Chapter 34 Improbable possibilties

"An angel! What on earth do you think he meant by that?"

Hathaway considered the other man calmly from his position on one of the filthy pallets. Groves had already noted, with some awe, that the captain coped with the dirt and squalor with sangfroid, it seemed that he had spoken no less than the truth when he claimed to have been in such places before.
"It could mean anything. Once I would have staked my commission on Davy Jones and his Kraken being a myth, and a sea goddess a sailor's drunken fantasy, but it seems I would have lost the wager. An angel seems unlikely but I'm less willing than I would once have been to say it is impossible."

"Sparrow might be a good pirate, and in some ways a good man even, but he's hardly someone heaven would go out of their way for!" Groves protested.
Hathaway laughed at that,
"More rejoicing Mr Groves, remember, more rejoicing. Sparrow certainly isn't a law abiding man, though to be fair to him the choice was somewhat taken from his hands by Beckett, and as a result of an action some people might see as being more than merely good. "
He picked at the edge of the mattress where a straying piece of rotting straw spoke of its age,
"But the bible warns us not see man's law as our salvation, does it not? Who knows how heaven, or history, might judge any of us," he said thoughtfully, ignoring Groves open surprise at his comment about Beckett.
Then he shrugged,
"But I agree that sending angels to look after him seems a little more partisan than Sparrow would warrant even at his most ..honest."
"So what do you think he meant?"

Hathaway stared out through the window to the early morning sky, the more respectable townsfolk would be stirring soon to begin their daily toil and he needed sleep, for they had spent most of the hours of darkness chasing rumours of Sparrow. But Groves was right, it was a strange remark, and as more than one person had spoken of angels in the context of Jack Sparrow there must be something behind the stories. He didn't believe it was a metaphysical being though.
"The most we can be sure of is that a woman came looking for him. A somewhat singular woman," he cast his mind back to the second whore their story telling man had called upon to verify his tale. "Not local, not a pirate, for if she were then I'm sure we would have heard of her before now, not known in Tortuga, and not a .usual sort of person. "
He smiled wryly at his companion,
"Just the kind that Sparrow would find in fact, if what I hear of him is true."

Groves was looking at him with a kind of appalled hope,
"Could it be Miss Swann do you think? She would seem strange here. Could she be alive after all?"
There was no mistaking the eagerness in his voice and Hathaway stared back at him wordlessly for a moment, seeing the longing for it to be so written in the younger man's face, suddenly understanding his desire that at least one cause for self recrimination might prove to be unfounded. It saddened him to have to remove that fragile hope but he could not let it grow when he knew that it could not be so.
"I don't think so," he said gently. "From what I have heard of Miss Swann the descriptions do not match, even allowing for exaggeration. Nor can I see any way that she could have escaped Sao Feng and found her way here, had there been reason for her to do so. But even if she lived she had no reason, she would have tried to return to Port Royale, for she cannot have known that both her father and Commodore Norrington were dead. She is a young woman without experience of the world and with no money, even if she were alive why would she coming looking for Jack Sparrow in so dangerous a place as Tortuga?"

Groves turned away towards the window his shoulders slumping,
"No captain, I know that you are right."
He turned suddenly with the hope of a new idea,
"Maybe she came looking for the Commodore? Maybe she expected him to be here."
Hathaway gave that some thought, he knew a little of what had happened to James Norrington in the months between losing the Dauntless and joining Beckett's armada, and he had heard a little more in the inns they had visited that night, though he was keeping those snippets from Groves, but it changed nothing. He shook his head,
"But she knew he had joined Sparrow's crew, you told me so yourself, why then should she think to find him here?"
Groves sighed and nodded,
"Yes, I was forgetting." He was quiet for a moment before drawing a deep breath,
"So who was she, and was she real at all?"
"The stories of Barbossa being here cause me to wonder what, if anything, we heard last night has any value," Hathaway mused. "James Norrington's report to England was quite clear on that matter of Barbossa, he was most definitely dead, killed by Sparrow." He reached for his jacket and wadded it into a pillow before lying back and closing his eyes, "But it is strange that more than one person should mention him as being aboard the Black Pearl."
Groves frowned thoughtfully recalling conversations of the past.
"Pirates take others names sometimes ..don't they?"
"Yes, " Hathaway opened his eyes again, "Stupid of me. If Barbossa was a pirate lord then his successor may have taken his name, if Sparrow is already a pirate lord then he may have passed Barbossa's title to another. That might explain the reports of him being here I suppose, if that successor sailed with him against Beckett then he might still have been aboard the Pearl when she came into Tortuga."

