Ferryman (6 page)

A distant howl erupted somewhere to her left. It was
high-pitched
, mournful, like an animal in pain. The noise seemed to echo off the surrounding hills, giving it an eerie, unearthly quality. It made her shiver.

“What was that?” she asked Tristan.

He shrugged, apparently unconcerned. “Just an animal. They introduced some wolves here a while back. Don’t worry,” he added with a small smile, looking at her nervous expression. “There are plenty of deer around here for them to eat. They aren’t going to bother about you.”

He looked up at the darkening sky. It had melted into late afternoon without Dylan really noticing. Surely they hadn’t walked for that long? She folded her arms across her chest, hugging herself for warmth. The wind seemed suddenly stronger. Swirling around her, it tugged stray strands of hair across her face, making them dance in front of her eyes like rippling shadows. She tried to brush them aside, but her reaching fingers found nothing but air.

Tristan pushed off from the rock he was leaning against, his eyes searching the oncoming night. “All the same, we should get a move on,” he said. “We don’t want to be stuck on the top of a hill when it gets dark.”

It really had got very dark in a ridiculously short space of time. Dylan found it hard to see as they made their way down the hill. This side of the peak was covered in gravel that skidded out from under her feet and rocks that were slick with recent rain. She tried to pick her way, shuffling forward a small step at a time, keeping one foot firmly on the ground whilst she felt her way along the ground hesitantly with the other. It was very slow going and she could feel Tristan’s impatience. Still, he dropped back to walk by her side, the arm closest to her half extended, ready to grab her if she fell, and that was comforting. Above the wind and the sound of her breathing, occasionally she caught the faint baying of wild animals prowling in the night.

“Stop.” Tristan flung his arm out in front of Dylan. Shocked by his abrupt halt, she turned to gaze at him,
wide-eyed
. Taking in his stance, she felt a nudge of apprehension thrill through her. He was standing stock still, absolutely alert. Every muscle in his body was tense, ready for action. His eyes were focused intently on something ahead, darting in small, quick movements as he scanned the scene in front of them. His eyebrows were pulled down over his eyes, his mouth set in a grim line. Whatever it was, it wasn’t good.

“
W
hat is it?” Dylan squinted in the direction he was looking, but could see nothing out of the ordinary through the gloom. She could just make out the shape of hills in the distance, and the track that they were descending. Though she stared fixedly for a long moment, nothing moved. She was about to open her mouth to ask what he had seen when he held up his hand, motioning for quiet.

He put his finger to his lips.

Dylan closed her mouth and looked at him attentively, watching his reactions. He was still frozen, his eyes searching the darkness. Dylan glanced once more in the direction of his gaze, but still couldn’t see what had caused Tristan’s response. His tension was infectious, though, and she felt her stomach tightening. Her heart started to beat faster and she had to concentrate on inhaling through her nose to keep her breathing under control.

Tristan continued to stare keenly forward for another moment, then turned to look at her. For a short while his eyes glowed vividly, like blue flames. Dylan gasped quietly, but the next second they were as black as coals in the night and she was left wondering whether she had imagined it.

The wind seemed to pick up as they stood there, whipping around them. The noise rushed in Dylan’s ears, but above it she thought she detected a faint howling. The same animal noises they had heard earlier. Tristan had said that they were nothing to worry about, but his rigid posture told her otherwise.

“Wolves?” she mouthed, too frightened to speak. He nodded. Dylan looked back at the landscape in front of them, searching the black grasses for the silhouettes. It was still empty.

“What are we going to do?” she whispered. Anxiety had pushed her unconsciously closer to him, seeking protection, and she was able to murmur into his ear.

“There’s a derelict wooden cabin at the bottom of this hill.” His words were whispered too, but fervent. “We need to reach it. We’re going to have to go a little faster, Dylan.”

“But where are they?” she whispered back.

“It doesn’t matter right now; we just have to move.”

