Just logged on to mail O’Heir and Justin that the journey went okay. We’ve arrived in Gund. As it happened, there were delays in our leaving Tracen. We didn’t get out of that room until four-thirty this morning. Jaeran didn’t fully explain why. He just hinted there was some kind of storm alert and the Storm Road was closed for a while. It took a while to clear the backlog of carts and other traffic. Apparently it happens all the time. They take these storms seriously. Don’t blame them. After seeing the Great Black I’m amazed why anyone would want to live in this land in the first place. But we’re here in Gund, holed up in another inn. And, My God, what a bizarre journey it was. We left the . . .

Hang on. Armbranch’s waving. Jaeran’s coming.

Couldn’t sleep a wink last night. I guess I’m getting paranoid because every sound I heard outside our door, every footstep and muffled scrap of conversation, became a threat. At one point I started imaging Jaeran had deviated from his original purpose and brought us here to sell us on to the highest bidder. I even imagined the auction. Downstairs, in a dark corner of the inn, he was huddled around a table with a handful of others, each bidding for the right to take us.

Thinking back, I guess I must have slept at some point. Those images are still so fresh in my mind they could only have been a dream. Besides, I doubt Jaeran would be so foolish to do such a thing. Stavlan might not have been the most potent symbol of the Cadavat, but I suspect that was a deliberate attempt to keep us calm. Not that Stavlan’s face was something to smile at. But at least he wasn’t threatening. If these guys can summon the most skilful of navigators I’ve no doubt they’re a major force to be reckoned with. Jaeran would be a fool to double-cross them.

Jaeran brought more food this morning. Although the bread and pasty gruel looked fresher than last nights ‘stew’, I didn’t touch it. We’re leaving this afternoon and I don’t want to risk being sick on the ten-hour journey to Gund. Shortly after breakfast, Jaeran brought the robes into our room and left them slung over a chair. I tried not to look at Armbranch’s face when he saw them. Impossible. The grunt he uttered made Jaeran jump. The clothes are still there, still stinking. It’s getting so claustrophobic in here I’m half tempted to draw the ragged drapes and toss open the windows.

Won’t bother. Though our window looks out over a narrow alley, there are more taverns on the far side. They’re busy. Judging by the wild laughter and music coming from that direction those rooms aren’t used for sleeping in. Best to keep our curtains drawn and windows closed for now. Not because I’m afraid of being seen. No. It’s the opposite. I’m afraid of what I might see over there if the local girls are ‘entertaining’ sailors.

Seriously, I’d rather eat those robes instead of trying to explain it to Armbranch.

Time to sign off now. Armbranch is pacing around the room and muttering to himself. It’s irritating me. Time to sit and talk with Maya for a while. I know she’ll laugh when I tell her what’s across the street. Well, at least when she wakes up, anyway

Still at the harbour. We’re holed up in some kind of boarding house. Don’t dare use the laptop for too long. Jaeran is with us. He’s made the preparations for our trip to Gund. We leave tomorrow.

So now we’re waiting again.

Yesterday was a day of absolute confusion. After the Marsten docked, some official looking men came aboard. They were dressed in black uniforms and they searched the ship from top to bottom. They paid little attention to us. The glare of a bit of gold blinds many a man, Jaeran told us. And Tinotte guards were no exception. It got a bit trickier when we went ashore. Jaeran gave us some crude robes and insisted we wear them when Armbranch complained. Either that or we didn’t go ashore. Our choice was simple. No choice, really. Those damn things stunk to high heaven of fish. Rotten fish. Jaeran told us it was necessary to hide our scent.

Armbranch’s robe dragged along behind him. It’s funny now to think about it. Yesterday, however, I imagined every single man along the dockside and narrow tunnel streets we passed along was looking at us. It was a relief when we reached the inn and threw off those rags. They’re outside in the hallway now. With luck we won’t need them again.

Jaeran brought us up some food earlier. Some kind of meat stew. It wasn’t a patch on Angalan’s  cooking. The meat was stringy and tough and some of the vegetables looked like the earth had only been brushed off them after they’d been cooked.

Beggars can’t be choosers, though. I ate it. What’s more, I managed to keep it down.

This room’s not bad. A bit cramped, but not bad. It’s the smell that really perks me up. How can I describe that mix of salt, spices, fruit, tobacco, oil, and countless other scents that’s so thick everywhere in the city it seems to brush against my face? Chaos. That’s how I’d describe it. Absolute, wonderful chaos. I’d give anything to get out of this room and wander along those docks for a few hours. Impossible, though. When I mentioned it to Jaeran he scowled at me, told me it was too dangerous.

