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Post by Isadora Is a Door on Apr 1, 2024 11:33:06 GMT -5
Chapter Twenty – The Fog
It was like a dream that never ended.
Except it was much more complex than that. It was one dream after the other, a never ending sequence of events from which there was no escaping.
As soon as Fiona had the chance to settle down into her surroundings, she would then be jerked back into another place and time, another random moment from the history of her life, another portion of her experiences playing out in front of her.
She was in her bed, her arms as stiff as boards and her back a wreck of knotted muscles. Despite the room being as dark as pitch, she could be certain where she was. After a few moments, the gentle swaying of the room was enough for her to be sure that she was back on the ship.
The last thing she remembered – really remembered, before she had begun her strange journey, she had been sitting here, on her bed, the lockets in each hand. Now there was only one, and it was absent from her neck, which meant it must be settled upon the dresser. It could only be a few inches away from her, right at that moment..
Fiona knew that the locket was the key to all. It had started her on this journey, so it must be crucial to ending it.
But it made no difference of course. Even if she had been able to take control, Fiona would not have been able to move. She remembered, now. It would take her a while, but Fiona had found that the longer she stayed in the mind of her other selves, the more that their memories and thoughts began to open to her.
And so now she remembered. Her arms were stiff, and there were burn marks scorched onto her skin, of course they were. How could she ever have forgotten? She was not going to be moving any time soon, not until she had gotten a decent night's sleep.
The chill of the cold night air sent a shiver down her spine, and with the shaking movement of her body, Fiona found that she was somewhere new once again.
The strength that flooded into her body was incredible. Yes, she was hungry, and tired, and cold, but those were nothing to how she had felt only a moment before.
Fiona was still on the boat, only now she found herself up on deck, with the salt and the wind filling her lungs, the sound of the sea cloying against her ears. She breathed in deep, the ocean filling her body with life and soul.
It was night, and there was a darkness surrounding the ship, though in truth Fiona could not see. Instead, there was a fog forming close against her, milky white strands of moisture that hung in the air, enveloping the boat in a tightening web.
She was standing where she had been before, back when she had been talking with Harry, her hands resting on the wooden prow of the ship. For her mind it had been only a few hours at most, but for her body she could not say for certain how much time had passed. Fiona could feel the sweat in her hair, an aching in her legs, and a nausea in her stomach. Seasickness had never really been a problem for her, but there was a strange taste in her mouth that suggested otherwise.
Fiona stared out at the ocean as the fog began to grow denser, blanketing the stars from the sky and the waves from the sea, and she realised that she could no longer tell one from the other. The cold was beginning to set in to her fingers, and she rubbed her palms gently against one another.
That was when she heard the footsteps behind her. She did not need to guess who it was. She knew.
'Fiona' said Harry, calling out to her from across the way. 'I need you to give me an answer.'
Fiona did not know what to say. How long had she been away for? What had he been trying to tell her?
'You can't just keep on ignoring what's happening.' Harry spoke again, moving closer towards her.
Fiona sighed, and she felt her eyes close for a moment, before she turned around to face him, raising her arms protectively against her chest.
'Harry.' she said, letting the word hang in the air for a moment, dancing between them. 'You're the one who is ignoring things.' His face was open and honest, a naivety that almost made her feel sorry for him. 'I don't understand.'
'That's exactly the problem.' she said, and with that she made to turn away again. He reached out to take her hand in his, but she pushed it away.
'I... I'm sorry if I've made you angry.'
'It's not that which is the problem.' Fiona shook her head, but in the darkness she knew he could not see. 'It's not that at all.'
She braced herself, and turned to him
'I...'
Fiona hesitated, and she felt everything beginning to drain away from her once more.
'I...'
The fog was drawing in, the white mist drowning out the world.
And then she was gone.
The whiteness that had subsumed her was suddenly replaced by a blackness, the dark wall of the sea cushioning up against the glass of the porthole.