His words frightened Dylan. She scanned the dark, half hoping that the danger would reveal itself, half hoping that it would not. She could see nothing, but the darkness was thickening somehow. Even the ground at her feet was now just a black shadow. If she tried to go faster she would fall, possibly taking Tristan down with her.

“Tristan, I can’t see,” she mumbled, fear making her voice catch.

“I’ve got you,” he said, and the certainty in his voice gave her courage, warmed the chill in her chest. He reached for her hand, fingers curling around hers and then gripped it tightly. Dylan realised with a start that this was the first time they had touched. She was nearly glad that it was dark. Despite the horror of the moment, she felt almost jittery from the contact. His hand was very warm, and the hold he took on her fingers was strong. Immediately she felt safer. His confidence was obvious in every word, every movement. It gave her confidence, too.

“Let’s go,” he said.

He led the way forward at a much faster pace. Dylan tried to keep up, but the darkness was thick and she could no longer see the rocks or clumps of grass, and so she tripped and stumbled often, already unbalanced from descending such a steep incline. Her trainers were old and the treads on them were worn. At one point she put her foot down heavily on a patch of gravel and it slid right out from under her. Her other foot tried to find purchase on the ground but it hit the hill at an awkward angle. Forced to put her full weight on it, the muscles in her ankle wobbled and strained, trying to hold her upright. She felt a sharp pain as the joint twisted under her. With a whimper, she felt herself falling, her leg buckling, but Tristan’s hand kept a firm grip on hers and he tensed his arm, yanking her to a halt and stopping the back of her head smacking against the cold ground. At that moment he seemed to be impossibly strong. With just one arm he pulled her back upright, almost lifting her off the ground before settling her back on her feet. In the next second he was urging her forward again.

“Almost there,” he said, slightly breathless.

Looking forward, Dylan thought she could make out the faint outline of a building not far ahead. It was, as Tristan had said, a wooden cabin. As they moved closer the details began to appear. This place had a door still intact, with two glass windows on either side. The roof was a steep apex with a little slightly lopsided chimney poking out at one end. They would reach it in just a couple of minutes with the pace Tristan was setting.

The ground levelled out and Dylan felt more comfortable trying to stride forward. Her ankle throbbed with every step, but she was sure that it was only twisted, not sprained. Tristan pressed on faster, encouraging her into an uneven jog.

“You’re doing great, Dylan, keep going,” he told her.

The animal wailing was getting louder, closer. It was now a constant, interweaving orchestra of noise. Dylan couldn’t guess how many creatures were circling them. She still hadn’t caught even a glimpse of a wolf, though her eyes darted left and right, scanning the area around them. Still, they were almost there now. They would make it. She was glad that the cabin looked a lot sturdier than the tumbledown cottage that they had been forced to sleep in the night before. There would have been nowhere to hide, no way to keep them out. They were so close now that Dylan could almost make out the reflection of her frightened face in the windowpane.

That was when she felt it. It began as a chill around her heart, and then her breath seemed to freeze in her lungs. In the dark she couldn’t see them; she could merely make out the movement in the air, shadows upon shadows. They whirled before her and she felt the air stir against her skin as they snaked around her. Testing, tasting the air.

These were not wolves.

“They’re here.” Tristan’s voice was full of dread, and so quiet that the words seemed not to be for her ears. Nonetheless Dylan heard them, and they scared her more than anything else. There was something odd about the way he spoke. It was as if he had known these creatures were coming, as if he knew what they were. What secrets was he keeping from her?

Something rushed past her. Although she yanked her head back quickly enough to snap her jaw shut, the thing slashed across her face, causing a burning across the bridge of her nose and her cheek. She wiped her hand roughly across her skin and felt wetness there. She was bleeding.

“Tristan, what’s happening?” she shrieked, casting her voice above the wind and the howling, which was rising in a frightening crescendo, interspersed with hisses and screams. The ice in her chest made it painful to breath.

