Seven Trees of Stone, Page 3

  The background to this card is black. There are three figures on it: two small ones that are human, and one that isn’t. The two small figures are naked people, a man and woman with red hair, chained to a post by collars around their necks. The third figure is enormous, perched on the post the humans are chained to, a red monster with furry legs and bat wings and the face of an angry bull, with big drooping gray horns. He’s holding his right hand up to the sky, and in his left hand is a flaming torch, pointed toward the ground.

  “The Devil,” Margaux says. She doesn’t seem afraid.

  “Is that bad?” Elza asks, keeping her voice steady. Maybe this is what she expected to see.

  “Sometimes,” Margaux replies, running a finger over the card. “Nothing in the tarot is inherently ‘bad,’ though. Everything has multiple interpretations. The Devil can mean addiction, sensuality, materialism. It can also mean power reclaimed, a personal change, breaking free of bonds.”

  “So the Devil’s affecting our current problem,” I say. “Didn’t know that.”

  “Well,” Margaux continues, “maybe not the actual Devil. Like I said, the cards are more metaphorical. Anyway, let’s try the third card, and look at the future of this issue.”

  She closes her eyes and places the third tarot card down, to the right of the other two.

  I blink.

  Is this really happening?

  “It’s the Devil again,” Elza says quietly.

  There are two Devil cards now, black backgrounds and hulking red devils, one to each side of the Magician card. I can hear a ringing in my ears.

  “Oh,” Margaux says. “Well.”

  “How many Devil cards are there?” I ask.

  “There’s only one of each major arcana,” Elza tells me.

  “Mix-up,” Margaux says. “I might have shuffled two decks together.”

  “Does that mean the reading’s wrong?” I ask.

  “I think we have to read what the cards want to tell us,” she says, “even if we don’t understand it fully.” She puts the fourth card down above the other three.

  It’s another Devil.

  My stomach churns. There’s something different about this card. The Devil on it looks darker, thinner, less like a silly drawing and more like a monster. On the first two cards he was frowning, but on this card it looks like there’s the beginnings of a smile on his face. A big white grin. Nobody moves. I feel strange and sleepy, and although I’m very afraid, I don’t want to move a muscle.

  Margaux frowns. “Well, that’s very strange,” she remarks drowsily, and lays out the final card.

  It’s the Devil again, four Devils in a circle around the Magician card. This Devil is black, so black you can’t see him against the darkness of the card’s background. All you can see are blue eyes, a white mouth. The people chained to the post don’t have red hair anymore. The woman has black hair, and the man has brown. It’s me and Elza. I’m sure of it.

  Margaux is staring down at the cards without a word. She starts to turn the rest of her stack over, one by one, and each one has the same picture, me and Elza tied to a post by our necks, with a hellish smile in the darkness above us. I’m cold and hot at the same time, sweating, Elza’s hand is gripping mine so hard, it feels like her nails might be drawing blood. The floor is carpeted with Devil cards, what seems like hundreds of them.

  “How can this —” Margaux says, and then there’s a bang behind us.

  Elza shrieks. I whirl around, heart pounding, fully expecting to see him standing there, Mr. Berkley, the Devil in the flesh, expecting to see his wolf-gray suit, his eyes like poisoned blue stars —

  Darren stares back at me. “Uh, are you all right?” he asks us.

  “Fine,” I say. “We’re fine.”

  “The door just gave me a shock,” Elza says weakly.

  “Yeah, it does bang a bit,” Darren says. “Uh. Well, fire’s going nicely. How about you come out? I’ve got some veggie burgers sizzling. You really ought to try one, Luke — you’d never know they’re not really meat, I swear, mate.”

  I look back down at the floor of the living room, where Margaux is still sitting. The cards have normal pictures again: knights and lovers and people chopping firewood. There’s only one Devil card, the first one Margaux chose. Whatever strange, horrible spell was forming here, Darren seems to have broken it.

  I think this could be the first time I’ve been glad to see him.

