A Flight of Souls Read online

  “Try to find out… what I am,” I said, raising my arms and gesturing to my body.

  Chantel smiled a little, her crystal-blue eyes warming. “I remember it like it was yesterday,” she said quietly.

  Nolan’s eyes lowered to the portal in the ground behind me. He swept past me and stood at the edge of it, beckoning me to do the same.

  I approached next to him, my eyes cast downward into the dark abyss.

  “I do not know how many times you have passed through a portal,” Nolan began. “But for supernaturals who die while still in this human realm, after their death, they often have a strong instinct to drift back to the supernatural dimension, since many feel more at home there than in this mundane world. I’m guessing that you must have come through this gate at least once in order for you to know its location.”

  I nodded. “I have. I have also explored the supernatural realm a bit. I’m headed back there now because I need to speak to someone.” I paused, frowning. “You speak of supernaturals like they are familiar to you. Were you not humans in your past life?” They certainly didn’t have the appearance of anything but humans.

  Nolan shook his head. “My wife and I are not—and were not—human. We are the descendants of witches, though we have never considered ourselves among them. We saw hypocrisy in their ways, and ultimately rejected them altogether. Almost three hundred years ago, we decided to leave the Sanctuary and settle like humans in this realm, anonymously.”

  I felt taken aback. I wondered how many other witches might be living among humans, undetected. “Do you mind telling me how you died?” I asked.

  “Our death followed soon after we both contracted a fatal disease while on holiday,” Nolan replied.

  “Almost exactly fifty-one years ago,” Chantel added, glumly.

  It was odd to think that witches could die of a disease. I was so used to witches curing illnesses.

  My mind continued to spin. I thought back to all of the ghosts I’d seen in The Shade, who’d been beckoned by Jeramiah’s instrument—they had all been humans in their previous lives. None of them had taken the same potion I had to become ghosts. I’d assumed at the time that there must be some other way to become spirits, to stay behind in this world rather than move on to whatever awaited most people after death. Judging by the looks of that crowd of ghosts, they had all died in some kind of sudden and violent accident—and so my speculation had been that perhaps those ripped too suddenly from the world remained attached to it.

  But a disease? I wondered what kind of disease Nolan and Chantel had —whether it had caused a sudden, unexpected death. But since neither of them were offering more information about it, I didn’t want to intrude.

  “So you… became a ghost just by dying from a disease?” I asked.

  Nolan and his wife both shook their heads. “No,” Chantel replied. “It’s unlikely that anybody would become a ghost from what we died from… Before leaving the supernatural realm, we had taken a stock of a special kind of potion, just in case we would ever need it. It allows one to detach from the body, but still remain in one’s abode of choice. It’s actually common among witches to keep a stock of such a remedy—at least, among those who do not wish to pass on after death.”

  “Why did you want to stay behind?” I asked.

  Nolan raised a brow. “Why does anybody? It’s fear of the unknown, isn’t it?”

  I nodded slowly.

  As Nolan spoke, I was realizing that he and Chantel would probably be able to tell me more than Ernest ever could. They had been witches, and appeared to be more knowledgeable and, more importantly, more willing to talk. Trying to get information out of Ernest had been like trying to rouse a dead ox. He had been so mired in his addiction to dreams, he had barely wanted to resurface for even a moment.

  Perhaps, finally, I had met with a stroke of good luck in finding these two ghosts, though I was still waiting to discover exactly what they were here for.

  “I took that potion, too,” I said.

  Surprise flashed across the couple’s faces.

  “Oh, interesting,” Nolan said. He eyed me from head to foot. “From the looks of you, you were a vampire, am I right?”

  “Yes, I was,” I replied. Using the past tense to describe myself brought about a strange feeling.

  “How did you come upon the potion, then?” Chantel asked, frowning.

  “It was given to me by someone,” I replied, before changing the subject. “And now, what are you doing here?”

