Was (Was #1)

1x17: Silent sobs reach for the sky

Episode 1x17: Silent sobs reach for the sky, and there’s no way to stop what’s on its way

London, December 13th, 2009

It had taken her a whole day, a day of sending her half-blind body wandering in a grey fog and between sharp white and black edges, to find what she was looking for. A day of frustration, of anger, of destructive feelings; but these were good, these were relish, these sustained her, beyond her former existence that was in part a blur, yet still haunted her in more ways than one, she who had come back when she should never have been able to.

The hole she had created in the Thorn Wall hadn’t closed yet—so many deaths, so much despair, she could still feel them, those souls desperately crying for mercy, refusing to admit that they were no more, that life had deserted them... In spite of her failure, the place would remain thin and fragile for days and nights to come, and therefore a bridge for her and her family. She longed for them, again, once again; soon, with Mother’s blessing, she would be able to unleash the turmoil of death and despair, and throw yet another thousand of living beings on the other side, where her brother and his Mind would give them a heartless welcome.

However, she had to fulfil her mission first. For that reason, she had crossed back the threshold, to reach the mundane world, where her human, against-all-odds-living body, was still somewhat welcome; she had gone back there, to catch that peculiar scent, that faint trail of pure energy which always betrayed the presence of a willworker. Had it been luck or fate? Dedication on her part, or sheer carelessness on that of her enemy, who should have fled as far as possible from where they had fought, yet inexplicably kept on lingering close to that area? Only one day. It could—it should—have taken her more, in a city as vast as London, where millions of fates met every day.

Mother would be glad.

And now, standing on the other side of Byng Place, her spiritual eye hovering at the frontier between those two worlds so closely linked, yet not meant to interact, the woman clad in darkness stared intently at the girl sitting on the low wall.

Dana—such her name had been before her death, before her soul was forever maimed prior to being sent back to her still warm body—remained quiet and silent, aware that she hadn’t recovered enough yet; but hatred flared in her, a devouring, white-hot hatred for that puny little human who had dared to stand up to her. Here was a face she wouldn’t forget; here was a presence she now knew she could find whenever she decided to look for it. Oh, but she had delighted in weaving her web, trapping her, slowly, so slowly, within the many threads that made up the mirage of her tapestry. The girl had fallen for it; mages like her were always so wary of what came from their side of the world that they didn’t pay enough attention to what lurked elsewhere. Deceit, deceit, an illusion that penetrated the mind so discreetly, so gradually, that only by being on guard all the time would her enemy have been able to counter it. After all, her brother himself had taught her that spell; it couldn't fail. And the feeling of the girl’s fresh blood on her hands—the iron smell of warm life seeping through the wound in her leg—how delicious and tempting!

Dana hoped Mother would allow her to eat the bitch’s Heart, once the time would come. This one wouldn’t go to the Slicer nor to his Mind, for sure.

It had all been over when the girl had tripped over the bench, when the thorns had pierced her delicate flesh. A new breach had been opened, one that only old folks’ tales still kept track of: the price paid with blood, on a path leading to another world. So many half-forgotten stories contained warnings about walking through thorns and brambles; so many people ignored them, too engrossed in their modern lives.

Dana smiled at the thought, her face taking on a wicked expression. Then her smile vanished, replaced by a hateful frown again. She wouldn’t move, wouldn’t incur Mother’s wrath, not this time; yet how hard it was, seeing that miserable creature curled up there, her back against the wall, her knees gathered in front of her chest, her hands clutching at her coat. Too frightened to move, too ignorant to know what to do: was that child really the one who had caused her so many problems?