SHANEGORMLEY

Oscar looked away. He took a deep breath to steady himself and realised that the figure reeked of rotting flesh. The foul stench made him gag. Rowan once more placed a comforting hand on his back, helping to ease him. Though in the act of leaning forward he also noticed the foul smell and was forced to quickly remove his hand to cover his mouth and nose.

 

By this point the girl in front of Oscar has been silently motioned onto the raft. The oarsman slowly returned to his position at the side of the vessel and began to once more urge the raft forward with slow purposeful attacks at the river of blood.

“Do you have a token?” Oscar asked as soon as he had recovered from the overwhelming odour.

 

“No. Do you?”

 

“No,” replied Oscar, frantically searching his pockets. It was then his fingers came into contact with something unexpected. In the pocket that had earlier contained his tie there was now something cold and round. He grasped it with his fingers; the effort seemed oddly strenuous, as though he had momentarily forgotten how to use his hands. Then with a trembling motion he withdrew the object from his pocket. It was a large white disc. Much larger than the token the girl had given the oarsman and made from an entirely different material. It looked suspiciously like bone. Carved on one side of the disc was a depiction of a castle. On the other side were engraved the letters T.I.L. Rowan stared at it with wide eyes then began to check his pockets too.

“This is bad. This is nothing like the token the girl had. I wonder what it means,” pondered Oscar out loud.

 

“Don’t worry,” said Rowan in a distant voice. He too was holding a bone white disc engraved with the letters T.I.L. “Wherever we’re going, we’re going together.”

 

The reassurance that Oscar wouldn’t be alone on his voyage into the unknown bolstered his resolve to at least continue onward. Deep in the back of his mind he still thought of somehow returning home to his family. He reasoned that his best way of seeing any of them again was to venture further into the strange land he now found himself in and discover as much as he could.

 

“So I guess I’m next,” said Oscar, gazing across the river of blood. No matter how hard he tried he could see nothing on the horizon. The idea that there was nothing on the other side began to rack his mind. Suddenly he became morbidly afraid of the oarsman. Perhaps, he thought, it was his punishment for some ancient misdeed that he must slit the throat of every newly deceased person and drain their blood into the ever growing ocean.

 

Oscar gazed down into the river, if river it was, and saw an almost unrecognisable face looking back at him. In spite of his rapid aging he could tell it was him, but something else was different. His hair that had once been a light sandy blonde now seemed almost alive with gold. His eyes too seemed more vibrantly blue than he remembered, sparkling at him with intense curiosity. He pushed these notions out of his mind, reasoning that they merely seemed brighter in contrast to his dull surroundings.

 

“Here he comes,” said Rowan in a hushed voice. “Good luck.”

 

“Thanks. I think I’ll need it,” said Oscar as the raft once more bumped into the shore. Exactly as before the oarsman outstretched his decomposing arm and held out his hand. “Token,” he rasped. Although Oscar was prepared for this very question it somehow caught him off guard. The animated corpse stared directly at him. Under the cloak Oscar couldn’t make out any of his features, but the hand, the vile rotting hand lingered before him, a hideous reminder off his own body decaying somewhere in the world he’d left behind. “Token,” the oarsman growled, this time deeper and more drawn out like the last gargle of a drowning man. Oscar dipped his hand into his pocket and withdrew the bone disc. He dropped it in the outstretched palm of the oarsman, taking care not to touch him. As the coin collided with bone and splintered sinew it disintegrated soundlessly into a fine white dust that slipped between the oarsman’s fingers and the holes in his flesh, lost to the blood of the river.

 

Oscar let out a startled gasp but the oarsman paid him no mind. Drawing his arm unnaturally upward so that his elbow bent inward almost probing the depths of his hooded cloak he motioned for Oscar to walk onto the raft. Oscar did as he was bid and tentatively walked forward. He was surprised to note that the raft felt steady underfoot, barely aware that they were floating on the surface of a river. As the oarsman picked up his staff and plunged it downward to begin the first step of his journey Oscar turned to look at Rowan. Seeming to understand his fears Rowan held his token aloft, reminding Oscar that they would be treading the same path.

 

Oscar could scarcely comprehend the scenario he was in. It felt like some fiendish nightmare. Even now that he had become more aware of what had happened it seemed as though he was watching the actions of someone else. The sad reality that this was actually happening to him was yet to truly manifest itself.

