The Wind of Southmore (10 page)

Alice was
at the wreck before she even realised it. It was almost as if she
were in a dream, and the alert, awake part of her was standing to
the side, looking on, but, as is usual in dreams, unable to
interfere. Stop! she wanted to shout. Don’t go any
further!

But she
couldn’t help it. As much as that insistent, instinctive voice
tried to hold her back, she could feel the power of the presence
before her, luring her, and guiding her on. Somewhere, in the
strange sea mist that embraced her with damp phantom arms, she
could see the bright, deep glint of a red jewel, beckoning her
forward, through the cracked paving stones patterned with weeds and
lichen, past the heavy, crumbling walls of the castle, the
foundations of the tower room, and towards a small, broken-down
gateway which appeared to lead to part of the beach. She could see
herself from afar, stopping at the entrance, hesitant, and the
pungent smell that crept around her and filled her senses chilled
her with a fierce shudder of disgust and made her want to retch. A
sickly, sweet, rotting smell, pervading what should have been fresh
sea air. She tried to hold her breath, tried not to let it in, but
she felt the odour surrounding her like a physical presence, its
cold, clammy touch feeling for her skin, and she swayed with
revulsion. The fog gathered and ribboned around her like a shroud,
and she found that she could see things in the mist, swirling
shapes which writhed around her, reached for her, and caressed her
with chilled, invisible fingers. And the wind sang softly to her,
flirting around her ears, whispering secrets, until she felt that
she could almost hear voices, calling, crying a lost song in the
blindness, in the sadness. An aching loneliness overwhelmed her and
she stumbled, grasping the gate for support. It came away in her
hand, and she felt the ancient step on which she stood begin to
crumble beneath her. She tried to scream, but no sound would come
to her lips, and her thoughts seemed to dissolve amongst the voices
in the wind, throbbing with anguish, their wail rising to a wild
crescendo, bleeding in her ears until she felt that she could faint
with the pain. It seemed to be coursing right through her, and the
ghostly shapes before her eyes began to gather and take form. She
could see the gaping mouths and vacant eyes, clouded, like the
breath of the mist. Their hands were out and grasping, and they
came towards her, pleading and helpless, and she could do nothing.
She did not know what to do. Somewhere inside her, she could hear a
small voice fighting to be heard, calling for help, but how could
she help? She didn’t know what she was even doing here, in this
strange, frightened village, so far away from everything and
everyone she had ever known. What could she do? Arlen had left her
alone. Panic rose within her now, like a wave. She had to get away,
somewhere, anywhere. Anywhere was better than falling into that
rolling, ghostly sea of pain and loss and fear, and when the rich
blood colour of the ruby flashed before her from somewhere beyond
the darkness, she automatically stepped forward to
follow.

Arlen
didn’t know that she could run that fast. Around her the wind rose
and screeched, and the sea mist rolled in from the salt-crusted
waves and wrapped itself around her with cold fingers.

She would
not heed them.

Her pace
quickening with every thud of her foot on the narrow path, her
heart pounding so that it beat against her ribs like a drill, she
ran. She had started it, she had let it in, she had let it use her,
and she had tried so hard to prevent it. She had to get to
Alice.

It was
the automatic memory which found its way to her feet that got her
back to the castle; she could not have reached it otherwise. The
mist had intensified to fog, sweeping inland like ghostly waves
which clung, damp and clammy, to her skin and hair. Arlen, hot with
running, could still feel the icy touch grasping at her, chilling
the beads of sweat that rolled from her skin. Her legs, familiar
with the narrow path and winding turns since a child, had taken her
home without harm, and she paused for a moment by the side of the
castle, gasping furiously, the salty air sharp and painful to her
heaving lungs.

It was
very strange. Shrouded by fog, the tower loomed dark and craggy
above her, a heavy stone, seemingly suspended in midair. She could
barely see her own hand before her eyes, and yet, as she turned her
glance to where the sea should have been, she could see the other
girl very clearly, in a flickering sort of light, as if she had
been pinpointed on a movie screen and the background had faded out.
Arlen would have perhaps made the comparison, if she had ever been
to the cinema. Needless to say, Southmore did not boast of
one.

It was
like watching herself. Alice was standing, hesitantly, by the
small, broken gate that led to the beach. She was swaying slightly,
as if she were listening to something that held her attention
completely. Her back was towards Arlen, but somehow she could still
see her sister’s face, her mind seeming to throw the image back at
her in reverse, so that she could see the action from the front as
well. Alice’s eyes were large and staring, a dark grey, like the
sea fog itself. Arlen could not see what she was looking at, but
she could see her mesmerised expression. And then, suddenly, in a
brief glimpse, she caught the flash of ruby, glinting in her
eyes.