  Nolan heaved a sigh. “You know, Joseph, this life as a ghost gets old. Very old. We’ve hung onto this existence for decades, but it’s worn us down.”

  I shuddered internally. I did not want to contemplate my life as a ghost for a year, let alone decades. I’d only been one for… I had lost track of the time, but from the moment I’d discovered myself to be a ghost, I had been itching to escape from this half-life.

  “We’re here for this gate,” Nolan continued, gesturing downward to the crater. “Have you ever wondered what is beyond those swirling tunnel walls?”

  My eyes shot toward the walls, made of a light blue, ethereal substance.

  I recalled my journey through this portal with the ogres. On my way down, I had paused to wonder what exactly was beyond the walls. I’d even considered sticking my hand through the translucent barrier out of curiosity, but I’d been in a hurry to return to The Shade at the time, and I hadn’t wanted to risk something happening.

  Now curiosity flared up in me again. “I have wondered. Do you know?” I asked Nolan.

  “Not exactly,” he replied. “At least, we have never witnessed it for ourselves.”

  I raised a brow, prompting him to continue.

  Nolan’s eyes took on a distant quality, as if recalling a memory. “There is an open secret among ghosts—a legend, if you like. It is said that all those spirits who mistakenly stay behind in this mortal world still have a chance to correct their mistake and pass on to where they ought to be… once every full moon.” He glanced at me as if gauging my reaction before going on. “According to the rumors, soon after midnight on a full moon night, these supernatural portals glow with a warm, welcome light. A light that can be seen by ghosts alone, for it is only meant for us. Any ghost within a glowing gate’s proximity feels an irresistible calling to the light, and none can resist it. Not even the most self-willed spirit. They are sucked toward it, and then down into it… never to return.”

  His words hung in the frigid air as he finished.

  I stared at him in disbelief. “Uh… If these gates suck in all ghosts present, never to return, how could there be any witnesses left to tell the tale?”

  Nolan shared my frown, and paused. “That is a good point,” he said.

  Chantel coughed out a bitter laugh. “We are desperate, Joseph,” she said. “And desperation has a way of making one look past such details.”

  “But we are not alone in believing them,” Nolan said. “There are many others who have also heard of this rumor, however it was initially told. There are others already here, waiting along with us for the next full moon.” He gestured with his head toward the edge of the cliff, and then began walking toward it, indicating that I follow him. Gazing down, I saw that Nolan’s words were true. There was a whole crowd of ghosts, perched on the ledge, most of them in casual positions, gazing out at the beautiful view. I stepped back again with Nolan and returned my eyes to the gate.

  “When is the next full moon?” I asked.

  “According to the last lunar calendar I glimpsed—and according to my memory—it’s tonight,” Nolan said. “At midnight.”

  Midnight. As if the story wasn’t fairytale-ish enough already. I nodded slowly. “I see.”

  “We have nothing to lose by being here,” Nolan muttered. “If the story is true, we can only gain.”

  “So there’s supposed to be some light that shines from the gate, and ghosts get sucked in… According to the story, what causes the light? And where do
they go exactly? What is on the other side?”

  “We don’t know exactly,” Nolan replied, shrugging. “All we know is that it’s supposed to lead to where we belong.”

  There was a pause as I struggled to believe even a single word Nolan spoke.

  “Will you wait with us?” Chantel asked after a span of silence.

  I shook my head. I doubted that there was truth to this fable, but even if it was true, of course I was not ready to leave this world. Yes, I was curious to know what was on the “other side”—if it really even existed—but I wasn’t prepared to move on.

  “No,” I replied.

  “Then you will continue on your way, to the supernatural realm?”

  I stalled. My original intention in going there had been to visit Ernest, but I was put off by that idea now. I’d only thought of him because I’d been desperate, not knowing of any other ghosts’ location. Now that I was here with Chantel and Nolan, I asked the question that I’d been burning to ask all along.

