Eleanor
Eleanor
by S.F. Burgess
First published in Great Britain in 2013 by Jojosala Publishing Ltd.
Copyright © 2013 by S. F. Burgess
Cover illustrations by Scarlett Rugers
Map by S.F. Burgess
S. F. Burgess has asserted her moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
A CIP catalogue record of this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN: 978-0-9576996-1-8 (Paperback)
ISBN:
978-0-9576996-0-1 (EPub Edition)
First Edition
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by an means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher.
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade of otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publishers prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
For my parents,
Who gave more financial support than they could afford, more love than I ever deserved and who never stopped believing, even when they had no clue what they were believing in. The world is shaped by its quiet heroes and you are mine.
The End
“Most people’s lives begin with their births; mine began with my death.”
Direct quote from Eleanor, the ‘Extended History of the Five’.
I’m dying.
The thought was followed by a frantic panic that squeezed her chest mercilessly. She struggled even harder to breathe. Blood bubbles clogged her throat, the burning agony intensified, threatening to overwhelm. Cold darkness was moving in from the edges of her vision. It was almost welcome. The instinct to live fought briefly with the excruciating pain and her desire for it to stop. The pain won. The effort too much, body relaxing, she began to let go. A paramedic was kneeling at her side, pushing hard against the centre of her agony. He snapped instructions to his colleague. Most of it went over her head, but some of the words she caught: “Bullet’s pierced her lung,” “bleeding out.”
Overhead, the stark florescent bulbs blurred, and she closed her eyes.
The world faded, she floated. Letting go of the fear, she tried to tune out the pain, a soft lucidity carrying her. Through the background noise of death there was a voice.
Eleanor?
She ignored it – what good could her response do now?
Eleanor!
The voice was hard, insistent, with a strange accent. She forced heavy eyes to open. An oxygen mask covered her mouth.
When did they put that on?
She felt anger, the lucidity momentarily sharper.
Why are they expecting me to talk when I’ve this thing on my face?
She clutched at the plastic, trying to respond. The paramedic took her hand, replacing the mask offering a kind smile, that stood at odds with the sadness and resignation filling his eyes.
He knows I’m dying.
“Let us work,” he said, his voice raspy and nasal, not the deeper voice with the growl to it she had heard calling her name. Confused, she closed her eyes again.
Eleanor… Eleanor, can you hear me?
Yes.
She thought fuzzily.
Why can I hear you?
I’m in your head, Eleanor.
The absurdity of this statement caused her eyes to snap open, but the intense concentration and hurried movements of the paramedics, their strained faces and the blood she could see from the corner of her eye, spreading in an ever-widening pool across the grey linoleum floor, soon convinced her to close them again.
You’re dying, Eleanor.
Tell me something I don’t know
, she thought bitterly.
I can offer you life.
I’m hallucinating – I’m dying and my mind is trying to lessen the blow
, she rationalised.
You’re not hallucinating, I’m really here. My offer is real.
Are you an angel?
she whispered.
No. I’m someone who needs your help. We need you to join the Five, I need you
Eleanor – will you join me?
The five what? I really don’t think I should be making decisions at the moment
, she answered.
I can feel your life slipping away. Please, Eleanor, join me. Live!
What’s the catch?
Pardon?
Well, mystery voice, there’s always a catch. Do I get to come back as a bug or something?
The voice chuckled and despite everything, Eleanor found the sound captivating.
The catch, since you ask, is that you must leave behind everything you know and join me. This is not an easy life, Eleanor. I have work for you to do.
As Eleanor wondered what ‘work’ she was going to achieve with two bullets in her chest, the voice interrupted her.
If you choose to join me you will be healed. Please hurry, Eleanor, make your decision.
I’m just a shop assistant, what do you need me for?
You are far more than you think.
How do I know I can trust you?
You don’t, but your only other option is dying.
It might help if I knew your name
,
Eleanor thought, more to herself than to him.
My name is Conlan.
You’re not imaginary then. I wouldn’t have called you Conlan; I’d have called you Robert or Edward or something… Conlan, that’s an odd name…
Eleanor?
Yes?
You’re rambling, your mind is faltering. I need your decision. Will you join me?
What’s it like… dying?
I have no idea, I’ve never died.
If I die, will you be with me?
Even in her head Eleanor knew her voice sounded small, frightened.
No, you must go alone.
In the end, Eleanor did not care about the consequences, she did not think about what kind of life she would gain or the fact that she knew she deserved the death she was suffering. As the pain drew her deeper, her consciousness fading, she did what any sane person would do – she reached for the light and grabbed at her chance of life. One last thought flickered through her mind before the darkness claimed her:
Yes, Conlan, I’ll join you.
Strange dreams chased each other through her mind. There was a strong tugging sensation, like being dragged out to sea by a powerful current. She had agreed to join him, so she relaxed into the current, still not entirely convinced that it was not just her imagination working overtime. There was firelight, shadows, growling and snarling in melodic harmony. Then it was silent, dark and just his voice: Conlan.
“Sleep now, Eleanor, I’ve got you.”
Safety
Consciousness came back by degrees. Eleanor’s eyes felt glued shut. For a while she lay motionless, assessing – infinitesimal flexing of her muscles giving feedback. She was stiff and a little cold, but the pain from before was gone. Her right wrist felt numb, like when she accidentally stopped the circulation to it and there was a vicious headache. She was lying on her back, a hard surface beneath her, something soft under her head. A rough blanket covered her. It smelt of stale animal sweat and campfire smoke. The air was chilly and over the smell of the blanket Eleanor noticed the subtle aroma of pine. She could hear the snapping and rustling of trees moving in the wind, but it seemed distant, high overhead.
I’m outside
.
Why am I outside?
“I know you’re awake, Eleanor.”
The voice, she remembered that voice.
Conlan.
She cautiously opened her eyes. Massive pine trees towered above, swaying restlessly, and somewhere a bird let out a screeching call. It was day, but the light was muted and green, the sky hidden by the dense canopy above.
“How do you feel?” His voice again.
Eleanor turned her head carefully, looking at him for the first time. He sat on a log across from her, arms wrapped round his knees; a near-dead campfire lay between them. Intelligent, bright green eyes held hers, scrutinising. His face held the deep tan of someone who spends most of their time outside, yet under this tan he was pale and drained. The skin beneath his eyes was a deep purple, bones sharp over hollowed cheeks. He seemed old, as if life weighed him down. The short-cut brown hair showed no signs of grey, but the several days’ worth of stubble did him few favours. Beneath it all Eleanor felt he would have been handsome, but for a thick scar that ran from the corner of his left eye in a deep, livid, jagged line down his face, tearing through his top lip and giving him a menacing look. They stared at each other until Eleanor became uncomfortable with the silence.
“If you’re in my mind, shouldn’t you know how I feel?”
Conlan shook his head slowly, not taking his eyes off her, as if he were looking for something in her face.
“I was only in your head during the ritual. Your mind is your own once more.”
“Then how did you know I was awake? Wait, what ritual?”
“The ritual that was necessary to bring you here. I knew you were awake because your breathing changed.” His voice was quiet, but the lack of volume did not hide the strange accent, the soft growling as he spoke – it made him sound angry. Eleanor wondered if he was angry with her.
“And where on Earth is here?” she asked.