ABEYANCE

Chapter One

There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. I have asked “why?” a million times and gotten nowhere close to a convincing answer. Austin tells me that these kinds of questions are pointless.

“Why dragons? Who the hell cares why dragons? There just are.” It’s pitch black in the room and I’m glad I can’t see him because he’s probably doing that frown. It’s the kind of frown that people do when they’re in love with their own struggle. Slumped over and smoothing at the creases. I can’t stand it.

“Well, there were never dragons before, why are they there now? How are they there n—"

“Tory!” He explodes.

“This is not some escape room you can just riddle your way out of.”

“I don’t know what the hell this is,” I snap ‘and neither do you! But I do know that the Valley has changed.” I cannot believe that I am explaining why the sudden appearance of dragons should be of interest to us.

I brace for his shutdown or some melodramatic groan. But it doesn’t come. I wait. I wait until the silence feels more depriving than the dark.

“Austin!” I say it like a challenge.

Glaring silence.

“Austin?”

“Tory,” His hand fumbles at mine, “please, trust me on this. The dragons are not what you think they are.”

He says this softly, but it lands like a blow. I stiffen and pull my hand away not wanting to be touched by him.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

He lets the silence drag again, and the longer that we are quiet the less certain I become of everything. I close my eyes and a question sits between my teeth like a loaded gun.

“Austin, what aren’t you telling me?”

The room roars and screeches as if in response. It is beginning again. Rusted cogs and worn-out machinery coming to life. At least that’s what I picture it is. I’ve never actually seen where the sounds come from. The whole room jolts back and forth, a coughing motor starting up and then it begins its ascent. The room rises slowly like an elevator at first, but the pull increases with growing ferocity. Austin and I steady ourselves against the walls in preparation. The ascent builds and the room gives a rattle before flinging itself upward in an almighty lurch that pushes our bodies to the floor. A lesson I learnt early on, there is no use fighting gravity. I lie curled in a ball on the floor, hands wrapped around my head. The pressure continues to build, tugging and pushing at our bodies from every direction. Just as it feels like it is enough to flatten me completely, the pressure bursts. Like an insult to reality, the whole room bursts. There is a moment of complete weightlessness before we fall and are met with a harsh thud. We land like we always do, face down in the grass.

The complete lack of coherent direction makes my stomach near turn itself inside out. The human body is not designed to withstand extreme sensory change. My brain spins and I scrunch up my eyes in defence against the screaming sunlight.

“Austin?” I whisper, while trying to blink the vision back into my eyes.

“Six, Mississippi, seven, Mississippi…” He whispers. I pull myself to my hands and knees and crawl towards his voice.

“Eight, Mississippi, nine,” We grab at each other’s hands, and he keeps counting to me under his breath. God, what I would do for a pair of sunglasses. I am always overwhelmed at the start of a run, my thoughts kaleidoscope into a million what ifs. A million ways I could ruin it, again. But Austin’s hand is steady in mine. He is always steady. I lean into him and allow myself a deep breath.

“Eleven, Mississippi, twelve,” he squeezes my hand, “now!”

We take one big step forward in unison. I hear the whiz-thud of an arrow behind me. Right on time. Another big step, followed by an immediate drop to the ground. Whiz-thud, thud. Two arrows. We wait three counts. Spring up and run, fast, for four counts. Drop to the ground. Arrows fly, thud, thud, thud. Lie still for five counts. This brings us to twenty-seven successful seconds in the Valley. We jump up hand in hand for the sprint, straight for the trees and into the forest. We run without stopping all the way to Fallen Tree One. A quick jump over the trunk and crouch to let two arrows fly overhead. Then back to our feet without hesitation, we run hard until we reach the Dry Creek. Here we wait for the blue bird signal. Any second now. Austin drops my hand and I look up at him in amazement.

“What are you—”

“I’ll meet you at Grey Boulder One.”

I don’t get a chance to protest, he runs away from me, back toward the grassland. A second later the blue bird soars over and I am meant to run. I need to run, or I will die. That is certain. I take one last look back, but Austin is gone. I can already hear the footsteps which means it might already be too late. I jump out and run straight into the Dry Creek Bed. I follow the creek, sprinting harder than I ever have, I need to make up for the lost second. I jump straight over Fallen Tree Two without hesitation, dodge the Tripping Stick, slide over Mossy Rock. I push on ignoring the burn in my lungs. The Slippery Mud, Prickly Vines, Sharp Rock, I dodge it all with desperation. I need to survive this for Austin.

Then I see it, Grey Boulder One. My lungs heave in protest and I grab at the boulder like a long-lost friend. Grey Boulder One is a forgiving marker, unlike Fallen Tree One. I can allow myself a few Mississippi's to catch my breath, but I don’t have long. I cast about to see if Austin is nearby, but there is nothing but the quiet of the Valley around me. Six, Mississippi, seven, Mississippi. Hurry up Austin! For all I know he could be dead already. I need to move at the count of twelve. Ten, Mississippi. The ground crunches behind me. It’s only a small sound, but it’s jarring in the quiet. I spin, holding out hope that it could be Austin, but the noise is coming from the wrong direction.

This one is an Austin-Shade, identical to him in every way, but the eyes. Instead of Austin’s signature woe-is-me frown, the Austin-Shade just has malice. Cold, bitter malice. It opens its mouth wide, too wide, with too many teeth, and screeches. It’s a sound that I have heard many times before, and one that is usually followed by a rude awakening back in the room. It’s mouth closes into a predatory grin, an expression that quickly changes to surprise as an arrow appears in its chest.

Before I know it I am running again, Austin dragging me along by the elbow, and a bow and a quiver of arrows in his other hand.

“What are you doing?” I ask him, too shocked to check for markers, just hoping that he is keeping track of the count before we get to The Whitewater.

“Improvising,” he says, without looking at me.

“Improvising? What about the plan, we don’t improvise!”

“We do now,” Austin stops at the overhang and casts an upward glance to the sky. He pulls out an arrow and nocks it onto the bowstring.

“Why?” I ask.

“Because the dragons are back.”

The Whitewater is roaring nearby but over it I can hear another sound. A beating of drums, low and rhythmic. Austin shifts his weight, fingers gripping on the bowstring.

“Back?” I step forward to the overhang to count the Driftwood in the White-water. Eight. Two more and we need to be swimming. Austin tries to grab me, but I shrug him off.

“Why are you bringing this up now?” I continue to Austin’s wide-eyed dismay. “We’re going to lose the count. We’ll just have to figure out a way around them.”

“You don’t understand Tory!” he shouts, eyes flicking from me to the sky.

“No, I probably don’t Austin,” I bark. “That’s why I ask you about these things, but you never give me a straight answer. About anything!” That last bit snuck out and we both look at each other a moment, knowing that it isn’t just questions about dragons I want answers to. For once I am grateful that he says nothing. I don’t have it in me to have that conversation and I am too worked to play it off as nothing, too worked up to notice that the beating of the drums is getting deafeningly loud.

“What don’t I understand?” My voice cracks in my throat, betraying the anger.

“The dragons can kill us.” He yells, and spins around to point his bow right above me.

A cold wave hits me, as if I just jumped into the Whitewater.

I look up. They’re not drums – they’re wings.

“Run,” Austin yells as he lets the arrow fly.