Fiona knew, of course she did. It took only the smallest of seconds, and she knew for certain where she was, trapped in the repeated cycle of her worst nightmares.
Fiona could see her, floating out there in the darkness. There was a thin beam of light stretching out in the gloom, the white falling to shreds as it succumbed to the impress of the sea. Fiona wanted to cry out a warning, but it was no good. She was only a child, of course, and she knew what was going to happen. She always knew.
Her mothers figure began to diminish as she floated further and further out into the darkness.
And then the light flickered away, fading into nothing.
Fiona let out a scream, a shriek of fear and terror. Her voice was so weak, so powerless, that nobody would ever be able to answer it.
And then she was gone.
The floor was cold to touch, and yet Fiona found that her hands and feet began to burn hot the longer that they were pressed against the stone. Her body felt heavy, but as she pulled herself she was alarmed by how light she felt, a dizziness blocking her senses.
Fiona appeared to be in some kind of cavern, with heaps of jagged stone serving as the walls around her. Light was coming in from the distant edges of her visions, but the light was so dim and blurred that she could only make out a burnt orange, coarsely painting the corners of her vision. The floor, which moments ago had felt like stone, now seemed to be made of cloth, the weight of her feet sagging into its surface, and it’s colour and shape were constantly in motion below her. The walls seemed to be moving as well; Where once they were close by, now they seemed to be drifting, fading further away from her.
As her mind had continued to travel, Fiona had grown used to the experience of being unable to find her senses and understand her place, but nothing that she attempted seemed to make her circumstances appear any clearer to herself. Wherever she was, it was not somewhere she had ever been before. Something felt different this time, something that she had not yet been able to put her finger on.
As Fiona moved through the room, the air felt thick and claggy, a taste of ash and brimstone that made her cough. She looked where she had been laying on the floor, and wondered how she had come to be there. There was a sharp pain in the back of her head, and when Fiona reached up to touch herself she realised, impossibly, what was different..
She was in control of her body again, and her movements were now her own.
The thick air was making it harder and harder for her to breathe, and she could feel her chest tightening with confusion and fear. She had to get out of this place, whatever it was.
Fiona turned back towards the source of light, only to find that her way was now blocked. There was a man, slung from a chain that descended from the ceiling. The chain was forged from iron links that burnt a bright blue, light radiating from the metal like shafts of moonlight. The man was naked, with thin black lines covering his entire body. His hands were bloody ruins, the fingers and bones mashed together, blood flowing freely from the left, where on the right it had stagnated and crusted over, turning a shining black. When he looked at her, Fiona saw two eyes, one white, the other black, but they were not the eyes that she had expected. They were not the eyes of her brother.
‘Fernald?’ she said, her voice only a whisper, barely audible.
But somehow he heard, and he smiled when she said his name.
‘Fiona.’ he said, and against her worst expectations, it was truly her brother's voice that she heard. Despite the absurd horror of what was happening, it made Fiona feel all the better for hearing him speak to her again.
‘What are you-? I mean…’ Fiona stopped, gathering her thoughts, composing herself before speaking again. ‘What’s happening?’ Fernald simply shook his head from side to side, and his shoulders seemed to shrug.
‘You don’t understand, do you?’ he sighed.
‘Understand what?’ she asked
‘The beast is coming for you, Fiona. You should have listened to me.
Fiona did not understand. She always listened to him. ‘What are you talking about? Please, just tell me what’s going on.’
Fernald stopped talking, and closed his eyes. He remained still for a few seconds, as if contemplating something, trying to reach a decision. The air grew thicker, the heat rising and building a wall between them. Fiona felt as though she was going to pass out, her head spinning in circles, her throat drying and her lungs straining for breath. She could feel an ache in her stomach, a pain that ate away at her very core.
And then it was all over.
Fernald opened his eyes. The black and white effect was all gone, now replaced by their usual deep brown hue. As her brother's eyes had opened, oxygen had seemed to flow back into the room, and Fiona could breathe freely once more. She took several thirsty gasps of air, and tried to steady herself, the feeling of sickness building up inside her.
