Page 76 of A Gathering Storm

“Jesus,” Nick gasped. “This is—” He broke off, unable to find words for the immensity of it.

Ward’s eyes shone in the darkness. “Just like on theArchimedes.”

They stared at each other.

All right then.

Nick swallowed and made himself ask, “Where do you want me?”

Ward had him sit with his back against the rocky surface of thezawn, his legs stretched out in front of him while Ward knelt beside him. He held up the match-safe box, and Nick tried to focus his attention upon it.

It was impossible. He could barely make the box out in the darkness, and every time there was another roll of thunder or crack of lightning, he jolted, his concentration wrecked.

“You have to focus upon the box,” Ward yelled after several minutes.

“I know,” Nick cried. “But I can’t even see it properly.”

Ward looked about him, frustrated. “Let’s try this,” he said, lifting the lantern. “Look at the flame.”

They tried the flame alone, then the flame behind the match-safe box, casting light on its silver surface. Nothing worked.

“I’m sorry, I can’t,” Nick said at last, sick at heart. “Between the noise and the wind and the rain, it’s impossible to concentrate.”

Ward sighed, his disappointment plain. “Why don’t I give it a try? I’ve hypnotised myself before.”

“All right. I’ll hold the box for you,” Nick said.

They switched positions. Nick held the box up, trying to keep as still as possible despite the ache in his knees from the wooden platform. But though Ward stared and stared, the trance state eluded him too. They tried the lantern then, both with the silver box and without it. Nothing worked.

As Ward’s expression grew more desperate, Nick began to wish again he had not suggested this. What had possessed him to do so? He had never believed this would work anyway. It was just that . . . he had wanted to give Wardsomething.

“Let me hold the lantern,” Ward said at last. “Perhaps that will be easier, since I can judge more accurately where it is if I am holding it and focus my gaze accordingly.”

“I think it may already be too late,” Nick warned as he handed the lantern over. “The storm’s moving on again.” Over the last few minutes, the rumbles of thunder had grown quieter and further apart. “Perhaps it’s time to stop.”

Ward didn’t respond to that suggestion. He knelt on the wet wood and lifted the lantern above his head, staring at the flame, his face frozen in an expression of grim determination. He stared so long and so fixedly that Nick began to think he might actually have succeeded, but just as he inched closer to check, Ward let out a bark of frustration and cast the lantern aside. It fell on its side and rolled to the edge of the platform.

“God damn it!” he yelled into the storm. Then he looked up at the sky and screamed, “Where are you?”

Nick could see that cry was ripped straight from Ward’s heart, a gory, bloody thing. His chest was heaving, and his face was wet with rain or tears, or both. The lantern rolled in the wind, back and forth, back and forth, at the platform edge, and Ward kicked out at it viciously, sending it hurling down thezawnto the sea below.

“How could youleaveme?” he screamed at the sky.

Nick laid a careful hand on his arm. “Ward. Please.” He didn’t even have to raise his voice to be heard anymore.

He half expected Ward to shake him off, but Ward turned to look at him instead, his face a picture of agonised, naked grief. “I will never see him again, Nicholas.”

Nick’s heart ached. “I know,” he said, and he did. He knew this feeling all too well. The immensity of that realisation. All the warning in the world couldn’t prepare you for that, when it came. That knowledge of the finality of death.

The thunder pealed again, but this time it was little more than a distant echo of what had gone before. The storm had indeed moved on, was likely many miles away now.

The rain had been relentless all night, but as the storm departed, still heavier rain followed in its wake, like a courtier behind a monarch. It drove down on them as they sat there on the platform, defeated, steady rivulets trickling down the back of their necks.

“I’m so sorry, Ward,” Nick said at last, though he wasn’t sure what he was sorry for exactly. Suggesting they come here? Failing? Maybe he was sorry because he’d never believed in Ward’s theories. Despite that, hehadtried tonight, for Ward, though he wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing now.

Ward put his hand over Nick’s. “It’s not you who should be apologising,” he said hoarsely. “I’ve been lying to myself. You were right when you told me I was searching for a way to believe that George isn’t really gone.” He swallowed, hard. “And you were right when you said heisgone.”

“Ward—”