  Margaux doesn’t speak to us much after that. She sits on the opposite side of the bonfire, still wrapped in her blanket. Darren’s talking enough for all of us, waving his beer around to make a point, sitting with Mum and a battery-powered radio next to them. It’s not exactly warm out here, but the fire is so high and fierce that I can’t say I’m too cold either. I have a veggie burger with some lettuce and pickle. You can definitely tell it’s not meat. My stomach’s churning, maybe nerves after that horrible tarot reading, so I leave about half of it on the plate.

  What exactly happened to us in there? We asked the cards about the Devil, and they gave us the Devil. Could Berkley feel us asking about him? Do tarot cards actually tap into the spirit world, in some way I don’t understand? Whatever it was, I don’t think we’re any closer to discovering something that would help us. The bad sensation I had this morning is back with a vengeance. I feel queasy, like the world’s spinning too fast. Darren’s music is giving me a headache.

  Mum’s laughing at something Darren said. She’s happy at least. Elza is thoughtfully chewing on her burger, staring into the fire. The sky overhead is clear, and I can see the comet, a glimmering streak in the blackness.

  Darren bumps my shoulder with his fist, making me jump.

  “All right, Luke?” he asks loudly.

  “Sure,” I say.

  “You look mopey, dude,” he says.

  “I’m fine,” I say.

  “You should give the slackline a go,” Darren says.

  “I’m OK right here,” I say. My head throbs. Just take the hint. I’m not in the party mood. I keep feeling like I’m going to look up from the ground and see Berkley standing at the edge of the clearing. Why did we ask the cards about him? That was stupid. Why were those swans gathering on the river today? What’s going on?

  “Come on,” Darren says, nudging me. “I’ll show you how, mate. It’s easier than you think.”

  “Look just — no! All right? Leave me alone!”

  That came out way louder than I thought it would. Darren’s face visibly falls.

  “Yeah,” he says. “That’s cool.”

  He turns around and heads off to his cottage. The door closes behind him with a quiet click. I think I really hurt his feelings. This is so awkward. Nobody says anything. The fire crackles.

  “I don’t know what’s gotten into you tonight,” Mum snaps at me. She gets up, brushing dirt off her trousers, and stomps away into the darkness. Margaux and Elza look at me.

  “I’ve got a headache,” I say.

  “Go and say sorry,” Elza hisses, elbowing my ribs.

  “All right, all right,” I say. I get to my feet. The world lurches. I feel awful, like I’ve drunk way too much. My mouth tastes of the red wine. I follow Mum into Darren’s yard. She’s standing by her car, leaning against the hood for support.

  “Are you OK?” I ask.

  I come closer. Mum doesn’t turn around.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. Blood pounds in my head.

  “I don’t know why you have to be like this, Luke,” Mum says.

  “I said I was sorry.”

  “I see how you look at him,” she continues. “You never want to talk to him.”

  “I just feel ill! I’m sorry!”

  “It’s not just tonight, Luke,” Mum says. “You can never get out of there fast enough.”

  I pinch the bridge of my nose. This is the last thing I want to talk about right now.

  “He’s not my boyfriend,” I say. “I don’t have to like him.”

  “I f
eel like you don’t try at all, love.”

  “Look, I just don’t feel well . . .” The world lurches again. Mum ignores this. She seems unsteady as well.

  “I know you miss your dad,” Mum says. “I miss him, too. It’s hard, not having him around. I know he loved you.”

  “Can we just, like . . . not?”

  I remember Dad’s form emerging out of the fog of Deadside. Remember that conversation I had with him and Berkley, promising to take on Dad’s debt if Berkley let him go free. Sometimes I wonder what I was thinking.

  “He loved both of us . . .” Mum says, and I can see she’s crying. Dad tore my unborn brother’s spirit out of her and used it to bind a demon into his service. I don’t know what you’d call that, but it’s not love. I feel like I’m going to be sick.

  “He never loved us,” I mumble.

  “What did you say, Luke?”

  “I said, he didn’t love us! If he did, he wouldn’t have —”

  “You didn’t know him,” Mum says.

  “I know him well enough! He left me with an awful mess! That’s what I know!”

  Mum doesn’t say anything for a moment.

  “He left you with me,” she replies, quietly.

