The Revenants

by Alec Dunn

  He had a mission, a purpose.

  He had killed a monster. He had not hesitated, just waited for the opening and dispatched the evil creature. And he would be ready to do the same to the next. He would do the same to the demon.

  Max was running faster than usual today. That was fine. Good.

  Tristan knew now. They had to train hard, be ready.

  He knew what waited in the darkness. He knew why he had nightmares.

  They ran street after road after street, approaching the park which had become their usual half way marker, around which they ran a loop outside the flaking metal fence before heading for home. Max suddenly moved away from him. The rhythm of his footsteps increased and he outpaced Tristan. Max took a clear lead and rather than taking their customary path, turned into the park. Tristan followed him with surprise.

  This was new.

  Tristan followed Max in the muted colours of the early morning light. He followed Max into the twilight green park, step after step, under the long, elongated shadows of the trees, over the wet, dew stained grass. Max led him across the grass. His footsteps left dark imprints against the shimmering hazy veil of water droplets and grass. Tristan followed into the deeper shadows of more densely packed trees, step after step. Under the outstretched boughs of the trees, Tristan followed Max.

  And Max stopped.

  Tristan almost ran into him and stumbled awkwardly to one side, before turning to look questioningly at Max. He was confused. Max stood still, as though in thought, before he spoke, “You did well last night.”

  “Um, yeah, thanks,” Tristan replied.

  “Don’t thank me. I thought you’d be just a glorified surveillance camera, a useless sod like Brad, point us in the right direction and do nothing else, but you did well. Didn’t hang about when it came to it, got the job done. We did what we had to. But don’t thank me. It just means that you might be worth spending more time on. But it’s like running, Tristan, painful at first.”

  Tristan was suddenly wary, not liking the sound of this. “What is painful, Max?”

  Max looked at him with a fierce glint in his eyes and grinned his wolfish grin, “Fighting.” He said the word very simply, didn’t dress it up at all.

  It sat there between them, squat and ugly, waiting for a response.

  Tristan forced back his initial reaction – I’m not sure I’m ready yet – and refused to hedge and dodge around it – how are you going to teach me, Max? Let’s go to the gym and get some mats – he wondered how painful this would be compared to running and steeled his heart, “Ok.”

  “C’mon then,” Max motioned Tristan towards him and stood relaxed and ready, knees ever so slightly bent and hands raised slightly before him.

  Tristan had not steeled himself this much, “Sorry?”

  “C’mon, attack me.” There was no threat or menace in Max’s voice.

  All Tristan could think about was how effective Max was at fighting. He could remember watching Max’s fights and the repeated sound of breaking bones and the remorseless, efficient violence Max inflicted. He was like a scruffy, unkempt, unstoppable machine. “Really?”

  “Tristan!” Max was exasperated. “Attack me. Experience is the quickest way to learn.”

  Tristan steeled himself again and stepped forward, straight onto a rotten stick. SNAP. The sound of bones breaking filled Tristan’s mind. He stopped. “Experience? But I’ve already killed one monster and that wasn’t too hard. What about just learning on the job?”

  The menace in Max’s eyes was suddenly very close. He had bridged the gap between them in a blur of steps. The growling, hissing noise coming from him was disturbing and his face was twisted and shocking. Tristan stumbled backwards, but Max’s hand was around his neck, choking, and Tristan was no longer going backwards because he wanted to, but too fast, pushed backwards and up, and his feet were taken, the world span and slammed into his back and the back of his head. Max was over him, somehow Tristan’s arm had become jammed under Max’s knee, and Max angrily growled, “Learn on the job? You could die on the job! You live and you die in every second, every breath you take, every decision you make becomes part of you.

  You killed a poor, defenceless girl, Tristan. While I held her arms and legs, she fought for her life and you came up to her, when she was unable to defend herself, and you stabbed her through her heart with a sharpened wooden stick and you killed her.” The fingers dug cruelly into his neck. “You killed her.” Max’s throttling grip tightened to emphasise his words before his face returned to normal, his hand slowly loosened and he knelt beside Tristan. Max eyes looked down at the ground and he was breathing heavily.

