Abarat: Absolute Midnight

Who’s there?

Who is that?

I heard somebody say—

“I’m going to put a light on,” she said.

What is she talking about?

There are no lights.

She’s crazy.

“Just trust me,” she told them. Then, very softly, she spoke the wielding word for light: “Onazawaar.”

A soft luminescence entered the air around her head, no more than the brightness of two candle flames. Then she gently willed it from her, and it spread like a pliant mist, lending its subtle brightness to the air. She urged it to be cautious. There was so much pain here; people who would not necessarily welcome the presence of an undeniable reality, however gently it was proffered. Even now, she heard thoughts from unhappy souls who had no desire to see what her kindly light was showing them.

Put it out! Put it out!

I’m dreaming. Don’t you understand?

Put it out!

It’s her. The girl from the Hereafter. She’s the one who turned the light on.

Put it out!

“No!” A strong voice now; the first among all those she’d heard so far. “Let the light burn.”

Candy sought out the speaker, and found him without any difficulty. He had a great cloud of red hair, with streaks of white in it. His square-cut beard was the same mingling of scarlet and white, his skin a bilious green. His voice by contrast with these excesses, was bland, colorless even.

“Don’t be afraid of anything that your eyes tell you they’re seeing,” he said. His words carried farther than his volume would have suggested; a trick Candy knew from many an encounter with those who wielded magic. “Nothing here is real, children. I promise you that.”

Even as he made infants of his congregation, somebody nearby whispered his name.

“It’s Father Parrdar! The Prophet of Map’s Vault.”

“I am not your Father. I am but a child, like you. Afraid, like you. Fearing sometimes, as you fear.” A murmur of recognition passed through the assembly. “Be calm, children. Our Father in the Hereafter hears our prayers. The Church of the Children of Eden will come to wake us, very soon.”

Candy couldn’t believe her ears. Once again, a murmur passed through the prisoners’ ranks. This time, however, it was simply the sound of fearful people being granted some much-needed solace.

“None of this is real. How could it be?” Parrdar went on. “What reason could there possibly be for so much suffering?”

It came as no surprise to hear affirmation by way of response.

“Yes, Father, yes! We have suffered in this nightmare!”

Parrdar went on talking as though nobody had spoken, but Candy could tell from the renewed force with which he went on speaking that his congregation’s cries had been heard.

“The Reverend listens to our cries. The Reverend suffers as we suffer!”

Candy couldn’t take it anymore.

“There is no Reverend,” Candy said loudly.

“You be quiet,” said a female who was sitting close by. She had more than a touch of Sea-Skipper in her blood, which gave her eyes the same silvery gleam that Candy had first seen in Izarith’s gaze. “That’s Father Parrdar talkin’!”

“I don’t care who it is,” Candy said, pushing herself up out of her dozy slouch. “A lie is a lie, whoever says it.”

“He’s not lying,” another of the prisoners said, somewhere in the gloom.

“All right then, he’s mistaken,” Candy said. “But either way what he’s saying isn’t true.”

“How do you know?” came a third voice.

The speaker was a large male; that was all Candy could see. But that was enough to make her very cautious. She had to be careful. She was tired, weak, and vulnerable. This wasn’t the time to get into an argument with anyone. Besides, they were all in this together, weren’t they? All of them were prisoners on a dark ship under what was surely still a starless sky.

She made a small conciliatory gesture, raising her hands palms out to signify that she was letting the argument go. But the man in the darkness who had, Candy saw, a little question mark of hair rising from the middle of his head, wasn’t willing to let go of the disagreement.

“I asked you a question,” Question Mark said.

“Yes, and I heard you,” Candy said, doing her best to remain calm and polite.

“So answer me.”

“The pastor has every right to his opinion,” Candy replied. She should have stopped right there. But no. She had to keep going. “Even when he’s wrong.”

She’d thought that willful, would-not-be-silenced part of her had probably been one of Boa’s contributions; but no, it was pure Candy.

“He’s not wrong,” Question Mark replied.

He was getting up now, and Candy was starting to see just how big an argument she had got herself into. The man kept getting up and getting up and getting up, unfolding like an enormous accordion. He seemed almost as broad as he was tall. And as he rose, and spread, and rose and spread, he recited the Gospel According to Question Mark.

It was really very simple.

“The Father is Right. Always. He knows the Truth and He speaks it in words we understand. Accept His wisdom and beg His Forgiveness.”

At this point Parrdar himself entered the exchange.

“I’m certain she will—” he began.

“ACCEPT HIS WISDOM AND BEG HIS FORGIVENSS!” Question Mark said again.

Candy was standing up now. She could feel the rolling motion of the ship, not just as a passenger, but as an empath, sharing the ship’s state of being just as her magic had allowed her to share the feelings of other human beings. She could feel the sea breaking against the prison-ship’s bows just as Question Mark’s bullying words were breaking against her face. She could feel the rhythm of the waves rolling against her ribs as the stares from all the people around her pressed against her. She could hear the murmur of their thoughts, foaming up like the waters.

“We’re in this together,” she said, shrugging. “We’re all Mater Motley’s prisoners. I don’t want to get into an argument with anyone.” She took a deep breath, swallowed her pride, and said, “I accept Father Parrdar’s wisdom and I beg his forgiveness.”

Even so, she couldn’t keep from having her hands behind her back as she spoke, with her fingers crossed. It was a silly playground trick, to make a promise with your fingers crossed so that the promise carried no weight, but she couldn’t help herself. She didn’t truly accept Parrdar’s wisdom or beg his forgiveness, but she was practical about things. That was also pure Candy.

“I forgive you, child,” the Father said.

“Oh that’s nice of you,” Candy said, and for an instant she thought she’d overacted, and the Pastor would realize her sweetness was a mask covering a very different Candy.

But he was too in love with the power she’d given him to doubt that it was real.

He simply said: “The light.”

“Do you want me to put it out?” she asked him.

“Not necessarily,” he replied. “Do you have any control over it?”

“A little,” she said.

“Then send it where it can do some good.”

It took Candy a moment to work out what he meant, but only a moment. Then, being sure to make the task look as difficult as possible, she gathered up the light, which had spread around her, and willed it to go where