‘Fiona.’ said Fernald, his voice growing cold and distant. ‘I met god, and he had nothing to say to me.’
Fiona could not understand, could not take in what he was saying, what was happening, where she was. It was a mystery.
‘And as for you.’ Fernald continued, his voice growing louder now, the sounds echoing deep inside her mind. ‘Well, you’re going to find out very soon.’
‘Who are you?’
‘What do you want?’
‘Hear what?’ said Harry. ‘I can’t hear anything.’
The cool of the morning air, the freshness of the breeze was such a shock to Fiona that she could not even hear what she had said in reply.
Fiona could feel her body trembling as shook in the open air, taking hold of the wooden rail to steady herself as she swayed at the ship's edge.
‘Are you sure you’re okay?’ said Harry, a look of concern creasing on his brow. ‘Perhaps you should go back to your cabin, get some rest.’
Fiona shook her head. ‘No, the doctor said I’m fine.’
This only made Harry seem even more concerned. ‘I really think you should get some rest.’
She shrugged, and folded up the leaflet he had given her. She was back where she had been before, not the last time she was talking with Harry, but the time before that. It was such a relief to be back somewhere more tangible, more understandable. Fiona would have laughed, if she could – how could this be the most sensible part of her life?
As she made to pass the pamphlet back to Harry, he pressed his hands onto hers, their chill shocking her.
‘Look at it, Fiona. I mean really look. This play took place fifteen years ago, see.’ He pointed to the date scrawled at the bottom of the paper. ‘And yet look at the names of some of the characters.’
Fiona followed Harry's fingers as he pointed at the cast list on the inner pages of the leaflet.
‘Fiona,’ he said, his finger pointing at her name.
‘Harry’ he continued, but Fiona's eyes were distracted, her gaze latching onto something.
‘Julian.’ said Harry, though now she was barely looking, her eyes caught somewhere else.
‘Even bloody Tamson.’ he said, but Fiona's eyes had lingered on another name. Josephine Anwhistle. Now, that was interesting. Where had she seen this name before?
‘Are you even listening to me?’ Harry asked her.
She stared at the name, trying to think, trying to get her brain to understand, but it was no good.
Fiona felt his hands on her, pulling her close towards him, forcing her to look up at him.
‘Fiona, listen to me!’ he said, his voice rising. There was anger in his words, but she knew he did not mean it to show. It was desperation, and it was fear, and those were things she was all too familiar with. She understood. Fiona stared back at him, words failing her.
‘All of this, it can’t be real./ said Harry. ‘I mean, really, it can’t, can it? You say that all of this has happened before, but it’s not just that, is it.’ She could see that tears were forming in the corners of his eyes, the light of the sun reflecting back at her from the silvery opals that were taking shape in his deep blue eyes. They were the kind of tears that come out of fear, out of the terrifying realisation that you have stumbled upon the darkest of secrets.
Harry drew a breath, steadying himself.
‘Everything that’s happening, it’s all happened before, hasn’t it? But not to us, perhaps. To other people. Whether in reality or fiction, in stories, or in a play, I don’t know. But there’s too much coincidence, too much that doesn’t make any sense, that cannot be explained. Because it’s our minds, Fiona. We’re losing control of our sanity, because of what they’ve done to us, because of what they are doing to us.’
‘What do you mean?’ she asked, though she knew what his answer was going to be.
‘I think…’ his voice trailled off, and he drew her even closer, his lips brushing up against her ear, his breath prickling hot against her skin, and he whispered. ‘I don’t think we ever really escaped.’
Fiona sighed, and closed her eyes for a moment thinking. When she opened them again, Harry’s face was still hovering in front of her, his eyes desperate to hear what she was going to say, for her to confirm his worst fears.
‘You poor sweet fool.’ she said, raising up her hand to stroke his face. ‘It’s not that Harry, it’s not that. Of course we escaped.’
He shook his head. ‘No, Fiona. It’s the only explanation.’
