Chapter Four
In the Space Between
The moment with the guards had left them cold and quiet, but two more classes and the merciless, clattering bell of the ending day shook out their frustrations. They ambled up the main road as Michael thought about his friends taking off once more, leaving him in Istol. All around them carts and carriages rolled by and the smell of horses was thick in the air as the Early-Felling sun beat down. Dust was kicked up in a thick cloud about the road, making the trudge home that much grimier.
Michael’s gaze wandered as walked and he found himself staring off into the shadows of the odd Dim-side alleyways, merely out of habit more than anything else. He knew which ones were homes to the homeless, which ones would mean a mugging, a stabbing or some combination of the two. He knew which ones had storm drains or tall crates easy to climb on, and those that led to the rooftops.
He gazed into the last in a long set of alleyways just before an intersection when a pair of bright lights flashed like braziers out from the dark.
Michael stopped and blinked. “Did you guys catch that?”
James and Carter turned automatically. “Catch what, dear?”
Michael pointed to the nearby alley and took a step closer when James grabbed him. “You want to get gutted?”
“I swear on my life, I just...” Michael didn’t know what to say. They had existed for the space of a blink, if they had existed at all. Michael rubbed his face tiredly and shrugged his shoulders. “Sorry, I don’t know what I’m talking about.”
Carter gently took his arm. “You need sleep, my friend. Speakin’ of... Alvin!”
A man trotting up behind them on a rickety cart waved and gave a toothless grin. “Fellas! Need a ride up-town?”
Carter clapped his hand and greeted the sunburnt man, buried beneath an oversized straw hat. “It’d be most welcome. My boy is fallin’ to pieces. He’s had a long day.”
“Jump in and take a load off!” he said, a drawl of his accent dripping over his words. “You headed home or goin’ swimmin’?”
“Back to mine, yeah, but just take us as far as Kettle Drive and we can walk!” Carter called from the back of the cart.
“Nonsense!” he yelled, “I’m off to Ariaton tonight and don’t have to leave Istol for a while, I’ll drop you on Midway Street, aye?”
James clambered in back and the cart sank with his weight. “Hey old man, you let us know if any guards are comin’ up and we’ll sort it, alright?”
Alvin scoffed at him and muttered, “Old man? Young enough to send you reelin’ you little bastard!”
James cackled and patted him on the shoulder. “Good to see you, mate.”
Alvin’s act broke and he smiled through his dim, brown eyes at the boy. “You too, lad.”
Carter pulled a disk of gold, ornately carved, but just too large to be a Gold Opem. It was decorated with a rooster in the style of Carter's family sigil. He handed the Coin of Writ to the man. “Flash this at any Iron Suits, okay?"
Michael rested his head on a sack of old potatoes and the cart jolted to a start. He listened to his friends speak in soft tones to Alvin, sharing with him their stories of the day. Michael tried to focus on their words but all he could see while his eyes were closed were the bright lights in the alleyway moments before.
Lights, he thought, chiding himself. No one can hear your thoughts, fool. Eyes. They were eyes.
Michael sighed a touch too loudly and ran his hands through his mess of multi-shaded hair, catching James’ eye.
The broad-shouldered boy pulled himself to Michael’s side of the cart as it rattled off over the cobbles. He looked at Michael, tight with anxiety at the state of him. Then a thought crossed James’ mind and his stress seemed to ease. He laid a hand on Michael’s upper chest and spoke the familiar words, “I know you’re nervous. You know you don’t have to be. You know why?”
Michael opened his eyes and smiled warmly at his friend, nodding, before closing his eyes once more. The words had their intended effect and Michael fell asleep to the rocking of the cart and warm afternoon light of autumn, his head rested on James’ shoulder.
Only after he was certain he’d dozed away, James eased Michael’s head off of himself and softly snapped his fingers to get Carter’s attention. He jerked his head toward the dozing boy and whispered, “What’s going on with him?”
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
Carter shook his head, unsure. His usually relaxed demeanour was tense with anxiety. “I’m sure it’s just his sleeping pattern...”
James frowned at him. “We’ve known him eleven cycles. You know it’s not. What if he’s a-”
Carter glared him into silence, sharply gesturing to Alvin on the driver’s perch.
James bit his tongue and thought his words through carefully. “What if he is?”
“He’s not. He can’t be.” Carter pulled his cloak about him and stared at Michael as he dosed.
James looked at his hands, fidgeting with his scar-scattered fingers. “And if he is, and we don’t tell him- help him –he’ll be in worse danger than that rebel we saw today. You know damn-well the things that pursue us aren’t slowed by crossbow bolts!”
Carter waved him angrily into silence. “Enough. We’re not hedging our bets on two coincidences. Anyway, you know they’re keeping a close eye on him. Connie will have seen to that.”