Okay, so it probably is dangerous out there. I suspect the real reason he doesn’t want us wandering about is because he’s afraid we’ll get lost. He doesn’t want anything to happen to his cargo. Not now, not when he’s so close to delivering it. I also suspect it’s not solely monetary issues he’s worried about if anything happens us. The Cadavat could be a bigger problem. I can see it in his eyes, a raw fear every time I mention them.

Jaeran invited us up on deck just as dusk fell last night. The waters were choppier, more natural, and off in the distance we saw the outline of a mountain range silhouetted against a velvet sky. That’s where Tracen was, he said. Within the mountains.

He wasn’t joking. We arrived at the city an hour ago. From the outside it didn’t look like anything much. Just a deep-water bay surrounded by mountains and sheer cliffs. We saw no building, harbours, or fortifications. All we found in the bay were a dozen or so fat cargo vessels queued up outside what appeared to be the entrance to a sea cave. Above the cave, the cliff face was peppered with smaller openings and what looked to be observation points. When I took a closer look through the binoculars, I was shocked to see row upon row of box windows up there. There were hundreds, perhaps thousands, of them. So many in fact, I didn’t bother counting. All were partially camouflaged. The glass was tinted a bluish grey to match the cliff face, none the windows were open, and all them had what appeared to be thick shutters hinged to the rock around them.

Storm protection. That’s what Jaeran told us the shutters were for.

The whole cliff face was so cleverly designed we could have dropped anchor in this bay without realising they were even there. It wasn’t hard to imagine a face behind each window, a face looking straight down at us.

So Tracen wasn’t behind the mountain. Tracen was the mountain.

When Jaeran skipped the queue and entered the sea cave it was perhaps the biggest surprise of all to discover it led on into the heart of the mountain. We passed out of it and into a vast cavern that’s been used as a docks area. The cavern itself looks natural, but the endless lines of docking bays look as if they were chiselled out of the rock by hand. I can’t get a proper look through the porthole, but there are dozens of ships of different shapes and sizes berthed here. Many are being unloaded and the dockside is a chaos of carts, wooden cranes, and a heaving throng of workmen and ponies.

The reflections from a thousand torches bounce off the water and bathe the cavern in a warm, orange glow. It’s a magical.

Even by Parawerthan standards, this place is eye poppingly extraordinary. Great red brick warehouses cram the dockside. Behind them, the rock wall rises up as far as I can see. Entryways have been cut into the rock. Many have winch cranes and there’s a constant flow of crates, sacks, barrels, and other assorted containers being winched up and down. I figure they’re either more storerooms up there or else they lead to passageways that in turn lead out of the mountain.

Jaeran didn’t say much about Tracen. He didn’t need to. All he told us was that after the disaster of The City of Roses, they built their next sea city within the mountain to protect it against storms. He didn’t say what kind of storms. But I can guess. We’re in some kind of queue again, now, and waiting to be assigned a docking space. Judging by the amount of ships here I . . .

Wait. Someone’s just knocked on the door. Jaeran. Time to go.

This morning started with the most brilliant sunrise I’ve seen since our first morning out of the Shavlod Jungle. Armbranch woke me and led up out on deck as the first thin streaks of orange crept across the horizon. Within twenty minutes or so the entire horizon appeared to be ablaze with a stunning array of reds and oranges that were almost painful to look directly at.

At times I thought I saw great flames rise up, but I guess it was nothing but waves distorted by the light. Jaeran joined us after a while. He said that not many ever got a chance to see a Cladrod sunrise. It was a phenomena strictly limited to these waters, he told us, though he couldn’t explain it. It was something to do with the path of the current. Somehow it managed to twist the horizon and draw the light across it.

It was then I asked him about the net sails. To be honest, it was the last thing on my mind. The words sort of tumbled out of my mouth before I could catch them. Jaeran laughed, glanced up at the masts, and laughed again. He said there were plenty of other things apart from fish in the Empty Sea that could be caught. And not all of them lived below water. I didn’t ask any more about it. Nor did Jaeran seem inclined to elaborate. Probably for the best. We’ve enough to worry about already.

Jaeran came to our cabin shortly after noon. He said we’d be leaving the Cladrod this evening and if we were lucky we’d reach Tracen by dawn tomorrow if the weather held favourable. I’ll be glad to leave these waters. They’re too empty. We haven’t spotted as much as a scrap of seaweed or dead fish for days. And, though the journey isn’t as rough as I’d expected, I sense a great power beneath the waves, a power that tugs occasionally at the hull like a great hand. At times the entire frame of the boat creaks and vibrates from the pressure.

Wouldn’t take much to drag us down. No. Not much at all.