We’re dead, Harry. We’re dead, and this is what happens next.
‘In fact’ said Harry, as he reached into his pocket. ‘I can prove it to you.’
He took something from his pocket, but Fiona had no time to see what it was. She took a hold of him, hands frozen, and pushed him away.
But then the next second her hands were on her, full of heat and passion.
The sun had gone, her cabin full of darkness, excepting for the single sputtering flame from a tallow candle, and it took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the shift in her surroundings.
Harry's hands were firm against her skin, caressing her flesh with a gentle urgency. She looked down to see his naked form below her, and when she moved in surprise he seemed to move with her.
Fiona did not know what to think, feeling almost embarrassed as she looked down at her body, and at his, their intimacy exposed before her. Even though the body was her own, there was something voyeuristic about the experience, her detachment from the moment robbing herself of any pleasure.
Fiona could feel the locket between her breasts, it’s metal burning with an intense heat that seemed to match the one that had built inside of her. She placed her hands upon Harry’s chest, and could feel the tense muscles clenching as he breathed beneath her. His eyes were closed, curls of his long blonde hair stuck to the side of his face with sweat.
Fiona felt her own eyes begin to shut, and as she felt her hands move down between her legs she relaxed, and let her mind hang in that space, soaking in the feeling of peace and companionship.
She could feel Harry’s hands move, feeling their way towards her breasts. She opened her eyes, and took hold of his palm instead, taking his right hand into her own. The marks on both their hands were burning red, the black tattoos were shining and inky, only now she realised.
They were not tattoos, they never had been.
They were scars.
As the sound cut through her, an incessant beeping that pounded through her ears, she turned her head towards it, only to find herself somewhere else once again.
The noise. She knew that noise.
And then she was running, moving down a corridor, the sounds of her footsteps clashing against the furore of the siren, warning of the imminent attack. Everything around her was red, the warning lights of the sirens setting everything to a hellish glow. The floor shuddered beneath her, and for a split second she lost her footing, crashing into the hard metallic wall.
Fiona fell down upon the floor, the room spinning in circles around her. No, she thought, no, not this. Anything but this. Please, don’t make me go through it again.
‘Fernald!’ she screamed, but she knew it would be no good, that her words would not reach his ears until it was too late.
And then it came, the ominous roar of the beast, its thunderous cry chilling her soul and her heart, as she froze into place, unable to think. The fear was taking control of her, clouding her thoughts and swamping her judgement, both then and now.
She had to make a choice. She could flee, run away from the noise and carnage, away from where she knew her brother was fighting against the impossible, take herself back to the control room, and do everything she could to try and steer them away, to get back to land before they were killed. Or she could try to help her brother, to fight an impossible fight against a force that she could not prevent. In her heart, she knew that the only way to save them both was to leave her brother to his fate, but she couldn’t let it be. She could not let her brother die alone.
Fiona drew a breath, and made the wrong choice.
She did her best to block her mind from the screams of terror, the cries of the sea, and she shouted out her brother's name again as she ran towards him.
The corridor shook around her, her footsteps sending up splashes of cold icy water to dash against her thighs. And then suddenly she was there.
The most impossible, absurd scenario of her life unfolded before her, now for the second time. The walls of the submarine had been ripped open, and through the thick, black waters that gushed their eager way inside the vessel, Fiona could see a mass of black tentacles, like liquid rubber darting their way through a surface of glass. It was a writhing mass that seemed to be forcing its way inside the ship, with innumerable tentacles squirming their way towards her like a thousand restless limbs.
And there was Fernald, of course.
At first she had almost missed him, her mind so distracted by the horror afore her. He was laying on the ground, half submerged in the water. His face had turned white and bloated, and there was blood spattered about himself.
‘Fernald!’ said Fiona, tears forming in her eyes. She knelt down beside her brother, despair numbing the cold of the water. She put her arms around him, and began to pull him upwards out of the deepening trench. It was then that she noticed it for the first time. Where his hands had once been there were now only two bloody stumps, the red turning the water to deepest crimson around her. The beast roared once more, and the whole submarine shook from one side to the other, as the creature jerked itself forwards.
