“Steven! Steven, please, I can’t go any faster!”
The soul was scared. The ferryman knew that, but he couldn’t do anything about it. He was concentrating all his efforts on dragging her along. Her legs, limbs she’d cursed her whole life, he knew, because they couldn’t run, or jump or dance, worked just fine here in the wasteland. The problem was in her mind. She hadn’t had enough time to adjust.
And if he couldn’t get her to the safe house, she’d never have the chance to.
“Just a little further,” he coaxed.
“Steven, I can’t!”
He wasn’t called Steven, not really, but a name was a name, and he knew the souls felt better when they had something to call him. It didn’t make any difference to him.
“You’re nearly there,” he urged. “Come on, run. You can, I promise you.”
Her only response was to sob.
The ferryman gritted his teeth. He liked this one, and he wanted her to make it. She deserved it. It was his fault, he knew. He’d gone too easy on her this morning, letting her take extra breaks and going at a slower pace to help her get used to the landscape, to walking without the crutches she’d leaned on all her life.
She wouldn’t pay for his mistakes.
“All right, hold on.”
Letting go of her hand, he grabbed her arm and lifted it, then he bent down and tucked himself into her side. When he stood up, he had her over his shoulder. Her weight centred, he started to run.
It wasn’t easy. She was light, but it was cumbersome carrying her. She blocked his sight on the left-hand side, and keeping her balanced required both his hands. The sun was moments from setting, and the chorus of hissing and snarling that seemed to echo all around them in this basin nestled between hills told him the wraiths were ready. Waiting.
Still, the safe house wasn’t far away. Just across this short length of boggy marshland, on the first section of high ground, a low platform at the base of the next hill. The mud sucked and pulled at his feet with every step, but he maintained a steady jog. Almost there.
The sun dropped down out of sight.
There was very little difference in light, but the whistling and shrieking escalated as the wraiths were set free. Daring a glance about, the ferryman saw them barrelling down towards him on all sides. Some were smarter, hovering around the safe house that he could clearly see now. It was so close.
So. Close.
He put on an extra burst of speed, though he knew he wouldn’t make it before the first of the wraiths reached him. He’d have to fight – but that was OK. The ferryman was a match for the wraiths, for a little while, at least.
“What are those things?” Anna, the soul, had obviously spotted the wraiths, because she went rigid over his shoulder. The sudden change threw him off balance and he almost fell, catching himself at the last second before he tumbled them both into the muck.
“It’s all right,” he soothed, gripping her more tightly.
His words didn’t help. She started shifting and twisting, probably trying to see the creatures racing towards her. He didn’t blame her, they were terrifying to behold.
“Steven, what are they?”
“Wraiths,” he panted.
The safe house was close, but the wraiths were closer. Deciding he’d bought them as much advantage as he could, Steven dropped Anna back down into the marshland. Her feet disappeared into the mud with a squelch.
“You’ll be safe in there,” he told her, pointing. “Run!”
Anna froze, likely disoriented from bouncing about upside down, but they didn’t have time for her confusion. The ferryman grabbed her by the shoulders, spun her to face the right direction, and shoved.
“Go! Run!”
Anna ran. It was ungainly and stumbling, like a foal first finding its feet, but as Steven followed close on her heels, tearing away any wraiths that got too close, slinging them to the side so they’d spin and crash into the water, he felt a surge of triumph.
They were going to make it.
A wraith decided to change tactics, go for him instead. It gouged his arm, but he ignored the pain, flinging it away and batting at another that sought his eyes, to blind him.
“Just keep running,” he hollered to Anna. She was less than a couple of metres in front of him, but with the cacophony coming from the wraiths, he worried she might not hear him. “Go straight through the door.”
It stood waiting for them, already ajar. All Anna would have to do was barrel right through it and cross the threshold into safety. The remaining wraiths would have an opportunity to tear into the ferryman, but he’d heal by morning. It was nothing unusual.
The ground firmed up beneath their feet. Boggy marsh gave way to grass, then cracked and uneven paving stones. Anna’s feet pounded on the path, her hands reaching up to shove at the door. The ferryman smiled, relief coursing through him.
Then the muted greens and browns of Anna’s wasteland flickered and stuttered, flashing red for a heartbeat before bouncing back, then red again. At the same time, the ground bucked beneath the ferryman, sent him skidding across the floor, pebbles ripping into his palms.
Undeterred, he lifted his head to see Anna run through the door – and to see the wraiths follow her right on inside.
That was impossible.
Shocked, he stilled, sprawled on his front on the ground. A handful of wraiths immediately descended on him, clawing and hissing as their teeth sunk into his flesh. The ferryman paid them no heed, unaware of anything except the blood-curdling sounds of Anna’s screams.
As the world began to fade to white around him, he closed his eyes. He didn’t understand it, but there was something very wrong in the wasteland.