Read by Lois Tucker
Burning alive isn’t a fate I would wish upon anyone. Of all the ways I had died, it was the worst. Flames licked across skin that hadn’t seen the sunlight in three months. Smoke stung in my lungs like acid. And all the while faces that I’d come to call my friends and neighbours gawked on, delighting in the horror of such an act. It’s no wonder that eternal flames are used to torment dark souls in the underworld – at least the small mercy was that for me it didn’t last forever.
I was careless for getting caught, though I had only been trying to help the harvest, by bringing forth the rain and stilling the wind. Alas, in this period of history into which I was transplanted, I was not heralded as a deity to be worshipped or a nymph to be respected, but as a heretic and devil worshipper.
Before you call me immoral or wicked, I assure you I had as little control over it as my host did. In all the many forms I’ve been thrown into against my will, I never know in advance the where or the why. I go where my spirit takes me, call it the plan of some higher fate. I wonder if at any point before the end my host came back to her body, if she shared in any of my pain. I truly hope not. May her spirit rest in harmony in the underworld now.
‘Take deep and fast breaths. That way you’ll pass out from the smoke before the fire gets too much,’ the guard that had a soft spot for me had told me. A soft spot, but not soft enough to loosen my chains when he was the only one on shift. Not soft enough to help me escape. But just enough to bring me the odd scrap of bread, to keep my energy up. Thinking about it now, it was a little sadistic – like feeding grain to a cow meant for slaughter.
I had, nonetheless, planned to take his advice, because why give the crowd the satisfaction of seeing me scream. But it was hard to breathe deeply with a cloth gag tied across the mouth – that’s what I got for attempting a final incantation at freedom. Apparently, the Gods were not moved enough by my plea.
I tried not to cry out. I tried to drown out the chants from the crowds and look only at the sky, wondering when I would see clouds and hear birdsong again. What year would it be in the future I was presented to next? Would they believe in magic or gods or witchcraft?
Smoke billowed around me. Villagers crowed. As the heat reached my waist, I clenched my jaw and shrieked. Agony spread across every inch of my skin as it bubbled and blistered.
With the last of my energy, I looked out across the crowd, searching for my borrowed family. My sister was staring up at me, horror in her eyes. I tried to offer a smile, to reassure her I’d be okay. Whether she understood me or not, I’ll never know.
Darkness came. It was over.
*
Emptiness gripped me. A shroud suffocated my vision, until another voice filled my head. A chant: ‘Come forth spirits, show us the way. We welcome you into our presence, may you be at peace amongst us.’
I felt a lurch, like my body was being turned inside out. I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to that feeling. A tingling spread across my skin, as if in memory from the fire. I opened my eyes and let out a scream.
Slowly the room came into focus. A dozen shocked eyes stared back at me in the dim light. I risked a breath. The air had a scent of sandalwood, but there was no smoke.
The woman to my left tugged at me and I realised I – in my new host body – was holding her hand tightly. I loosened the grip but didn’t let go.
We were all sat together in a circle. The man to my right looked like he might pass out at any moment, his face white as a sheet. This was probably his first time witnessing a transference of spirits.
The woman across from me cleared her throat. ‘Are you ... are you okay?’
I allowed my attention to drift to her. She looked strange, with her straight violet tinged hair, and a tartan shirt that was unbuttoned and far too baggy. A long pendant rested across her neck, a crescent moon with a blue star charm hanging under it.
I rolled my shoulders back. ‘Yes, I’m just a little disoriented.’ How far had I come?
‘You were in some sort of a trance,’ violet-haired woman said – let’s call her Violet, as I never did catch any of their names. ‘Were you communing with the spirits of the past?’ Violet asked.
I frowned, looking slowly around the group. Then it made a sort of sense – the chanting, the circle. They’d used similar methods in ancient Greece, though this was a little less sophisticated. ‘Yes, I ...’ I took a deep breath. People have always enjoyed dramatic pauses, no matter the point in time. ‘1598. A young woman. She is … I am to die. By burning. It is a horrific fate. I don’t want to die yet. I’m trying to find my sister in the crowd, so she’ll … so she’ll understand–’
I cricked my neck and tightened my grip. The woman to my left let out a muted squeak. From pain or panic, it was hard to tell.
Violet nodded enthusiastically. ‘So she’ll understand what?’
I tried not to smile. ‘That I forgive her, for reporting me. I am at peace now.’
There was a murmur of excitement from the group. I straightened my back, feeling my alien body tense. I caught a reflection of myself in the mirror that hung behind the table. A velvet headband framed my dishevelled hair, and I was wearing more jewellery than was surely necessary – it wasn’t even real gold or silver. I suspected that the woman who summoned me didn’t know what she was doing. She wouldn’t have been the first. But all I needed to do was get through this performance, and I could figure out my new identity and purpose afterwards. What part of history was I to play in this new world?
