the river diminished to be replaced by the creak of branches and the rustle of leaves, and the pounding of her feet on the dry forest floor. Tears stung her eyes as Amy's desperate thoughts were pushed aside by the chaotic jumble of panic.
In the dark, she came up on a steep hollow without seeing it. Her foot caught in a bramble at the top of the bank and she went headfirst down the slope, the thorns tearing at her flesh. She landed in a sea of bracken at the bottom, winded and stunned. As she levered herself up above the swaying fronds, she could just make out a small figure huddled in the centre of the hollow. It was Carlton. And in that moment of realisation, Amy scurried back to her place in the shadows and Caitlin snapped back to the fore.
'Carlton? It's me, Caitlin,' she whispered as she crawled out of the bracken. The boy had his arms wrapped around his knees, terrified and tearful. Caitlin hugged him tightly. 'Don't be frightened,' she said. 'I'm here now. I'll look after you.'
She couldn't hear any sounds of the Lament-Brood, but she knew they couldn't be far behind. 'We have to move, Carlton,' she whispered. 'Triathus said to follow the paths to a court. We'll be safe if we can get there.'
Caitlin stood up, but Carlton remained rigid at her feet. 'Come on, honey,' she urged. 'You're the important one. We need to look after you.' Carlton is the key, she told herself. If I have to die to save him, then that's the way it's going to be. She pulled him to his feet and he relented, looking into her face with such trust that her heart melted. She kissed him gently on the head. 'Don't worry — it'll be OK.' They ran and hid for hours, until the shadows began to turn grey and the first light filtered through the thick canopy. Occasionally they accidentally turned back on themselves in the dense, confusing forest and caught sight of flickering purple light in the distance, accompanied by the stirring of ghostly whispers. But mostly they kept going in the right direction.
They never saw any of the others, but every now and then they'd hear movement in the dark nearby, though they were always too afraid to call out for fear of attracting unwanted attention. Caitlin's memories of the Gehennis were still too raw.
They came across a path in the thin hour after dawn. It was hard-packed with white stone, a gleaming trail in the permanent penumbra of the forest. It wasn't just a physical path, for the instant Caitlin stepped on it she felt her mood lift and her weariness dissipate as if she'd been given a shot of some drug. Carlton smiled for the first time that night and gave her a hug, which raised her spirits even more.
For the next hour they made good progress until Caitlin was distracted by movement amongst the trees away to her left. She caught at Carlton's shoulder to make him stop. 'I think I just saw Jack.' She peered through the trunks. Someone was definitely there. She took a chance and called Jack's name.
There was a brief pause before the reply floated back. 'Caitlin? Where are you?'
She pinpointed his position from his voice and then replied, 'Stay where you are. I'll come and get you.' She turned and knelt before Carlton so she could look deep into his serious face. 'Stay here. I'll only be gone a few minutes. You should be safe enough on the path, but I think it's much more dangerous off it, so this is the place to be. Listen to me — don't wander off the path, whatever happens. Even if you hear me calling to you. It might not be me. There are things out there that like to trick. If you stay right here, you'll be safe,' she stressed. 'Got it?'
He nodded.
'OK. I'll fetch Jack.' She steeled herself and then stepped off the path. In the hot summer sun, the house glowed with warm browns and oranges beneath a brilliant blue sky. The garden was lush, the roses in bloom in reds and yellows, the shade beneath the apple tree inviting. It had the kind of colours and warm, lazy feel that only come from a memory. Reality always seems much harsher while it's happening.
Mary hesitated before the heat-blistered blue door at the back, struggling to find her position in time and place. It was the sixties, she was in her mid-twenties, and this… this was home.
The familiar smells hit her the moment she stepped over the threshold: fried bacon from lunch, the old skillet still cooling on the side, faint sulphury smoke from the recently stoked boiler to her left, the pristine tang of cleaning fluids — her mother had been hard at work as usual. The pang of yearning she felt was acute: if only she could go back. Why did we always want to go back? What did that say about life, about what was lost on the journey from child to adult?