*****
Michael’s heart was pounding so hard in his chest he was worried he might throw up. He was looking down a jagged cliff-side into the violent waves thrashing against the rocks below. The boy heaved deep breaths and tried to calm himself when a hand snatched his wrist.
His face jolted up to find Carter there, shouting against the roar of the sea, “Are you ready?”
Michael shouted, “What’s going on?” but he’d already turned away, and his voice was swallowed up by the elements. He looked to his surroundings and his bewilderment only grew. He was standing upon a desert-strewn plateau stretching to the horizon, one way to the sea, the other across a set of dry flatlands.
Over his shoulder hung a bow and two quivers. He turned to find Carter speaking with James and a crowd of others also present. They appeared to be planning something when at once, they all turned stiffly in-land.
Michael followed their gaze, watching in horror as a thick pool of darkness bloomed some hundred paces across the flats, like a drop of ink cast in swirling water. The shadow grew, spiralling open as dark lightning forked off and scorched the soil beneath.
“No sense hangin’ about, fellas!” yelled a young woman messy with long, curly blond hair and a staff in-hand. She sprinted toward the cliff’s edge and hurled herself out into the open air, shouting in both terror and excitement.
Michael’s stomach dropped as she hurtled down toward the waves, intermingling with great spires of rock. “Carter! What on Enthall is going on-”
A cavernous roar thundered and the sound sent Michael pale as parchment. He turned to see wolves as dark as night and as large as horses spill from the great dark portal. Some even rivalled the shape and length of a carriage, hulking and ravenous as they bellowed, belittling the voice of the ocean. In the scorching light they glistened, as though wet, but none had fur to be matted against bones or flesh. Instead they seemed built from rock and stone, like the very caves beneath them had morphed into beasts and hounds.
Michael began yelling, “Carter, what the f-” only to see James throw himself seaward too. He looked at Carter, the only one left with him and couldn’t bring up the words to speak.
Carter flashed his bright smile and said, “Best make up your mind!” Then without so much as turning around, Carter bent at the knee on the edge of the cliff and launched himself off toward the raging waters below.
Michael couldn’t speak. He was paralysed. He had a million question all screaming for attention when he turned back inland one last time. What was little less than an entire army of beasts had broken into a sprint toward him. Michael didn’t think. He didn’t wonder. He didn’t plan.
He jumped.
*****
Michael came hurtling awake in a cold sweat, almost able to taste the seaside air.
James fell down to his side, yelling, “Whoa! Whoa! Buddy, what’s wrong?”
Michael looked all around him but he was back in the cart. It had stopped on Midway Street just like they’d planned and Alvin was stretching his legs and feeding his work-horse Dusty.
Carter was standing on the street, peering at Michael over the cart’s edge. “Havin’ a nightmare, love?”
Michael steadied his breathing and began to laugh as he nodded. “Something like that. Sweet Rii.” He climbed out of the wagon and winced at the sun as it neared the tops of the buildings.
The three boys wandered down Midway Street, a road as long and wide as a highway, and despite not holding a candle to Bright-side-proper it made Dim-side look like a city after siege. Looking at the beautiful houses, luscious green lawns and perfumed, proud people, Michael found it hard to believe this part of Istol was attached to his. They made it to Carter’s mansion in Bright-side half an hour before the sun went down, ignoring more and more Iron Suits the further east they went.
Michael had seen it before but it still took his breath away.
Carter’s home was four stories tall, built mostly from polished marble and clad in bright flowering ivy. It was built beside a flowing fresh-water spring, only ever cold in the dead of Drear and Eve.
They didn’t bother going inside because their swimsuits had been left to dry on the rocks which lined the spring after they’d last been by. They slipped out of their day-worn clothes, pulled on their swimming shorts and leapt into the deep pool.
Michael dove down to the bottom of the spring and ran his fingers through his ever-knotted hair, feeling rather like a mermaid as it flowed freely in the current of the outflow. He rocketed back to the surface to catch Carter and James in conversation, lounging by the edges of the pool.
“-your middle name is unexciting and- Sparky! Tell this fool he can’t use his middle name as a nickname!” Carter yelled, hauling himself out of the water to lie on the warm stones.
Michael chuckled shaking the water from his thick mop of hair. “Spoken like a nobleman, always tellin’ the broke folk what they can and can’t do!”
Carter glared at him.
Michael broke into a smile and turned in the water, kicking in the depths. “He’s right, you know.”
James splashed him and leant back in the water, floating on his back as he stared into the darkening sky. “We’ve been at this for cycles. ‘James’ is a boring name. Accept it.”
A small quiet came over the group.
“What about Jimothy?” asked Carter.
“Jay-briel.” Michael chimed in.
"Jomathan?"
"Tames Jaylor-" Michael cracked amidst his own suggestion.
“You guys are idiots,” James said, smiling wide and glancing at Michael who was nearly crying laughing. “I’m glad some things never change.”