didn’t approach the podium.

  Darby flicked his head and a light appeared at the front of the room. It circled around him like a spotlight. “Slight change of plans,” he said. “I will be your guest lector this morning. We have much to cover and an inadequate amount of time to learn it because you weren’t supposed to delve into banshees until next term.”

  The class began to buzz with excitement.

  “And that,” he sighed, “is precisely why Ardor Westfall suggested we jump the curriculum. For some reason, newburies find these dismally dangerous demons to be fascinating, but I can tell you there should be not such enthusiasm. There have been various sightings of banshees in our territory, and many think it sport to battle them.” The light around him grayed. “That would be as foolish as a human jumping into a tank to battle a great white shark. Something tells me that you wouldn’t be lining up for that one.”

  Without warning, a life-size image of a banshee flashed in front of the classroom, resulting in a handful of screams. Alex shivered violently when the maniacal eyes bored into her through the gangly threads of its greasy white hair.

  “Banshee,” Darby began, “in the physical world is derived from Irish myth as an omen of death. The Irish weren’t far off. They just had it backwards. A banshee does not warn someone of their imminent death; it can often be the cause.”

  Alex’s stomach tightened. She attempted to take notes, but her hand trembled too much.

  “A banshee’s shriek can cause heart attacks in the bodied, but only to those who have an uncharacteristically vast sense of hearing. Most humans cannot hear the scream at all, even if the beast is hovering right next to them.”

  Alex shivered again.

  “Celtic Christians had an even more accurate description for banshees. They called them ‘fallen angels,’ which in a sense is correct. The scariest aspect about a banshee is that you or I could all too easily become one of these decrepitly hollow creatures. A banshee is simply a spirit like us whose mind has been shattered. It still exists but in pieces. Now I’m not saying we’re angels, per se, but we could be mistaken for them.”

  It was hard for Alex to believe that this vile being had been born from a normal spirit. The image zoomed in on the banshee’s face. She couldn’t bear to look at it. Her whole being zinged with discomfort.

  “Folklore mistakes banshees to be only female, probably due to their frail frames and, sorry to say it, ladies, but female spirits have a higher tendency to lose control of their minds. Don’t shoot the messenger,” Darby said defensively. “I’m just citing statistics. A banshee remains in this world because he or she still has somewhat of a mind, though it doesn’t function. If you notice the features of its face—” Dr. Darby gestured with such vigor that the momentum caused the image to ripple.

&nbs
p; The image billowed like an enemy flag, floating towards her. Alex felt heavy, clammy, distressed. She hunched forward and cradled her throbbing head in her hands, and appropriately on cue, a rumble of thunder resonated outside.

  “The purple rings under its eyes are something to be thankful for. Banshees have no reason, no thought processes besides the will to survive. They’ve gone back to their primal instincts, like wild animals. They barely function enough to realize that they need sleep, so eventually they just fall to the ground in a heap. The more tired they appear the less strength they have, and thus the better chance of your survival.”

  Alex raised a trembling hand.

  Darby didn’t seem surprised. “Do you need some air?”

  Alex shook her head. If she left class now, there would be nothing else to fill her mind besides the low wail echoing in her ears. “Why are they so strong if they have little brainpower?”

  His face brightened in surprise. “Very good question. Just because a banshee can’t control its mind doesn’t mean the power is gone. A banshee has nothing else besides force. It isn’t thinking about what it is doing, nor does it care, since the mind is broken.”

  “And by broken, you mean … what?”

  “Without repair. A completely maniacal being without a thread of sanity. Unfortunately, we all have demons stitched into the patchwork of our souls. We cannot allow them to become strong enough to rip us apart.”

  “Does it happen in life? Or just in the afterlife?”

  “Both. Strength of soul has nothing to do with the condition of the mind. A body without mental sanity can still transition into the afterlife.”

  “There’s no treatment?”

  “There are theories. Research. No cure thus far, however.”

  Alex thought of the way the creature thrashed and convulsed in a rain of sparks. “Why the frenzy of electricity?”

  Lightning flashed outside and the projection of the banshee flickered.

  Darby shoved his hands into the pockets of his tight dress pants. “Fury. They can’t control anything, let alone their feelings.” He took a step closer to Alex. “Do you mind if I ask you a question about the one you encountered? What did you do to anger it?”

  Jack guffawed beside her. “I heard she sent it flying across town.”

  Reuben scooted his chair even further away from Alex.

  “What does it sound like?” Joey Rellingsworth asked.

  Alex glanced at Dr. Darby, who gave her the go-ahead by waving his hand.

  “It’s hard to describe.” Her peers leaned toward her, listening with morbid fascination. Even Tess widened her bored, hooded eyelids. “The worst part wasn’t so much the sound of the scream, but the pain like arrows being shot into my brain.” Alex cupped her skull with her hands. “I can still feel it if I think about it.”

  Darby flinched. “Unfortunately, that never goes away.”

  “You’ve heard it too?”

  “Only once.” He pulled his sleeves back to reveal a maze of scars. A girl next to him gasped. In some places, circular gray contusions marked his thin arms like rocks had skipped across a lazy lake and left permanent imprints. In others, it looked like a whip had cracked against his skin, indenting his arms without altering the pigmentation, like the skin had simply been scooped out.

  “It attacked me even though I didn’t provoke it. It was so close I had to use my bare hands. This is from the electricity.”

  Newburies stood up to get a better look at his battle wounds. “How did you survive?” Linton asked.

