Resurrectionists (66 page)

“There were doubts,” the Reverend said quickly. It was true, though the doubts were his only. “The decision was no longer unanimous and so I’m here to ask you to defer that action until a decision can be made.”

“Certainly,” Flood said, turning his back on the Reverend and fiddling with something on one of his benches. “You know I try to comply with the village’s wishes.”

Easy. The Reverend turned to go. “Thank you, Doctor.”

“You must be pleased, Reverend. I know you didn’t want the girl to suffer.”

The Reverend hesitated, turned back. “No. No, I didn’t. She’s not Sybill. She’s quite a pleasant young woman.”

Flood turned around. “You must be very sure that she’s no threat to the village?”

“Yes, I’m sure.” He could hear his own voice waver and a flutter of panic rose up in his chest. Perhaps he shouldn’t have relied on himself to be dishonest.

“Good day, then, Reverend,” Flood said.

Relief. Flood hadn’t noticed. “Yes. Good day.”

He was halfway to the door when Flood said. “It may take you some time to earn my trust again.”

The Reverend paused, looked warily over his shoulder. “I . . .”

Flood stood there, head tilted to one side, a hulking figure in the gloom. “You saw her digging a pit and you weren’t going to tell me?”

“I don’t think it was –”

“She won’t die on Monday. She’ll die tonight. I’ll send the Wraiths.”

“But –”

“Reverend, my trust is not easily bestowed. Do not abuse it again.”

The Reverend nodded.

“There is something you can do to please me.”

“What is it?” the Reverend asked, dreading the task but longing to be restored in Flood’s favour. The Doctor was not a man one wanted as an enemy.

“Make it easy for them to get in.”

“How can I –”

“She’ll open the door to you. Go to the cottage, knock, tell her your name. Then step aside and let the Wraiths do the rest.”

The Reverend could feel his jaw tremble. To do as Flood asked was unimaginable. To be so near when it happened . . .

“Reverend?”

“Yes,” he said firmly.

“Will you do it?”

“Yes.”

“Good. The Wraiths will come for you after dark. Make sure you keep your promise.”

“My promise,” the Reverend said. “Of course, of course. I’ll go to the cottage.”

Maisie woke to the sound of knocking. Sacha stirred in his sleep next to her. She blearily rose and grabbed her robe from where it hung over the end of the bed. The knocking came again, more urgent, as she stumbled towards the front door.

“Okay, okay,” she muttered, then paused before opening it. “Who is it?” she called in a croaky voice.

“Reverend Fowler. It’s important.”

Reverend Fowler? Maisie remembered the letter. She pulled her robe closer about her and opened the door. Daylight dazzled her. The sky was white, the road was white, tree branches and stone fences were all white. The world appeared to have turned to snow. Reverend Fowler stood in front of her, the sole black figure in the scene.

“What is it?” she asked him.

“I’m sorry, did I wake you?”

“Um . . . yes. What time is it?”

“It’s not quite ten a.m.”

“A few too many late nights,” she said. Her back started to ache with the memory of last night’s digging.

“Would you like to come in?”

He checked nervously over his shoulder. “Yes, yes, I would. But only briefly you understand.”

She showed him into the lounge room, closing the door to the bedroom on the way. For some reason, the idea of him knowing she was sleeping with Sacha made her embarrassed. Even if Solgreve church
was
full of fundalmentalists or cultists, she couldn’t forget her manners around a priest.

“I won’t sit down,” he said.

“Okay,” she replied and remained standing too, arms folded in front of her.

“You should leave.”

His frankness surprised her. For a few moments she couldn’t find her voice. “Why?”

“You must be gone by tonight.”

“Why?” she asked again. But the fear had already started to swirl in her stomach. Did they know? Had Flood found out what she was up to?

“I can’t tell you. I shouldn’t even be here.”

“Did you send me that letter?”

He put his hands up as if to say, stop. “I really have to go,” he said. “I shouldn’t even be here.”

“Reverend –”

“After dark, don’t open the door to anyone, not even me. Don’t leave the house. They will be waiting for you. They will be watching the house and waiting for you.” He was already nearly at the door.

