Page 35 of The Dawn Chorus
Then I had recollected it all. Every vile detail of the room. He was an oneiromancer, the master of memory, but I needed to forget. His gift was a threat to my sanity.
Warden seemed to accept that no reply was coming.
‘Of course,’ he said, ‘if you prefer, we can speak of other things. You are not, in fact, obliged to say anything to me at all. Either way, I would be glad of your company.’
I recovered enough clarity to take a deep, slow breath. The now-familiar stab echoed it. If I stayed here, I would have no choice but to sit in the dark until the power returned.
‘Okay,’ I said.
Warden took the candle with him. Once I was bundled up in my cardigan, I followed him down the corridor, arms crossed. He went to the kitchen. I went to the parlour.
He had lit a few more candles. They glowed on the mantelpiece and the coffee table, painting the walls with light and shadow. I sank on to the couch.
When Warden came back, he was carrying a mug of coffee and a bottle of illegal wine.
‘Your vice,’ he said, ‘and mine.’
He set the mug in front of me. I took it between chilled hands. Warden sat in the armchair.
The coffee had more flavour than the stew. He must have taken note of how I made it. I wrestled with myself while he sat, wordless, and poured himself a glass of wine.
I had feared this opportunity to bare my soul to him. When such a chance arose, I always wanted to take it. Warden was patient, and he listened. The screaming inside me longed to be heard.
And I realised I did want to tell him. Hiding what had happened made it feel filthier than it was.
‘If I do this, I want you to promise me something,’ I said. ‘That you will never look for yourself. That no matter how curious you are, and no matter how much you want to understand, you willneverlook at my memories of what happened in that basement. Promise me, Arcturus.’
‘I promised you I would never invade your privacy again. It is not a promise I mean to break.’
‘Not even if you think it will save me. No matter how you try to justify it, I will never forgive you.’
‘You have my word.’
The moment of truth. I took an unsteady sip of coffee and put the mug down. My hands remained so cold that my fingernails had a grey tinge, the way they did after I dreamwalked.
‘I woke up. Everything was dark and silent.’ I stared at the wall. ‘At first I thought I was in the æther, but then I realised I was chained. With my arms above my head.’
As soon as I started talking, there was a small and distant sense of relief. The slightest relaxation in my back, as if something there had been clenched for days. At the same time, most of my body was on edge, as if I was about to jump from a height. My palms began to sweat. My pulse quickened. A deep ache gnawed at my wrists and shoulders.
‘Have you ever seen a waterboard?’ I asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Then you’ll know it’s angled so the head is lower than the rest of the body.’
‘I have never seen it done.’
I gave a stiff nod.
‘You feel as if you’re drowning from the moment it begins. Youaredrowning,’ I said. ‘The water makes you gag, and there’s a cloth on your face, like skin over your mouth. Like you have no mouth or nose at all. Air comes up, so you need to breathe in straight away. You know you can’t. You still do, because your body gives you no choice.
‘I’ve never been afraid of water. I always thought I’d manage, somehow, if I ended up on the board. A dreamwalker knows how to go without breath … but it took me five seconds to understand. Why a person would say anything to make it stop. Why they break their own bones trying to get free.
‘I tried to be quiet. I wanted to endure it in silence, to not show fear. Part of me must have thought I could just lie there and swallow pints of it down like a fish. That it wasn’t going to hurt.’ I smiled mirthlessly. ‘Sounds absurd when I say that out loud. Arrogant.’
‘No, Paige.’
The air turned to cotton wool in my throat.