He settled himself more comfortably, and smiled wearily at Groves,
"But who was the angel? On balance I think that she was real enough. For the moment I have no idea at all as to who she was, but it is clear that she has opened a whole new chapter in the legend of Captain Jack Sparrow. Which may, or may not, have been the point of her. If she was there just to bolster his legend then Sparrow himself was probably behind her appearance, if he wasn't... then it seems likely that some of those others who wish to find him have chosen a novel way of doing so."
He considered that idea for a moment and then smiled,
" It's not a bad idea at all now I think about it. From what I've heard of Jack Sparrow it seems likely to bring him out of cover if he is here, he could not resist such a story."
"But that would mean that whoever did it knows him well. Wouldn't it?"
"Maybe, then again maybe whoever arranged it is just such another as Sparrow." He saw Groves baffled look and smiled, "an astute student of human nature," he explained as he pulled his hat over his eyes.
"Wake me when the cook shops open."

To Groves astonishment Hathaway then folded his arms across his chest and apparently went to sleep.

***

The darkness was a strange as the dusk, without moon or stars it was still not as black as might have been expected, more a deep purple than inky black, and lit on all sides by the insect light. Sitting in the gloaming, Jack silent and watchful at her side, she had wondered why they carried something that so clearly marked them out for the hunters, but having watched a vine reach out a snapping tendril to take half a column of glowing ants she realised that it was only a risk if the hunters found their prey by sight.

To say that they made camp would have been to imply more activity than it involved, in reality they simply found a spot away from trees that might hide enemies and predatory vines and settled down to rest. Around them the sound of the thing that might, or might not, be a wind was slowly drowned out by rustling leaves and chattering insects. Both of them were on edge, jumping at ever new sound, and both tending to silence.

Jack had withdrawn to one side of their resting place, settling himself on the sodden moss with apparent unconcern, but tensed as if he expected to have to leap to his feet at any moment. He had drawn his sword and laid it on the ground beside him within easy reach, his pistol he had settled on his knee, and, despite his silence, it was clear that he was on full alert, his eyes constantly sweeping the vegetation around them even as his fingers were busy with unfastening his pack. Elanor found it reassuring, reminding her that for all his easy manner and elaborate mannerisms he was still a pirate, a man accustomed to living with the constant threat of danger and death; and a man who had survived such a life, intact as far as she could judge, for a significant portion of his adulthood. She reminded herself, yet again, that regardless of the era he might live in his resourcefulness, and his ruthlessness, should not be underestimated. As he was on her side, for the moment at least, that was something to be very glad of.

For his part Jack noted that the lady settled herself in the position that gave least access to her unprotected back, and maximum view of the dangerous world around them, as a matter of reflex, and that she made sure the lightening on her belt would have free rein before turning her attention to other matters. The observation eased a little of his concern, for it was clear from the casual way she sized up the potential threats that she was not new to danger and was quite capable of watching her own back. He saw her eyes dart around them marking the points from which a threat was most likely to arise and he smiled to himself, for she had settled on just the same points that he had marked as being worthy of watching. That, and his memory of the strength of her grip on his throat, was comforting, for it was clear that she was a companion who would look out for herself should the need for it arise. But it increased his curiosity about her, stirring new imagining about the possibilities of her past.

