Hunting For The Sun

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

Doom and Gloom

But despite my fairly cheery exterior, I really wasn't feeling too good. I missed Draco like a desert misses rain. It felt like years since I had been snatched from him, even though it was only about a month.

Adura led us to a small passageway down into a cellar where several benches lined the wall and various huddled forms slept. It was only then that I realised it was already the next year. It was 2009 and I hadn't noticed a thing. Adura apologised and said that they had no food because they were all hiding. She offered us benches, but Ori and Perse opted to go out and hunt for the night.

As I lay back on the slatted wood, my mind drifted back over the past month. I held my finger up in the meagre light from a street-level window at the top of the cellar. It looked fine, if a little crooked. Skye... where was she? She had saved me and I felt that I owed it to her to at least have a good look for her. But then again, my own instincts fought with my moral conscience. I really wanted - needed - to go back to Draco, but I couldn't. In this case, morals could not be appeased.

For once.

It seemed that, as the saddest of the whole bunch of sad people from the saddest corner of sad-land, I was in charge of this somehow. Somehow, I was the one who was gathering all of these people. They were all looking out for Adura and me, but I was still in charge. In return, I at least had to look out for them.

And I realised that I had. Draco needed me as much as I needed him. Alethea, well, I was working on that one. Skye, well, that one too. Ori and Perse, I had nearly killed myself to make sure they didn't starve. For someone whose reputation was built on not giving a rat's bee-hind about anyone, I sure seemed to care a lot about these assorted nuts.

Well, most of them.

I shifted, the bench finding every sore, bruised, aching spot in my back and poking it. I groaned and sat up. I wasn't even tired. What did mum used to call them? Endorphins? I shifted onto my knees then up onto my feet, looking around carefully to check that everyone was still asleep. No one moved and there was only the sound of quiet, regular breathing. I put my hands to the bottom of the open grate that served as a window. The street was still quiet. I pressed my nose to the iron pattern of curling vines, painted magnolia white at some time in the distant past, and now peeling to reveal rust and grime.

I breathed in the fresh air. It wasn't right, though. I liked London air; hot, sooty, smelly, full of hints of things that I could never have, enticing. Like the smell of spices on the wind, or a mirage. You could walk through all those markets and look at the pancakes and olives frying, casting smoke and steam into the air that smelled of vanilla and strawberries. Then those huge baskets of apples, wrinkled as an old lady's face and sweet from the stores, that were brought down from the villages on the weekends. And then when all the children used to paddle in the river down by Peddler's Lane, where it became shallow and ran out over the rocks. You could sit on the bridge and throw stones at them. Wonderful. And then we got all this respect from the city-folk because we were outlaws and loved it. And on the last Sunday in each season the farmers' market would come down to the Diagon district, bringing with them crates of vegetables in carriages drawn by horses the size of houses. Then the brewer would come with them, and offer free mead to everyone. We would party late into the night, then wake to the crisp autumn dawn...

But now it was all gone. I had this life now. I couldn't just go back to London and throw apple cores at fat kids playing in the river. It wouldn't work. It wouldn't feel the same. There was a wall around London now, and no one played in the river. Tyger wouldn't be there to distract the vendors while I stole pots of roasted peanuts. Tyger wouldn't be able to sit on the wall with me and encourage me to do stupid things. My own logic would see to it that I would spend my time wisely.

Nevertheless, a part of me still thought that it would be there. If I could just have one look, that nothing would have changed. If I walked the familiar path to the Bridge, or Lemon Lane, or Gringotts Lane, or went over the rooftops to Peddler's Ford that it would still be there and still be the same.

At this time of year they would have those big old oil-drums filled with shattered bits of housing from the Wasteland burning brightly, and people roasting anything they could get their hands on. I glanced over at a calendar on the far wall. It was Sunday. Sunday the seventeenth of January. Then old Custer would be there with that big old trap, selling furniture he nicked from the local dump. Mrs O'Leary would have her candies and chocolate spread over that rickety cart her husband built from the pram when the baby died. Then Apple-Man would come, laughing, his cheeks as round and rosy as the apples themselves and his bald little head glowing like a burnished copper bowl in the spring sun, wheeling that dilapidated cart and looking for all the world as though he had walked all the way in his clapped out shoes. We would all chase after him as he pottered along, singing in his enchanting voice and skipping every few steps. He was a sort of story-telling vagabond. When the market was over for the night, we would all be gathering around one of those huge burning drums and listen to his tales of many far-off cities that we would never visit. Places in France, Egypt, all sorts. Every now and again, he would bring us things to prove it. He had this gold necklace made from coins with a bald man stamped on them. He never told us his name, or how he got past all the guards, but he did. I always looked out for him, but his visits were few and far between. He always came on the seventeenth of January, though.

