Doctor Who_ Wooden Heart - Martin Day [55]
‘Brave enough?’
‘The legends,’ said Saul. ‘The fog, the children… The island. They’re always linked.’
‘If the lake so terrifies you, why do you stay?’
Petr glanced at Martha, clearly puzzled. ‘You don’t have to believe in legends and stories,’ he said, ‘to treat the lake with respect.’
‘It seems calm enough,’ said Martha, though in truth it was still hidden from her by the fog, and she was simply remembering how she had last seen it – and how it had seemed ever since her arrival. It was a great mirror of a lake, flat and serene but for the occasional gust of wind that skipped over its surface.
Petr and Saul exchanged a look, though they said nothing.
Martha was about to press them on the subject when a dark form appeared in the fog in front of them. The shape of a teenager or a small adult, it was smudged and blurred by the mist that cocooned it.
Yet, somehow, Petr recognised something about the indistinct figure – some indefinable quality that went beyond mere physical or visual recognition. ‘Thorn!’ he cried, running forward – dodging Saul’s outstretched arms and ignoring the big man’s cry of ‘No, Petr – no!’
Petr, dropping his lantern in his headlong rush, threw himself into the arms of the boy – only to find himself embracing nothing more than droplets of water and air. Petr fell to his knees, sobbing.
Martha ran to Petr’s side, but Saul was motionless. His head scanned quickly from side to side. He was, Martha supposed, in hunting mode, his senses alert and his body tense.
Behind them – Saul was the first to notice, and he turned swiftly on the spot – the tall boy appeared again, more distinct now. The child’s eyes, full of sorrow, burned like torches in the deepening gloom. ‘Father,’ he said, his voice as fragile as autumn leaves – but he was looking at Saul, not Petr.
Martha watched as Saul recoiled and took a sudden step backwards.
The effect on Petr was almost as immediate – he jumped to his feet, his slender hands wiping away his tears. ‘I’m here, son,’ he called, but it was in vain, for the ghostly figure ignored him, staring instead at Saul. ‘Why were you never honest with Petr?’ asked the child, taking another step forward. With each movement, the figure seemed to take on form and mass, as if the very fog was thickening and shaping life itself. He appeared to be a teenager, gangling and awkward, his face fixed in a bewildered frown.
‘There are some things you don’t want to say,’ said Saul, staring only at his great hands, clasped as if in prayer. ‘Some things… You want to leave unspoken.’
‘Thorn,’ said Petr, naked desperation in his voice. ‘It’s me… Your father.’
Martha stood beside Petr, a sinking feeling in her stomach. ‘You don’t know that’s Thorn,’ she said. ‘It could just be… something sent to trick you.’
‘You think I wouldn’t recognise my own child?’ Petr was furious now, though Martha realised he wasn’t angry with her, but with the fact that the boy – apparently his son – was still ignoring him.
Still ignoring him, and addressing Saul as his father. Saul looked up, staring into the soulless eyes of the young man before him. ‘How did you find out?’ he whispered. ‘We never told you… We decided it would be too… damaging.’
‘Damaging?’ Petr sprang behind his brother, pulling him into a headlock, squeezing his neck with his long arms.
‘No!’ Martha threw herself at Petr, but the man brushed her aside easily. She fell forwards onto her face, tasting the grit of the path.
‘I’m going to kill you,’ said Petr with grim finality, tightening his grip on Saul’s huge throat. Saul fell to his knees, his eyes bulging – and yet he did not struggle. He seemed entirely accepting of his fate.
Martha got to her feet, still swaying, and looked over at the ghostly boy – only to find that he had entirely disappeared. And, as the fog thickened and came closer all the time, the only sound she could hear was Saul, choking.