For the moment though such thoughts had to be put aside. The heat has declined only a little with the dimming of the light and they were both tired and thirsty. It was impossible to judge how long it had been since they first descended the rock face from above, for Elanor's time piece had proved unequal to the world within this island and, like her ghost, had stopped communicating. Without sun or stars either time seemed to stretch without marker. To Jack at least it felt as if it had been days since they first dropped over the edge, and he was glad that he was accustomed to going without sleep, though he found himself thinking of his comfortable bunk back on her ship with some longing.

That thought caused him to frown for becoming accustomed to her way of living was unwise when retaking the Pearl would mean returning to a harsher world. But he was determined that once the fountain was within his control then the Pearl would be recovered. Yet, in his more honest moments, he had already admitted that learning to live with lice and fleas once more would be hard, and he had decided that he would take steps to discover what was in the strange oils she provided to banish them. Losing the waterfall would be a wrench too, but he already had ideas about how he might minimise that loss, with a little help from the lady. It seemed that there were many reasons for staying in her good graces.

But for the moment living long enough to find the fountain was the most pressing matter, that and placating his rumbling stomach. Jack turned eager attention to the contents of the back pack, her ghost might be a cause for alarm in some circumstances but there was no denying that she knew how to look after a man's creature comforts. Well some of them. He cast a surreptitious look at his companion and pushed the thought away with an uncomfortable stirring of an unfamiliar shame, instead he concentrated on the needs of his belly. Eating also removed the need for speech, and therefore the questions that hovered on both of their tongues. Jack was very aware that neither of them had said a word since sitting down.

In the end Elanor decided she might as well just get it over with, waiting wasn't going to make it any easier,
"I'm sorry Jack, I really wasn't trying to kill you. Not you personally I mean."
"Hmmm," was all he said for a moment, then he gave one of his shoulder twisting shrugs and a sideways look at her, "nor I you."
She couldn't read his face in the half light, but guessed that was as close to an apology from him as she was going to get. Given his past she couldn't really blame him if it lacked enthusiasm, but she hoped that whatever resentment he had harboured towards his killer when they entered this place was now burned out. Him killing her for her own actions was one thing, him killing her as a substitute for Elizabeth Swann was quite another.

Silence returned for a while longer as she stared up at the void that was not sky, but she could feel his eyes on her and eventually the compulsion to look at him again was too strong to be resisted. He was staring at her with a mix of uncertainty and curiosity, leavened, or so it seemed, with something close to sadness. Seeing her look he shifted position and regarded her with tilted head,
"So who were you trying to kill? And why then?" he hesitated for a moment, still watching her closely, "What was it that I said to stir such murderous impulses?"
As she shifted uneasily and looked back towards the tree tops he raised his hand and pointed at her accusingly,
"Later you said. Well it's later now, and as good a time as any given that we don't know how long it will be before the light returns."
She sighed in resignation, well she really couldn't argue with that, and looked back at him. But what exactly was it that she could say when she wasn't sure that she could remember what it was that had seemed so important at that moment? But she recalled the generality of it and it was better to try for something than annoy him by obvious evasions.
"Who? I can't recall exactly, but it could have been one of many."
The words faded away and she turned her eyes back towards the trees.

"Captain Cavendish," he almost growled at her, eyes wide with impatient irritation, "that is not enough! An explanation you promised, and, given that you near throttled me, an explanation I will have from you. It is the least that I am owed, do you not think?"
He smiled as her eyes came back to meet his and her eyebrows rose to her hair line, admitting to himself that the choice of words was possibly not of the best, but he was determined that he would get an answer. He sidled closer to her trying to ignore the damp clamminess of the ground and the sucking noise as the moss and leaf litter shifted beneath him,
"Come on luv," he wheedled, "I'll admit that it was Elizabeth Swann I was seeing when I had me hands around your neck, so tell me whose throat was it you were crushing in that most unfemale grip of yours. Must be a powerful score you have to settle, for I swear that a noose could not take a tighter hold than you had on me."
Jack saw anger spark in her eyes again and rapidly reviewed what he had just said, suddenly seeing the similarity with his words of earlier,
"Ahh," he said softly as he watched the suddenly rapid rise and fall of her chest, "is that it then? It is mention of those things that are so different about you that lights the powder? Why is that, when we both know how singular your good self is, even aside from your ship and ghost?"