Someone else who only came every now and again was the Peddler himself. He would come in the summer, bringing his huge backpack and cheery smiles. Whenever his and the Apple-Man's visits coincided, they would club together to sing songs for us, while the Peddler played his accordion. That would go on until way past midnight, and we would soon all join in with the songs, forgetting our fear of being heard. Then Apple-Man would slyly bring out some flasks of cider, and we all acted as though we were shocked at him, even though he always did it, without fail. Peddler would bring ribbons and lace and little trinkets from all sorts of trades. He let us have some for free, sometimes. He also had little dollies that he stole from rich houses, and sometimes toffee and fudge from the South. He liked me, and especially Tyger. He always brought something special for her, and that's what made me love him more. He found a silver locket once. He asked her what she wanted in it and she pointed at me. He looked at me and said, 'How are you going to do that?' So I cut off a lock of my hair and curled it inside the locket. Peddler looked at me hard and said, 'Are you sure that's the wisest of gifts?' I didn't know what he meant, but Tyger frowned and hooked it around my neck.

'Sunshine look after it,' she said, smiling trustingly. I didn't want it. A locket with my own hair was just strange. 'Tyger hair too,' she said, pointing at the engraved silver. So I cut some of her hair and slipped it in with mine. It looked like bronze braided with copper, a perfect coil. I tried to put it in my pocket, but Tyger told me to put it on. I know she didn't speak, but she told me to wear it. I couldn't think what happened to that. I never used to take it off. Maybe it fell off somewhere. I think I had it when I went to the Ministry. I shrugged and drew my mind away from that thought. It wasn't a nice one. I was having a lot of fun with the memories before that one.

I reached my hand out through the largest gap and placed it on the dusty road, scraping my fingers through the soft ash. I took another deep breath and let it out with a sigh. The air smelt cold and fresh, like mountains. Not like a proper city. Not like London. There was a slight tang of the sea, but nothing enough to make it smell like the London Docklands. There was no tar, no fish, no smoke. It didn't feel real. Like a city in a snow-dome. Look, but don't touch. I brushed the dust off of my hand and watched it drift through the moonlight to the ground. Maybe it wasn't real. Maybe this was all some dream that had just gone on way too long, and what I had left behind was the world. Now I was sunk way out of my depth in a dream that I didn't understand and didn't want. Sort of like a dream where I was running and running, but I didn't know where or why or for how long. Just that I was running and couldn't stop.

In fact, I could almost feel the ground rushing away beneath me. Now I thought about it, it had to be that. Everyone has magnified or altered forms of the same life. Some people crawl towards death, never spending any of their chances, never taking any risks. Some simply leap there straight away, so brave and noble that they had to do it all in one go. People like me had no time to die, no limit of chances, no nine lives. They just had to keep going at the same pace forever and ever. Right now, it was faster than I was prepared to go, and even in my eighteen years I had already tired myself out. I wanted to lie down and sleep.

But I couldn't. I couldn't sleep. Literally, either. I turned away from the little grate and stepped down off the bench. I needed to be off. I had to get out of here. I wanted the road under my feet. That way, at least I would be running in a direction instead of tiring myself out running on the spot. It was all I could do to stop myself bolting out of there and leaving it to Adura, Perse and Ori to find Skye and make their own way back. It couldn't be all that far to the temple, right?

I involuntarily walked across the cellar, my feet crunching on fragments of plaster from the crumbling ceiling. I found myself at the door. There was a small staircase leading up, and then flat doors opening onto the street. I could picture myself just walking out and going wherever the road ran. I glanced around the silent room. Maybe it would be okay. Maybe I would, by some miracle, be able to make it back on my own. Maybe I'd be able to leave them and not care... but this one thing defeated me. Sure, I could go, but I'd be worried for the whole time. I'd sit there and wonder why no one was with me. In the end I'd grow afraid of the dark and of the bogey-monster and run home. Maybe.

I reached up into the dusty space and brushed my fingertips against the wood. It was rough, but smooth, somehow. Who am I to question that sort of thing? What do I know about wood? I traced the line of the gap down to the iron ring handle. I hesitated, then wrapped my fingers around it. I twisted and pushed upwards, walking up the steps and ducking my head through the whole.

But a hand caught in the back of my coat. I turned around, alarmed. Adura, her face upturned and a spiky frame of dark hair about it, was looking up at me.

'I'm coming with you,' she hissed.

I sighed and rolled my eyes, looking hungrily out at the street. So close, yet so far.

