The path was blurred at the edges. Or maybe it was my eyes. Maybe it was the exhaustion that washed over me in waves and the tears that oozed without warning. I glimpsed trees pressing all around. I heard the rush of water passing us by.

  Steps were carved into the hill and glances upwards revealed a house with ramshackle buildings to the side. So quiet it seemed home only to ghosts. But beyond roughly curtained windows there was flickering light.

  Do ghosts need light? Do you know?

  I reached for Daughter’s hand and she glanced at me. Her face was white and her skin cold. Eyes huge and confused. Lost and empty. Daughter had turned seventeen less than a month ago.

  Now you have seen what men do to us, Daughter.

  Murder.

  Torture.

  Rape.

  But she’d also seen a woman’s strength. Eldest had died but she had fought. That was a woman. That was the sort of women we must become.

  The sort of woman I should already be but was not.

  Rescuer led us up steps carved into rock, so many my legs were ablaze and I grasped the beehive-rotted railing to help my climb. The sound of water grew louder. Perhaps a waterfall…

  I realised I didn’t care. If I fell from these steps and smashed my skull to fragments on the rocks I wouldn’t care.

  The thought made me ashamed. Eldest had fought to live and I wanted to die because life had got too hard. Pathetic old woman.

  Half-paved courtyard, grass invading the flagstones, derelict house rising from the centre, old wooden buildings to either side. Breathe. Steps, inside, turn right. Breathe. Dim hallway, deep silence, cold air. Breathe. A room, large, lit only by a small fireplace that chuffed smoke to the ceiling. Breathe. Wooden floor and stains on tables that spoke of real people, not just ghosts. Beneath the marks the tables were clean, the floor swept. Food. Smell lingering in the air.

  It made me feel like vomiting. Breathe, breathe, breathe.

  Rescuer lit a lamp. No electricity on this forgotten isle. In the dim light I could see him properly for the first time. Older than I thought. My own age. Eyes that held so much sympathy a lump the size of a boulder formed in my throat.

  Rescuer indicated the fire. ‘Warm yourselves. There’s meat and vegetables in the pot if you want some. Then I’ll find you a place to sleep.’

  ‘Sleep?’ I said. ‘Sleep? How do we sleep after…after…’

  Anger flared. One minute lost and incoherent, the next beside myself with rage as shock seeped from my bloody broken heart and became words that were too loud in the silence. ‘We don’t know you. This place…what is it? And who are you? You might kill us while we sleep. Why should we trust you? Why? Give me one…ten reasons. Give me…’

  ‘Mother.’

  Daughter’s cry was as strangled as the grip of her hand on mine. My breath released in a rush and my anger was carried to the rafters on its discharge. I was scaring her when I was meant to be strong for her. Being an idiot. Rescuer had helped us when he didn’t have to. If he’d wanted to kill us we’d be dead by now.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ I was embarrassed. Wanting to cry. Wishing I could scream and scream and scream and never stop but silent as I fought for control. A breath, two, draw the pain back inside. ‘I… thank you. But I’m not hungry. Do you have tea?’

  Rescuer indicated a kettle on the hearth near the fire and took two cups from a nearby shelf and gave them to me. Pointed to teabags in a jar on the mantle. ‘There’s something stronger if you want.’

  I could have done with something to warm me. To deaden the shock. But I shook my head. ‘Tea will be fine, thank you.’

  I led Daughter to the fire. She sank onto the bench with her back to a table and her front to the warmth and I poured hot water into the cups with hands that didn’t want to do their job, added teabags. Daughter had started to shake. But I gave her the mug and she cradled it tightly and breathed in the tendrils of fragrant steam that caressed her face.

  ‘What is this place?’ I said, sitting close to Daughter, sipping from my own mug, feeling its warmth in my belly.

  ‘The whole island was once owned by a rich and reclusive man. Years ago. Few realise there’s anything here. I suppose there’s not really. The house is pretty run-down, although we’ve made it liveable.’

  ‘You said there are people here…resistance…’

  ‘Yes, only a dozen for now. But more will come and there are many in the city.’