Out of the gloom in front of her a shadow appeared, heading straight for her. She didn’t have time to react, to step sideways out of its path, or even brace herself. But the impact she was waiting for never came. Amazingly, the shadow seemed to pass right through her. She wasn’t sure if she imagined it, but it felt like a frozen arrow passing through her body. Dropping Tristan’s hand, she grabbed her middle, expecting to find a wound, or hole, but her jumper was completely intact.

“Dylan, no! Don’t let go of me!”

She felt fingers reaching for her, and searched the air for his hand, but came up empty. Then suddenly she was grabbed by what felt like hundreds of hands, that seemed to have no more substance than smoke. They were strong though, and through the sheer force of their numbers she felt them pulling her downward, even though there was nowhere to go. Instinctively she flailed with her arms, trying to knock them away, but her hands found nothing in the air. What was going on? These were not animals or birds. She stopped moving and felt the substanceless things return immediately. How could she fight something she couldn’t touch? Under the combined strength of the creatures, her legs collapsed and she sank to the ground.

“Dylan!”

Although he was standing right next to her, Tristan’s voice seemed very far away. It barely registered over the sound of jubilant snarling and shrieking. The things were swarming all over her now. She could feel them on her arms, her legs, across her stomach, even on her face. Everywhere they touched her burned like frosted metal on bare skin. More and more of them were passing through her body, chilling her bones. There was no adrenaline in her fear. Instead, terror weakened her. She had no power to battle on, to struggle against the unbeatable.

“Tristan,” she whispered. “Help.”

Her voice had less strength than a murmur. She felt weak all over, as if something had drained her of energy. It was hard to refuse the weight of the coaxing hands. Down, down, down, towards the ground, then, astonishingly, past it. The dirt and rock did not seem as solid as it should. Dylan felt she could slip through it as if it was liquid.

“Dylan!” Tristan’s voice could have been coming from underwater. It was distorted and fuzzy. “Dylan, listen to me!”

She could hear a note of panic, and she wanted to comfort him. She felt almost calm, weightless and tranquil; he should be calm too.

A hand grabbed the front of her jumper roughly. It hurt. The air around her was filled with angry hisses, and Dylan agreed – the hand should stop. The fist shook harder and then yanked her upwards. She felt like she was trapped in a tug of war.

The hissing intensified and the pulling hands transformed into ferocious talons, digging in like needles all over her body. They tore at her clothes and tangled into her hair, wrenching her head back and pulling a cry of pain from her lips. The unknown assailants seemed to enjoy that, and the hissing transformed into cackling, a menacing screech that drove straight into Dylan’s heart and chilled it.

Suddenly Dylan was hauled upwards. The hand holding the front of her jumper pulled her upright and an arm snaked under her knees and lifted her into the air. Her feet dangled and her head lolled backwards until she could summon the strength to lift it. She knew she was in Tristan’s arms. She didn’t have time to be embarrassed, although he had her pinned tightly to his chest, shielding her, because the creatures had not given up the fight. They snapped at her feet and circled around Tristan. They grabbed at his clothes, his hair; slashed angrily in front of his face. Ignoring them, he held her tightly to him and began to run. The claws lost their grip, but they tried to grasp her again and again. Dylan could feel the air rushing past as the things whooshed around her; they were close enough to slash shallow gashes across her skin, but could not grip her as Tristan stormed down the hill towards the cabin.

The screaming reached fever pitch as Tristan neared the shelter, as the things realised that they were about to lose their prey. They doubled their efforts, targeting Dylan as Tristan seemed impervious to their attacks. They scratched and tore at her, focusing on her head and her hair. Dylan tried to hide her face in Tristan’s shoulder, seeking protection.

The cabin was incredibly close now. Tristan’s feet thumped against a paved path as he flew across the final few metres. Not letting go of her, he somehow opened the door and dashed inside. The final thing Dylan heard was a thunderous chorus of screams. There were no words to hear, but the emotions were clear in their screeching clamour: they were furious.

