Liminal spaces.
A place betwixt the familiar and unfamiliar. A state frozen permanently in both change and stagnation. To many, they represented the unsettling dread of curiosity, not too much different from the ‘call of the void’, as termed by the French. But to the few outliers, they instilled a sense of forlornness or nostalgia brought about by the freedom from change.
Normally, such places were artificially created since they could only be formed under extremely traumatic experiences. As such, a liminal space was usually owned by a ‘nasty’, otherwise known as a spirit owner. Like faefolk, these beings would impose arbitrary rules in their territory, which were more often than not linked to their own trauma.
However, liminal spaces could be naturally formed as well. Places that had seen too much death and heartbreak. Energetic places that had been neglected all too suddenly. The remnant spiritual energies in such places were enough to warp reality and create a distorted, alternate environment.
Unlike artificially created spaces, they were also largely unregulated. Beings, born of the liminal space’s collective negative energy, rule their territory in an uneasy coexistence, all too eager to trap anyone unlucky or foolish enough to wander in. Similar to artificial space, these spirits could also take the form of a singular being, although that would require them to be bound and influenced by external magic.
But as it was, the World War One trenches near the English Channel happened to be both types of liminal spaces at the same time.
Duncan stepped onto an abandoned train platform after dispelling the protection charms on the liminal space. Unlike the hospital that the Marked Emissaries had created, this place was naturally formed due to the adverse conditions of World War One trenches. And yet it wasn’t without a host, since there was clear evidence of black magic concealing this space from the average tourist.
If he were to wager a guess, Miguel Chukyunwelu must have taken over this natural liminal space to save himself the trouble of constructing one. Thankfully, this meant that the black magic wielder did not have the power to impose his own rules on this place, since something else seemed to already be occupying it.
That also meant that Duncan could make rather educated guesses about the natural rules of this liminal space based on his past experiences. After all, he had also created a few liminal spaces himself, mostly to house his potion-making lab back when he was still a young witch obsessed with alchemy. They were never as big as a train station, though. Those required way too much energy to sustain artificially.
“Are we in the right place?” Hilda tugged at Duncan’s sleeve, looking around her. “It’s empty.”
The train platform looked almost like London’s Waterloo Station, except that it was completely devoid of people— another huge sign that this wasn’t the real Waterloo Station. A few clocks hung on the brick walls as well, although they had no hands to tell the time.
“Trust me, Hilda. It’s not.” Duncan’s magic senses were already flaring erratically at the choking supernatural presence in the air. “Aye, a couple of ground rules here. First off, bide with me as much as you can. If you get lost somehow, just stay put. I’ll be there to fetch you.”
“W— What if it’s dangerous?” Hilda gulped, looking more nervous by the second.
“Then hide, obviously. This place is formed by all the negative energy from the First Great War. There’s no negotiating with the entities in this place. If we catch their ire, we’d best get rid of them,” Duncan said. “On that note, here’s the second and last rule: bear in mind what I say next. See that?”
He pointed at a set of staircases. One led up, while the other led down. Both led to pitch-black darkness. “If you ever find yourself on the run, never climb down the stairs. Only climb up. Climb down, and you’ll never see the end.”
Hilda nodded.
“Next, train announcements are normal. But if you recognise the voice from your past— whoever that may be— close your eyes and count down from ten. The announcement should stop if you count right. If it doesn’t, gear up for a brawl. In other words, stick close to me or hide if I’m not there. Here. Take this for your protection. Just swing it as fast as you can. How hard you hit doesn’t matter with this weapon; it’s enchanted to knock out anyone on the first strike.”
The girl received the Mace of Mercy from Duncan.
“Lastly, I reckon there will be trains passing by. Chances are, they’ll be hauling passengers as well.” Duncan pointed at the railway tracks. “Paranormal One-O-One: them’s spirits, got it? They should be harmless, as long as you don’t interact with the women and children. No matter how pitiful they sound or how hard they cry, ignore them.”
“How do we tell if they’re spirits or locals?”
“Don’t forget, Hilda. We’re still in the trenches of the First Great War, even if this place looks like a train station.” He shook his head grimly. “There are no women or children living here.”
That was all Duncan could think of for now, although he doubted he’d need to bother about much else. After all, he just needed to navigate this place safely and set its captives free. How hard could that be?
“Uhm… Duncan? How— How about a boy?”
Duncan whipped his head to where Hilda was pointing. A lone boy was trudging towards them with slow, unsteady footsteps. He was still more than a couple of metres away, but close enough to see that he had frizzy white hair and blood-red eyes.
The boy sprinted towards them without warning.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Magic glyphs coated Duncan’s fists immediately as he frantically got into a battle stance. “Easy, mate! Easy! Stop, or I’ll use force!”
Thankfully, the boy stopped in his tracks before the witch could carry out his threat. Duncan watched cautiously as the boy approached them with his hands in the air.
