Nevermor (67 page)

3

The next day,
the Ausbrooks came as planned.  Wren did not engage them, but let Miss Nora
take Max out.  The young Mrs. Ausbrook was thrilled to see the boy again, full
of smiles and warm words.  They presented Max with a toy soldier, and that
lifted his spirits immediately – even put a smile on his face.

Wren watched
them take him away through the dirty upstairs window, and when they put him into
the carriage, he didn’t look back.  Wren was sad to see that.  Had he forgotten
her already?

I can’t think
about that.  This is the way it has to be.

She had resolved
herself to this, and she knew where she belonged.  Her place was with Rifter
and the others.  They were ready to build a new life in a place of beauty and
light, and would continue to fight back the nightmares in order to defend what
was theirs.  She understood the need for it now.  Some things were worth
fighting for.

That night, Wren
lay awake on the floor in the old, familiar dormitory, unable to sleep.  She
didn’t know when Rifter would return for her, but she hoped it would be soon. 
This place was foreign to her now – a false reality.  She didn’t want to remain
in this world any longer than she had to.

Wren had too
many memories here that she aimed to forget.

The beach was
quiet beneath the stars, save for the footsteps of the boys who walked along
it.  For now, they were nomads – roamers without a home – but they had time to
find a new one.  All they had was time.

They trekked
toward their former dwelling to see what the fire had left, resolved to accept
whatever they found.  The boys were sad to think that they had lost it all, and
yet excited by the idea of finding a new place to dwell.  Change was an
adventure, and what was life without adventure, after all?

“Do you think we
could live on the beach?” Mach asked.

“Too much sand,”
Finn complained, kicking at it.

“I’ve always
liked the jungle,” Toss spoke up.

“Too many bugs,”
said Finn.

“We’ll find a
place when Rifter gets back,” Nix said, adjusting his tourniquet.  “He’ll have
to approve it anyway.  No sense getting ahead of ourselves.”

“Who knows:
maybe the land will have changed by then,” Sly added.  “There may be new places
to explore.”

Rifter had gone
to take Wren back to her old life one last time – a thing he’d never done – but
he was intent on going back for her after she had finished what she needed to
do.  The Pack would not let him forget.  The twins were especially sad to see
the young one go, but they had accepted that since it was what Wren wanted. 
She knew best.

“You know, I
have a good feeling about it all this time, mates,” Finn declared, taking a
deep breath as if filling his lungs with the wind of change.  “I think it’s
over for good.”

“I guess we’ll
see,” Sly said, pausing to stretch and look out over the peaceful ocean.

“Will life be
boring now?” Mach speculated.

“Still plenty of
nightmares to go around,” Nix assured him.

“I think what
happened this time was a good thing,” Toss said proudly.  “We didn’t just save
the world.  I think we saved Rifter, too.  I sort of feel like a hero.”

“Pirate wenches
love that, right Finn?” Mech teased.

Toss blushed and
Finn laughed heartily.  “Don’t ask me!  It was Nix who was talking that shit.”

“Don’t bring me
into this,” Nix scolded, but he was smiling with them.

They moved
along, aiming for a place to make a temporary camp, but it took them a few
steps and quite a bit more bickering before they noticed that they were missing
one of their number.

Sly was still
standing there where he’d stopped, looking out over the water.  The expression
on his face was of complete confusion.  Whatever he was staring at, he was
absorbed.

Finn cupped his
hands over his mouth.  “Sly!  Are you going to come with us, or are you going
to take root there?”

“Do you see
that?” Sly asked them, reaching for the scope.  He fumbled with it, adjusted
the lens and looked again.  The rest turned their faces out to the ocean and
froze.  They had all seen it now, but not as well as he did through the
magnifier.

Out on the
horizon, there was a large black cloud, stretched lengthwise across the sky for
as far as they could see.  It wasn’t a storm cloud and yet it wasn’t a
nightmare.  The cloud was like an ink spot that bled into the firmament,
staining the heavens.

“What
is
that?” Sly asked to no one in particular, squinting as if he might understand
it better.

The Pack stood
there, staring toward the black horizon.  None of them said a word.

***

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The
Second Book in the
Nevermor
Trilogy

By
Lani Lenore

Forsaken

Years have
passed, the seasons fade

A sacred world bleeds;
dark decay

The angels weep
for ruined dreams

As demons choke
the land to screams

An aged wonder,
all forsaken

A missing force
forgotten,

Awakened

Storms…  This is
a night of storms
. 
That was all Wren could think as she walked along the narrow ridge of the roof
beneath the darkened sky.  A vicious wind blew her fair curls all about as the
moon shone down on her from beyond a cloudy haze.  The beacon winked at her
mischievously, and she began to feel doubt.

Wren remembered
the tempest – the way lightning had flashed so violently as thunder growled in
the amber sky.  She had not been away so long that she had forgotten.  She
could recall the storm – though perhaps not as well as the way Rifter’s face
had looked when he’d peered adoringly into her eyes.

