Journeyman
The Raven Series Book #2
Copyright Heather Atkinson February 2019
Acknowledgement
Many thanks to my lovely friend Kari and her husband for their assistance with Norwegian swear words, an unusual request they kindly fulfilled.
Please note, the village of Caillte mentioned in this book is entirely fictional. All other place names mentioned are real.
Thank you for downloading Journeyman. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
Heather Atkinson February 2019
CHAPTER 1
Brambles snagged One Eye’s clothes and tore at his skin as he dragged himself through the undergrowth, staggering forward on his one good ankle, the other swollen and throbbing. His stomach lurched, threatening to disgorge the meagre breakfast he’d scavenged that morning but he continued on regardless. He’d long ago become adept at carrying on through his pain.
Glancing over his shoulder he glimpsed a vague shape similarly ensnared in the brambles and, despite everything, he smiled. Delving into the undergrowth had been a calculated risk but one that appeared to be paying off. His pursuer was one for their creature comforts, unlike himself, who was at home under the stars.
A muffled curse from behind broadened his grin. Good, his tracker was hurt, which he hoped would give him enough time to reach the village below before his strength gave out. There had been a time when he’d seemed to have limitless vigour and stamina but age had sapped all that away. However he was far from old and doddery, which he was determined to prove to the bastard trying to kill him.
Gritting his teeth One Eye staggered on, forcing himself not to cry out when a bramble tore through his clothing and pierced his skin, clinging on momentarily before being ripped from his body, opening up a fresh wound. His lungs burned with the effort of keeping going, heart dancing, limbs trembling. As everyone said, he was a stubborn bastard and he refused to fall and await his inevitable death. So he kept on moving, concentrating on the warm inviting glow of the village below, thinking of a soft bed, hot food, a cold drink and perhaps a warm woman, if he had enough energy left.
The light was rapidly failing, trees and shrubs morphing into threatening shapes, any one of which could hide an enemy. Two black shapes rose up into the air, easy to spot against the twilight sky, squawking noisily, aiming for the village with outstretched wings, guiding his way in the gathering darkness. Judging by the crashing behind him it seemed his pursuer had freed himself from the prickly embrace of nature.
One Eye grabbed onto the low-hanging branches of the trees, using them to propel himself forward as the noises gained in intensity, the swearing accompanied by a terrific cracking of wood, as though he were being chased by a giant. Once he thought he felt fingertips brush the back of his neck but he couldn’t be sure it wasn’t a tree branch.
Disorientation snuck over him, attempting to steal his confidence in his ability to survive when the surrounding undergrowth thickened around him, blocking out the lights of the village below. A caw from above drew his attention back to the sky and he was able to make out the two dark feathered shapes. Deciding to follow he plunged after them, seeing salvation in their phantom forms.
Without warning the ground gave way beneath his feet and he was falling, sliding down an embankment of dead leaves and loose earth, trees and bushes whipping past him, their branches slapping him in the face as an added insult before he hit a hard surface and came to a sudden, agonising halt. He lay on his side, weak as a kitten, dizzy and breathless but relieved to realise he was lying on tarmac, which could only mean one thing - civilisation.
Sensing someone above him he managed to angle his battered body so he was looking back up the incline he’d so unceremoniously rolled down. Looking down at him was a huge dark figure, faceless in the shadows, hands balled into fists, their angry breathing drifting down to him on the still night air. The figure raised an oversized foot to plunge down the slope after him when their head snapped sideways, detecting a noise. Approaching voices.
One Eye tilted his head to see a young couple strolling arm-in-arm down the road towards him, quietly talking, young lovers out for a moonlit walk, so caught up in each other they’d failed to notice the muddy bundle lying in the middle of the road beneath the full glare of the street light.
The figure at the top of the hill released an angry growl before turning and fleeing back the way they’d come, hopefully to get attacked by those bastard brambles all over again.
All his strength finally spent, One Eye could only lie there helplessly as the couple got closer. He hoped they did notice him, they were so unaware of their surroundings he wouldn’t be surprised if they stepped right over him.
It was the woman who spotted him first - a pretty young thing with long dark hair and sharp, intelligent eyes.
“What’s up?” demanded the man, a blond athletic type who no doubt lacked any discernible imagination. He followed her gaze to the ragged bundle in the middle of the road and released a strangled scream.
One Eye couldn’t really blame him for this less than manly display, he probably looked like something out of a nightmare, lying there covered in mud and brambles, long hair wild and tangled with leaves. Plus his eye patch had come loose in the fall and he was staring back at them with a single bright blue eye, the other a ragged empty socket. He couldn’t help but chuckle when the man fainted dead away. In contrast the woman fearlessly rushed to his side, ignoring her fallen beau.
“Don’t worry, I’ll get help,” she said, taking out her mobile phone.
The last thing One Eye felt before he lost consciousness was her cool hand on his brow which, after recent events, was rather pleasant.
CHAPTER 2
Deep breath.
Gentle squeeze of the trigger.
An arc of blood through the air, briefly lighting up red as it passed through the glow of a street lamp before turning black as it vanished into the darkness.
