Page 113 of The Bone Season

Panic registered first. My arms and legs had disappeared. I was crushed by my own body, screaming with no lips or voice. When I tried to breathe, nothing happened. When I tried to move, something gave a spasm, as if I were in my death throes.

I had to get out. With a heroic pull, I threw myself clean out of the dreamscape and back into my body. I snapped upright, gasping in panic.

‘Paige?’

‘Fuck.’ I touched my face. ‘Never again.’

‘You are safe,’ Warden said, his tone steady. ‘Tell me what happened.’

‘I did it.’ I wrenched my coat open, my chest heaving. My heart was boxing at my ribs, protesting the latest insult. ‘I’m not meant to be in that sort of body. I don’t … know how to exist as a … butterfly. Do they even have lungs?’

‘No.’

‘Fuck,’ I said again. ‘That was stupid. I could have forgotten how to get out.’

It took me a while to collect myself. I blinked away stars, my head pounding. When Warden offered me his flask, I took a few delicate sips. I had almost thrown up on his polished boots last time we trained.

‘I apologise,’ Warden said, his voice low. ‘For my lack of patience with you, and for my carelessness. I should not have made you do this.’

His second apology. My retort died on my lips, blunted by confusion.

‘No,’ I said, looking away. ‘You shouldn’t have.’ I held my own arms. ‘I won’t possess an animal again. You can punish me all you like. I don’t care.’

‘You will not be punished. I gave you my word.’

‘Good.’ I moved to lean against the wall. ‘How long did I last?’

‘It was your first possession. I saw you move its wings.’

‘How long, Warden?’

‘A few moments.’

I huffed. Jaxon would have cracked a rib laughing. ‘Is that what my second test will be like?’

‘No, but it proves how far you have come. You are ready to try for your red tunic.’ Warden opened his hand, and the butterfly fled into the dark. (At least I had managed not to kill it.) ‘Can you stand?’

My knees were shaking. Seeing the state of me, he lifted me into his arms. I didn’t protest. It really took it out of you, puppeteering the fauna.

Warden carried me into the dark. Above me, his eyes were the only light.

Magdalen soon appeared before us, lit by its lamps and flaming torches. How dark the world looked in the shadows beyond it; how warm and inviting the light in its windows, glowing as if to beckon us home.

SURVIVOR

1 February 2046

St Brigid’s Day

‘Hurry, Paige. We’re almost there.’

Finn pulled on my hand. I was six years old, and we were in the congested heart of Dublin, surrounded by shouting people with placards.

‘Finn, I don’t like this,’ I said, but he ignored me. He had ignored me since we got here.

We were meant to be at the cinema, that crisp February morning in 2046, when the winter sun spilled white gold on the Liffey. I had been staying with Aunt Sandra, who had taken me off my grandparents’ hands while they dealt with the black mould on the farm. That day, she had told her son to look after me while she was at work.

You shouldn’t be going in today.Finn had looked sullen.We should all be in Dublin.

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