 

Turning once more to face the oarsman Oscar was forced to consider his more immediate dilemma. The stench of decomposing flesh was mingling with the tangy iron smell of the river they were traversing causing him to gag. He held his hand to his mouth and attempted to control the gurgling in his stomach. Despite his unease Oscar kept his eyes locked on the oarsman. He was prepared for a potential attack at any moment. He had no idea how he would defend himself against an un-dead figure wielding a bloody staff, yet he was not going to give in without a fight.

 

Just as Oscar was wondering whether he would be able to swim through the blood if necessary he became aware of something in the periphery of his vision. Glancing toward the direction they were heading he could see another shoreline. Unlike the one he had left behind it seemed to contain a variety of plant life, although from this distance it looked somewhat wilted and lifeless. For the first time too it appeared that there was moonlight. So overwhelmed was Oscar by this new development, and the prospect of an eventual sunrise, that he almost lost his balance when they gently bumped against the soft grassy embankment.

 

The oarsman turned to Oscar and pointed silently to a meandering pathway which crept through the trees into the distance; a clear sign that Oscar was to depart. “Well erm, thank you for the ride then, I guess,” whispered Oscar, “I don’t suppose you could tell me where I’m meant to go from here?” But the oarsman kept silent, his only reply to remain stoically pointing.

 

Oscar stepped slowly from the raft, unsure what to expect. As his foot made contact with the bank the oarsman rasped a hoarse chocking noise and Oscar felt the vessel lurch away. Fast as he could Oscar pulled his other leg from the raft, eager not to fall into the river. The bank was stained with clotted remnants of blood which gave Oscar no traction as he attempted to scramble his way upward. It seemed that for every inch he pulled himself forward he slid further back towards the viscous black river. Oscar pawed forward with his hands, clinging to massive globs of blood attached to the bank with root-like tendrils. With all his might he pulled at a particularly large clot that appeared to support his weight, furiously kicking with his feet Oscar began to ascend. Finally he was able to peek his head above the summit of the bank but as he stretched to get a better view he lost his footing and lurched backward. Automatically he flailed his arms letting go of the bloody root and tumbled down the bank into the river.

 

Oscar screamed but his mouth filled with thick, hot blood. Consumed with horror he threw his limbs in crazed spasms. It felt like quicksand pulling him under. The bank seemed to have vanished and he couldn’t feel the river bed. With every passing second his movements became more arduous until he could feel the fight draining out of him. Thoughts of his family flashed through his mind in black and white like they were being played on an old fashioned movie reel.

 

As the flickering images shot through his head he felt something touch one of his hands. An immediate injection of adrenaline shot through his body and he began fighting with renewed vigour. Oscar had no idea what had touched him but it had definitely been moving. In a state of panic he imagined what kind of hellish monsters prowled the depths of the river of blood. He thought of hideous piranhas with vicious slashing teeth and sharks that had grown gigantic and fed exclusively on human flesh, but as quickly as the thoughts entered his head they vanished as the last gulps of oxygen purged from his lungs. His vision swam black then popped with brilliant white sparks as the neurons in his brain fired in one last harmony. His last thought was that he felt the mysterious monster in the deep bite down hard on his shoulder. Then he felt nothing.

 

Oscar awoke with a shudder as the blood he had inhaled spluttered from his body, surrounding him in a deep crimson pool. He was lying on his back looking up at the milky white moon. A figure loomed over him fading in and out of focus. Gradually his vision returned and Oscar recognised the figure as Rowan. His face was etched with concern and appeared to be almost grey in the shadow of the insipid moonlight which lent him the appearance of a contemplative statue. As Oscar sat up and gained his bearings he noted everything had a peculiar monochrome appearance.

 

“Bloody hell mate,” gasped Rowan, “isn’t dying once enough for one day?” A wry smile crossed his face as he spoke and Oscar couldn’t help but feel relieved to see it despite the reminder that they were both dead. “Yeah, probably,” was all Oscar could mange before he began gagging on the taste of blood in his mouth. Whipping his lips with his sleeve he added, “I hope that blood was clean. I really don’t want to get HIV.” That was enough to make Rowan laugh. “You idiot, aids is the least of your worries right now, besides who knows if you can even get ill now we’re … on the other side.”

 

“That’s actually a good point. I think I could feel pain though, when I was drowning in there, although now I’m out I don’t really recall what I felt.”

 

“Well we need answers and we’re not going to find them with you sat in a pool of dirt and blood. Let’s see where this path leads.” There was something in the way Rowan spoke that demanded authority, plus there was no other option for them, so Oscar got to his feet and began to follow Rowan down the trail that weaved between the lifeless undergrowth.