‘It is so clear now,’ I began again, closing my eyes, making my voice deeper. ‘Yes, smoke in my lungs, the heat is too much. It burns, like no pain I’ve ever felt before. I can’t breathe, I ...’
The woman to my left finally lost patience. She made a noise in the back of her throat.
‘Jesus Christ, you’re not really buying this shit are you?’ – happy to bring Jesus into it, but travelling spirits, that was just too far apparently – ‘I was willing to come along when I thought it would be some tarot cards or some vague predictions, but this is just morbid. I’m going home.’
She tugged her hand from mine, and I felt a whir of energy as the air was sucked out of me.
No. Too soon.
The room faded. Darkness took over. Maybe the woman I’d invaded had some talent after all. She’d managed to cast a binding protection on the circle.
I was lost again.
*
My next thought hits me with a judder. Everything feels vague, and I’m floating seamlessly from place to place, my mind pulled in multiple directions. Something is off. I feel that same tug, my soul twisting and morphing, but it’s like my spirit can’t find a place to settle.
Are there no hosts available?
I try to call out to other conduits, spirits, gods, whatever will answer but nothing responds. It doesn’t make sense. Why can’t I find a solid form? For perhaps the first time in my long existence, I feel true fear.
As I try to pull my thoughts into order, a far-off light catches my attention, like a pinprick of a distant star. I try to focus on it, and slowly it grows. Brightness flashes into my vision like a lightning bolt. Relief spills over me as a room emerges – things are still faded in the white light, but it is at least a physical space. Yes, this is more like it.
Except something feels off. I move what I think is my head and there’s a sound like chains rattling. I try to breathe, but it’s as if I have no lungs, no muscles, no anything. Blinking doesn’t work either.
I look down at my hands, and it’s not flesh I see but metal. Smooth and shiny. The fingers contract as I move them, and I let them rest on the table in front of me. Beyond, there’s a window. Strange flying objects zip around against a vast black space.
Where am I? Who have I inhabited?
A door whooshes open and I twist my neck to get a closer look. More rattling. Two people are coming closer to me, a woman and a man. The woman smiles at me. She has unusual glasses on her face, and in them I see my reflection. A face of metal with strange round pupil-less eyes stares back at me.
No.
This is all wrong.
‘AlexaOrganica, report latest launch data,’ the woman says to me.
I don’t understand. ‘Where am I?’
The woman blinks, pointedly. ‘I think you’re confused.’
I hesitate and say nothing.
Her male companion frowns. ‘I swear ever since we started using stem cells these things have been playing up. Shall we send it for reprogramming?’
It? I muster up the courage to speak again. ‘There has been a grave misunderstanding. You must release me so I can rectify this at once.’
The woman pauses then lets out a snort. ‘Yep, it’s definitely dysfunctional. What sort of old timey speech algorithm is this?’
‘Someone’s been messing with it, probably just a prank,’ the man says.
I try again. ‘Please, listen to me. I’m not supposed to be here. I’m supposed to be in one of your bodies. I just need –’
The man laughs, ‘An AI who thinks they’re human? Haven’t heard that one before.’ He looks around the room. ‘If you’re watching for our reaction, well done, this is a good one.’
‘You must assist me!’ I try to deepen my voice, but I appear to only have one speech tone in this strange host. I plough on anyway. ‘If you don’t, a great curse will befall your people.’ Curses usually get people listening, humans don’t like to tempt fate.
‘Hmm, that sounds very serious indeed,’ the woman says, then she leans close to my face. ‘Initiate remote immobilisation.’
My body stiffens. I can’t move. She leans over the top of me, then places her hand on the back of my head. Pain pulses through me. It feels like my skull has been ripped open. Stop, I try to yell, but no words come out.
The man lifts my arm and tugs it to my side. It locks in an odd angle.
Help me.
Then they’re wheeling me out with my head facing a bright white ceiling. The pain returns as I’m pushed into a machine with flashing lights and metal walls. I still can’t seem to move.
Suddenly it feels like I’m on fire again. Except this time, I’m not sure if there’s a way out.
(c) Lyndsey Croal, 2021
Lyndsey Croal is an Edinburgh-based writer and Scottish Book Trust New Writers Awardee. Her work has been featured in several anthologies and magazines, and in audio drama format with the Alternative Stories and Fake Realities podcast. She’s currently working on her debut novel. Find her on Twitter (@writerlynds) or via www.lyndseycroal.co.uk.
Lois Tucker has done various bits and bobs and will probably end up doing more. Previous stuff includes penning and performing three solo shows as her silent comedy alter ego ‘Lois of the Lane’ and releasing the MissLLaneEous EP on Bandcamp. More details at: www.loistucker.net
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