She got to her feet in a sudden rush, as if she would run, turning away so that he could not read her face, the set of her shoulders and her quickened breathing betraying her anger.
"Leave it Jack," there was naked threat in her voice, "this is not the best time or place. You know what happened earlier, it might happen again." She cast a quick and wary look around her, "I don't know what this place is about, but it's not a safe place to be and it makes people unsafe too."
He watched her for a moment then got slowly to his feet and crossed the few paces between them, being careful not to make any move likely to startle her, for it was clear to him that her mood was balanced on a knife edge,
"Elanor think about it for a moment, " he said as soothingly as he could, pretending that he wasn't noticing her wide eyed anger, nor the very pleasing curve of her neck despite the wet hair that was plastered against it.
He put one carefully gentle hand on her shoulder,
"If we are not be at each other's throats at every second then I need to know what it is that has you so fired up. Be fair luv, I know so little about you that I can't know what it is that I shouldn't say. Assuming that there is something that I shouldn't say that is, or things that I shouldn't say, or that you would rather that I didn't say, and that I might say in all innocence, and so offend you, likewise in innocence, in the saying of them."

The shoulder beneath his hand sagged and he heard her draw a deep breath,
"True, I suppose." She turned and smiled faintly at him, ignoring the fingers still draped across her shoulder, her voice calm and wry, "I do so hate it when you are reasonable Jack. It offends my sense of history, pirates should not be reasonable."
He let his hand drop but returned the smile,
"If it's unreasonable that you're seeking luv, I'll introduce you to Barbossa some day, he's unreasonable enough for half of piratedom."
Turning back to where he had been sitting he sank down onto the leaf litter again and picked up the water bottle, raising it to her in mock toast, and grinning.
"The other half is accounted for by Teague."

Having drunk a little he threw down the bottle then crossed his legs, resting his hands on his knees, looking up at her with the same solemn and bright eyed attention that a studious eight year old might give to a favourite teacher.
"So tell me? What is it that I am not to say on pain of death?"

***

Breakfast had been a strip of fat pork belly and a scoop of some grey pottage served on a trencher of stale bread. For a farthing more they could have eaten it from a scarred wooden platter but Hathaway was dubious as to when the splintered surface had last seen hot water, at least the bread could not have been used more than once before. Groves pulled a face as he realised that he had a choice of washing it down with the contents of a rather dubious looking butt, or a mug of rancid, cloudy and probably watered small ale. It was clear from his expression that he was not convinced that he would survive the food even if they weren't found out in being servants of his majesty. Though a night and day had already worked its grubby magic, their worn shirts were now sweat stained and flecked with rotten straw, and their hair was lank and plastered to their heads and throats by the humid air; though still a long way from the derelict status of some of the people around them they could now pass amongst the crowds with greater ease, at least in this part of town.

They had made their way to a more respectable quarter, in as much as Tortuga had such a thing, in pursuit of a certain chandler. The shop had been closed still, no doubts its owner had not been sitting by his hearth that evening, but Hathaway had managed to strike up a conversation with the skinny matron who stood behind the counter of the cookshop opposite. Groves had watched his flirtatious banter with the blowsy creature with appalled fascination, wondering, not for the first time, about the nature of Captain Hathaway's commission.