  Tristan was more shocked by Max’s words than being knocked to the ground. “Max, she was a monster. She was going to kill that boy. We saved him.” Tristan tried to sound confident, but even to him it sounded weak, like he was trying to convince himself. He was shaken. His new knowledge was shaken. Max was remorseless, an unstoppable force and here he was kneeling next to him, feeling… guilty?

  “Yeah, she was a monster. That’s true. She was going to kill the boy. You’re right, Tristan.” Max was repeating the words, but his voice was flat, without emotion.

  “So, we saved him, yeah? We’re like heroes. C’mon, Max, we’re the good guys here. I mean, I wouldn’t kill a girl, I wouldn’t kill anyone, but she was going to kill that lad. It was going to kill that lad – she, it was the evil one – and if we hadn’t stopped it, then, well – it would be like we killed him, wouldn’t it?”

  “So, if you kill things then you’re evil? But if you kill things that are going to kill other things then you’re good?”

  “Well… not things, Max.” Tristan was becoming increasingly confused by Max’s guilt and moral dilemma.

  “Are you a vegetarian, Tristan?”

  Again, Tristan was thrown. This time by the swift changes in direction the conversation was taking, “Er, no. Don’t really like vegetables all that much.”

  “So, can I kill you? If you kill other things to eat them, does that make you evil?” Max’s face was serious.

  “It’s not the same. I only eat to survive and I don’t even kill the animals!”

  “I think it might be the same. She needed to feed. She was going to kill to eat, so she could survive. What’s the difference?”

  “I eat animals, not people! That’s a pretty big difference!” It was Tristan’s turn to be exasperated. It was common sense.

  “Is it? Do you blame a shark for eating fish? Do you blame it for eating a person that swims like a wounded fish? Do you blame a bear for attacking stupid fat campers that go to where it lives and attract it by cooking food that it needs to live? Do you blame a cheetah for chasing the antelope? It’s what they are. It’s their nature. Birds got to fly. Fish got to swim. Things got to eat. And what makes people so great? Why do they think they’re better than every other living thing? What makes them top of the food-chain? Because they can take what they want and kill everything else? Because they’ve got cars and boats and guns that shit out bullets and pollution to kill everything else? Is it just force and violence that makes them better? Being able to kill lots of things? Cos if that is what makes things better then we should have let the boy die, left her to feed on him.”

  Tristan was forced to consider what Max was saying carefully. It was obviously an important question for Max and Tristan was starting to realise that he had no idea what things Max had seen. He tried to sound confident, “No, Max, there has to be some sort of right and wrong. I mean, look at what has happened to me. I have these powers. Why? It’s like I’ve been blind and now a light’s been turned on and I can see all these things that I didn’t know anything about. There’s got to be a reason for it. And you – you’re like the best fighter I’ve ever seen and you’re only fourteen or something. Why? Why do we have these gifts if not to use them? There are monsters out there and we have the ability to stop them. It can’t be a coincidence.” He was starting to convince himse
lf as he thought about it more. “It’s like Gregor was saying about this Vedic Order, it must have been going on for thousands of years and, when you think about it, maybe we’re like the warriors of good, like angels or something.”

  Max looked into his eyes. His expression was curious, honest and intense, “I’ve seen lots of things, Tristan, but I’ve never seen an angel and I’ve never seen God, just things needing to feed on other things. Cows on grass, people on cows, things on people, other things on things. So what if there is no God? What if everything just feeds on everything else? What makes some things good and some evil?”

  Tristan stopped and thought. Max’s question scared him. He felt small and insignificant. The world had become a bigger place, filled with strange and nasty things and it was suddenly much, much more confusing. “I don’t know.”

  “Nor do I,” said Max softly. “‘Cos we killed her, Tristan, so what are we? I’ve killed so many things, so many. What does that make me? A monster? An’ if I’m a killer then what should happen to me?”

  Tristan answered quickly, without thinking, “I don’t know a lot, Max, but you’re not a monster.”