'Look, Acura...'

'Adura.'

'Whatever. I don't need help,' I told her, starting to get exasperated.

'I'm sure you don't, but I'm coming anyway.'

'Agura...'

'Adura.'

'Whatever. I'm made to be on my own. Not only do I not require your presence. I don't want you with me.'

She looked offended and put out. 'I'd like to see you stop me,' she bragged.

'I'd like to see you try and come along,' I retorted in a deadly whisper. To my great pleasure, she flinched back from me.

'I'm coming!' she shrilled.

'Bite. My. Ass,' I said, enunciating clearly and stressing every word. 'I'm leaving and you aren't. Hah.'

Then, before I could embarrass myself any further, I shoved the door open and marched out, wrenching my coat from her grasp in the process. I was truly tempted to say 'stick that in your omelette and fry it', but I resisted the urge.

I slammed the door down as hard as I could, but she shoved it back open and followed me out.

'Do you really think I'm going to take that from you?' she demanded, trotting to keep up with me.

'Yes.'

That put her off a little. 'You're just some stuck up city-brat with no sense of decency!'

'Now that really hit home,' I said sarcastically.

'If you keep that up, I'm going to kill you,' she growled from between clenched teeth.

'See me tremble,' I said flatly, still attempting to walk away.

'You are not going to leave me here in this scummy city while you parade off to war with some fancy Latin-named blond!' she shrieked.

'So, when are you going to be cooking dinner, darling? When do you need me home?' I asked.

'Don't give me that!' she shouted. 'You know what I mean! We're all in this together!'

'Since when?' I demanded. 'I'm getting a little puzzled here. It's been me, Draco and a couple of others for about a year or more now. You came along yesterday. Since when does that make you worthy of telling me what to do?'

'I'm still involved!' she objected.

'Yes, but not enough that I give a shit about what you think,' I explained patiently.

She threw her arms up in defeat. Apparently.

'Look, I don't care how new I am. I'm in this now, and you can't get rid of me. If you do, you fail.'

I knew she was right. I knew it, but I didn't want to admit it. So I said nothing.

'Look, we're all going to die anyway. If we die at the wrong time, we fail. If we die at the right time, we succeed. It's quite simple.'

'WOW!' I exclaimed falsely. 'Giving myself up for the greater good! That's always been my plan!'

'Don't patronise me,' she sighed.

I turned around and just looked at her.

'Yes, I know I'm being obvious,' she snapped. 'It's not my fault that I know what's happening.'

'Yes, but you don't have to preach it to me.'

'Don't you want to save the world?' she asked desperately.

'No. I already lost the world I loved, Adura. I haven't got anything I had before. I lost my best friend, my home, my life, my cause, my principles, my beliefs. There is nothing left for me in this world except Draco and being alive. Now you tell me that both of those will be taken from me to save a place that needs destroying and starting over in the first place? I hardly think so.'

She seemed a little kicked. 'But this is for EVERYONE! You'll go down in legend!'

'I'd rather go down in a bed,' I said quickly. 'But that's not the point.'

She looked puzzled. 'Oh, don't be disgusting!' she yelled.

I glared at her. 'SOME of us were born with a sense of humour,' I explained. 'We call things like that jokes. You may not be familiar with the term.'

'Oh, ha, ha,' she snapped irritably.

'That's it! You're getting it! One more time, for practice,' I encouraged brightly, waving my arms.

'Oh, just bugger off!' she bellowed, clenching her fists.

'OOH! Gonna punch me?' I asked, skipping from side to side.

She swung at me. She actually swung a punch at me. I was a little off-guard, but in the state she was in, no one could punch straight. I laughed at her. I laughed and laughed until my sides ached and tears were rolling down my cheeks. Then she started to laugh too. She laughed harder and harder, until we were both gasping for breath and aching all over.

'I can't believe I said all that,' she choked. 'Please don't repeat any of it!'

'Don't worry,' I replied, rubbing my eyes.

'I'm not like that, I swear,' she sighed. 'You just bring out the worst in me.'

'Vice versa,' I said simply.

'Hey, do you think it's something about the prophecy?' she asked, rubbing her chest.

I considered it.

'Maybe. It would make sense...'

'Or maybe not!' she exclaimed. 'Maybe one of the Orders is doing this!'

I was too tired and confused and elated to think. 'Uh, huh,' I said slowly.

'Oh come on! It's a great idea!' she cried, grabbing my arms and starting to babble incoherently.

I stood still and suffered it, until I heard footsteps behind me and a voice said, 'Hey, are you that kid who ran off without paying?'

Shit.