"Aye Josh Gibbs was here a month or so back," she said as she wiped the planking with a cloth no cleaner than it was, "buyin' a pile of stuff so I heard. Grapples and ropes and the like."
She shot Hathaway a knowing look,
"Didn't say what it were for, but I'd guess that Jack Sparrow would have been involved somewheres, for Gibbs he never has two pennies to rub together for long, 'ceptin when he bin with Sparrow. Takes him a little longer to drink it then. Bin away a long time he has, more than a two year so my man says, and he'd know given that Gibbs owes him a shillin'. But he was here, so it seems Sparrow may well be settin' off a new venture."

"I heard a lot about this Jack Sparrow, seems the whole town is humming with the stories of his doings " Hathaway drawled into his nearly empty mug, "don't believe the half of it myself."
The woman smiled as he indicated for her to refill it, Hathaway knew that if he would just go on passing her the farthings for ale then she would talk all day and only wonder about his interest later.
"Well there be a lot o' tall tales about him, but my man he says there be more truth in them than you might give credit for if you've nair met him."
"You met him then?"
"Well I'd say not. I stay clear of the waterfronts and boat yards meself, but my girl she says it were he who were in here not long after Gibbs were about." She gave a tolerant smile, "One thing the lasses around here know about its Jack Sparrow, no matter who they are. Pirate captains are not that plentiful even here, certainly not ones like he be."

Hathaway shook his head,
"Was it him though? From what I've heard he don't hide himself."
The woman thought about that for a moment,
"Not in the normal way o' things, " she lowered her voice and leant across the counter, bringing with her the obvious tang of fried onions and the less agreeable stink of stale ale and even staler sweat, "but there be some very strange stories about his recent doins', and not all from Josh Gibbs neither."
She looked around and leaned closer still, dropping her voice to close on a whisper,
" A man came looking for him not long after the Pearl left harbour so say, insistent he was and not someone you'd want to be sayin' no to, so it might serve Sparrow not to be seen for the moment. Then there were tales that a gang of Spanish sailors came looking for him too, seems they were veeery insistent about finding him, if you take me meanin'. So he might have doubly good reasons not to want to be seen."
She straightened and wielded the dirty rag again,
"But as for whether it were him? Well I've never seen him closer than a street width away but I'd not say me girl was wrong." She narrowed her eyes in thought for a moment then shrugged,
"Certainly the man in question were mighty fine lookin' for a farm hand. Can't see any farmer's wife misusing him, not in any way a man might object to that is, if you understand me, though that were the story he told."

Groves had opened his mouth to ask more but bit his lip in pain as Hathaway's shoes made sharp contact with his ankle bone. In stead he concentrated on forcing himself to swallow the last of the small ale before he followed his captain out it the warmth of the street.

"Sparrow you think?" Groves asked under cover of the bellowing of a passing oxen and the rattle of cart wheels.
"It might well be." Hathaway agreed. "Sounds as if he is up to something too. Let us hope that it doesn't involve the heart of Davy Jones."
He caught hold of Groves shirt and pulled him back into the shadow of an alley,
"We can't ask anything more here without being seen to be too curious, and we had better make sure we come back and ask the chandler about Gibbs later and without making remark about Sparrow, unless he says something."
He frowned at the dusty ground,
" If Sparrow is planning some venture then he must be in search of a ship. So we will pay a visit to the taverns around the boat yards and the smoke yards tonight. We will need all our wits about us if we are to get out of such places alive and so we had better get some sleep."
He looked up at the sun,
"It's too early to return to our lodging without it being suspicious. I suggest we try a little ferreting around near the market . if he was looking to provision a ship then that's where we will hear of it, then find ourselves a hole to sleep in for an hour or so."
Hathaway gave Groves a serious look, ignoring his grimace of distaste,
"I doubt that the Spanish have abandoned hope of finding him and so we need to act quickly."
That just brought a glum nod and he clapped the other man on his shoulder,
"No need for such a look, if they haven't found him we still have some time. There is plenty we have still to try and no cause for despair. We have a job to do so let's get on with it."