When I quizzed Jaeran about the next leg of our journey, he assured me we’d be okay. Everything’s arranged, and he’ll be coming with us to Gund to ensure everything goes smoothly. We’ll be travelling the Storm Road to the city. Jaeran laughed when I asked him why it was called that. All he said was that we’d enjoy the trip.

The Storm Road! The very name makes me shiver.

Slept well last night. No dreams. No nightmares. No seasickness. I figure I was out for ten hours straight and it was easily the best sleep I had since leaving Captain’s ship. I guess if the rhythm of the waves hadn’t changed, I might have put away another ten hours before I woke. The sound against the hull was more a thud now than a slap. It was still pleasant to just lie and listen to it, though.

Sometimes I’d just love to hibernate.

Armbranch was on deck earlier. Jaeran told him we’ve passed into the Cladrod current and things would soon get rougher. He wasn’t joking. By the time I got up top they’d lowered the sails and, though it didn’t appear we were moving, the wind against my face told me we were making steady progress. The sea had turned a dark green and was rising and falling like we were riding the back of a great snake.

Though we passed a few rocks and islands, we saw no habitations there. Nor did we see any boats. Only gulls inhabited those islands, and they stayed roosting where they were and watched us pass. Even if Jaeran didn’t seem worried, it was still hard to eat breakfast. Angalan dished up some potatoes and fish. But the pitch and toss of the boat worsened so much by the time we sat I had to force myself to eat it.

At least they’re still feeding us well.

Daidogan’s behaviour is as shifty as the currents in this place. Last night she turned up unannounced at the house shortly before midnight and told Justin the shadow was close. She didn’t say how she knew. She just told him they needed to place a bucket of petrol in the doorway leading down to the basement. Justin’s first impression was that she’d truly lost it and wanted to torch the place. But when he called O’Heir (who was on duty), he told him to go along with it.

Turned out she hadn’t arrived a moment too soon. Barely had Justin siphoned petrol from his car than the shadow drifted into the house and started passing from room to room. Once he got the bucket in place, he and Daidogan followed the shadow around the house. By the time O’Heir arrived, the thing was checking out the ground floor. It stayed at the basement door for a long while before finally exiting the house through the back wall. It hasn’t returned since.

But how did Daidogan know it was coming? Better still, how did she know how to confuse it? She claimed she had a vision of the shadow heading our way. To top that, she said she didn’t know where the ‘petrol fumes’ idea came from. It just popped into her head as she was driving to Singleton.

I don’t know what to believe. All I know is that we might have been in trouble without her.

Despite the pleasant crew, we’ve decided to keep ourselves to ourselves here. True, Jaeran’s friendly. But it’s a superficial, businesslike friendliness. He doesn’t want to get too close. It’s a pity. There are a million questions I’d love to ask him. Strangely, instead of finding out more about our destination, or the Cadavat, or who he really works for, thing that bugs me most is why nets instead of sails were hanging from the upper masts.

Maybe it’s best I never asked him. I doubt his answer would cheer me. But at least this boat has a name. The Marsten. Armbranch spotted it first, painted onto the prow with big, black letters that looked unusually out of place. Though this ship appears in excellent condition, I couldn’t help thinking the paint on those letters looked too fresh and shiny. A false name? Perhaps. I don’t really care. Just to have any name makes me feel more grounded to reality. There were times on Captain’s boat when I wondered if I was really on some kind of ghost ship.

Armbranch was talking about the ‘Water of the Woods’ again last night. Don’t know why. I guess Stavlan and his friends probably tried a dose of ‘Water’ on Lession long ago. Then again, maybe they didn’t. Judging by Armbranch’s tone, he wasn’t thinking of helping Lession. No. If anything, it was the opposite.

Could the Water harm Lession?

That question stayed with me all night. And, like my mind was in some crazy ‘Lession dream’ withdrawal, the question worked its way deep into my sleep to fill the gap and conjured up its own answer. I was back on the tower. Armbranch was with me. The Empty Sea didn’t look empty now. No. A wind was tearing at it, attacking it, digging out great troughs, and plucking waves from the sea and tossing them hundreds of feet into the air.

Before I could stop him, Armbranch climbed onto the parapet wall and whipped the bottle of ‘Water’ from one of those invisible pockets of his. He opened it, held it over Lession’s head, and sang something that sounded oddly like a Gregorian chant. His eyes swelled out like glowing bubbles. Like it was some crazy baptism, he spilled half the bottle over Lession’s head while his chanting rose so loud I clapped my hands over my ears. The Water glowed silver as it ran down Lession’s face and spattered down along his chest.