  “No! I meant —”

  I don’t know how to finish that sentence. I meant he left me with a Host of angry spirits, let Mr. Berkley come gliding into my life like a shark that’s smelled blood, left me with the orphaned daughters of his old ally coming after me, but Mum doesn’t know about any of that.

  She bursts into tears. I try to touch her shoulder, but she shrugs me off.

  “Mum, please . . .”

  She’s trying to talk, but the tears are distorting her words. She pushes me away and sets off down the track, away from Darren’s house.

  “Mum! C’mon!”

  She stumbles away into the night. Strange lights are flashing in the corners of my eyes. Green, blue, green. I’m going to be sick. This is such a mess. Worst New Year’s Eve ever.

  Darren’s standing by the door to his cottage when I turn around. His face is blurry.

  “Are you all right, mate?” he asks me.

  “Mum, she —”

  “It’s all right,” Darren says. He doesn’t sound too upset with me. “Luke, just go get some rest, yeah? I’ll talk to Persephone. I think she’s had a bit too much to drink.”

  He sets off down the rutted track after Mum, calling her name. I feel like worms are eating my insides. My stomach boils. I can taste sweet wine. Ugh. I only had one mug . . .

  I stumble back around the house, toward the fire.

  It seems to be flaring much higher than when I left. Elza is still sitting beside it, but the fire is climbing up into the sky, like a tower of flame. Margaux is gone.

  My ears are ringing. What’s going on?

  “Elza,” I say, but my words are slurred. “Elza, Mum’s —”

  Elza doesn’t turn around, and as I walk across the grass toward her, I fall, the world lurching beneath me. I hit the cold ground hard. I can’t seem to move my legs properly. I manage to turn onto my side and I throw up, spewing out the red wine. Green and blue light surges in my eyes. I taste bile.

  Something’s really wrong. I need help.

  “Elza!” I shout, but I’m not sure I’m making a sound at all.

  Someone or something is standing beside me. It leans down to look at me more closely.

  The figure is draped in a black robe and wears a black-and-golden mask, the head of an owl. Monstrous hands with long, clawed fingers protrude from the sleeves.

  I try to scream and can’t.

  The masked creature raises me in its cold arms and carries me like a baby, away from the bonfire, into the woods.

  I’m walking in the forest. Elza is beside me. The bird-woman walks before us, arms raised in welcome. The owl-man follows behind.

  There’s rippling light in the sky, green and blue, like someone dropped wonderful paint into water. I can see stars there aren’t names for. I can feel the ground breathing beneath my feet. The forest is about to speak. Pine trees shiver like a plucked string. We’re going to break the bones of the world.

  The light walks with us. Its voice rings in my ears.

  “The twice-born and the Speaker’s pawn.”

  I can see the gateway, three locks ready to crumble.

  The shadows walk beside us too, and I know they’re here for the feast.

  My jaw hurts like someone took a drill to it, waves of pain throbbing through my teeth and skull and neck. What’s happening? Where am I? I’m so cold. I’m not wearing my coat, just a sweatshirt and jeans. I’m already shivering. This is very bad. How did I get here? Last thing I remember was at Darren’s house. Mum turned and ran away, down the track, and Darren went to get her. I was going back to the fire, feeling sick, looking for Elza . . .

  Wherever I am, I’m not there. I can’t see any sign of firelight. All I can see around me are dark trees, brambles, a hard-frosted forest floor. I feel out of breath, like I was running, but I can’t think why that would be. My ears are ringing faintly. Someone breaks a branch behind me, and I whirl around.

  “Hello?” I say, and my voice sounds terribly small in the enormous cold forest. Why did I say anything? For all I know, this is the person I’ve been running from. I keep feeling like I should be able to remember, but I just can’t. It’s like waking up, except I was already awake. Who’s out there?

  I hear a rustling and a hiss of breath.

  “I know you’re there,” I say again.

  “Luke?”

  “Elza!”

  I push back toward her voice. She’s leaning against a tree, dark hair piled wildly above her head. She’s breathing heavily.

  “What’s happening?” she asks. “My teeth . . .”

  “I don’t know!” I say, coming closer. I wrap my arms around her. She’s shivering. “Mine hurt, too,” I tell her.