“Are you the owner of this place?” Duncan asked. Now that he was finally face-to-face with the ‘boy’, he could finally make out what he was.
The kid was not clothed. Instead, white fur coated him from his smaller-than-normal head to the tip of his forked tail, which was flitting nervously behind him. His skin was covered in pale-white scales all the way to his fingers, which ended with delicate, scythe-like claws.
Duncan lowered his guard slightly. There was no way this boy was born of the negative energy in this place, so he definitely wasn’t an enemy.
This boy was a baby fae. A Changeling Larvae, to be specific. And by the looks of it, this kid was no older than thirty years old.
“Are you here to help us?” the boy asked in a timid voice. “I… I can’t escape them. Round and round I go, but I cannot get out. It’s been six months. I miss Mama and Papa.”
“Who’s ‘they’?” Hilda asked.
The boy shuddered as he pointed at the empty railway tracks. “The shadows. They come out of the trains and attack me if I don’t hide on time. It… It hurts.”
Duncan caught a glimpse of multiple red marks on the fae’s skin, which looked like claw scratches or some sort of barbed whips. He shuddered internally. Faes generally had a tougher constitution than humans, even for the younger ones. If the entities in this place could scratch a Changeling’s skin…
“What’s your name, boy?” Duncan asked. “Are there more of you around here?”
“Ronan…” the boy said hesitantly, as though still afraid that Duncan would hurt him. “I have seen other creatures, but I cannot figure out where they went.”
He pointed at the staircase. “Every now and then, I see different people climbing down the stairs. But when I call out to them, they just disappear.”
“Have you tried to follow them?” Hilda asked.
“I… I’m scared of heights. So I never dared to follow them down.” Ronan crouched, shivering as he held his head. “Mama, Papa… where are you?”
Duncan frowned slightly. It didn’t make sense. If the creatures here had already trapped themselves in the never-ending loop of stairs, how did the Marked Emissaries pull them out for their rituals?
“How were you captured?” He decided to change the question, hoping to fish out more clues.
“I was lured here by a false invitation from my friends,” the Changeling replied. “Once I reached the designated location, I was transported here.”
Ronan materialised a letter out of the air, letting it hover above his small palm. Duncan widened his eyes in both recognition and revelation at the familiar symbol on the envelope, which was pulsating slightly. A slight dizziness struck him again, as if to confirm his suspicions.
No…
It all made sense now. Like Lucy’s and Duncan’s letter back at the hotel, Ronan’s envelope contained the same magic glyph that had been giving Duncan his dizzy spells all this time. And that meant that Lucy was a target of the Marked Emissaries as well.
Anger and anxiety bubbled as Duncan cursed himself silently. Why didn’t he connect the dots earlier? If only he had been more vigilant, he would’ve warned Lucy about this and stopped her from getting on the train. If only—
Duncan shook his head to steady himself before he lost his focus to spiralling thoughts. This was no time to start fretting. One thing at a time. First, get the prisoners out of this place. And if Lucy isn’t here, look for clues to the last base’s location.
He turned his attention back to the fae child. “When did you—”
“There will be no trains at London Waterloo East until the end of service,” an announcement blared. It seemed to be coming from the staircase. “There will be no trains at London Waterloo East until the end of service.”
Duncan froze, and so did Hilda. They looked at each other, apprehension and recognition written all over their faces.
And then they shut their eyes at the same time.
“There will be no trains at London Waterloo East until the end of service,” Bertram Harvey’s voice continued to repeat itself as Duncan silently counted to ten. He could hear Hilda whispering the countdown under her breath as well.
The familiar rattling of a train pulling up to the station drifted to his ears. He squeezed his eyes tighter, praying that the occupants in this place would leave them alone as long as he didn’t acknowledge their presence.
The sound of women sobbing and children wailing filled his ears. Duncan’s heart ached as the memories of broken families who lost their loved ones in war haunted him again. They weren’t the sort of memories one could simply leave behind in the past, after all.
Five, four—
More children wailed in his ears. He ignored the chill down his spine and continued counting down.
Two, one.
Duncan opened his eyes after the ten agonisingly long seconds, shivering in apparent cold for some reason. It felt as though his surroundings had gotten several degrees colder. No spirits had deigned to make an appearance at least, but his stomach tied itself into a knot nevertheless.
Both Hilda and Ronan were missing.
He racked his mind immediately, trying to figure out what to do in this situation. It was probably a futile gesture since each liminal space had its own rules, but he still had to try and look for them.
Dammit. What were the odds that both of them messed up their counting? If anything happened to Hilda—
“There will be no trains at London Waterloo East until the end of service.”
Oh.
Duncan’s gut twisted further as the platform announcement continued, getting more and more smeared with each repetition.
Oh no. It wasn’t Hilda or Ronan who had messed up.
It was him.13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡPVad6KXbI6
and then Add to home screen.