 

The trail seemed well trodden but over grown, nothing more than a desire line that laced through the marshy grass. It routinely spiralled to one side only to then twist back on itself without reason or warning giving the travellers the strong feeling that they were walking in circles. The more Oscar observed the more he noticed that everything lacked colour. There were many subtle shades of green, yellow and brown, but all seemed tinged with grey and the differences in tone were only really distinguishable at close comparison. Thankfully the ground was level and the climate was comfortable which allowed them time to talk as they journeyed.

Rowan seemed inclined to listen more than talk so Oscar was glad to cover every little detail of his family and his life. Every now and then Rowan would smile or pat Oscar on the shoulder. When Oscar reached the day he died Rowan had sat down on a fallen tree trunk to listen to the tale and even offered him a one-armed hug as he saw tears begin to bead in the corner of Oscar’s eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said as Oscar finished. Before Rowan was able to continue his breathe was snatched away from him as he saw someone walking up the path toward them. From a distance it appeared as though they could only see the shadow of the person, yet as he got nearer they could make out the slender pale figure of a man. He was entirely clad in white and shimmered translucently in the moon light. He could have been no more than four feet tall and his limbs were so slim that they faded into delicate points rather than hands or feet.

 

Rowan and Oscar glanced nervously at one another as the figure stopped before them. “Good morrow,” he called in a wispy voice. “I’m glad I finally found you. You wouldn’t believe how long I’ve been wandering these paths. I told them we should do something about them. Too many peoples have been walking here and there, now it’s impossible to find your way. No, they say, we don’t have time for that. Just leave poor old Larc to waste his time instead.” The creature began to sigh heavily and seemed to momentarily forget about the two confused teens staring blankly at him. “Umm, what are you?” interrogated Rowan.

 

“You mean, who am I? I’m Larc. Trusty Welcomer to the welcomees. It’s my ancient duty to show all new recruits to the academy.” He flourished one of his spindly limbs and bowed so low the top of his head brushed the ground.

 

“Well, I did also mean what are you?” Rowan surveyed Larc with curiosity. He had a humanoid appearance, yet he was clearly anything but. His face looked like it had been moulded from clay by somebody who had only the vaguest idea of what a man’s face was supposed to look like. His eyes were small black pits that bobbed unnaturally as he spoke and his mouth would occasionally slip into a lop sided smirk when he tried to smile. At closer inspection Rowan also noticed that he was floating just off the ground.

“Oh, of course. How forgetful of me, you’re new here. I’m an Entine,” noticing their puzzled looks he added, “It helps if you think of as me as what would you call a spirit. I mean that’s not accurate, but we find it helps. Just don’t you go calling any of the other Entine’s a spirit because they don’t much like it.”

 

“So if you’re a spirit, I mean Entine, why do you look like a human?” asked Oscar.

“Oh I don’t. We just assume a form that will help ease your transition here. As you can see, I’m not actually that good at my human shape yet. I can’t master the face. You humans have really odd faces, did you ever notice?” As Larc finished speaking his nose slid an inch to the right.

 

“You called us recruits and mentioned an academy. What’s going on, we need to know?” asked Rowan.

 

“Oh, all in good time my friends. I’m not the one to give you such answers. I’m just the trusted Welcomer, remember? One thing I do ask though is that you leave all your baggage behind,” he laughed a shrill laugh then noticing the others hadn’t joined in, stopped abruptly. “It’s metaphorical, just a Welcomer joke. This is a new start for you both. You crossed the river, you journeyed with the oarsman. You know you can never go back that way. You must come with me.” As he finished speaking Larc bobbed into the air and motioned them on with his pointed arms. “Quick, quick,” he cried and he shot forward leaving Oscar and Rowan to scramble as fast as they could after him through the overgrown trail.

 

By the time Larc slowed down enough for them to catch him they had passed through the grey marshes and were looking out across wide open acres of meadow. In the horizon there loomed a wall of pines that skirted a towering shelf of mountains, so vast you couldn’t see the summit. Oscar gasped for breath. “We don’t have to go all that way do we?” he spluttered.

 

“Things are not always as they appear in this realm. Certain measures have been taken to keep the academy and its students secure,” replied Larc.

 

“Why do you speak in riddles? Where are we going?” asked Rowan growing impatient with Larc’s answers.

 

“Riddles?” spouted the Entine. “I love riddles. Riddle me this. The more you take, the more you leave behind. What is it?” Before either Rowan or Oscar had chance to guess Larc shouted, “foot steps,” and began chuckling merrily to himself. “Now follow me,” he beamed, his smile slowly tilting to the shape of a crescent moon and with that he once again darted forward. Rowan and Oscar had no choice but to follow, so with Rowan leading they raced after their strange spirit guide.