‘How did I get so warm?’ he asked aloud, then added, ‘This can’t be right. It must be something-’ He turned in a circle, his eyes straining to search the forest as he called, ‘Gilmour, are you out there?’ He brushed the snow from his pack and mused, ‘It must be him. He must have found me and cast some kind of spell down here… unless-’ He thought for a moment, then slowly, as if afraid of what he might see, Mark closed his eyes. There it was, a light grey patch of colour, brighter with his eyes closed than open. What was it? Should he keep his eyes closed – or open his mind? That was it!
‘Open your mind, Mark,’ he commanded. ‘This will make sense if you open your mind.’ He remembered falling asleep once at the wheel; as his car drifted he had heard a voice crying to him as if from across a summer hayfield. It had saved his life that night. Now Mark was strangely convinced that if he relaxed and listened carefully, he would be able to hear Gilmour, for it had to be Gilmour who sent the life-saving warmth that had awakened him from what would otherwise have been eternal sleep.
He sat back down on the rock awkwardly. His clothes, frozen solid, made a cracking sound as he bent over, but still he felt warm and comfortable, not cold at all. ‘Open your mind, Mark,’ he said again. ‘Close your eyes and open your mind.’ He shut his eyes tightly and watched the grey patch move slowly across his field of view.
‘What is this?’ he asked of no one, then allowed the question to linger in his consciousness. What is this? he thought. Who is doing this to me? Gilmour?
There had been an awareness, that night on the Long Island Expressway, something in his mind that understood, regardless of the fact that he was asleep, that he was making a mistake. That was the voice that had called to him from so far away; Mark searched for that voice again now. He knew it was there; he trusted it – the difficulty was being able to give away control of his thoughts.
The grey patch held the answers. Focus on the grey patch. It ought not to be here when I close my eyes, yet it remains.
Then he heard it, faint, like the breathing of a sleeping child, whispering, ‘Mark Jenkins, you must hurry along.’
‘Gilmour? Where are you?’ Mark imagined himself on a journey inside his own mind, searching for this voice.
It came again. ‘Not Gilmour. I used to be called Gabriel. I am called nothing now.’
‘O’Reilly?’ Mark focused his attention on the voice. ‘Gabriel O’Reilly? Where are you? How are you doing this?’
‘I am here. Inside you. I am warming you. You were nearly dead.’
‘Right.’ Mark was dumbfounded. The wraith had somehow worked its way inside his body. He remembered their encounter in the forest, when it had spoken to Steven and battled briefly with Sallax. It had entered both their bodies in a matter of seconds; now it was dwelling inside his frame?
‘ How are you keeping me so warm? ’ he thought to himself, wondering if the wraith could still hear him.
‘I am a creature of energy now. It is not difficult for me to provide you with this, maybe much more. Nerak took my soul many years ago. I have been tortured without mercy for an eternity. But now I have escaped, and I offer my meagre powers in your struggle against the dark prince.’
‘How did you… get away?’
‘You freed me, Mark Jenkins, when you fell through the far portal. I had drifted, blind and mindless, for uncounted ages. Perhaps I drifted near the seam through which you fell; perhaps it was that same seam that carried my body, my stolen body, through the Fold with Nerak in tow those many years ago. I was lucky. Thousands like me are still trapped there in the Fold. They wait as slaves for Nerak to command them.’
Mark listened intently as the wraith continued, ‘It was many days before I regained control of my own thoughts, but once I did, I came looking for you and Steven Taylor.’
Mark suddenly remembered his friend; he wondered how he could have forgotten him. ‘Where is Steven?’
‘He is far below, in the valley.’
‘Is he still alive?’
‘Yes,’ O’Reilly replied, ‘he is badly injured, but the Seron is nursing him back to health.’
‘Seron?’ Mark instinctively felt at his belt for the battle-axe. ‘How many are there? The tracks I followed were made by just one person.’
‘That is correct. Only one Seron cares for your friend.’
‘But that doesn’t make sense. I thought they hunted in packs, killing wildly and eating the bodies of their enemies-’ Mark ran a hand across his forehead and thought for a moment. ‘No, there was that one we helped back on the southern slopes near Seer’s Peak. Is that the one? He named himself-’ Again Mark broke off as he tried to recall the conversation.
‘Steven saved it – him. Maybe that’s why… Yes, that must be it. Thank you, Gabriel, for saving my life. Now I have to go.’ He bent down to reclaim his pack.
‘I will accompany you,’ said the ghost. ‘You will need me.’
Drawing a deep, cleansing breath, Mark asked, ‘Out there or… in here?’
‘I must remain in here, Mark Jenkins. Your newfound strength is only because of me. Were I to depart now, you would collapse.’
Mark was uncomfortable with the idea of a dead man’s soul inhabiting his body. The few moments it took to revive him was one thing – although he was deeply grateful to the wraith for saving his life, he wasn’t sure he wanted to prolong the relationship. His mind wandered for a second, picturing a multitude of embarrassing memories and experiences he wouldn’t necessarily want to share.
‘Do not be afraid.’ The spirit’s hollow voice rang in his mind. ‘I have already seen everything you have ever seen and I know everything you have ever known.’
‘Well, shit,’ Mark muttered, then reminded himself that what was important right now was finding Steven. He resigned himself to Gabriel’s continued presence.
‘Okay, then,’ he said, thinking he needed to formally agree. ‘I suppose you ought to stick around in there. I can use the company, anyway.’ He started back on the trail that led down through the pines blanketing the mountain’s north face.
Now that was settled, he allowed his thoughts to turn to the rest of the group, and Brynne in particular.
‘Do you know where my other companions are right now?’ he asked out loud.
‘I do not. But one of them is a traitor to your cause.’
Mark, shocked, had to fight the immediate urge to stop and interrogate the ghost further. Instead, he would have to learn as much as possible from the former manager of the Bank of Idaho Springs while making his way rapidly towards the valley floor. And first, he had to get more comfortable with the idea of carrying a dead man around inside himself. He had always considered himself an agnostic, although more out of a fundamental lack of interest than any real question of faith. Communicating with a man who had been dead for more than a hundred and thirty years called everything he believed into question.
The spirit had detected Mark’s religious dilemma. ‘I agree. It makes us doubt our faith. I was a dutiful Catholic, a Union soldier, a hard-working businessman.’ Gabriel’s hollow voice was unnerving; though it lacked human resonance, it still sounded like the fatigued reflections of anyone grappling with a misplaced faith. ‘My only goal was to ascend to a Christian Heaven, as I assumed so many of my fellow soldiers did after Bull Run.’ There was a brief pause; Mark thought he should offer some condolence to the spirit, but then O’Reilly continued, ‘I will fight Nerak to his destruction, or be enslaved by him and his evil master for all time.’
Mark was suddenly angry. He wasn’t sure if it were his anger, or Gabriel’s, but it was welling up inside him and at that moment he ignored the fact that he was no fighter; he was ready to battle the dark prince hand-to-hand if necessary.