child—'
‘Yes,' I said hastily. The elderly Dead will prattle happily about their childhoods; in fact, usually it's all they will talk about. Their adult selves, their lost lives, the families they left behind – these mean nothing to them. But themselves as small children, that will sometimes animate them. Sometimes, anyway. Perhaps it is because little children, in their simplicity, are closer to what the Dead are now. I don't know. None of the actual children here, nor any adults less than sixty years, have ever talked to me, or even seemed to see me. ‘You were a captivating child, Mistress Cleggers.'
‘That I was!' she said, sticking out her chin at me and narrowing her eyes. ‘And don't ye doubt it, lad!'
‘But now you're dead.'
‘So it seems.' A puzzled look crossed her face, and I could see her lapsing again into the calm rigidity of the Dead. Again I shook her arm, saying desperately, ‘You were the prettiest little girl in your ...' Village? Neigh-bourhood? ‘Your area!'
She revived. ‘Well, no, I cannot say that, lad. Nell Goodman was prettier. Why, one time Nell and me—'
‘Mistress, is there a hisaf here?'
‘A what?'
‘A hisaf .'
‘Speak plain, lad. That be not a word. No “ hisaf ” on Barrington Heath, where Nell Goodman and me—'
‘But here, now! When you sit and wait, what are you waiting for? What do you feel?'
Her puzzlement was giving way to anger. ‘I be dead, lad! I wait for nothing!'
‘And do you feel anyone else here with you?'
‘ Ye be here, and a more troublesome idiot I never did see!'
‘But is there anyone in your mind that—'
She was gone. Tranquillity had reclaimed her. If I shook her arm again, all I would hear was a tedious story of Nell Goodman sixty years ago. I had learned nothing.
Or perhaps I had. If Mistress Sally Cleggers had been experiencing the presence of Soulviners while in her serene trance, wouldn't she know that? Wouldn't she have awakened frightened, as I had been frightened two years ago when I crossed over to find that dense dank fog touching my mind? Perhaps not. I didn't know what the Dead felt. I was among the living.
Or perhaps I was not. I didn't know what the Young Chieftain's soldiers, back in the upstairs bedchamber of that snug cottage, were doing to my helpless body. It was possible I was already among the Dead, and would not know it until I returned – if I could return.
And now another terror came to me. I had brought Cecilia back from the dead. I had brought back the sailor Bat. I had brought back the entire Blue army, which had defeated Solek's men because the Blues could not be hurt or killed a second time. But a fortnight after each return all of them had melted away, leaving not even dust. They had vanished for ever, to be found neither among the living nor the Dead. Would that now happen to me?
If I was even now being tortured to death in the land of the living, and then I crossed back over, would it be as if I brought myself back from the dead? Would I live a fortnight on the other side, whole and invulnerable, and then melt grotesquely away, my chance at eternity forfeit?
I didn't know. I didn't know anything. I was afraid to stay here and afraid to go back. Fear tightened around my chest until my breath came fast and shallow, and my heart pounded hard enough to hurt. I put my head in my hands and there, in the quiet Country of the Dead, I wept and sobbed like the six-year-old I had once been, who lost his mother to a death he could not understand.
9
I stayed longer in the Country of the Dead, but I could not stay for ever. There was no way to know if more or less time had passed here than in the land of the living; time is not the same in the two realms. However, if the pain on the other side was too great, I could always cross back again. My torturers could not take that escape away from me. It was mine.
Despite my fear, I had to know if I was I already dead in that tiny bedchamber in The Queendom. I took a
‘Yes,' I said hastily. The elderly Dead will prattle happily about their childhoods; in fact, usually it's all they will talk about. Their adult selves, their lost lives, the families they left behind – these mean nothing to them. But themselves as small children, that will sometimes animate them. Sometimes, anyway. Perhaps it is because little children, in their simplicity, are closer to what the Dead are now. I don't know. None of the actual children here, nor any adults less than sixty years, have ever talked to me, or even seemed to see me. ‘You were a captivating child, Mistress Cleggers.'
‘That I was!' she said, sticking out her chin at me and narrowing her eyes. ‘And don't ye doubt it, lad!'
‘But now you're dead.'
‘So it seems.' A puzzled look crossed her face, and I could see her lapsing again into the calm rigidity of the Dead. Again I shook her arm, saying desperately, ‘You were the prettiest little girl in your ...' Village? Neigh-bourhood? ‘Your area!'
She revived. ‘Well, no, I cannot say that, lad. Nell Goodman was prettier. Why, one time Nell and me—'
‘Mistress, is there a hisaf here?'
‘A what?'
‘A hisaf .'
‘Speak plain, lad. That be not a word. No “ hisaf ” on Barrington Heath, where Nell Goodman and me—'
‘But here, now! When you sit and wait, what are you waiting for? What do you feel?'
Her puzzlement was giving way to anger. ‘I be dead, lad! I wait for nothing!'
‘And do you feel anyone else here with you?'
‘ Ye be here, and a more troublesome idiot I never did see!'
‘But is there anyone in your mind that—'
She was gone. Tranquillity had reclaimed her. If I shook her arm again, all I would hear was a tedious story of Nell Goodman sixty years ago. I had learned nothing.
Or perhaps I had. If Mistress Sally Cleggers had been experiencing the presence of Soulviners while in her serene trance, wouldn't she know that? Wouldn't she have awakened frightened, as I had been frightened two years ago when I crossed over to find that dense dank fog touching my mind? Perhaps not. I didn't know what the Dead felt. I was among the living.
Or perhaps I was not. I didn't know what the Young Chieftain's soldiers, back in the upstairs bedchamber of that snug cottage, were doing to my helpless body. It was possible I was already among the Dead, and would not know it until I returned – if I could return.
And now another terror came to me. I had brought Cecilia back from the dead. I had brought back the sailor Bat. I had brought back the entire Blue army, which had defeated Solek's men because the Blues could not be hurt or killed a second time. But a fortnight after each return all of them had melted away, leaving not even dust. They had vanished for ever, to be found neither among the living nor the Dead. Would that now happen to me?
If I was even now being tortured to death in the land of the living, and then I crossed back over, would it be as if I brought myself back from the dead? Would I live a fortnight on the other side, whole and invulnerable, and then melt grotesquely away, my chance at eternity forfeit?
I didn't know. I didn't know anything. I was afraid to stay here and afraid to go back. Fear tightened around my chest until my breath came fast and shallow, and my heart pounded hard enough to hurt. I put my head in my hands and there, in the quiet Country of the Dead, I wept and sobbed like the six-year-old I had once been, who lost his mother to a death he could not understand.
9
I stayed longer in the Country of the Dead, but I could not stay for ever. There was no way to know if more or less time had passed here than in the land of the living; time is not the same in the two realms. However, if the pain on the other side was too great, I could always cross back again. My torturers could not take that escape away from me. It was mine.
Despite my fear, I had to know if I was I already dead in that tiny bedchamber in The Queendom. I took a
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