There was a snapping sound. Seconds later, cracks spider webbed across Lession’s chest. I actually heard myself cry out when his mouth opened. But it hadn’t opened. It was only another, larger crack that yawned wider and wider until his jaw fell away and shattered on the floor. His arms went next. Then his head, shoulders, and torso, collapsed until only his legs remained upright like two great boots before toppling sideways and disintegrating into a cloud of dust.

The wind came then. It sneaked across the wall silently and stealthily and whipped Lession’s remains away.

And all the while Armbranch kept chanting, chanting, chanting.

When I woke up I thought he was still chanting, but it was only the sound of the waves breaking off the hull.

Ridiculous, I know. But tell me a dream that ever makes sense.

Regardless of the dream, I’m starting to relax more here. These waters are calm. The steady, rhythmic slap of the waves against the hull is relaxing and it’s a real bonus to have a window. It makes me feel freer and less prisoner. There’s something about having a full crew on board that brings a sense of life to the boat that was missing on Captain’s vessel. I’d still swap any day, though. The more crew the greater the potential threat. Not that I feel threatened in any way. No. They’re making us feel at home as they can. Or, dare I say it, they’re protecting their cargo as best they can.

That’s what we are to them. A cargo.

Didn’t dare go online yesterday. Needed to figure out this boat and its crew. We left the island on that rowboat yesterday, but at least this time Stavlan came with us. He came aboard the schooner and held a short meeting with its captain, a small, chunky man called Jaeran. I can only imagine they were finalising whatever plans had been made.

Stavlan gave us a few words of encouragement before he left. But they were weak and empty words. It sounded like he was glad to see the back of us.

Jaeran introduced us to his crew. There are six in total, including Jaeran; but I don’t think these guys are part of the Cadavat. At least they don’t behave like it. Judging by the way they curse and joke so crudely they couldn’t give a hang for Lession or the island. Just as long as they didn’t have to go near it, I guess. I suspect they’re hired hands. Just like Captain.

I haven’t dreamed about Lession since we left the island.

Jaeran was so open I felt like asking him if he knew of Captain and Solera. Caution held my tongue. Okay, so they’re a pleasant crew. But they’re not our friends. They could as well be dressing up those smiles with thoughts of all the gold they’ll get when we’re delivered.

But at least it’s more comfortable aboard than Captain’s ship. Our cabin is twice the size, has its own porthole, and the beds bolted to the floor are as close as I’ve come yet in the Parawerthan to out bed back home. We’ve got a free run of the ship, too. No magic doors, just old-fashioned locks to keep us out of certain places. Food’s better, as well. This morning we had some kind of mashed egg laid over a bed of what tasted like potato cakes. They’ve got a proper cook, a fat, red-faced man called Angalan who bustled out of the galley the moment we were finished to find out what we thought of his food.

I’d swear his face turned even redder when I asked him for more.

Yes, they’re a pleasant lot these buccaneers, pirates, smugglers, or whatever they really are. But, despite the comforts, I’d much prefer to be sailing with Captain. I miss his charm, his bluntness and comical arrogance. Most of all, I miss his stories. Even through the roughest seas, he had a way of spinning a yarn that made everything feel good and safe. Armbranch misses him, too. I see it the way he looks around the cabin whenever we join Jaeran up there.

It’s hard to look out across the sea without wondering where Captain and Solera are right now. Somewhere beyond the horizon, I guess. Yes. Where they’re supposed to be. I wonder if we’ll ever see them again. I truly hope so.

The journey to Tracen is longer than I expected. Four days. Jaeran said he’s taking the longest, safest route. We’re going to join a current called the Cladrod currant. The waters flowed in such a way there it discouraged other mariners, especially those in the pay of the Tinotte leaders, from ever venturing near it.

I also found out what that thing they’re towing is. A weapon. Or perhaps ‘deterrent, might be a better word. Jaeran told us it produces a vibration that keeps predators away.

Rod Stewarts’s song ‘Sailing’ is stuck in my head. Can’t get rid of it. Not complaining. Anything’s better than hearing Lession.

Boat’s arrived. It came shortly after ten o clock, and not a moment too soon. I barely slept last night for fear of what lay waiting in my dreams. Armbranch didn’t sleep much either. I heard him prowling about the cottage several times. His room has no window and I figure he was up looking out the window for any sign of the ship.

Though we’re both delighted it’s here, it was a bitter disappoint to see a three masted schooner come over the horizon instead of Solera. From a distance it looked almost like one of those graceful and historic Tall Ships that visited Dublin in 1998. Once it got closer, though, some major differences became apparent. The upper sails appeared to be made of a thick netting, the prow was shaped like a bottle top, and it was towing something behind it that sliced through the water and left a broad crescent of foam in its wake.

Despite the other oddities, like the double oars at the stern, the great bell over the cabin, and the absence of any kind of recognisable life raft, it was the net sails that really spooked me. They were obviously designed to catch something other than wind.