The body toppled to the ground.
A couple of men on a night out laughed and pointed at the dead man lying on the pavement, thinking he was drunk.
Once the two men had passed by, the body jumped as a second shot struck its chest.
Raven peered down the sight of the sniper rifle, ready to put a third bullet into Tommy Gowan if necessary but he didn’t move. He was gone.
Assured the target had been neutralised, she speedily disassembled the rifle and packed it away in a large festival backpack, which she slung over her shoulder. Keeping low, she raced across the roof of the three storey office block and shinned down the fire escape, landing in the alleyway around the back. She climbed the stairs of the fire escape of the building beside it, running across the roof and down the other side, exiting the alleyway onto a busier street, one with no CCTV, blending into the flow of evening revellers, no one giving her a second glance. The familiar satisfaction of a job well done flooded her veins. She’d tied her long dark wavy hair back into a bun, which was covered with a baseball cap pulled low, shielding her slender, attractive face and dark eyes. Her figure was tall and willowy and she wore a long black woollen coat, black jeans and black biker-style boots laced up to the knees.
Taking out her phone she typed a message consisting of the number thirteen, telling the recipient the job was done. There was no reply, neither did she expect one.
As she got into her car the sound of sirens echoed vaguely in the distance. Finally someone had realised Tommy Gowan was dead. Not that there would be much lamenting over that sack of shit. Even the police would be relieved he was gone. Although his criminal activities had been in the petty range he’d been prolific, constantly in and out of court, spending a few months inside before being released to continue his one-man
crime spree. That was until he’d seriously slipped up by ripping off a local gang boss, leading to his unceremonious execution outside a seedy pub in Leeds city centre.
Raven climbed into her black Nissan X-Trail and drove out of the city, heading to her isolated home - a large barn conversion on the Yorkshire Moors. It was a relief to leave behind the lights and noise, welcoming the darkness as it enveloped her car on the lonely road. At night it was practically impossible to spot her house from the main road.
As she rolled up the driveway, passing the lone pine tree that marked the boundary of her property, she went rigid to see another vehicle parked outside her front door. Raven relaxed when she realised it was a black Mitsubishi Warrior. She climbed out of her car to find her adopted brother Damon prowling restlessly.
“Where the hell have you been?” he demanded.
“Working,” she replied, unlocking the front door and stepping inside. She hit the lights, illuminating the long hallway, the bright light a little startling after the darkness of the moor.
Damon stomped inside after her, red hair sticking up at odd angles, green eyes heavy with worry.
“What’s wrong?” she said, concerned. She’d known Damon since he was eleven years old, so she’d become adept at reading his moods.
“One Eye’s gone missing,” he said grimly.
One Eye was Damon’s father and Raven’s adopted father, he’d saved her from a life on the streets and passed on his considerable skills to her. His real name was Nik but everyone, including his own family, called him One Eye.
“When?” she said.
“I’m not sure. He went on one of his little jaunts.” One Eye was a born traveller and although his permanent home was in Leeds, west Yorkshire he often got an attack of wanderlust and could disappear for weeks at a time.
“He texted me the number thirty eight,” continued Damon. “Our code for when he’s in trouble but he didn’t give me a location. I’ve tried calling him back loads of times but he’s not picking up.”
Raven swallowed down the rising panic. Apart from her husband, Damon and One Eye were the only family she had and she couldn’t imagine life without them. “Have you a rough idea where he is?”
“He said he was heading up to Scotland, around the northwest coast.”
“Well that rounds it down,” she sighed. She patted his arm when he looked stricken. “It’s better than nothing and at least we’ve got a general area. Don’t worry, we’ll find him.”
Damon nodded distractedly.
“Give me ten minutes to pack a bag then we’ll set off. We’ll take my car.”
“Why your car?” he frowned, following her into her bedroom. “What’s wrong with my motor?”
“It stands out too much,” she replied, pulling a holdall out from under the bed. “Mine is more understated.”
“Fine,” he sighed. “Just as long as we get there quickly.”
“You’re seriously worried, aren’t you?” she said, stuffing clothes into a holdall.
“I am. He’s only ever sent me that code once before and that was two years ago, when he was attacked by Silas Hagen.”
Raven stopped packing to regard him with serious dark eyes. “Silas is dead. You don’t think he’s still alive after all?”
Damon sighed and shook his head. “I really don’t know. Maybe not. Dad is getting old.”
“He’s only fifty five.”
“That’s old.”
“To you maybe. One Eye’s still strong and not to be messed with.”
“I suppose,” he said, following this up with another sigh. His head snapped up as he realised where he was. “Hey, I finally got into your bedroom. I always said I would.”
Although Raven considered Damon to be her brother that didn’t stop him from attempting to seduce her on a regular basis. None of his attempts had been successful.
“Don’t think it’s going to lead anywhere,” she said, zipping up the holdall, hiding the underwear she’d packed, which Damon was trying to take a peek at. “I want to grab some weapons from the armoury, just in case.”
Despite his worries, Damon smiled. “Jesus Raven, you are sexy as fuck. Not many women have an armoury.”