  “Why are we out here?” Elza says.

  “I have no idea. Last thing I remember is Mum . . . I made her cry and she ran away. Then I went back to the bonfire and . . . don’t know what I saw.”

  “Me, too. I was sitting by the fire, and then blank. I keep trying to remember what happened, and I can’t!”

  The trees rustle in the wind. I see a rabbit, running as fast as it can, cross the forest floor in front of us and disappear again into shadow. I’m shivering really badly now. It’s a crushing, tightening cold, like chains wrapped around me. Elza at least has her peacoat. I don’t know what happened to my jacket.

  “We need to get inside,” I say.

  “We could be anywhere, Luke,” Elza says.

  “It’s England. You’re never that far from a house.”

  “We should try and get out of the woods,” Elza says. “Do you think we’re up on the moors? We drove through a bunch of forests to get to Darren’s house.”

  “Probably,” I say. “Why would we be out there, though?”

  “I’m really worried,” Elza says. “Something happened, Luke. This isn’t right. God, my teeth hurt so much. Whatever bad thing we’ve been worried about . . .”

  Another rabbit breaks cover, running past us in the darkness.

  “You think it already happened?” I ask.

  “Yes,” she says quietly. “I do. But I can’t remember what it was! Like a nightmare you just woke up from . . .”

  Gray mist is flowing around our feet, like dry ice, flowing from the direction the rabbits were fleeing. It ripples silently. How did I not see it before? How did I . . . oh.

  “Elza . . .” I begin. “We might be dead.”

  “What?”

  “Ghosts never remember how they died. Also . . . look down.”

  “It’s just mist.”

  “No,” I say. “That’s Deadside fog.”

  “Luke . . .”

  “It is,” I say. “I’ve seen it before, remember. I know that fog.”

  But my teeth ache so badly. I feel so cold. Dead people c
an’t feel true pain, can’t shiver.

  “It’s just ground mist,” Elza says, but I can tell she’s not certain.

  “I wish it was. But listen, do you feel cold?”

  “Do I . . . Are you joking? We’re going to freeze to death out here, if we aren’t already ghosts.”

  “Then we’re alive,” I say. “Dead people don’t get cold. I remember that much. Deadside isn’t hot or cold. We still have bodies.”

  Elza frowns, thinking this over. She pinches herself.

  “That really hurts,” she says. “I think I’m still here.”

  I run my tongue over my back teeth and wince. I’ve spent a fair amount of time as a spirit, more than Elza has. It doesn’t feel like this. I don’t think we’re dead. But that is Deadside mist.

  There’s a silent flash of frozen blue light, illuminating the sky and the bare trees around us. I see that the forest floor is alive with animals, squirrels and rabbits, and I can see the slender shapes of deer in the far trees. All of them are running away from the source of the light and mist.

  We look at each other.

  “I think we should go the opposite way from whatever that is,” Elza says, and we set off at a sprint. The forest is tangled and dense, and I nearly fall a few times, Elza huffing behind me. Branches slap my face and rake my hands. We pass hedgehogs and a rabbit with a limp and are overtaken by a red fox that flashes past me so fast, I almost think I imagined it. After a few minutes of blind, panicked running, we break out of the forest and I get the biggest shock yet.

  We’re standing on the edge of a large flat field, currently alive with fleeing wildlife. Beyond this field I can see a complex of square sullen buildings, a tall white pair of rugby goals. Dunbarrow High, our old school. How are we here? I thought we were out in the wilderness. We’re back in Dunbarrow?

  “Elza,” I begin, but she grabs my arm.

  “Look,” she says in a small voice, and I turn around.

  “What?”

  There’s something happening behind us, in the forest where we came from. It’s like a volcanic eruption, a cloud of light, cold patterns of blue and green snaking up from the tree line. There’s a cloud of spreading fog, too, illuminated from within by the snaking patterns of light. Elza’s face is lit a gruesome green. It seems like there should be a sound, but there’s nothing to hear, just our breath and our footsteps. The fog flows silently around us. And above it all, gleaming in the sky, I can see the comet, a stitch of blue-green thread.