Time to pack up now and get out of here. Can’t say I’m looking forward to the trip, especially if that unmanned rowboat’s going to take us out there. But anything, and I mean ANYTHING, is better than staying here. Armbranch’s been pacing around the cottage again for the past hour. Waiting. That’s what we’re doing again. Waiting for Stavlan to release us from here.

One more day on his shit hole. Hopefully. Compared to this place, the Marator Shores was a sunny beach in Benidorm. I’m so sick of the gloom, the smell, and thoughts of what happened on this island. The lure of the sea is almost irresistible. The only thing that’s stopping me making a break for it is the certain fact that I’d drown and end up back here as a spirit trapped with all the other unfortunates who ended up here.

And Armbranch, of course.

Although the atmosphere doesn’t affect him as much, he’s just as keen to leave. He’s hoping Captain will show up. And the way he talks about him makes me wonder whether it’s Captain or Captain’s firewater he’ll be happy to see. To be honest I could do with a drink or three myself. A dose of Captain’s grog might smother that voice in my head and help me think of other things for a while.

I need to reconnect with the world –any world– for a while.

If nothing else, I’m hoping that the farther we get from this place, the quieter that voice will become. If it doesn’t, well, I’ll be attaching another condition to our trip east when we meet Stavlan’s superiors. They’ve got to get the voice out of my head. If not, I’m not going anywhere.

Right now, the priority is to get out of here. What time will the boat come tomorrow? Morning, afternoon, night? Knowing our luck it won’t show up till five to midnight and we’ll be forced to spend another night here. I guess, though, we could probably find some way to spend the night on the boat if that happens. I’m sure Stavlan will be glad when we’re gone. He only comes now to bring food, and he doesn’t stay long or talk much. Armbranch and I are happy about that. At the best of times Stavlan only adds to the gloom. At the worst of times he becomes the gloom. If only he’d smile. Just once. It might make all the difference.

I wonder what I might see if I ever got access to his quarters. The memories, I mean.

Armbranch’s been pestering me all afternoon to go on Facebook again. We had some real fun yesterday checking out different posts and pages. There’s so much crazy stuff up there. We actually found a group called ‘you think something is gonna grab you when you’re going up the stairs’. Even when I spent half an hour explaining to Armbranch what it meant, I still don’t think he got the concept of illogical fear.

Must be something to it. The group had over 100,000 members.

I wonder what might happen if I set up a group called ‘I’m afraid to sleep in case I dream of Lession’

One thing’s for sure. I want to spend some time with Maya tonight so I’m going to ration Armbranch’s Internet usage. It’s best I lay down the law now. Otherwise we’ll end up like two kids squabbling over computer time.

So the waiting continues. Lession comes to me every night now and it’s hard to sleep knowing he’ll be waiting. Same dream. Same wind and tears. Same words.

I only long to help her . . . I only long to help her . . . I only long to help her . . .

Two more nights. At times, when I wake disorientated and sweating with those words ringing in my ears, it feels more like a two-year stretch ahead of us. Those words never leave my mind. They’re always there, lurking in the background like a distant drumbeat reminding me where my new priorities lie.

And, strangely, having a timetable for leaving just seems to make things worse. Minutes pass like hours, and hours like days. It’s almost like this place wants to hang onto us as long as it can to charge us up with memories and fear.

I know when I leave this place I’ll carry a piece of it with me always, a dark memory lodged in my head like a splinter. Armbranch, however, is more relaxed. When Stavlan offered to bring us up the tower again this afternoon I could see Armbranch wanted to go. I turned the offer down flat before he got a chance to say anything. I’d rather spend a night in the passages than five minutes up there with those statues. Who knows what my dreams might become if I got close to them again. Maybe I might even start hearing Hurkerna.

Right now, I don’t even want to go outside. Not until the boat arrives.

Once Stavlan left, I apologised to Armbranch for my rudeness. He laughed at me, told me not to worry about it. He only wanted to go up there to see if there was any sign of a boat on the horizon. Deep down, I suspect that’s only half the story. Judging by the way he meticulously examines everything here I think he’s gathering as much information about the place as possible. I haven’t asked him about it. Don’t feel the need to. For whatever reason he’s doing it, I’m sure it’s the right reason.

Time to distract him for a while. Time to distract myself, too, as it happens. I’m going to give him a crash course on Facebook and see what he thinks of it. It might take a while for the concept to fully sink in. But he’s fast. Maybe I might even give him a taste of Twitter. He’d like that. A 140-character limit per tweet. Could be perfect for him to start any Internet communication with.

Armbranch on Twitter! Now wouldn’t that be something.