  A nod was all I could give. I should have been more interested. But even if these people could drive the Invader from the city, from the country, kill the bastard and dance on his fucking grave, they couldn’t bring back my husband and children.

  Daughter glanced at Rescuer. Again. His silence waited for our questions, maybe our grief. Maybe he thought it was strange we were so composed.

  ‘How did you know?’ said Daughter.

  Rescuer raised his brows in query.

  ‘How did he know what, Daughter?’ I said.

  ‘What had happened? You…you were there, waiting in the forest…as if you knew we would be there.

  ‘I knew they’d breached the lines…’

  ‘They weren’t breached,’ I said.

  ‘No, I’m aware of what happened. We have people in the city who relay information. but I needed to see what was happening firsthand. It was just luck that I saw you. I was about to return here.’

  ‘Luck.’ My voice was an ancient croak. ‘You must have used the last piece of luck in existence.’

  ‘Why…why did he…why did he…’ Daughter’s eyes squeezed shut and a sob stuttered from her lips and within its hollow was Mother. My mug was set aside so my arms could encase her to still the shaking of her shoulders.

  ‘Go on, Daughter,’ said Rescuer.

  Daughter’s eyes opened and she shook her head. Shook it so hard her hair flew and whipped against my face. Overdoing it because she was screaming inside like me. Emotions too big. They had started to overflow and I was powerless to halt the torrent. Yet my voice only whispered. Like the portent of a storm.

  ‘The Invader…his men…they killed Daughter’s father… brothers. Then her sister…my eldest daughter…she got one of their guns and…and shot some of the Pack…’

  ‘Good,’ said Rescuer.

  ‘But of course they…they got it off her. Then as punishment they…’

  They raped her.

  But the word, the ugliest word, which was nothing compared to the deed, wouldn’t make it past my lips.

  I took a breath and nearly choked on the snot that clogged my nose and slid down my throat. Hot tears wet my cheeks. I tried to brush them away but more followed. Told him what had happened with words that stuttered and jumped. ‘We…we left Eldest there…my boys…husband…his mother…I should have…’

  ‘They were dead.’ Rescuer’s voice flared with fire made of rage and hate. And familiarity. ‘They were dead, Teller, and if you hadn’t escaped you would be too. Both of you. The Invader is killing everyone.’

  This time when I brushed the tears away they fled and left my eyes gritty. ‘Why? Why kill everyone? We weren’t resisting.’

  ‘The Invader wants to show his might. To make the people afraid so they do what they’re told. And too many prisoners…he can’t feed them or house them...’

  ‘So he kills them.’

  Daughter’s tea thudded on the table and its warmth absconded down the side of the mug to pool in the cold wooden wilderness. Her hands clenched. Then unclenched. She pulled from my arms and stood, then wound her fists in the new dress she had bought just last week and proudly paraded to smiles and praise that softened her shyness. Now a dirty dress, torn, covered with leaves and twigs.

  ‘We have to go. Grandmother is still there…she wasn’t killed. We have to save her, Mother. She’s our family…our…our only family now.’

  Rescuer’s head was already shaking. ‘You can’t go back there, child. The Invader would kill you like he did the rest of your family.’

  ‘But Grandmother’s still alive,’ said Daughter in a risen voice. She stepped towards the door. ‘We have to go. We have to go, Mother. We can’t leave her.’

  ‘No, Daughter. You know you can’t.’ I followed, taking her arm. But she dragged it away.

  ‘Leave me alone! Leave me alone! We have to save her. Don’t you see? She’s all we have left…the only family we have left. We can’t just leave her there to…to be killed. To be killed like… father…killed…raped…why did he do that, Mother? Why? He didn’t need to do that. He didn’t need to kill them…they would have surrendered…if he’d asked…why do that to Eldest? Why?’

  She was screaming and crying and her hands dragged at her dress then her tangled hair and a clip tinkled on the floor and lay twinkling like a fairy shot from its place in the night.

  ‘Stop, Daughter,’ I said. ‘Stop. You know you can’t go back. You know the Invader will kill you.’

  ‘I don’t care, I don’t care.’ A heave and she was free and she ran for the door. But Rescuer barred it. ‘Let me pass! Let me pass! I hate you!’

