The Duns

Leaving Home

Chapter Thirty

Catherine

Maximus writes us another letter; it's slightly less friendly than the one before. It talks about how we don't have much time left and so, in the name of the better half, he prays for Andrew's soul to reach a good place. How benevolent of him.

With only a week left for the Battle, the atmosphere in The Duns (the name our fellow soldiers decided on, finding the entire Greek phrase Ti Sosti Allo too long to keep saying, so they mixed up Diamonds and Guns (the respective symbols for each Society) and started calling this up-turned diamond home 'Duns') is quite light and cheery. It feels as if everyone here has figured they might die and so why waste these last few days moaning over unnecessary issues?

Aunt Eliza still stays holed up in her room only allowing me to enter or stay. She tells me about her visions- they come to her as nightmares-forcing her to wake up in the middle of the night, in a puddle of sweat and tears.

I console her, or try my best to, and she accepts what little I manage.

Normally, we then sit down to make a list and discuss what her visions showed and add it to the list of images she has seen.

Till date, all of them have been about war and death- of hers and even of many many soldiers from both sides.

Aunt Eliza saw me in her vision too, a Snake was about to slit my neck, but then she woke up.

I might die in the next seven days.

No. Aunt Eliza's glimpses are never wrong.

I will die in the next seven days.

And I am ready.

It's okay. It's okay.

-

I sigh as I push open the door to my room, my writing pad in my hand. I just returned from meeting Aunt Eliza. From what it looks like right now, either we lose and everyone on our side dies, or we both lose and everyone dies.

Last night, Aunt Eliza saw Peter. Just his face though, and then swirls of water.

"Hey." A voice from inside the room surprises me. I jump back to the space around me instinctively.

"Peter." I say, walking over to where he sits on my bed.

"Where were you?" he asks, leaning back on his hands.

"Aunt Eliza." I reply, looking around at my messed-up room. The wooden cabinets are swung open, the insides upturned. My desk is nowhere to be seen under the pile of papers and scattered stationary, the dustbin beside it overflowing with waste. Peter follows my eye line.

"What's all that about?"

It's no use lying to him. After everything that happened, I don't think I can ever again.

"She's getting visions. I'm trying to figure out what it all means."

"Think I can see that?" He asks, pointing towards the yellow pad in my hands.

I hand it over to him "Sure."

He takes it and flips through the pages, reading everything carefully. Without looking up at me, he says, "Ester and I had ice cream last night."

I know how brittle their relationship is; this is a good sign. "That's nice."

He opens his mouth to reply, a small smile playing at his lips, when he stops and closes his mouth. He frowns at the tiny page in front of me. Seven days. He pulls it closer to his eyes, as if the words would change. I look over at the other end of the room. "Peter-"