***

"Where I come from there are three kinds of people. The first are people who are.. as nature created them, they call themselves the 'naturals'. The second are people who have been changed before birth to remove as many ... errors of nature, and other undesirable attributes, as possible, they call themselves the 'perfecteds'. Then there is the middle group, the group who have had some things changed but not all, they are called the 'augmenteds'."
She shot Jack a weary look,
"I'll leave you to imagine what the three groups think of each other."
Jack nodded, he'd seen to much of humanity to have much doubt,
"They don't like each other much."
She gave a small huff,
"That is an understatement. The perfecteds call the naturals the 'raws' and the naturals call the perfecteds the 'machines'. Each views the other as not really human and increasingly acts accordingly. In fact the 'naturals' view the 'perfecteds' as an obscenity and an offence against God who should be destroyed, while the 'perfecteds' view the 'naturals' as little removed from animals who have no other purpose than to be servants for them, or worse. But both of them reserve their greatest resentment for the middle group. I belong to that middle group."

Jack's "Ah", contained a wealth of understanding.

She sighed,
"It wasn't always that bad of course. When it started, more than a hundred years ago, it was just about preventing the worst diseases, and many people welcomed the opportunities. But it was never going to stay that way of course. Most people couldn't see why it could be wrong to make their children a little prettier and a bit stronger at the same time as making them healthier. It did no harm as far as they could tell and they didn't want to be told otherwise. Then it was, 'well if we can do that then why not make them beautiful, why not make them very strong. Why shouldn't they all have things that nature only gives to some, surely that's only fair?' "
Elanor shook her head slightly,
"Of course it didn't stop at that either, science seemed to rush headlong to all the answers and next it was 'why shouldn't they be clever too, why shouldn't they be nicer and kinder? Why shouldn't we make them better people?' No one considered what might go wrong, no one even asked what 'better' was supposed to mean. So it went on until there was little that could be altered that wasn't altered by 'perfected' parents in search of a better child."
Jack shook his head,
"Stupid if you ask me. Can't make people perfect luv, if you could then god would have already done it."
She nodded,
"I agree, and so they found out in the end. Some saw it coming and stopped while they were ahead, they are the middle group, but others went on, never realising they were doing as much damage as good. Never thinking about where it might be taking them, or about the costs."

She looked up to the tree tops again
"Where I come from most people are altered in some way, though not all to the same degree, but there are many places where that's not the case. It's expensive even now, and outside of a few nations there are not that many that can afford it, which only deepened the divide."
She sighed,
"The religious always hated it of course and they tend to be strongest and most active amongst the 'naturals'. Christian, Muslim, Jew it doesn't matter, their zealots all agree on one thing, its against Gods wishes and therefore those who do it are an insult to God. It got out of hand years ago and it has now reached the point where many who see themselves as devout have little hesitation in killing someone who is altered, or in justifying those who do. Why should they when they don't see them as the creations of god?"
She rubbed a weary hand across her eyes,
" Not that they are the only ones who cause problems, even in my society the 'perfecteds' are constantly gathering more rights and privileges to themselves at the expense of everyone who isn't. They are just as narrow minded as the religious zealots and some have even gone so far as to say that those who are not modified are not real people, that they are only fit for menial tasks, and that they should not have the rights of citizens."
She gave a bitter laugh, "having congratulated ourselves on abolishing slavery it seems we are coming full circle back to it, just giving it a new name."