  I grabbed her arms and pulled her away. Then I wrapped her in an embrace, so tight, so tight. She fought, goddamn how she fought; her nails clawed my neck and she kicked me in the shin and it hurt like fire. But I held on. Because she was all I had left. She was all. My only child.

  Daughter. Daughter. It is so hard. I understand. I am screaming inside too. I want to curl on the floor and close my eyes and when I open them I want my family to still be alive. I want to hold all my children in my arms as I hold you, feel their life. The fruit of my body. To hold my husband, the planter of the seed. To be held by him in an intimate embrace. But I can’t.

  ‘No, Daughter,’ I said, and my tears fell onto her hair. ‘I can’t lose you too. I can’t. Oh God, I can’t, I can’t. I only have you now. We only have each other.’

  Daughter went stiff. Then sagged. Began to sob hysterically and I held her so tightly it was as if we were one person. I met Rescuer’s eyes.

  ‘What do we do?’ I whispered. ‘What do we do?’

  ‘Stay here, wait, see what the Invader does. He and his Pack may not succeed. Aid may come from other countries.’

  Rescuer’s voice was sure but not convincing. His hand drifted towards Daughter’s shoulder as if to give awkward comfort. Then it dropped away and he scooped up the fallen fairy and placed it on my outstretched palm.

  He poured hot water from the kettle into an old tin bucket and said, ‘Come, with me. I’ll show you where you can sleep.’

  I smoothed Daughter’s hair from her face then cupped it and looked into her eyes. She nodded and took my hand and we followed Rescuer down a long hallway then up a flight of stairs. I wondered if I’d been wrong thinking this place was inhabited by more than shadows, for there was only silence. Not a whisper. Not a footstep. But it was late. Everyone would be in bed. Sleeping and pretending they were an army, but actually captives and fugitives as much as us.

  ‘Do you really think they’ll help us?’ I said to Rescuer.

  In my voice was hope. Hope I thought had been lost along with our shattered lives. But it was still there. Just a hint. Because hope is a tenacious bastard.

  The hope we could go home. That this wasn’t the end.

  The hope I could bury my husband and children and give them the honour they deserved. Rescuer shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Only time will tell.’

  ‘Surely our army will fight even without our Leader.’

  ‘They’re tired and depleted. But they’re trying.’ Trying. The word even sounded like failure.

  ‘What about Grandmother?’

  In Rescuer’s hesitation was Grandmother’s fate. ‘There’s a chance she escaped like you. In the confusion.’

  But he knew it wasn’t true as much as I did.

  ‘I suppose the Pack will find us too. Eventually.’

  Rescuer shook his head. ‘I doubt they’ll find the island. There are too many on the lake to search them all and most are just wilderness; they’ll assume this one is too.’

  ‘Men like him don’t assume,’ I said flatly. They cross every t. Dot every i. Kill the stragglers and burn the bodies.

  ‘Even if he does find it,’ said Rescuer, ‘there are places we can hide. And we’re armed. We may be only a few but we’ve been on the island since the beginning of the invasion so know it inside and out. I don’t fool myself that we have a chance against the Pack. Not yet. But once the situation in the city stabilises then we will continue raising people to join the resistance.’

  There may be no one left. Even if the resistance regained the city, what then? They wouldn’t be able to hold it. And what about the rest of the country?

  But I just nodded because I couldn’t be bothered talking anymore. My emotions were like a dog on a chain. Back and forth, back and forth. I was shattered, wanted only my family, wanted the home I could no longer have, not this island of refugees from a nation that no longer existed.

  My hand tightened on Daughter’s. Gripped the only thing I had left in this world. ‘Thank you. It’s been a…a terrible day…the worst. Thank you for helping us. It is just all too…’

  Too much. More than I could bear.

  Rescuer stopped outside the room. Lit by a single flickering lamp. Two rolls of blankets on the floor. A small window concealed by an old hessian bag.

  ‘You can sleep here. It’s not much, I’m sorry. We’ll talk more later. There’s plenty of time.’

  ‘Yes, we have all the time in the world, don’t we?’