  Max knelt in the dirt. His deep eyes, stared searchingly into Tristan’s. “Then what am I? Cos I think I might be a monster.” He knelt beside Tristan in the morning light, lost under the shadows of the trees, a young boy, scruffy and alone, filled with doubts and fears and Tristan gave him the only answer he could think of.

  “You’re my friend, Max.”

  Max’s raw, unguarded eyes held his for a moment, only a moment. The memory flashed into Tristan’s mind. It was brief and contained like a perfect painting trapped in a frame. It didn’t even take a single beat of Tristan’s heart before Max’s eyes dropped. But in that moment Tristan held the sensations from a memory that did not belong to Tristan. He felt the hairs prickle and rise along his arms and felt the wild moon calling. A distant land sang to him of sweeping skies and generous full winds that brought him the scent of streams, flowers, pine and other living things. He felt the excitement of the chase in his blood.

  Max was getting to his feet and forcing out a laugh, “If that’s the best that can be said of me then I’m in real trouble.

  It’s strange, isn’t it? I only hear you talk about angels when you find out there are demons. Why are there monsters? Where do they come from? Every culture in the world talks about monsters. Why?

  Gregor talks a lot about doorways, talks a lot all the time, doorways this, other worlds that, never heard this stuff about the Vedic order before, but lots about doorways. Do you think they let themselves in? Somebody leaves the door unlocked and they slip in when no one’s looking?

  Or are they part of us? Are we responsible for them? Do people invite them in? You know the story of Pandora?” He shook his head and his eyes looked their usual angry pair of glinting knife edges. “Anyway, enough chatter. We’ll end up like Gregor, talking all the time.

  Up you get.

  Now, when someone comes at you, don’t back away. Go forward to meet them – if you think you’re stronger – if not, go left or right, out of their direction. You have to do it at the right time though.

  Right, you come for me, and do it properly, as though you want to hurt me.”

  For the next thirty minutes Tristan was thrown, pulled, pushed, hit, slapped, tripped, locked and twisted.

  Max had been right. It was painful.

  He had also been right about it being the quickest way to learn.

  As they ran back to Tristan’s house, it felt like the pavement was pounding on his feet. The slow, jolting pain of running seemed to slam down on every new bruise and bump he had, road by road, he limped and dragged himself home. Max ran beside him, a constant presence.

  Tristan’s body felt as though he had been thrashed with several wooden sticks. Inside, he felt sick.

  He was confused, too tired to think.

  For one night he had believed he was a hero, and now… Now he was… lost.

  When Tristan’s aunt saw him, she thought he had been beaten up and wanted to phone the police. Tristan just managed to convince her not to and lied to her, saying that he had joined a boxing gym with Max – no, I really want to train to box – yes, it is legal to train under eighteen year olds – no, please don’t try to talk to them – they won’t take me seriously if my aunty asks them to be nice to me – yes, I’ll be fine – of course I’ll take it easier next time – no, Max didn’t get so many bruises – just because – yes, he is a better fighter – no, they didn’t pick on me – yes, I do look a mess – no, school won’t mind – yes, it does hurt, but it’ll heal – no, he hardly had any bruises – I don’t know, he’s just really good at fighting – yes, I’ll ask him to give me few pointers – yes, isn’t it good to have a friend like Max?

  Stephanie’s shocked and sympathetic face made dragging his aching bones into school worthwhile. “What happened? Are you alright? Has someone beaten you up?”

  Tristan was, once again, the celebrity of the day in his form class. A small crowd clustered around him, wanting to know details and names; voices called questions and comments – what happened, mate? – You look like you just gone ten rounds with Mohammed El Fayed – That’s Mohammed Ali, you cock – Who did it to you, anyway? – I had a black eye once, took weeks to go – What they do it for? – Bet they look worse, eh, Tristan? – Is your nose actually broken, or just bent?

  But among it all one comment broke through to his core – looks like Steph caught up with him for standing her up.

  It was a throw-away joke from one of Stephanie’s friends, but it had been loud enough for them both to hear. Their eyes locked. Tristan looked at Stephanie in dismay, “Steph. Saturday night. Shit.” How could he have forgotten? Well, he knew how, places to go, people to kill. But that was stupid, unbelievably stupid, to forget about beautiful Stephanie.