Fiona stared towards the monster, her eyes full of hate, her mind full of fear.
The beast seemed to sense that she was there, as at that moment it seemed to halt in its movements, the flailing of its tentacles ceasing.
Fiona rose, her legs shaking unsteadily beneath her, and moved towards the great unknown.
With each step that she took, Fiona urged herself to stop, to turn away, to run, to escape, to hide. But her body was not hers to control, her legs trembling like a marionette with each careful step that she took. She knew she would be okay, of course she did. But that did not make herself feel any safer.
Fiona came to a halt in front of a sheer black mass, its shape indiscernible from the reddish glow that the lights had cast upon its surface. She felt as though the creature were surveying her, studying her, although there were no eyes of its own that she could see.
For reasons she could not explain, not even now, Fiona stretched out her hand. The movement was hesitant, seeming to happen in slow motion, and yet before she could process it her hand was upon the creature's skin. It’s heat bit into her, sending shockwaves spiralling, ip through her finger, her arms, up her neck to her head, her mind.
Something cracked, deep inside of her very soul.
Fiona screamed.
She was on her bed, sweat pouring off of her in waves, her arms and legs thrashing in pain.
Pleasure soared through her body, pressure crashing through her brain, crushing her mind and sending her spinning through waves of bliss.
Fiona screamed.
Her heart raced in her chest, thumping against her ribs with urgent need.
A searing hot pain tore between her legs, she could herself being ripped apart, tearing through her very being.
Fiona screamed.
Her lungs were leaden, filling with dirty black water. She tried to breathe, but with every breath she could feel the life draining out of her.
The pain ruptured up through her wrist, a cold black liquid spreading through every fibre of her being, until suddenly it was ripped away.
The beast roared.
Fiona fell back, crashing into the water, the siren of the submarine's alarms echoing distantly at the back of her mind.
She could hear the wet slithering of the beast's tentacles as it withdrew from the ship, receding back into the night.
The last thing she could see was the face of her brother, pale and white as a ghost, as he scooped her up into his arms.
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Post by Isadora Is a Door on Mar 19, 2024 9:58:29 GMT -5
Chapter Nineteen – It’s Always the Quiet Ones
Julian studied his reflection as the ripples brushed across the surface of the water. The sun was falling low upon the sky, and his features were blurred and indistinct, but perhaps he would not have recognised them anyway.
His arms were stiff as boiled leather, and with each push pain ricocheted down his back, but it was nothing compared to the torment in his mind. The oar splashed gently as it bit down into the water, and his reflection shattered away into nothing.
As they made their way across the water, Julian looked up into the face of Father Octavian. The priest was staring up at the sky, and in the gathering gloom his eyes almost looked black. They had not spoken to one another since they had made their way onto the boat, but perhaps it was better that way. Julian was full of questions, and he did not think he could contain himself if he continued to be refused any answers.
The day had been spent ferrying supplies away from the monastery and onto the ship, and it had only been the two of them. It was hard work, and as far as Julian was concerned, all of it had been fruitless.
The Prospero was a ship similar to its namesake, a recreation of an 18th century vessel, but one that seemed to serve no purpose. When Octavian had taken him to see the boat for the first time, he had not understood. He still did not understand fully, but he knew that the intention behind it was serious. Octavian was planning for them to sail the ship, that much was certain. Where and why, however, were known only to him. Julian was not sure how much longer he could stand it.
They had been stocking up the ship with food, water, and ammunitions. Enough for at least thirty men, Julian reckoned, though where those thirty men were to appear from he could not say. There wre only a dozen or so of them at the monastery, and most of those were old and tired men. It made no sense, no sense at all.