  Rescuer passed me the bucket then left us.

  Daughter pulled free of my grip and stumbled into the room and unrolled some blankets then lay facing the wall, a mass of shivering. Begging for comfort. But I just stared. Didn’t go to her.

  Instead I set the bucket on the floor and went to the window, pushing aside the bag. Behind was a rotting shutter and I opened it as well, just a little. The air marched in on icy feet but I breathed it in greedily. Cold and fresh. Scented with water. Stars twinkled in the ink-dark sky and mingled with clouds like lovers in an intimate dance. The same spiked darkness hung over the city. But the stars were pinpricks. Lost within the glow of blazes that washed the clouds orange and peppered their peace with gunfire.

  I closed the shutter. Daughter was still now; I hoped she slept. I knelt by the bucket and pushed my hands into it, held them there. Blessed heat. Then I withdrew them and pressed them on my face. Closed my eyes.

  Breathed.

  It’s a dream. It must be a dream. When I open my eyes I’ll be in my house, pot on the stove, steam fogging the windows, music playing.

  But when I opened my eyes it wasn’t a dream. Detachment had invaded my body as surely as the Pack, though. I couldn’t feel. Nothing. Nothing. Just cold.

  I dried my face and hands and unrolled my blankets and lay down. Three layers of wool between floor and skin. Hard. Uncomfortable. So different from my bed at home.

  I lay there. Just lay there and stared at the lamp. Empty. Exhausted. Dead inside. I could still see them.

  Fighting, screaming, dying.

  Husband. Face twisted in fury.

  Son and Youngest so scared. Wanting their mother to save them. But I could only watch as they died. Scream from my mouth and my heart and the skin that shrouded my body.

  Eldest. So beautiful. Her cries were in my ears as if she was right in front of me, her face shimmering in the air. Blood and bruises and agony. I closed my eyes but she was there as well.

  Closed my eyes and she lay beside my husband and boys with blood everywhere.

  Closed my eyes but couldn’t close my memories or my emotions.

  Daughter made a sound and I went to her. Lay behind her and pulled a blanket over both of us then took her in my arms. She relaxed into me as if I could take away the anguish, and I stroked her hair and murmured words that meant nothing except a mother’s comfort. She was warm. I was warm. But inside we were frozen.

  I wish I could take it away, Daughter. I wish I could take it away.

  Eventually we slept. But it wasn’t peaceful. The dreams that came were of blood and death and screaming. Those dreams would be our companions for the rest of our lives.

  4

  I WANT TO tell you about them. Just a sentence or two. Not a biography. Not a eulogy.

  Because that’s more information than you need. Don’t get me wrong, this is their story; it’s the story of all those whose lives are destroyed by war. But in this instance their story will be a catalyst for one built on their sacrifices.

  Why don’t I tell you their names? Why is their identity only their position in the family or the acts they performed? Why do you know me as Teller, a description simply of the task I have set myself?

  Because war takes our names from us and turns us into numbers.

  The number displaced.

  The number imprisoned.

  The number tortured.

  The number dead.

  We might remember unknown faces staring back at us from old photographs but we don’t often remember the names. Maybe some. Maybe the ones that did something really remarkable or saved someone or loved someone so much they died for them. But not all.

  Because there are too many.

  Too many displaced, imprisoned, tortured, dead.

  Yet they were remarkable. They were saviours and lovers. They felt joy and sadness and sorrow and fear. And love.

  I’ve already said that, haven’t I? Love is so important in war because war takes almost everything from us. Our homes. Our lives.

  But some things it can’t take and one of those things is love. Even in death, love can’t be taken. Because it’s bigger than that.

  So I’ll lift some of these people from their anonymous place in history and make them human by telling you their stories rather than give you endless names you’ll struggle to remember. Then you’ll realise that they were amazing. In ways both big and small. They were heroes who gave up their lives whether we remember their names or not. And as my story unfolds you’ll learn about them and how they touched my life.

  But for now, in this moment, I’ll tell you about my family.

  The words will be hard for me. They’re going to rip my broken heart out. Because I’ll be telling you about people I loved so much.

 

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