D
ylan knew the moment they crossed the threshold into the safety of the cabin because the noise stopped instantly. Tristan slammed the door behind him and immediately dropped her to her feet, almost as if having her in his arms had scalded him. Leaving her standing there, her mouth gaping wide in shock, he walked quickly to the window and stared out of it.

The cabin, like the cottage the night before, was sparsely furnished. There was a bench along the back wall and Dylan stumbled over to it. She dropped heavily onto the rough wood and hid her head in her hands, small sobs escaping from between her fingers as she tried to control the rush of fear that coursed through her veins, making her heart thump erratically. Tristan glanced over, an unfathomable expression on his face, but he refused to leave his lookout post by the window.

Pulling her hands away from her face, Dylan examined her arms. Even in the almost-dark, she could see criss-crossed scratches all over her skin. Some had barely grazed her, but others had gouged deeper, causing small droplets of blood to ooze through. Her skin stung all over, burning. Still, the pain hardly registered as the adrenaline that flooded her system made her hands tremble.

This cabin also had a fireplace, and after a few minutes Tristan crossed over and bent down to it. There were no logs, and Dylan didn’t hear the sound of a match scratching, but there was quickly a fire blazing in the grate. The flickering gave the cottage an eerie atmosphere as shadows played frighteningly against the walls. Dylan didn’t question the sudden arrival of the fire, though there was no natural explanation for how it had been lit. There were too many more important, impossible thoughts in her mind, jostling for space. Those ideas niggling at the back of her consciousness were fighting to break through, demanding to be heard. She had so many questions she didn’t know where to begin.

They stayed like that for a long time – Tristan
statue-like
and composed, back at the window; Dylan curled up in a ball on the bench, occasionally crying and gasping quietly, the after-effects of the adrenaline rush. There was no sound from outside. Whatever the things had been, they seemed to have retreated for now.

Eventually Dylan lifted her head. “Tristan.”

He didn’t look over. He seemed to be bracing himself for something.

“Tristan, look at me.” Dylan waited, and finally he turned his head, slowly and unwillingly. “What was that?” She tried to keep her voice calm, but it was still husky from crying and it cracked a little as she spoke. Her green eyes shimmered as tears still loitered, but she held his stare, willing him to be truthful. Whatever those things had been, Tristan had recognised them. He had been speaking to himself when he’d muttered, “They’re here”, and he had known what would happen when she let go of his hand. How had he known? What else was he hiding from her?

Tristan sighed. He had known that this point had been coming, but had hoped to postpone it as long as possible. But there were no parlour tricks or games that could gloss over what had happened. Dylan had seen and felt those things. They could not be explained away as wild animals. He had no choice but to be honest with her. He wasn’t sure where to start, how to explain in a way she would understand, how to break it to her and yet cause the least amount of pain.

Reluctantly he crossed the room and sat down on the bench beside her. He didn’t look at her, but stared at his interlaced fingers, as if hoping to find the answers there.

Normally, when revealing the truth became an unavoidable necessity, he just blurted it out. He told himself that a short, sharp shock was better than drawing it out painfully. But in reality, it was because he didn’t care. Whether they cried, sobbed, begged or tried to bargain, there was no changing things. He just turned off and waited it out until they accepted the inevitable, and then the two of them could go forward together in mutual understanding. But this time… this time he didn’t want to.

Sitting close enough to feel her breath on his face, he turned his head and gazed into her green eyes, a luscious, deep green that made him think of forests and nature, and felt a twist in his stomach and a tightening in his chest. He didn’t want to hurt her. He wasn’t quite sure why, but he felt a yearning need to protect this one, more than he’d ever felt for any of the others.

“Dylan, I haven’t really been honest with you,” he began.

He saw her pupils dilate slightly, but there was no other reaction. She already knew this, he realised. She just didn’t know what the deception was.

“I wasn’t on the train.”

He paused, gauging her response. He expected to be interrupted by a stream of questions, of demands and accusations, but she just waited, still as stone. Her eyes were pools of fear and uncertainty; she was afraid of what he might say, but determined to hear it nonetheless.