Stavlan came early this morning and told us a boat would arrive in three days to take us to the harbour port of Tracen. From there we’d be transported to the Tinotte capital of Gund, or Crater City as it was commonly known. When I asked about that, he told me he’d never been there but had heard it was built in a great crater to protect it from spirit storms. Legend had it that magicians formed the crater in one night of fire shortly after the City of Roses fell. The city was constructed to be storm proof.

Storm proof! After seeing the Great Black at work, I’ll believe that when I see it.

I guess we can survive another three days here. And I’m really, really hoping it’ll be Solera we see on the horizon when the time comes. The thought of sitting with Captain for a while brightens up the gloom and makes the air here seem all that more fresher. If that black boat turns up I might have a problem boarding it. Armbranch is wary of it, also.

Stavlan brought better food, too, bread, fruit, and a selection of cooked meats. I’m not sure what the meat is, but it tastes delicious. Can’t help thinking, though, that we’re been fattened up.

Right now I don’t care.

O’Heir thinks the ‘renovation’ idea might work as a good cover for his visits to Singleton. He wants to know what materials he should buy. Now that’s something I never thought I’d have to worry about yet. Maya and I had discussed building a small extension on the lake side of the house to catch the morning sun. She also mentioned some modifications she’d like to do to the old mill before she starts using it as a studio. But it’s impossible to know what to buy. I need to talk to her, plan this out. For now, I guess, we’ll be safe enough buying some blocks and bricks. We can always find a use for them somewhere.

Daidogan surprised us by offering to ask a builder friend if she could borrow some scaffolding from him. Things aren’t going to well for builders in the recession and she thinks he might help her out. They’ll put the scaffolding up at the front of the cottage and pretend they’re painting it.

I filled Maya in on our plans this afternoon. In an odd way, the time I spent with her felt so normal and natural. At times I found it easy to imagine her replies about this and that and how we’d need big windows for the extension and maybe we could build a doghouse with any leftover materials. She’d always wanted a border collie. I’d planned to get her one for Christmas.

For a short while at least, things were normal and grounded in my head.

Won’t stay on long. The connection is skipping about so much it’s driving me crazy. Stavlan dropped another bombshell this morning. Keyes. He wasn’t on the island. No. But Stavlan’s heard about him, says he passed through Gund and had some dealings with the Cadavat. I don’t know why Stavlan held back this information until now. I’d like to think he didn’t know.

We figure he’s using birds to communicate with the mainland. Maybe his superiors are getting worried at our delay and playing all their cards at once. Mentioning Keyes has certainly got us thinking.

We’re going to tell him tonight that we’re willing to go.

Connection was down all day yesterday. Nothing much happened anyway. I’d already know the result of the election and I was getting bored of reading about the Middle East. It was almost good to get away from our world for a while.

I dreamed about Lession last night, dreamed I was up there on the tower with him. At first I thought he was free. The resin was gone and his skin was black and shiny in the moonlight. It was a few moments before I realised he was still frozen, still a prisoner in that shell.

“So long I’ve stood here and waited for salvation,” he said, and his voice was like a gentle tapping in my head that chipped away the doubt and fear and filled me with morbid fascination. As his words tailed away, a wind whipped up and hissed around the tower. A tiny stream of dust rose off Hurkerna’s head and twisted up through the air like a mini twister. Around and around it went until I was dizzy watching it.

“So long I’ve stood here and watched time eat away at my love.” Lession said as the wind unwound Hurkerna and carried her off as dust. He turned to face me then, and when his eyes cracked open they were as soft and warm as rubies. A bead of fire leaked out from the corner of his eye and hung suspended on his cheek for a few moments until it rolled off his face and spattered onto the ground.

There was no shock, no fear or desire to run. All I felt was sympathy.

Sparks. A demon’s tears. What else could I have expected to see?

“I long only to help her now,” Lession said. “I only long to help her . . . to help her . . . to help her . . .”

Those words were still echoing through my head when I woke up. And they sounded so real and true I wasn’t fully back in the cottage until I woke Armbranch and had him slap my face.

I’ve discussed the dream with him, partly because it didn’t seem like a normal dream or nightmare, but mainly because we have to discuss the consequences of what happens if Lession is released. Armbranch suspects (as I do) that the dream might somehow have been planted in there to illicit more sympathy for the creature on the tower. If so, it worked. I did feel sympathy for him, and Hurkerna, too.

Nevertheless, I couldn’t help thinking about what happened in the City of Roses. If Lession gets free will worse occur? The question haunts me. Armbranch isn’t so happy talking about it, either. Yet, I guess it’s a question we’ll have plenty of time to think about. It might take some time to find this ‘Geriddian’; and when we do, who’s to say we might not have second thoughts about helping Lession then.

