The Trespassing of Souls

by M S C Barnes

to snarl and growl at him.

  With Heath pinned to the ground Mr West ran over to tend to Nat. Mr Duir approached the wolf-stag and placed a gentle hand on his blood-matted fur.

  “Fine, Cue. Keep him there.”

  “Cue, I said get off me!” Braddock shouted in Heath’s voice, squirming beneath the bulk of the giant wolf.

  “Greg,” Mr Duir called over his shoulder. “Lily will be ready.”

  A smile crossed Mr West’s features. As Nat regained consciousness he left her in the care of Scarlet, who was fussing over her anyway, and joined Seb.

  “Seb, now is the time to reopen the Soul Drop.”

  “No!” Braddock yelled and tried to sit Heath’s body up. Cue snarled and sat his huge bulk down on him. “I can hardly breathe, you stupid beast,” he groaned.

  “Then I suggest you save your breath and stop complaining,” Mr Duir said, patting Cue again. “Seb,” he said. “This will need to be done quickly. Once Braddock emerges we will have to be ready.”

  “I’m not sure what I am supposed to do,” Seb said, self-doubt returning.

  “Follow your instincts. They’ve led you right so far.” Mr Duir hadn’t taken his eyes off Heath.

  “How did the beastie get so hurt?” Zach joined Mr Duir on the other side of Cue and Seb was surprised to see how upset his friend looked.

  “In defence of Seb,” Mr Duir said, confirming Seb’s suspicion that it had been Heath who had attacked Cue.

  The pack of wolf-stags encircling them watched in silence. The heat from their bodies sent clouds of steam up into the cold night air, past Alice and Dierne who hovered above them, forming a blanket of moisture that closed over everyone in the circle.

  Hands pinned to his sides, Heath still struggled to get Cue’s bulk off him and Braddock screamed with annoyance and frustration.

  Above them the steam blanket swirled and broiled, like the violent movement of clouds in a rolling thunderstorm. The steam turned dark and Seb was reminded of the bank of black clouds that had so swiftly engulfed them at Waulud’s Bank.

  The air became colder and a stiff breeze ripped between the monoliths, ruffling fur, leaves, hair and clothing. It moaned and howled and the waiting wolf-stags added to its noise with their own grunting and whining.

  Mr Duir moved round to kneel at Heath’s head. Staring down into his eyes he had to shout to be heard over the noise.

  “Heath, I know you. You wouldn’t want this. You can see what he is capable of. Stop this now.”

  “Leave it, Aelfric. He is content,” Braddock yelled back at him. “And Cue, for one last time, get off me!”

  The swirling dark cloud had now obscured the moon and once again the circle was thrown into darkness. Seb could barely see the figures around him. He could just about make out the wolf-stags standing their ground against the driving wind, which had reached gale force, planting their feet wide to withstand its power.

  Mr West, Miss West and The Caretaker dragged Zach, Scarlet and a weakened Nat over to the wolves and directed them to entwine their fingers into the creatures’ fur; with a beast acting as an anchor each of them was safe from being carried away by the powerful wind.

  The Dryads swept into motion and Seb saw green and yellow now intermingling with the black steam clouds as they began circling in a frenzied aerial dance in the opposite direction to each swirling plume, trying to counter the movement and calm the storm.

  “Heath!” Mr Duir shouted again. “You can stop this now.”

  Seb was in awe of the power Braddock seemed to be wielding with simply the strength of his mind. Staring at Mr Duir still shouting at Heath, trying to reach his consciousness beneath the hold Braddock had over him, Seb tried to think of a way he could help when suddenly he noticed something – his own body was unaffected by the force of the wind. He could see the dramatic effect it was having on the others who were clinging desperately to the fur of the wolves so they didn’t get dragged away, their hair and clothing being blown in all directions. It was bedlam within the circle: dust and grit were picked up by the wind and blasted around the space between the stones and any loose objects were swept up in the churning air. But when Seb looked down, his own body was untouched, he wasn’t having to hold on to anything, he stood perfectly still, his clothes didn’t move, his hair was unruffled; he couldn’t even feel the wind on his face or the pressure of it on his body.

  He stepped closer. Mr Duir too seemed to be immune to the effect of Braddock’s influence; his hair, his clothes, all remained undisturbed.