“I was…” Tristan’s voice trembled and died. How to say it? “I was waiting for you.”

Her eyebrows puckered together in confusion, but she didn’t speak and he was glad of that. It seemed easier for Tristan to get the words out without hearing her voice. He refused to do her the disservice of not looking in her eyes, though.

“You weren’t the only one to walk away from the crash, Dylan.” His voice had dropped to a whisper, as if he could lessen the blow by turning down the volume. “You were the only one not to.”

The words were spoken clearly, but they seemed to float in Dylan’s brain, refusing to settle into meaning. She tore her eyes away from his in an attempt to process what he was telling her, staring at a broken tile on the floor.

Tristan shifted uncomfortably beside her, waiting for a reaction. A full minute passed, then another. She didn’t move. Only the occasional tremor of her lips stopped her from being a statue.

“I’m sorry, Dylan,” he added, not as an afterthought, but sincerely. Although he didn’t understand the reason, he hated inflicting pain on her, wished he could take it back. But there was no undoing what had been done. These things were set in stone. He did not have the power to change them, and it would be wrong to do so even if he could. It was not his place to play God. He watched her blink twice, saw the realisation settle into her being. Any second now the flood of emotion would begin. He hardly dared to breathe, waiting on tenterhooks. He was afraid of her tears.

She surprised him.

“I’m dead?” she asked finally.

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Expecting an outpouring of anguish, he lifted his arms out towards her. However, she remained oddly calm. She nodded and sighed, then smiled a tiny smile to herself.

“I think maybe I already knew, somewhere.”

No, that wasn’t quite right, Dylan thought. She hadn’t
known
… but somewhere deep down, her subconscious had been keeping tabs on all the things that were wrong, all the things that just didn’t add up. Things that were too weird, too strange to be real life. And though she couldn’t explain why, she felt no terror at finally acknowledging the truth. Only relief.

She thought about never seeing Joan or Katie again, of never meeting her father and enjoying the relationship they might have had, of never having a career, a marriage, children. She felt sadness tug at her heartstrings, but overshadowing these mournful thoughts was a sense of inner peace. If it was true, and she knew in her bones that it was, then it was done and unchangeable. She was still here, she was still her, and that was something to be thankful for.

“Where am I?” she asked quietly.

“The wasteland,” Tristan replied. She looked up at him, waiting for more. “It’s the land between worlds. You have to cross it. Everyone does. Their own personal wilderness. A place to discover the truth that you have died and come to terms with it.”

“And those things?” Dylan gestured towards the window. “What are they?”

Although the noise had gone, Dylan was sure that the strange creatures had not left. They were simply waiting, biding their time and hoping for another opportunity to attack.

“Demons, I guess you’d call them. Scavengers, wraiths. They try to snatch souls during the crossing. The closer we get to the other side, the worse the attacks will become as their desperation grows.”

“What do they do?” Her voice was barely more than a whisper.

Tristan shrugged, unwilling to answer.

“Tell me,” she pressed. It was important to know, to be prepared. She didn’t want to be in the dark any more.

He sighed. “
If
they catch you, which they won’t, then they pull you under. The ones that they’ve caught, we never see again.”

“And once you’re under?” Dylan raised a questioning eyebrow.

“I don’t know exactly,” Tristan replied quietly. She grimaced, dissatisfied, but sensed he was being honest. “But when they’re finished with you, you become one of them. Dark, hungry, crazed. Monsters of smoke.”

Dylan stared into nothingness. She was horrified by the thought of becoming one of those things. Screaming, desperate, violent; they were hateful creatures.

“Are we safe here?”

“Yes,” Tristan answered quickly, wanting to reassure her as much as he could. “These buildings are safe houses. They can’t come inside.”

She accepted this quietly, but Tristan knew there would be further questions, more truths that she needed to know. And he would give them to her, where he could. She deserved that much at least.

“And you?”