Sneaky, I know. But I really, really don’t care. There are no rules here, not for me at least.

Stavlan brought us outside this morning. Don’t know why. I can only assume that it was his way of prodding us in the right direction and reminding us how bleak our future home might be. He didn’t say as much. But I see it in his eyes every time he mentions his offer. We’ll die here. That’s for sure. And the dust from our bones will get washed away on the tide. It won’t happen today, tomorrow, next week or next year. But we will die here if we don’t go along with him.

Either that or we’ll die trying to escape.

It was really, really bleak outside. I don’t know if Stavlan has the power to affect the weather, but the waves appeared much higher than I’d ever seen them before. They crashed against the rocks in a continuous barrage that doused us in spray and left clusters of brown foam scattered all over the island.

At times I even thought I saw things within the waves: shadows, black skeletons, limbs, and bony hands scrabbling at the rocks as if trying to drag themselves free of the breakers. Armbranch saw them, too. He didn’t comment, but I saw the reflections of those shadows deep within his eyes every time he tried to see beyond the waves. I know he wants to swim for it. I also know he’d never attempt it no matter how good a swimmer he is.

I saw that in his eyes, too.

Fear.

Didn’t sleep much last night. No matter how serious Stavlan comes across, I still can’t help thinking this is all so sloppy and unprofessional. Why, if they’ve known about us for months, did it take so long to make their plans? The only thing that makes sense is that they wanted to watch us for a while, check us out to see if we were made of the ‘right stuff’. Obviously we are, though I regret now using my gift the other day. It’s like I exposed a valuable part of myself, a part they’ll no doubt find a use for.

Stavlan hinted as much.

He hasn’t bothered us today. I guess he’s letting us stew here for a while before finally bringing us to the boil with some more choice information to lure us fully into his plan. We already know the consequences if we don’t go. We stay here. By staying away, Stavlan’s making that obvious without having to say a single word. The only thing that surprises me is that he’s not using more trickery to ‘encourage’ us in the right direction.

We won’t tell Stavlan just yet that we’ll go. He, and whoever’s pulling his strings, can stew for a while, too. Just like we are. Maybe we’ll tell him tomorrow. Maybe not. Maybe we’ll wait a few more days. I don’t like doing this, but we have to send them a message, let them know that even if we feel like putty in their hands, this putty’s hardening fast.

I spent much of this afternoon online following the election, watching Sky updates from the Middle East, and talking with Maya. Strange how the domino effect of revolution and civil disobedience can spiral so crazily out of control. To see tyrants fall gives me hope. In an odd sort of way it makes me think of the Basilod. Okay, so it’s not exactly a tyrant. No. It sounds like he’s more a tyrant’s puppet. But we’ll cut its strings. I’ve no doubt about that. And then I’ll wrap them around the tyrant’s throat.

I spent a long time explaining our plan to Maya today. I hope that, somehow, deep down she can understand it. O’Heir and Justin do. They both agree we shouldn’t rush; not now when we could get close to our objective. Even if we’re prepared to make a pact with the devil (or at least the agents of a demon), it’s not good to rush. Mistakes get made. I should know. If I hadn’t been in such a hurry to experiment with the gateway last July we’d never be in this mess in the first place.

Stavlan finally laid his cards on the table this morning. Armbranch was right. He was waiting for instructions, and I guess they arrived sometime during the night because he blustered into the cottage this morning all businesslike and smiles.

His order is called the Cadavat. They know about the Basilod. Yes. And he also claims they know where I came from. I think he’s bluffing about me, but he certainly knew a lot about the beast. Okay, so he admitted he’s not sure what it transformed into, but he knew what it was before it changed. He said it was sent into the envelop by a man called Geriddian. Well, judging by the way Stavlan spoke about him, he’s more magician than man. And a powerful one at that.

Stavlan claims to have information that he lives somewhere in the east, beyond the known lands. But nobody really knows. They say he’s like the wind, a thing that drifts from place to place and rarely settles anywhere for long.

Stavlan believes the Basilod is attempting to find its way back to him. He also believes that Geriddian is the key to bringing Lession back to life. He wants our help in finding him. I don’t know why, but he believes that my background will help where many others have failed. When I asked about these ‘others’, he didn’t elaborate. He just told me that, especially with Armbranch by my side, I’d have a much better chance to find this man.

But what then?

Stavlan was unsure. He said that if we accept the offer he’ll arrange transport to the city of Gund and we’ll learn more from his superiors there.