  “Is there any way at all to reverse the potion?”

  Both Chantel and Nolan were already shaking their heads.

  “No,” Chantel said. “That potion is final. There is no way to reconnect with our bodies.”

  “Believe us,” Nolan added. “We’ve tried.”

  Of course, even if there was a way to reconnect with my body—assuming it hadn’t rotted away or been swiped from that Cruor mountain by now—I couldn’t. Because my heart was infected and the moment I came to life again, I would risk the Elders’ uprising all over again.

  Still, I wasn’t ready to give in to the idea that there was no other way for me to live an even half-fulfilling life on Earth. That my only way of future happiness was to “move on”. Perhaps I just had not been a ghost long enough yet—had not been beaten down by the passage of time—but I still had some fire in me. Especially since the discovery that I could inhabit animals.

  Clenching my jaw, I accepted their answer with a nod, though internally I was pushing it away with all that I had.

  “You’re welcome,” they said together.

  The two of them waved before turning around and heading back to the ledge to join the other ghosts.

  “Oh, wait,” I called, suddenly remembering something else that had been bugging me since the conversation started. “Why were you hesitant to talk to me at first?”

  Nolan’s shoulders sagged. “Because not all ghosts welcome talk of the afterlife. Some, especially those who are newly deceased, become very angry about it.”

  “I see,” I said. “Well, thank you again.”

  “Good luck, Joseph.”

  Ben

  After Nolan and Chantel left me, I dove through the portal. Arriving on the other side—on the small island some miles from the shores of The Tavern—I began to ponder what my next move ought to be.

  After having had a taste of helpful ghosts like Chantel and Nolan, I was still reluctant to seek out Ernest again, even though he was nearby. Maybe there would be some other ghosts in The Tavern who would be willing to talk.

  Chantel and Nolan had been firm in their conclusion that it was not possible for a ghost to return to their previous life—now I wanted more opinions.

  And so I drifted into the sky and tried to find my way back to The Tavern. I got lost a bit over the waves but because the island was not far, and with my supernatural speed, I was able to spot its familiar outline soon enough.

  I headed straight for the harbor. That seemed to be the most logical place to start. I had time. I figured that I ought to do things as systematically as possible, to make sure that I found every ghost who might be on this island, if there were any other than Ernest. He would be my very last resort.

  I searched aboard every single vessel in the harbor, but found no ghosts. It was only as I neared one of the entrances to the main island and passed through the thick oak door that I had a stroke of luck. Slumped next to the ogre who was guarding the entrance was… another ogre. A ghost ogre. His features were similar to the living one next to him, and I couldn’t help but wonder if they were related. Perhaps brothers.

  I had my reservations about trying to get information from an ogre—they weren’t exactly the most eloquent of sorts—but there was at least one good omen about him: his eyes were open. He wasn’t asleep, and absorbed in some dream like Ernest no doubt would be. The ogre ghost’s eyes widened as he spotted me.

  “Who are you?” he grunted, even as the living ogre snored loudly by his side.

  Good question. It seemed that I had been so many things in the past year. Human, vampire, serf of the jinn, child of the Elders, and now a ghost.

  “Ben,” I said, not bothering with the idiocy of giving a false name again like I had with Chantel and Nolan.

  The ogre scrunched up his face in confusion. “Vampire?”

  I nodded. “I was. How long have you been here?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “Don’t keep track of time,” he mumbled.

  “How did you die?” I prodded.

  He glided to his feet and, turning around, he revealed a massive gap in the back of his skull. Wide enough for a large axe to have wedged through it.

  “I see,” I murmured, as he turned around again and resumed his slouch on the ground. Before he could return my question, I asked another. “Do you know of any way, no matter how difficult or seemingly impossible, to continue living in one’s former life? To reconnect with one’s loved ones?”

  The ogre stared at me like I was talking Chinese.

  “No,” he grunted. “If I knew, I wouldn’t be sitting here, would I?”