That was all she said, but it implied a thousand questions. Who was he? What was the life that he led? What was his place in this world? Tristan was forbidden to reveal most of these answers, and in truth he didn’t know all of them, but there were some things that he could tell her, some things that she had a right to know.

“I’m a ferryman,” he began. He had been staring at his hands, but he sneaked a quick look at her face. It was simply curious. He took a deep breath and continued. “I guide souls across the wasteland and protect them from the demons. I break the truth to them, then deliver them to wherever they’re going.”

“And where is that?”

A key question. “I don’t know.” He smiled ruefully. “I’ve never been.”

Dylan looked incredulous at this. “But how can you know that it’s the right place? You just drop people off and walk away? For all you know, it’s the gates of hell!”

He nodded indulgently, but there was a finality about his answer. “I just know.”

She pursed her lips and looked unconvinced, but didn’t argue the point further. Tristan exhaled a relieved breath. He didn’t want to lie to her, but there were some things that he just wasn’t allowed to share.

“How many people have you…” Dylan paused, unsure how to phrase her question. “… guided over?”

He looked up, and this time there was a definite sadness in his eyes. “I honestly couldn’t tell you. Thousands, hundreds of thousands, probably. I’ve been doing this a long time.”

“How old are you?” Dylan asked.

This was a question that he could answer, but didn’t want to. He sensed if she knew the truth, if she knew how long he had lingered here – not learning, growing and experiencing the way a human did, but simply being – then the delicate connection between them would break. She would see him as old, someone strange and other, and he found that he didn’t want that. He attempted to make a joke out of it.

“How old do I look?” He held out his arms and offered himself up for inspection.

“Sixteen,” she said, “but you can’t be. Is that when you died? Can you not age?”

“In technical terms, I’ve never really lived,” he replied, a wistfulness in his eyes. Quickly that gave way to a more guarded expression. He had already let slip more than he should. Mercifully, she seemed to read that in his expression, and asked no more questions.

Looking around, Dylan took notice of her surroundings properly for the first time. The cabin was just one long room, with mismatched furniture suffering the wear and tear of long abandon. Still, it was in better repair than last night’s cottage. The doors and windows were still intact and the fire burning strongly in the grate had warmed the room. Besides the bench that Dylan sat on with Tristan, there was an old bed, devoid of blankets but with a mattress. Although it looked like it had seen better days, and was coated with numerous stains, it was inviting at that moment. There was also a kitchen table and sink at the other end.

Stiffly she stood up – she must have been sitting on the hard bench for longer than she’d realised – and crossed the room to the little kitchen area. She felt grimy, uncomfortable. She wanted a wash but the sink looked ancient, like it hadn’t been used in years and years. Up close it didn’t appear any more optimistic. Both taps were covered in rust. Still, she grasped one and twisted. Nothing happened so she tried the other. When it stuck as well, she increased the pressure, feeling the edges of the tap digging into her palms. She felt something start to give and so squeezed and twisted a little harder, hope burgeoning. With a scrape and a clunk, the top of the tap came away entirely in her hand, the metal weakened by rust.

“Oops.” She turned and grimaced at Tristan showing him the broken cap.

He grinned at her and shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. That tap hasn’t worked in years.”

Dylan nodded, guilt alleviated, and tossed the broken piece into the sink. Then she turned and walked quickly over to the bed. She felt Tristan’s eyes on her, and when she twisted round to sit down on the mattress, noticed his gaze was evaluating her.

“What?” she asked, smiling slightly. Now that the truth was out in the open she felt, oddly, much more comfortable around him. It was as if the secret had been a wedge keeping her in the cold.

He couldn’t help smiling back at her. “I’m just astonished at your response, that’s all. Not one tear.” His voice tailed off as her smile fell, and sadness took its place.

“What good will crying do?” she asked, with the wisdom of a much older soul. She sighed. “I’m going to try to sleep.”

“You’re safe here. I’ll keep watch.”

And she did feel safe, knowing he was there, alert. Her protector.