With a roll of the eyes she picked up the holdall and exited the bedroom. She dropped the bag in the hallway before heading into the large living room, the panoramic window looking out over the moor. After drawing the black-out blind she threw aside the large rug in the centre of the room to reveal a panel cut into the floor. She pressed her hand to the panel, there was a beep and the hatch popped open. She pulled it open to reveal a set of stairs descending into the floor. She led the way, Damon following into a large room cut into the bowels of the house. Metal cabinets lined every wall.
“I love this room,” said Damon, watching as she tapped a code into the keypad on one of the lockers, opening it up to reveal a row of glocks.
Raven filled up the large black bag she used for transporting her weaponry with a few handguns and knives. Into the capacious pockets of her long black coat went the small flash devices One Eye himself had invented, which were handy for temporarily blinding your opponent, as well as the smoke devices that were useful for concealing yourself.
“Can I take this?” said Damon, picking up a sub-machine gun.
“Why, are you invading Scotland?”
“It could come in handy.”
She took the weapon off him, placed it back in the cabinet and locked it. “No. That would be overkill. Actually, before we set off let’s establish some ground rules. Number one, we don’t do or say anything that will draw attention to ourselves. Number two, we do not stop to attack any cyclists…”
“Aww but I hate the lycra-wearing turds.”
“Well you’ll have to rein yourself in. Number three, no shagging about.”
“They’re all my favourite things to do,” he exploded.
“I’m well aware of that but all your favourite things have a habit of shining the spotlight on not just you but everyone around you. We’re going up to Scotland quietly, we will search for One Eye quietly and we will bring him home quietly. If you don’t like it I’ll go on my own.”
“Fine,” he huffed, folding his arms across his chest, the muscles popping out. “I’ll live like a bloody monk until we’ve found Dad. Happy now?”
“Very,” she said with a sweet smile, which he returned with a glower.
They headed back upstairs, Raven closing the hatch and replacing the rug. “Heathcliff,” she said.
“Eh?” replied Damon.
“My cat.”
“I didn’t know you had a cat.”
She gestured to the tabby bundle curled up on the armchair in the corner of the living room.
“Jesus,” said Damon when the burly Heathcliff unfurled himself and looked up at them, revealing the scar across his face, the tip of his left ear missing. “What an ugly bastard.”
“Do not call him names,” Raven glowered at her brother. “He looks distinguished,” she added, making Damon chuckle. “I think he’s been surviving out on the moor. He came from nowhere but now he’s a regular visitor.”
“You going to stick him in a cattery while you’re gone? Bloody hell, he knows what I’m saying,” added Damon when Heathcliff hissed at him.
“He doesn’t need looking after, he’s a free spirit,” said Raven, petting Heathcliff, whose eyes went hazy with pleasure, a loud purr starting up. “He comes and goes through the cat flap I had installed in the back of the garage. It leads into a small cat-sized tunnel that goes under the house and comes up in the kitchen, so no one can use it to gain access to the house.”
“Even the cat is all Mission Impossible,” said Damon, rolling his eyes.
“I’ll leave extra food down for him but if he runs out he can hunt for what he needs on the moor. At least I know he’ll have somewhere warm to sleep. I won’t be long sweetheart,” she said, kissing the top of the cat’s head.
“You’ll kiss that raggedy
thing but not me,” said Damon.
“Rule number four,” announced Raven, making him sigh. “No hitting on me and we get separate hotel rooms. Any violation of that rule will end up with you being stranded in the back of beyond. Understood?”
“I can’t have any fun anymore,” he muttered. He looked to Heathcliff, who he swore gave him a smug look before curling back up into a ball.
After putting down extra food for Heathcliff they left the house, Raven locking up behind them. She placed the large bag containing the weapons in the hidden compartment in the back of her car and dumped the holdall containing her clothes in the boot. Damon backed his car into the garage, retrieved his small suitcase from it, stuck that in the boot of Raven’s car then joined her in the front.
“Can I drive?” he asked her.
“No one drives my car but me,” she replied.
“This is going to be fun,” he said, getting into the passenger seat. “Like going on holiday with a headmistress.” He considered what he’d said and his eyes lit up. “Hey, maybe you could dress up like one…”
“We’ve only just got in the car and already you’ve broken rule number four. This is not a holiday, it’s a mission to track down One Eye,” she said, starting the engine.
“I haven’t forgotten,” he snapped back before fiddling with the stereo, smiling when the radio burst into life. “Great, I love this station.” His smile fell when she turned it off.
“I hate the radio,” she said. “All stupid chatter and noise.”
“What am I supposed to do for the journey?” he exclaimed.
“Look at the view.”
Damon gazed out of the window, seeing nothing but blackness. “Yeah, great,” he mumbled.
“Do you really think this could be down to Silas?” she said.
“It’s possible.”
“But even if he did survive the fire then he’s probably not physically capable of taking on One Eye.”
“You know what that bastard’s like, he’s practically indestructible. Dad tried to kill him for years and failed so many times. I’m not saying it is Silas but if it is I won’t be surprised.”
Journeyman Page 1
