Was (Was #1)

2x02: From the Deadlands with slicing glee

Episode 2x02: From the Deadlands with slicing glee

The Deadlands, December 13th, 2009

Dana didn’t dare to move, nor to speak, although the temptation was strong.

She wanted—needed—to know, in order for her to understand why she hadn’t been allowed to strike. However, words would disrupt that fragile state of apparent calm she and Mother had achieved at last. The ghost’s anger was always a cold one, made all the most terrible by the fact she always kept in control and remained able to strike with near-perfect accuracy no matter the circumstances; to voluntarily incur her wrath would be sheer madness.

On top of everything, coping with the flaring pain in her shoulder every time she took a breath kept kindling Dana’s own anger. That blond twig, whoever he was, would pay for that.

How infuriating, really. Once again, the heartless man had stood up to her, and, worst of all, to her Mother. Once again, she had peered at those translucent eyes of his, watching darkness seep into them: at the border between the worlds, in that interstitial space that mocked the land of the living while not being the land of the dead yet, the vision of decay tainted and corrupted everything, and he was no exception. Of the three opponents they had faced, he was the closest to them in spiritual essence; and yet how far, how rebellious he remained, as if death could only brush against him without never threatening him!

‘Did you notice?’

Mother’s melodious voice broke the heavy silence. In a swirl of her billowing white cloak, she turned to her daughter, who couldn’t help but shiver at the thought that her eyes were almost like his had been—two spots of red crystal in two pitch-black pools.

‘Noticed what, Mother?’ Dana whispered, keeping at a safe distance.

‘It was closing,’ the Heartless went on, and although her behaviour was back to normal now, her words still retained a cutting edge. ‘I felt it when I touched him.’

‘I’m sorry, I’m not sure I understand what you’re talking about.’ Would the storm break out now, to punish her for her ignorance? Would the large thorny roots around them spring from the Land of the Dead to catch her in their painful embrace, obeying Mother’s command? Stupid daughter, she would say, blind and stupid. You are not fit to be one of my followers.

Nothing came. Mother had already turned away, to contemplate the foggy horizon, the high constructs of rust and blood, metal arches and creaking bridges, walls covered in dark tints, all permeated with the stench of death. If they were to take only but a few steps in the right direction, the fog would rise, muffling their presences, carrying them through that pale reflection of London, such as would be the case in every city, everywhere life was ripe to seize. The fog was the last barrier before the thorns, the one that could be twisted to allow for a brief reach. There, on the other side of the clouds, on the other side of the frontier, lay the living part of the capital, brimming with energy. All they could see of it for the moment were vague outlines, mere shadows of towers, churches and cathedrals, and of that glistening, meandering snake called Thames, the Dark One. If they wanted to cross to the other side, they would need to find dying people again, in order to pierce through the Thorn Wall—but death was never hard to come by, in such a place.

‘The hole was closing,’ Mother whispered at last. ‘You were right in trying to lure him in, my child, for he’s one of us in part. He could be another bridge, just like you and your brother. But I’m afraid he’s slipping away.’

Dana lowered her head for a second, looking at her chest, at the large hole that had always branded her spiritual body since the night of her own “death”. For a moment, fear supplanted anger, before the latter rose again.