Page 87 of Valour

Charlotte froze.

That voice. A voice she hadn’t heard in over a year. Her throat tightened, and Marjorie dashed towards its source, whining joyously. And slowly, ever so slowly, she turned.

Sitting by the wall of the tent was a spectral form. A pearly, translucent figure whose edges blew and frayed in a wind she could not feel.

She clamped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide.

Ernie.

“I am hallucinating,” she breathed. But Marjorie was prancing and trying to rub herself against the spirit, albeit to no avail, passing through his legs in a cloud of white haze. “This cannot be real.”

“Perhaps not. Perhaps you are dreaming, or the cold has addled your mind,” Ernie said, laughing, the sound so familiar and so strange that tears sprang to Charlotte’s eyes.

“Perhaps,” Charlotte whispered through the hand that still covered her mouth.

Ernie bent down to Marjorie. “You’re doing a fine job of taking care of her. Keep it up, Marj.” The dog tried to lick his lined face. He rose and fixed his eyes on Charlotte.

Marjorie came back to Charlotte’s side and sat down.

“I am so proud of you, my dear,” he said. “Look at you. My wife, the Antarctic explorer!”

Charlotte lowered her hand from her face, her bottom lip trembling. “I’d hardly call myself that.”

Ernie scoffed. “And whyever not? You are exploring the Antarctic, are you not?”

“We are stranded. The ship is sinking. We will surely die. And it is all my fault.” Her voice broke. She rubbed her eyes, but he was still there. Her mind was playing cruel tricks on her. Although, was his ghost the strangest thing she’d seen on this voyage? Not in the slightest.

Ernie smiled, his eyes crinkling more thoroughly at the corners. “Hold fast, my dear. And when things are darkest, look to the light.”

“But—what does that mean?”

His ghostly image began to fade, and Charlotte scrambled towards him, reaching for him, only to fall onto the tent floor with nothing but thin air in her hands. She whirled, but she was alone again, save for Marjorie.

Hester tumbled through the tent flap, her eyes red, face drawn. “I came to apologise for putting you in with Arnold.” She looked around, puzzled. “But I had expected to find him here. Weren’t you just speaking to someone?”

Could she admit to Hester what she’d just seen? Charlotte’s eyes were drawn to Hester’s hands. She grasped at them, turning them over to read the ink across her fingers. HOLD FAST. “Ernie. He was here. He said…this.” She held Hester’s hands up. It was surely not a coincidence.

“Hold fast?”

Charlotte nodded, Hester’s face blurring in the tears that stung her eyes. She was wrapped up in a hug so tight the air rushed from her lungs.

“Hold fast,” Hester whispered, warm breath hitting her ear.

Arnold stumbled through the tent flaps with an oil lamp in his hands, the light blinding her. She gasped.

When things are darkest, look to the light.

But he couldn’t have meant…could he? Charlotte’s pulse quickened.

Arnold chuckled nervously and set the lamp down. “Are you quite well, Charlotte? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Charlotte exchanged a look with Hester.

“Do you want me to swap with Arnold? I can sleep here with you,” Hester said.

Charlotte sighed. “No. You snore.”

Hester’s eyes widened. “I do not!”