“Reverend, wait. Stay. Talk to me about this. Perhaps I can help you, too.” Despite the fact that he was so implicated in Sybill’s murder, she couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. He was so old and feeble and pathetic.

“No. I never came here. If you say I did I will deny it.”

At that moment the bedroom door opened, and Sacha stepped out, dressed only in jeans. “Maisie?

What’s up?”

The Reverend saw him and nearly shrieked. Clearly he had expected her to be alone. He pulled open the door and disappeared into the white morning. Sacha went to the door and watched him go.

“What did he want?”

“Close the door, it’s freezing.”

Sacha closed the door and turned back to her.

“Well?”

“He came to warn us. The Wraiths are coming for us. Tonight.”

“They can’t get in, right?”

“And we can’t get out.”

“They only come at night.”

“Because the soul magic only works in darkness. So if we want to do what we have to do to Flood . . .”

“We have to go out at night.”

“Exactly.”

Sacha ran his hand through his hair. Maisie sagged against the door. “This is too much. It’s too hard,” she said.

“It’s not too hard. The Reverend was jumpy, nervous.”

“Yes. He kept saying he shouldn’t be here.”

“So nobody knows he’s warned us. Flood doesn’t know, the Wraiths don’t know.”

“That’s right.”

“What else did he say?”

Maisie wrinkled her brow, trying to remember the exact wording. “Something like, after dark don’t leave the house or answer the door. ‘They’ll be watching the house and waiting for you.’”

Sacha bit his lip, thinking. “So, if we’re not in the house at night . . .”

“Meaning?”

“They’ll come after dark to watch the house. But if we’ve already left the house, they’ll be stuck here watching for us and we can be off breaking into Flood’s chamber.”

Maisie placed a hand over her heart. She was swimming in a warm bath of fear. “God, I’m so scared.”

“Don’t be scared.”

“What are we going to do?”

“Pack a cut lunch,” Sacha said with a smile. “This afternoon we’re going for a picnic.”

The beach was dirty with sludgy, washed-out snow. The tide had come up and taken most of it out to sea, but some of it had banked up near the bottom of the cliff and was melting into the grey sand. Sacha and Maisie, swaddled in layers of clothes, picked their way over rock pools and up the sloping path to Sacha’s cave. He took her hand the last few metres and she remembered the first time they had come here together, when she was still consumed with longing for him. This time it was terror that was making her nauseous.

“Are you okay?” he asked as they clambered into the corner of the cave and sat down.

“I think so. Under the circumstances.”

He put an arm around her and she leaned her head on his shoulder. “You have to trust what Ma said – if this is your path, if this is the reason you have your power, the reason you’re here on this planet, then you have nothing to worry about.”

“Don’t tell me you’re not worried.”

He didn’t answer. She pulled away and looked at him. “Well?”

“Yes, I’m a little worried,” he said, opening his backpack and pulling out the lantern, a couple of blankets, a thermos and a bag of sandwiches. “Of course I am. My plans on a Saturday night don’t usually involve killing a five hundred-year-old magician.”

“Are we going to kill him?”

“We’re going to do what we have to do. And, yes, when we set the souls in his room free, I think he’ll die. I mean, that’s where he’s drawing his power from.”

Maisie shook her head, felt helpless tears coming to her eyes. “Sacha, I just want to go home.”

“Home? To the cottage, or to Adrian?”

Maisie dropped her head and didn’t answer. Home to Adrian was starting to look really good. Comfortable. Warm. Predictable. Before they left the cottage, she had written Adrian a brief note:
If I die,
remember that I love you always.

“If you died, like, right now, would you be happy?” she asked.

“Nobody’s going to die, Maisie.”

“Just . . . hypothetically.”

Sacha was quiet for a few moments. Finally, he said, “Yes. Yes, I would. I’ve drunk lots of beers with friends, I’ve read some good books and seen some good films. I’ve had a good time with my mother and, thanks to you, I’ve even sort of reconciled with my father. Yeah, I’d be happy. How about you?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. I’ve let people boss me around and whinged about it constantly, I’ve cheated on the man I love and I can’t stop biting my nails. It’s not much of a resumé.”

“Come on, you’re not that bad. I wouldn’t feel the way I feel about you if you were that bad.”