Elanor turned to the silent Jack and was taken aback by the depth of the sadness in his face, she had not expected him to understand what it was that she was saying but from his look it seemed that he might. That sadness, and something else she couldn't put a name to, enabled her to go on,
"I'm not excusing myself for trying to throttle you," she said softly, "but my brother was killed by people who didn't see him as human, I only escaped that time by chance. We were children but it didn't matter, not to them, it didn't reduce our offence. The man who did kill me didn't know me, and I'd done nothing to harm him, but he knew what I was and that was enough for him to feel he had the right to end my life. To him I was inhuman, an abomination, and killing me was no sin because I was not a child of his god."
She got to her feet and went and stood over him,
"It wasn't you I was trying to kill, but there were so many faces in my head at that moment, so much hatred, so much bitterness, that I couldn't tell you who it was I was trying to kill or why. I'm not proud of it Jack, but that's how it was. I hope you understand, Miss Swann killed you to save the man she loved, the man who killed me did it for an idea, for something that neither of us had any control of."
Jack stared up at her without expression saying nothing, giving no clue as to whether he was excusing her nor not.
"Anyway, I'm sorry for what I tried to do to you, but I don't take being told I'm inhuman very well, however true it may be. So I'd be grateful if you avoided the word." She looked at the plants surrounding the clearing, she would have sworn that some of them were listening to her, "particularly while we are here."

Jack sat still as she fell silent and pursed his lips, apparently lost in thought. Finally he looked up at her,
"That explains." he wriggled his fingers in her direction, "the singularity of your appearance does it?"
"Yes, you may think me beautiful but believe me I'm nothing very special where I come from."
Jack gave that some thought and decided it was better not to think of it, the idea that she was beautiful in other ways than her face was distracting enough, and he hurriedly reminded himself about the events that had given rise to this conversation,
"Ah. That accounts for the vice like grip too does it?"
"Yes, I'm probably stronger than the average man here, my muscles work slightly differently you see."
"Oh," he looked at her sideways, "anything else work differently?" he asked with false innocence.
She grinned for the first time since their fight,
"Nothing you might consider important Jack."
The tone of her voice was dulcet but the cynical gleam in her eye unsettled him and he drew a deep breath, his eyes sliding away from hers. He picked up his pistol and began to check it, deciding that his curiosity had better be put aside until they were in a safer place,
"Well I can see why the word might bother you," he inclined his head graciously without looking at her, "and I'll be sure to avoid any such suggestion in the future Captain Cavendish."

She didn't answer him and he stared up at her again in sudden suspicion. But she wasn't looking at him, her eyes were wide and lined up over his head, her gaze steady and searching,
"Jack," she said softly, "I think you had better get up. Now. But do it slowly."

***
They ran. Ignoring the dangers of darkness and vines and the slope of the path, they ran. Jack had caught her hand and they laced to fingers in a desperate attempt to stay together despite the press of vegetation, and to ensure that neither of them fell. Around them the trees swayed and the unseen life fled for burrow and tree holes, the flowers too seemed to know the danger and furled petals and leaf. The half-light strengthened to an eerie glow as they ran, as if to light their way. Neither bothered to look back, one glance at those orange eyes had been enough for them to read the malice and danger there and to know that escape depended on getting as far away as quickly as they could. So with labouring lungs and pounding hearts they ran, not bothering to look back.

The slope of the ground was steeper now and the drop on them to quickly for them to halt. Suddenly there was no ground beneath their boots and they were falling. Elanor caught sight of Jacks flying hair and wheeling arm as she started to fall and knew that he could not save her even if he would, realising with some surprise that he still had hold of her hand. The they were cart wheeling, bouncing off tree and rock, momentum carrying them forward, rolling over spiky flower and succulent leaf, spattered with mud and leaf, hair tangled and shirts flying. Above them the forest seemed to scream, a wild shriek that no human throat could ever produce, flashes of green and blue exploded around them, silver light glared and shadows seemed as solid as stone as they passed.

Then the falling was over and they were sprawled in a tangled heap on something that felt to be sand. The silver blue light surrounded them and the air seemed alive with sounds that neither could name. Each of them raised their heads slowly, minds numbed by the light and the sound and confused by the falling. Around them was a fog, its curling tendrils every colour of the rainbow, the touch of it the caress of spray from the incoming tide, the sound of it beyond hearing, and through it they realised that they could see the sea.