No matter how dangerous this journey might get, it’s an offer I can’t turn down. Besides, what choice do I have? None. I guess I’d already accepted his offer the moment we boarded Captains’ boat. Armbranch and I sat in silence for a long time after Stavlan left. Even after darkness leaked in the windows and filled up the cottage, we said nothing. All I could think about was Armbranch. Would he come with me? Would he stay here? Would he want to return to the envelop?

As it turns out, he was thinking the same thing. When I finally rose to light the lamps, I asked him his intentions. I didn’t mean to. The words just sort of slipped out before I noticed. Cowardly really, asking in the dark. But it felt better and less intimate. I hated myself for asking. Sheer desperation, that’s what it was. I didn’t just want him by my side. I needed him. No matter how he’d helped already, I don’t think I could have continued without him.

Armbranch replied with a cough, then a laugh that subsided into a long sigh of relief. And when he told me he thought I’d never ask, I laughed, too. He hadn’t been sitting in silence because he was afraid to tell me something. He was sitting there afraid to ask me something.

So it’s settled. We’re going. Now I can relax and follow the election back home for a while. Not sure if I could vote from here.

This place might be our prison, but at least my cellmate never gets boring. Earlier, when I awoke from a nap, I was amazed to discover him browsing a site called Teenchat. I don’t know how he figured out the concept of Internet chatting, but he’d learned something about it. And I spent the next few hours filling in the gaps, telling him about the pros and cons of talking with strangers.

Expressing who you are! That’s what this site is all about. My God! How could Armbranch express who he is? It’s an insane, dangerous idea.

It’s also intriguing. Why not? Well, perhaps there are better places for him to explore the web sphere than Teenchat. Things might get too personal there. Some of those kids might even start believing what he’s telling them. Perhaps Facebook might be a better idea.

Armbranch on Facebook? 

What a brilliant experiment. Someday. For now I think he should just stick to sending the odd email or blog post. But I’ll certainly think about it. When we get everything settled here perhaps I might present him with a laptop, set up a better wireless network, and keep in touch with him that way once I’m back home with Maya.
Or maybe thinking about it is a sign I’m losing my mind. Using Facebook to communicate between worlds? I’d love to know what Mark Zuckerberg would think about that? Hell, the concept is so crazy I doubt anyone would believe it anyway.

If nothing else, thinking about it brought the first smile to my face since we landed on this island. I’m going to tell Maya about it later. Perhaps it might put a smile on her face, too.
It’s on days like today that I really appreciate Armbranch. True, I know he’s probably capable of things I’d rather not think about. But that’s hardly his fault. He was trained that way. I suspect that, somewhere deep inside, there’s a lost childhood struggling to get out.

I hope I’m helping it –if only in some small way.

It’s amazing how things can so suddenly change in this place. Our life in the Parawerthan is as unpredictable as the Irish weather. I was checking out the situation in the Middle East this morning on Sky when the connection dropped again. I guess Armbranch heard me curse because he came out of his room and suggested there might be other things I could look at here. Hidden things. At first I didn’t know what he was talking about. I knew every inch of the cottage already, and I was sick of looking out the windows. All it did was remind me of our situation.

Then it struck me. My gift! Perhaps I could look at other things, things that happened long ago but whose memories were still held within these walls. I could have kicked myself for not thinking about this before. How could I have forgotten my gift? Then again, considering the circumstances, it’s amazing even Armbranch remembered it.

I spent the afternoon prowling the cottage laying my hands on the walls, the floor, and every piece of furniture I could find. At one point I even climbed onto the kitchen table and laid my hands on the ceiling in the hope the heart of this place might show me something of the past.

And I did see things. It wasn’t much, just a few blurry images of figures in here. Humans, half naked and chained to the walls. Slaves. Sacrifices. Food for the insane appetite of those who’d brought them here. Despite the revulsion, I forced myself to look deeper within the walls. More misery. More contempt for life. The foundations of the very walls were wilting under the weight of despair.  

I suspected that the really good stuff, the meat that once held the bones of this place together, lies in the walls of the passages. Neither of us were keen to go down there. Might be interesting some time, but not now. It’s better we stay put because I might not be able to handle what’s down there. What might I see if I laid my hands on those burial pots beneath the tower? Or, worse still, what might appear if I touched a part of Lession that wasn’t insulated with that resin?

One thing’s for sure. If Stavlan forces us back up there again, I’m staying as far away from Hurkerna as I possibly can. I really don’t want to experience close up what happened to her. I can’t help thinking that if a single speck of dust blew off her figure it might lodge in my skin like some poison splinter and flood my mind with images that would drive me insane.

Right now, I don’t want to look at slaves, or death, or monsters. I want to look at happier things. Unfortunately, though, there’s not much of that to see around here.

Sorry. Connection died earlier. Signing off now for today. Can’t risk any damage to the laptop.