  “I ran at it. I threw my entire body at the creature. I’d been fighting it so long I figured doing so would either kill me much faster or it would save me. Thank goodness it was the latter. It wounded both of us enough to end the fight. When I awoke, all I had left were the scars.” He gently replaced his sleeves. “Such a lengthy exposure should have been detrimental to your mind, Alex. The fact that you sit here with us now is nothing short of a miracle. You must be pretty durable.”

  Of half-crazy herself.

  “What could’ve happened?” Linton asked.

  “If she had been exposed to the scream long enough, it would have driven her to the point of insanity. Within minutes she would have lost everything that makes her who she is, and she would have become one of them.”

  Alex could have heard a pin drop in the classroom. No wonder the Patrol had behaved so oddly after they’d found her. They thought her mind had surrendered to the scream.

  Joey gasped. “It can’t kill us?”

  “Not by wailing.” Dr. Darby shook his head. “Remember, you exist because your mind exists. A banshee’s scream causes the mind to crack into pieces. Those pieces are still alive, but broken apart, they cannot function. It’s a fate worse than death. Your mind no longer belongs to you.” He flicked his hand and the image changed to a drawing of a banshee hovering over a lifeless human form.

  “How come Alex still has her mind, then?”

  Darby shook his head. “Your guess is as good as mine. She was lucky, I suppose. Alex, don’t scream though, just in case.”

  She regarded him with trepidation. “Are you saying that a scream can shatter someone’s thoughts? Ruin their mind?”

  “A voice is a powerful thing.”

  “How are they hunted?” Reuben called out louder than Alex had ever heard him speak.

  Finally, a topic he enjoyed.

  “The Patrol contain them if they are able to. Most banshees are destroyed in their attempts to fight back, however.”

  “How do they fight them?”

  “Training. They know their habits, their weaknesses, and how to keep them from screaming. Plus, they rarely battle alone.”

  Darby waved his hand again and the next image appeared on the screen. It resembled a Louisiana bayou with its drooping dull green branches and muddy gray water. “Banshees do not wander into our area, which is why the sightings have raised questions. Banshees are prone to warmer climates because they are attracted to energy. They flock to the swamps for the seclusion. Now whether their attraction to swamp plants is a result of this habitat or if it is simply a part of their survival strategy, we don’t know, but they have been known to appear in areas that grow bladderwort and sundew.”

  “What the heck are those?” Linton yelled.

  “Here is where we get into your science lesson. Be sure to take notes,” Darby recommended. Another image appeared. “Drosera!” Darby’s voice rang from the rafters. “Typically referred to as sundew!” It looked like an alien slug. Dozens of purplish-red antennae sprouted from its green peapod body. “If you notice the ends of the tentacles, there are bulbs composed of an oozing substance called mucilage, which lures insects to their deaths. The insects are attracted to the syrupy scent, and once they venture near enough to touch it, they adhere to the liquid and the sundew envelops them.”

  Ironically, Alex thought the vicious plant was rather pretty. It was more like something that would live at the bottom of the Caribbean, not in a disgusting bog somewhere.

  “The second plant, Utricularia, or bladderwort, is also carnivorous. A teardrop-shaped pouch opens at the sharp point to swallow its prey, much like a beak. These traps protrude from the stem-like tree branches.”

  “Is there a picture of the bladderwort?” Madison asked curiously.

  “You were supposed to see them up close and personal. I thought there were plenty in stock here to show you, but it seems the number has depreciated.” He squinted into Duvall’s tank. “We’ll have to live without a visual for the time being.”

  At the end of class, everyone visited Duvall’s aquarium, hoping to catch a glimpse of what Darby described to be “banshee catchers.”

  Duvall scoffed. “Bladderworts in November? Any idiot knows that they won’t bloom again until May!”

  Chase walked toward Alex, who stood with her back to him in the Brigitta vestibule, watching the rain pelt the pavement. He didn’t need for her to turn around to know it was her. He co
uld probably wander the world with his eyes closed and somehow eventually find her. That was how he’d felt the past year without her. Blind. Did it make him a horrible person that he wanted her to die just so he could have her back again? He’d always been drawn to her. It seemed the strings of his life were attached to hers. If she tugged in one direction, they both had to move. In two separate worlds, the pain of the pull was too much to live with but also too much to live without. Marionettes don’t do well without their strings.

  Most of the spirits venturing across the square had given up on the idea of umbrellas. Vicious raindrops fell like stones, and they stung like paintballs. The other day, he'd overhead a newbury asking Westfall how pain could exist when spirits existed only as energy. Westfall had replied by saying the reflection of the sun on the ocean stings the eyes nearly equally to the pain of staring at the sun itself. Like most of the veteran spirits, Westfall liked to speak in rhymes and metaphors.

  Chase came up behind Alex, and her body relaxed as the pull of the strings slackened.

  “Hey,” she murmured without turning around. The colors flickering around her changed from lavender to bright pink. He’d grown accustomed to seeing the rainbows of emotions around people. Usually he saw lavender during workshops when someone was staring into space or out the window, daydreaming. He usually saw pinks and reds around Alex.

  Chase wrapped his arms around her waist. He would never tire of the way her touch sent shockwaves throughout him.

  “This isn’t going to be fun,” Alex said, gesturing out the window. “Thank goodness I don’t bruise so easily anymore.”

  Chase sighed. There was something about Alex that was still very fragile, but he couldn’t say that to her now. It wasn’t a bad thing. The most beautiful things in the world were also the most breakable.

  Alex turned to look over her shoulder, and he couldn’t help himself. He grazed his nose against her cheek. The feeling was better than skin-on-skin contact in life. Here touch had a current, a life of its own. Although, his mind clung to its old sensations, too, like when his stomach dipped because his lips hovered so close to hers.