It all happened so fast, she wasn’t aware of her own actions.
Alice moved as if to step forward, the fragile wood of the gate
trembled and broke, the stone beneath her feet began to crumble
away, and the girl’s foot reached out over the circle, onto that
sand, that beach, where
they
had been.

“
No!
” Arlen shouted fiercely, and began
to run towards her twin. Alice seemed to pause, the thick fog
casting the illusion that she was floating within its heavy arms.
Arlen increased her pace, but the fleshy grasp of a loose root from
a tree nearby caught her ankle and sent her sprawling. Rough stones
tore at her jeans and she spat thin, gravelly soil from her mouth.
Rising quickly and painfully, she could not see Alice anywhere. The
mist had closed behind her like a set of sliding doors and seemed
to have solidified into a thick wall.

Her knee
was smarting but she forced herself to run, stumbling on loose
stones and scattered twigs. Thin, sharp branches scratched at her
face and she clawed back at them blindly, forcing her way through
desperately. She could not see where the opening was, she just knew
that the dancing ground and the grey, dead sea lay beyond, waiting
for her to enter, and it was only the faint fear at the back of her
mind that perhaps that was idea, which caused her to stop short,
abruptly. She smelt salt and seaweed, and a sickly sort of rotting
combined with a faint trace of charred wood – left over from the
other night, she guessed. Silence reigned. No gull cried or wave
lapped, and she could hear only her own harsh, frightened breathing
forcing its path through the cold, dull blanket.

“
Alice?” she called, her voice husky with fear. No sound
answered her. All seemed dead, smothered by the fog. It was as if
she were in another world, on the edge of nothingness. “Alice?”she
called again, and her voice took on a sharper edge.

She paused silently, waiting for a response, and this time an
answer came. A furious beating of wings arose from somewhere before
her, screeching at her, driving at her face. She moved backwards,
holding her hands up to shield her eyes, and the creature moved
behind her. She could feel coarse feathers scratching her skin and
sharp talons tugging at her hair and scalp, and she cried out
“
Alice!
” and
thought she heard a muffled cry. It increased her desperation, and
she beat back at the bird until her hands felt wet with blood. It
was circling her now, clawing at any free part of her it could
find, and her hands tore and fought back, despite the fear, despite
the pain. She hadn’t realised it, but in the fierce battle her hand
had hooked on the thin velvet ribbon around her neck and caught
there, taut and restrictive. She felt the sharp pull on the back of
her head and, struggle as she might, she could not remove her hand.
She couldn’t see what she was doing in the thick blanket of
fog.

The bird
saw its opportunity and dived at her right hand, which she was
vainly trying to disentangle, and she waved madly with her left
arm. She felt it claw at her cheek and she screamed and pulled her
arms towards it, almost strangling herself. But the movement had
drawn out the small golden charm that hung on the ribbon, and
suddenly, in the midst of the dense, dull fog, a light shone,
bright and clear. The gull screeched sharply, and disappeared in a
flurry of harsh, flapping wings. Arlen, breathing heavily in jagged
gasps, felt her knees grow weak and almost slid to the ground.
Quickly, she freed her hand from the ribbon, an easy task now that
the onslaught was over, and studied the small, knotted image before
her. It seemed slightly larger to her than when she had last looked
at it, and it danced and twinkled in the golden light which shone
from it like a small ray of sunshine. There was something in its
smooth coils which reminded Arlen suddenly of the twining tail of
the crumbling Penmorven dragon. She stared, fascinated, and a small
cry sounded from somewhere to her right.

“
Alice?” she called, pulling herself up and staring wildly into
the thick, grey wall before her. “Where are you?”

Alice
could hear Arlen plainly, but it was almost as if the sound came
from another world, a world beyond her vision and reach. She could
not explain what had happened, but she had felt the ground crumble
beneath her and her grip on the mossy wood fail, and all she could
see before her was the bright flash of ruby, growing larger and
more brilliant before her eyes, until she felt that she was
watching a burning fire, tongues of blood red flame licking the
woolly swirls of mist around her until it swelled to bonfire size,
and it seemed that she was in the middle of it. She could hear the
chanting echoing rhythmically around her, and was aware of the hard
slap of feet on wet, packed sand and the swish of robes somewhere
outside the circle, but she could feel no ground herself, almost as
if she were walking on air. She tried to scream, but her throat was
dry and silent, and she could only watch in horror as the curls of
fire ribboned towards her.

“
Alice – Alice, where are you?”

The voice
rang, suddenly, clearly, through the blanket of fog, and she
turned, confused and hopeful, her heart pounding fiercely. She knew
that voice. It rang deep in her memory, and she turned, but she
could not see.