  Well, maybe you’re just too lazy to do what it takes…

  But he had a fair point, and it was one I feared I might receive from any other ghosts I encountered.

  * * *

  My fear came to fruition. After leaving the ogre, I kept moving about the island and discovered a surprisingly large number of other ghosts. Some had been vampires, some wolves, one had been a human, and there was even what looked like a harpy. I found myself wondering why there were so many ghosts here. Perhaps because this was a shelter to so many otherwise homeless creatures, this was the place they truly considered home, having been shunned by their own realms.

  Although the numerous ghosts all had varying degrees of approachability—with the harpy being the lowest on the scale—all of them responded with exactly the same answer. There was no way to move backward.

  My desperate hope was that there had to be some seemingly impossible way to do it, and the reason nobody did was because nobody was crazy enough. Because I was used to impossible circumstances. And even an impossible task was better than none at all.

  But here I found myself, with no leads whatsoever.

  By the end of the day, after speaking to dozens of ghosts, I found myself drifting toward the beach and then back over the waves. I wandered slowly, aimlessly, deep in thought and worry. I ended up back near the small islet that held the portal. The sight of the star-strewn abyss brought my mind back to the present. Many hours had passed since leaving Chantel and Nolan, and surely it would be well past midnight by now. I felt curious to see whether all those ghosts were still waiting on the other end. Whether that fable had been just that—a stupid fable. Probably concocted by some miserable spirits to make themselves feel better.

  Hovering over the gate, I traveled back through the ethereal tunnel and shot out of the other side, landing back in a world of ice.

  When I gazed around the snowy plateau, there was nobody in sight. I moved over to the cliff and gazed down at the ledge where the ghosts had been gathered. Also empty.

  I guessed that they had waited until past midnight, and seeing that nothing was happening, they had all drifted away, hapless and disappointed.

  I drifted over the plateau, toward the steep drop where the ledge was, and decided to sit there for a while. I could see why most of the ghosts had gathered here to wait. The view of the mountains was breathtaking.

 
Now… What next?

  I still couldn’t help but feel that, if there were any answers, they would lie back in the supernatural realm. But where? The Tavern was really the only place that I was familiar with. Of course, as a ghost, it was not like I would be in danger roaming around the various realms, but, although I had the time… I did not want to be roaming forever.

  I mulled over the matter a while longer and was about to head back to the gate—to return to The Tavern and ask the first ghost I saw where the nearest main settlement was where I might find more ghosts to speak to—when I felt an odd sensation. Suction, coming from behind me. As though somebody was holding up a powerful vacuum cleaner right next to me, I found myself being sucked backward, but on twisting to see who was there, there was nobody.

  The suction intensified, dragging me in the opposite direction of the gate, even as I tried to fight it. Then it became too strong. The next thing I knew, I was flying away from the mountain, pulled by some invisible force. My speed increased until I was going so fast that the world around me became a blur. Utterly bewildered, I continued to hurtle forward, until eventually—I could not say how long it took—I came to an abrupt stop through no exertion of my own.

  My vision coming into focus, I found myself standing on a rocky shore directly in front of the entrance to a cave. This cave was familiar. Uncannily familiar. This was… Hortencia’s cave.

  Without warning, the oracle wheedled in my head, “Enter if you dare…”

  What is going on?

  Hurrying forward into the cave, I moved along the narrow passageway until I reached the oracle’s grotty front door. A sense of anticipation—even excitement—swelled up in me. The oracle. She knew of my existence. She could sense my presence. Heck, apparently she had even summoned me to her. Witches could not sense me, and according to Nolan and Chantel, it was unlikely that jinn could either, but this oracle was different in many ways. She could see things that nobody else could. And apparently that extended as far as ghosts.

  The idea had occurred to me to seek out the oracle before now, but I’d dismissed it because I had no clue how to reach her cave. Now I was here, delivered right to her doorstep.