  Poor Cue, however, was buffeted and rocked by the strength of the wind. Seb thought back to the beast placing himself between him and Heath in the woods and felt sad seeing what it had cost him. He took the last couple of steps over to him and placed a hand on his back. Surprisingly the wind died instantly, as though Seb had spread his own influence around the beast and brought his own shelter to cover him. Cue, having been being lifted up slightly by the wind, suddenly dropped, landing the full force of his weight on Heath’s body. Heath let out an involuntary groan as the air was forced from his lungs. He glared up at Seb, a look of such hatred in his eyes Seb shrank inwardly. But Seb saw it again, another momentary freeze, which appeared to last longer than the ones before. In that moment different eyes observed him, ones that looked confused, sad.

  “Heath?” he whispered. The moment had gone and the hatred, Braddock, returned.

  “Seb!” Mr Duir called. “The Soul Drop.”

  Seb glanced up at the sky, the air was overrun with the broiling clouds and the greeny-yellow trails of the Dryads. Not a hope he could catch moonlight. He looked around for Aiden, suddenly realising he hadn’t seen his cheeky little face, or the dour one of Mr White, since he last spotted them near the outskirts of the circle. He searched the darkness for a sign of him but couldn’t find any.

  Seb wondered how he was supposed to open that dark place without a light source. He had managed to get rid of the gytrash without one but that was when he was consumed with guilt and concern and needed to get them off Mr Duir.

  He stared down at the squirming body of Heath, at the furious glare Braddock was still levelling at him. He stroked Cue, more to comfort himself than for any other reason and tried to think. How had he managed to do what he did when he destroyed the gytrash? He looked at the lines on his palm, looked at the tiny jewels that had become fused to his skin around his birthmark.

  The wind beyond his immediate surroundings was still furious and the Dryads were doing their best to calm it. Seb had a sudden overwhelming desire for calm himself. He closed his eyes, feeling Cue’s knotted fur beneath the fingers of his right hand as he stroked him.

  With the visual world closed off he was more aware of the sound of the wind, its moans and howls as it whipped around and about the stones; he felt more keenly the warmth and strength of Cue’s body; he noticed he could smell the iron tang of old blood from recent injury and finally he sensed something else. As if he had tapped into another part of his mind that had been lying dormant, Seb found a well of knowledge, of awareness of the power of the Earth, the sky, the people and creatures around him. He could feel the hatred and anger from below him, where Heath’s body lay wriggling against the purer feeling of power and loyalty that lay above it … Cue. He could feel determination, honesty, and sadness to his left, where he knew Mr Duir knelt. He could feel the fear and anxiety of his friends and his sister, the solid loyalty of the other wolf-stags, the patience and trust of the teachers and, further beyond, he could feel the nervous hope of Aiden. It was as if every person, every creature had an emotional imprint that Seb could read.

  Was this Nat’s world? Was this what a Sensor felt?

  But he realised there was more. There were lines: lines of direction, passageways, openings, doors … as if the map in Aiden’s tin were buried deep in his subconscious. And there, right in the middle of it all, was a dark void so deep and impenetrable that nothing moved, no sound wave travelled; a chasm of absolute emptiness – the S
oul Drop.

  And then he heard Mr Duir. “Well done, Seb.”

  Seb opened his eyes. To his right, feet from the prone Heath, the gaping fissure had reappeared, replacing the mirrored tower.

  Braddock screamed, “No! You will not!”

  The maelstrom around them became frighteningly violent, threatening to lift the stones from the earth, to tear the turf from the ground and lift even the stolid figures of the wolf-stags into the air. The clouds of steam expanded and rolled and raindrops poured from them, so hard and cold they were like spikes of ice pummelling the group below. Still Seb was untouched, as were Cue and Mr Duir. Seb gazed over at Nat who was drenched and shivering. She now lay beneath a wolf which, seeming to have sensed she had not the energy to cling to it, had placed its body across her. Scarlet was only just holding on to her wolf and Zach had grabbed her arm and was gripping her tightly while trying to keep his hold on the wolf beside him. Miss West was doing the same for her brother, keeping a grip on him so he didn’t get swept away.

  Seb had had enough. He waved his arm towards them.

  “Braddock, stop it!”

  Braddock laughed and shouted, “You can stop it, idiot! Give me your body!”

  “Well what use would that body be if you have killed all the others in the group?” Seb yelled.

  Fixing him with a look that showed no remorse, no care, no consideration other than