Julian had felt uncomfortable the entire day. There was something about the ship, so vast and empty, it’s purpose unknown to him, that made him feel trapped. For the entire day he had been accompanied by a prickling feeling on the back of his neck, as if he were being watched by something, or someone. It was a curious paradox, but the space seemed to crush him. He was in the centre of a web, the net closing in around him.
Julian stared into the eyes of his master, and wondered = What was it all for?
He had been a young boy when he had come to the monastery. He came from a rich and noble family, and it had been his fathers idea that he subsume himself in an ecclesiastical profession. Julian had had no choice in the matter, but in truth he was glad to have had the opportunity to escape from his family.. The scars of past were forgotten here, at least to all but himself.
Julian had found himself drawn to Octavian from the beginning. There was something in his manner and demeanour that appealed to Julian. There was an honesty and integrity to what the man said and did that Julian found himself able to trust in, despite whatever secrets the man kept from him. Julian would not make mistake honesty for openness, and never for trust. Octavian’s mind was a closed book, and his actions were shrouded in a cloak of darkest mystery.
It made no matter, Julian told himself. He would get his answers, in time.
As they reached the shoreline, the sky was beginning to darken, a deep blue haze that seemed to descend from the heavens. Julian could see the moon appearing from behind the spire of the chapel, the stone masonry of the monastery seeming to shine against the moonlight.
It had been nearly twenty years since he had first come here, a young man, yet still a child. In all this time he had never felt as though he call the place home. He was only a visitor, an observer. He has always felt out of place.
They climbed out of the boat, and Julian picked up a length of rope, starting to the boat to the shore.
‘I think I might stay out a while.’ Julian said. ‘I fancy a walk in the woods, to clear my head.’
Octavian nodded at him, and he disappeared without another word.
Julian sat for a moment, looking at the water as the darkness began to settle upon the world, before staying true to his word and heading towards the thicket of trees.
The air was quiet and crisp, and every footstep he made was like a thunderclap in the woods around him. His steps were tentative and gentle, trying not to disturb the environment as much as he could. He would have to be quiet, and he would have to be patient.
He made his careful way though the trees, stood tall and still like patient soldiers. As the sun vanished over the horizon the leaves turned a shade of crimson, but in truth in was still the middle of spring. The woods were bustling with the reawakened nature of the world, and Julian knew that he would not be alone in the darkness.
He was being watched.
He had felt it all day, ever since they had set out that morning, but Julian had not been too concerned. There were eyes everywhere, especially here. Whatever Octavian was planning, it could not have escaped the attention of anyone, Julian was sure. But it was more than that.
Someone had been following Julian for quite a long time. Ever since Octavian had taken him under his wing, an observer had marked him out. Julian had not minded all that much. In some ways he had found it reassuring, in fact. But now enough was enough.
Time passed, Julian could not say how much. He walked through the tree carelessly, heading deeper and deeper into the woods. He was careful to make sure that he would leave enough of a trail that he could still be followed through the growing darkness, but not so much that it would be obvious that he was making things so easy. He had no destination, there was nothing in these woods for him to head towards, but they didn’t know that.
Julian heard a rustling above him, and something emerged from the branches of a nearby tree, taking flight, moonlight shimmering against the feathers of the bird as it took flight into a cloudless night. Julian took this as his opportunity. He veered away from the path, moving into a cluster of trees, and ducked down, trying to keep himself from sight.
Julian waited, pushing himself against the bark of the tree, his fingers digging against the cold moss that had grown up its side.
Julian strained his ears, waiting for some sign, an indication that his suspicions had been correct. His fingers continued to pick at the bark, tiny of flecks of wood digging themselves under his fingernails.
A twig snapped, and Julian tensed, his hand’s frozen in place. He could his breath pulsing up his throat, and he focussed his eyes in the direction he had come, waiting for the stranger to show himself.
In a moment he was there, and in the next, Julian was on him.
He leapt from being the tree, driving straight at his stalker. He took him from a crouching position, knocking the wind from the both of them as they fell to the floor in a haze of confusion and darkness.