Rifter…
  He was the one
who cared about her – the only one who could save her now.  She wanted to see
him again, desperately, but he was not here.  Wren did not understand, and
could not quite ignore the circumstances.  Could this not be put off until the
storm was over?  A soothing flow of whispers discouraged her from thinking. 
Through her tangling hair, she saw a tiny spot of light dancing before her, and
though she could not understand the language of the fairy creature, she
understood the message.

It was from
Rifter.  He was inviting her back to his world of dreams.  Nevermor was
calling.

The line of
orphans – all eighteen of them from Miss Nora’s Home – marched along the roof,
guided by the light of the fairy wisp.  Dark tendrils of smoke rose from
chimneys in London’s twilight, adding to the dark shadow of night overhead. 
She could smell the smoke, a sure sign of warning on most occasions, but no
alarms were set off in her mind.

Rifter had
promised to come back for her – had promised not to forget – but yet he had
sent his companion to retrieve her instead.  Wren was almost certain that this
wasn’t right, but she could not question it, perhaps for the soft reassurance
of the fairy’s spell, urging her forward.

I will go
, Wren thought
languidly. 
Yes, I will fly there
.

The others had
already gone on before her – had already taken flight off the eaves of the
house, laughing gleefully.  Wren would join them.  Without questioning further,
she closed her eyes, and with a contented smile on her lips, she prepared to
step from the roof.

LONDON, 1877

1

It was the sound
of screaming that drew Wren back from the outer nothingness.

Peering through
the dark of her room, she could hear nurses bustling down the hallway, muted as
nuns in their soft-soled shoes.  Shadows of hulking orderlies played along the
bricks as they fought with the shrieking inmate in the cell across the hall.  A
screeching door gave way to tears, and the patient’s shadow flailed about, her
limbs slinging violently in all directions.

Wren lay still
in her own cell, and after a few moments, the screaming faded in the distant
corridors.  The manic patient had been silenced, unconscious now; off to
dreamland and the bloodletting chambers.  The ward was quiet once again.  Wren
kept herself quiet as well.  She did not want to be next.  Instead, she rolled
over and pulled the thin blanket up to her chin.

I must try to
sleep
,
she told herself, but she never did sleep – not anymore.

Perhaps it was
impossible that she did not sleep at all, even though she was convinced she did
not, but she was even more certain that she did not dream.  She could not
remember the last dream she’d had – not a sensation of wonder, impossible
fantasy, or whisper of a kiss – especially now that she was here in this
place.  This discouraged her, and at that thought, she felt trouble brewing in
her stomach until she could no longer lay still.

Wren sat up on
the thin mattress, through which every spring of the iron frame twisted into
her back.  She reached beneath the bed to retrieve the journal she’d been
allowed to keep, along with a blunt pencil.  It was her only possession within
the stark room that could offer her solace.  The pages would be her confession.

Turning to a
fresh page, she began a new entry of her thoughts, though she did not know the
date.

Once again it
has been a night without dreams
, she wrote,
and therefore no
nightmares, but I awaken with the same fear.  I fear that
…

Her hand
hesitated on the page.  She thought of what she would write next – thought of
Witherspoon reading it – and she could not bring herself to go further.  She
closed the journal, put it away with the dust, and rested back against the bed
in resignation.

But her fear did
not leave her.

Wren’s inability
to dream kept her constantly troubled, for if she could not dream, then she
could not hope to get back to the place where she belonged.

I may not find
Nevermor again
,
she thought sadly.  It was not the first time.

Wren had never
forgotten it, that secret land beyond the sea of dreams.  She longed for it
daily, but could not get back, no matter how hard she wished or how often she
tried.  It could only be found through dreams, after all, but since Rifter had
brought her back from that place as a last favor, it had been impossible for
her to create her own dreams, let alone see that sandy beach where she had
first washed ashore.

Was it her own
fault that she could not find that world?  If she'd ever sought escape, she
needed it now more than ever.  Never in all her life – despite what other fears
she’d had – had she ever imagined that she would be locked away in an asylum,
accused of a debilitating madness.  Then again, she’d not predicted most of the
details of her life beyond her father’s house.

She remembered
the first days here, crammed in a cell with many other girls – some as timid
and frightened as she was, others explosive – and yet they were all the same in
the eyes of their captors.  They were faceless and less than human.  They were
a collection of pretty dolls with long hair and glass eyes, meant to be
observed and occasionally toyed with.

Though she had
been caged like an animal, she was thankful to have been ignored.  She’d kept
quiet and let herself blend in, and while some of the other inmates might
occasionally keep too close or try to eat her hair, Wren knew there were worse
things in the world.  She had seen some of them with her own eyes.

Here, the
creatures in the dark are of a different sort
.