Her gaze went to the horizon. The sea was calm, but as the afternoon wore on the wind would pick up, and by the time they had to go to the abbey, the waves would be battering the rocks. Although they were sheltered from the worst of the biting cold, Maisie still longed for a warm fire, a warm bed, a hot cup of tea. She couldn’t stand that such an insurmountable task stood between her and comfort. She wanted to give up, but she wouldn’t. There was too much misery here, and she was the only person who could stop it. Perhaps facing death for a good cause like this could make her resumé more impressive.

“How
do
you feel about me?” she said. He smiled at her. “You know.”

“Do I?”

“Let’s try this: how do you feel about me?”

She studied him. His cheeks were lightly flushed from the cold. She pulled the beanie off his head and fiddled with his hair. She remembered how she had seen him once: exotic, a romantic hero. No, he wasn’t any of those things, not really. Now, she saw a moderately handsome man who, bafflingly, thought he had done enough in his life to die satisfied. She felt mad, passionate, about him. Was it love? Or was it just that he represented something different and exciting, that he was inextricably bound up in her adventure, her yearning for mystery and magic?

“I don’t know,” she said.

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, I don’t know either, how I feel about you.”

“But I’m going home. Soon. So we don’t have to work it out.”

“That’s right.”

“And you’re not going to ask me to stay are you?”

He shook his head. “You know I’m not.

“It wouldn’t be like it is in my imagination, would it? If we stayed together?”

“Let me ask you, did you once have the same kind of fantasies about Adrian?”

“Yes. Of course. We were going to be young and beautiful forever, we’d never argue, we’d never get tired of making love.” She nodded. “And the first eighteen months or so were like that. They really were.”

“And then you got a little bored, dissatisfied, started to look for something else?”

“Yeah. I guess that’s how it happened.”

“You know,” he said, “the best lover for you would be solitude.”

“I’d be lonely.”

“You’d never be disappointed.”

She handed him his beanie. “Enough. I’m bored of talking about me.”

They sat silent for a long time, gazing out to sea.

“You should be meditating,” he said at length.

“I know. Will you help?”

“Here, put your head in my lap.”

She lay down on the floor of the cave, her head in Sacha’s lap. She looked up at him and smiled. He spread a blanket over her.

“Maisie,” he said, “what were you writing before we left?”

“A letter to Adrian. Just in case, you know . . .”

“Did you tell him what we’re doing?”

“No. I can’t tell him any of that stuff. It makes me so sad.”

“Maybe you’ll tell him one day. I mean, if you’re going to be sharing your lives, he can’t help but see your powers growing, come to believe and understand it.”

This cheered Maisie a little. It was true. Once her Gift was evident in their daily lives, he couldn’t deny it. He would grow used to it, and one day perhaps she could tell him what had happened here on this wintry coastline. Perhaps the breach wasn’t so unbridgeable.

“Close your eyes,” he said.

She let her eyelids drop. She felt him lean over, his breath tickled her cheek, his warm lips closed over hers. No pressure, no tongue, just as if he were breathing life into her. She longed for time to freeze and for that moment to be forever. But already her desperation to hold it and possess it was eroding the pleasure. Her right hand went to his neck, her fingers finding a warm square of flesh under his hair. But he broke the kiss and drew away, started talking her through her breathing and meditation exercises. Outside the cave, night fell, the sea rose and grew hungry. Inside, the cold climbed all the way into Maisie’s heart, and the lantern began to glow. She felt a heavy sense of approaching destiny, and it made her stomach churn with anxiety.

Sacha waited until it was fully dark, and then he waited some more. They barely spoke; to do so was to acknowledge the enormity of what was ahead of them. It was after eight o’clock when he finally turned to her and said, “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Yes.”

“We go to the abbey, we use the lantern to get in. If he’s there, I’ll take care of him while you go to the wall, set them free.”

“Sounds simple,” she said with a dry laugh.

“It will happen, and it will be over,” he said.

“Stop trying to pretend we’re not risking our lives.”

He fell silent, pressed his lips together. Then,

“Ma would come for us. She wouldn’t let them bury us here.”

Maisie nearly wept. “But what about the others?”