It was a risk, of course. Julian did not know who it was, and they could have been armed, or dangerous. But as Julian knelt over the boy, he decided that it was a risk that had paid off.
‘Harry.’ said Julian
The boy nodded, though he was not really a boy. Not any more, at least. In the few years since Harry had been at the convent he had grown into a young man, though Julian was still bigger and stronger than him.
Julian sat back, thought for a moment, before reaching out a hand to the spy.
‘I suspected as much.’
Harry looked at the hand uncertainly, but took a hold of it, pulling himself back up. He dusted himself down, but in the darkness Julian was not sure if he had truly been dirty.
‘Well.’ said Julian, shrugging his shoulders. ‘What do you want?’
Harry looked at him, staying silent.
‘You’ve been following me.’
Harry studied Julian for a moment, his eyes narrowed, careful caution showing in his portrayal.
‘Yes.’ said Harry.
‘For quite some time, I think.’ said Julian. ‘I should be flattered, but I don’t imagine it’s out of choice, is it?’
Harry took a step back from Julian, but did not answer.
‘Jean wants to know what Octavian is planning, and so he’s set his young protege on my trail. Well, more fool you. What is really going on, Harry? Because if you know, then please, tell me.’
Still Harry remained quiet.
‘You’ve been following me for months, surely you should know by now? Or are you as stupid as you look?’
Julian sighed, and rubbed the back of his head. He will still dizzy from his sudden movement.
‘Well, I’ll spare you any more blushes Harry. I don’t know what Octavian is up to, not any more than you.’
‘I don’t believe you.’ said Harry, his silence breaking.
‘Really?’ Julian snorted. ‘Well then, you’re a fool, and so is Jean for entrusting this task to you. But fear not, just because I don’t know what Octavian is up to doesn’t mean that I haven’t learned anything. I’ve not been idly wasting my time.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I’ve been talking to someone. Someone you should know all to well, ‘Mr. Duncan.’
And with that, Julian leapt upon him. He threw himself at Harry, the two of them falling together, Harry landing against the trunk of another tree. Julian placing one arm against the boys neck, another against his chest.
Harry struggled, but Julian held him tight against the tree.
‘Now, you listen here.’ said Julian, the shock registering in Harry face. ‘There’s something about you that I find suspicious, boy. Because you’re supposed to be dead, aren’t you?’
Still he struggled, but Julian only tightened his grip.
‘Answer me!’
‘How did you know?’ Harry gasped.
Julian smiled at that. ‘Because someone told me, of course. A relative of yours, or so he says.’
At that, the boy became speechless once again. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Fernald Duncan.’ Julian sighed. ‘Or so he calls himself, anyway. The man I met at the auction house, if you remember? You were spying on me already, I believe. He’s had a lot to say to me, Mr. Duncan. The thing is, he knows an awful lot about this place, about Octavian and Jean and all the rest of them. And more than that, he knows what really matters. And he would like to - How should I put it - extend an invitation to you.’
At that, Julian took his arm away from the boys throat. If he wanted to run, Julian would not stop him. He had to let him make the right choice.
‘An invitation to what, exactly?’ asked Harry.
‘To talk with Fernald, and to find out what’s really going on. It’s time to pick a side Harry.’
‘What sides are there?’
Julian laughed. ‘The dead and the living, harry. Don’t you want to live forever?’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘No, you don’t. Not yet. But you will, given time. But that’s what it’s all about, really. Life and death are two sides of the same coin. You just need to be careful which face you land on. You should not be so easy to decide where you place your trust, boy.’
At this Harry bristled. ‘I’m always careful – that’s why I’m not listening to anything you-’
Julian shook his head. ‘You don’t understand, You’re not seeing the big picture here. It’s always the quiet ones who change the world, the loud ones just take all the credit. You and me, we have a chance to work out the truth. Look at it this way – don’t you want to find out the truths your parents died for?’
Julian saw the look in Harry’s face, a clarification behind his eyes, and he knew that it had worked.
The net had closed.
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