Her mother, hair dyed black and permed in that sixties mother-style, looked up from polishing the sideboard. Kip, the mongrel her father had brought back one day from a chance meeting at the pub, kicked on the hearth in the throes of some dog-dream. In the front room, Mary could hear the rustle of a newspaper, her father relaxing after lunch. She so desperately wanted to see him again, one final time, and she knew she would cry if she did.
Her mother smiled warmly. 'This is a surprise.'
A thousand thoughts and emotions rushed into her head, so fast Mary thought she would fall apart in a panic; she dampened everything down, refused even to consider what was tugging at her.
Mary expected some words, quiet disappointment; the life she had chosen had not been the one expected. Too wild, too exciting, fun and hedonism, a break from the working-class tradition of diligence and labour. Parents sacrificed for children and children sacrificed for their children, but Mary had accepted the sacrifice and used it for enjoyment instead of carving out a place in the world. Yet her mother was there, welcoming her as if Mary had just been to the shops instead of away for weeks without writing or calling. Mary wanted to rush over and hug her and say how sorry she was, for everything, but more urgent matters were tugging at her mind.
'He's upstairs.' Her mother's smile grew sad. 'I'm glad you could get back to see him, you know… before he's gone.'
Another pang. She hadn't made it back, had she? She'd even missed the funeral — too busy having fun, tripping in a field, listening to music with some boy or other; she couldn't even remember which one. How many times had she been so thoughtless and uncaring?
Mary nodded sadly, turned to the stairs; the door was ajar, the interior dark as it always had been, even on a summer's day. She climbed slowly, remembering every creak, the steps she had to avoid when she sneaked down while her parents slept. We try to be good children, but never hard enough; are they always disappointed with us?
Sunlight streamed through the front bedroom window, illuminating the floating dust like tiny flakes of silver, something so mundane yet so wonderful. Her grandfather sat in the sun by the window, looking out at the quiet street. He turned and smiled at her, just like her mother had done, with no disappointment, no subtle accusations, and Mary felt the emotions inside her cut like a razor. His white hair was aglow in the sun, his eyes keen and bright at the sight of his favourite granddaughter. The only time he'd ever cried in public was when she'd been born. His skin had blue blemishes here and there, coal dust impacted too deep in the pores to be removed, the legacy of a pit collapse that had also taken two fingers. He looked too alive to have only a week left.
'Hello, Grandad.' She couldn't think of what else to say, was afraid of saying anything for fear of crying.
'Hello, Mary.' He beckoned for her to come closer.
She sat on the end of the bed. 'You look so much like him.'
'I am your grandfather… and I'm not.' He smiled enigmatically. 'You've never been happy since Grandma went. I always felt you were just waiting to die to be with her again.' She caught herself. 'I'm sorry, all this… it's confusing me.'
'Don't worry. It's understandable, lass. But there's a reason for it, like there's a reason for everything.'
'I'm here for help, and guidance.'
'I know. And I'll do everything I can. These are difficult times for everybody.' He looked back out of the window. A car drove lazily up to the roundabout at the top of the road.
'The angels… the Elysium… they said the Goddess had to be called back.'
'She has to be called back, for the sake of everything.'
'Is that my job? Is that the price I have to pay for your help?'
'No. There is no price for my help.'
'I thought there was always a price to pay?' Mary said curiously.
'Not here. There is never a price here.' His lazy smile reminded her of even sunnier days as a child, when things had been uncomplicated and she'd even probably liked herself. Next to him she felt even more wanting, whether it was her grandfather who'd struggled hard all his life for the sake of others or the true form that lay behind his face.
'You make me feel at ease,' she said.
'That's the idea. Your kind are so trapped in your own bodies, Mary. No idea of what things are really like beyond your five senses. No idea of what powers lie within you. You construct everything you see with the power of