  Her beautiful eyes fled from him. Her face was turning red. Was it embarrassment or anger? And then she moved away. He watched her walking away from him across the room. She didn’t look back. Tristan’s heart felt like the plug had been pulled out and it was suddenly drained.

  “Tristan, could I have a word please?” The sour face of Mrs Parks looked concerned. He spent the rest of his time answering questions to the clearly worried Mrs Parks, but his mind and eyes kept dragging back to Stephanie.

  Wasn’t his face the perfect alibi? She must like him. Hadn’t she looked horrified when she saw his bruised face? He waited till the end of form and caught up with her as she was leaving the classroom, suggesting he explain, make it up to her and she could find him in the library if she wanted to talk. She murmured something about having a bad weekend and it would be good to talk and her smile flashed like a toothpaste advert and her golden hair and eyes sparkled.

  He smiled after her and watched the pendulum swing of her body as she disappeared down the corridor. He watched until the milling bodies of other students obscured her from his view and looked forward to seeing her again in the library.

  Tristan’s school day was uneventful and routine. He found the limited normality of school life frustratingly dull, the periodic table, grammatical details and building complex equations were bars blocking his mind from more important matters: his real life. His eyes had been opened to another world and he was alive to other realities.

  It was dinner time in the library with Gregor and Lucretia when he next felt like he was doing something worthwhile. Gregor had asked him about his dreams and voices and listened eagerly to his every word. They talked about the demon that killed his mother. Gregor wanted to help him find it. He had then said that he did not approve of Max training him to fight, explaining at length that fighting was not Tristan’s purpose. They each had their role to play, Gregor droned, and Tristan was to be their eyes, delicate and precious and you didn’t put your eyes in danger. Lucretia had pretended to be offended, “But Gregor, aren’t I delicate and precious? Why do I have to fight?” She had teased the old man, “
Please Gregor, I’m the sensitive one. Please don’t make me fight anymore. I’m just a delicate eyeball.” The two of them had laughed.

  Now the Gregor was shuffling moodily around on his walking stick in the background, moving books pedantically around into some sort of order. Lucretia had already heard about Max training Tristan to fight and thought it was very funny. Her dark hair curls bounced as she shook her head and laughed, “Oh, sweetie, what did the bad boy do to you?”

  “I’m fine.” Tristan smiled ruefully. He was actually feeling quite proud of his cuts and bruises. He was doing something worthwhile and his face showed the pain he was going through. “I’ll get better.”

  “Yes. Yes, I know you will. You’ll heal anyway, not sure if you’ll get better at fighting or be killed, but I’ll ask Max to take it a bit easier on you tomorrow. We can’t have your lovely face all knocked out of place can we, my dear? It’s far too pretty for Max to spoil.”

  Tristan was grateful, although he didn’t want to admit it, “Well, it has led to a lot of questions. It might raise suspicions about what we’re doing.”

  She looked at him in mock seriousness and the corner of her mouth twitched, hiding a smile, “Yes, of course.”

  He looked at her and smiled, laughing at himself, “And it does hurt a little bit.”

  “Oh, my poor baby, does it hurt?” She approached him with an exaggerated sympathetic face, “Tell me where it hurts. Let me kiss it better.” She was upon him and trying to kiss his bruises, virtually sitting in his lap and he was laughing and telling her to get lost, when Lucretia stopped. She was no longer looking at him, but at the door.

  Tristan’s eyes followed to where she was staring and he looked at the surprised face of Stephanie. Her open mouth formed his name as though to begin a conversation, “Tristan.”

  “Stephanie. Shit. Look…” but she had turned and, for the second time that day, was gone. “Shit, shit, shit,” was all Tristan could say as he was trying to push Lucretia off him and follow her out the door. As he was hurrying out of the library, he saw Gregor’s face. In his rush to catch up to Stephanie he ignored the unusual scene frozen before him: Gregor’s face was shocked; his mouth hung open; he was staring after Stephanie and Tristan saw the books falling from his loose hands and thudding to the floor. Even as he rushed swiftly from the room, it dragged at his thoughts, but he had no time to stop and think.