My ears start to ring again, heat spreading through me, black spots dancing at the edge of my vision. I crouch and force my head between my knees, sucking air through my teeth, my fists clawing the ground, trying to beat the dizziness.
Once I’m sure it’s passed, I look up to see a figure below, making for Maggie Wilson’s store – Mhairi Campbell, I can tell from the blaze of her red hair. The sight of her gives me hope. She’s alive, at any rate.
Somehow I start moving, travelling the last of the path, crossing the bridge into the village, dragging my feet through the streets and over the square, until I reach the Wilsons’ store.
I summon what remains of my strength and lean against the door, forcing it so hard it swings back, smashing into the wall with an almighty crash.
Maggie Wilson and Mhairi Campbell turn to me, mouths open in shock.
“There are monsters,” I manage. “Monsters, living in the caves by the loch.”
Then I pass out.
I wake on my back, with a cool cloth on my forehead and Maggie Wilson glaring down at me.
“Are you going to be sick?” she asks.
I consider, testing how I feel. “No.”
“Sit up, then,” she demands, and though her words are short, her hands are gentle as she helps lift me, then holds a cup to my mouth.
The warm, weak tea tastes like the nectar of the gods, and I reach for the cup, scowling when she slaps my hands away.
“If you rush, you will be sick. You fainted.”
I’d figured that out for myself, but I keep my mouth shut. She feeds me tiny sips of tea like I’m a wean, or a baby bird, until it’s gone. Then she puts the cup down and crosses her arms.
“Well?” she asks. “Monsters, was it?”
The last thing I said before I passed out. Cora.
I nod. “They have Cora Reid. They live in the caves by the loch and that’s where they took us. The water is so low now that they can get out. It was them that killed Aileen, and Jim’s horses. Hattie Logan and James Ballantyne are dead too. I found Hattie’s body in the caves but Cora is still alive, or at least she was. She helped me escape,” I say, my voice sounding as if it hasn’t been used for a thousand years. “I can show you where they have her. It might not be too late.” It can’t be too late, I pray.
I don’t realize I’m crying until I feel water drip on to my hands and I look down, surprised. Even more so when I see I’m no longer wearing my filthy blouse or underskirt. Instead I’m dressed in a very matronly, heavily starched nightgown, the high collar scratchy under my chin. I look around me, at the neat room, the lacy covers over the arms and backs of the immaculate chairs, the dried flowers in gleaming vases on the well-polished side tables, the scent of beeswax and lavender; I’m in Maggie Wilson’s private parlour, dressed, I assume, in one of her nightgowns. It’s sobering. I wipe my face with my hands.
Maggie is watching me carefully.
“Did you hear me?” I ask.
I make to swing my legs off the sofa I’m lying on, but she pushes me back. When I try again, she does the same. “I heard you, lass. But you’ll not get far, the state you’re in. The back of your head looks like someone took a cudgel to it.”
“I’m fine.” I lift my hand to my head and feel the blood now matted in my hair, the skin beneath tender and sore. “I’m fine,” I repeat. But I’m not. Even sitting up has exhausted me. I’ve barely slept since the night I first saw the creatures.
So what? Cora is counting on me. I can rest later.
“Listen, we have to tell everyone,” I say. “We need to get a rescue party together for Cora. And I think Gavan—”
“Gavan Stewart is fine, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Maggie says, cutting me off. “He was in a bad way when he got here, but fifteen minutes ago he was snoring fit to bring my roof down. And Murren Ross is well too, for that matter.” My heart threatens to burst out of my chest at the news the boys are alive.
“Can I see them?” I ask, trying again to get up.
“Will you sit back and calm down?” Maggie says, shaking her head at me. “You can see them both when they wake up. They need the rest. So do you.” She clasps then unclasps her hands. “Now. These monsters. Murren gave me your letter and the logbooks. I can’t make head nor tail of what they say, but the pictures speak for themselves. That’s what we’re facing, I take it.”
Dumbfounded, I stare at her. “Wait, you believe me?”
She raises an eyebrow. “Hard not to, seeing Gavan Stewart with a great chunk missing from his neck, young Murren Ross raving like a madman, and your father’s books. Not to mention what happened to Jim’s horses. I saw the state of them when they were found, and it was clear to me no lugh did that. And ...” Maggie hesitates, clearly reluctant to say the next part, “... it would appear someone else has seen them, too,” she finishes in a rush.
“Who?” I ask, astounded.
She shakes her head. “Never you mind. The main question is, what are we going to do about it?”
“We have to let everyone know,” I reply instantly. “That’s the first thing. And then put a rescue party together for Cora. And” – I take a deep breath – “Giles needs to stop running the mill, so that we can refill the loch. That’s the only way to trap them in the caves.”
Maggie gives a scornful laugh. “I thought you of all people had the measure of Giles Stewart. You know what that man is. He won’t be happy until Ormscaula is renamed Stewartstown and he owns everything and everyone in it. He won’t stop the mill.”
“But they attacked his own son!”
“Giles is telling everyone you attacked him. In his own home,” Maggie says.
“Aye, I did. And I’ll tell everyone why. Because he was trying to make me undress in front of him at gunpoint.”
“That’s not what he’s saying. According to him, he took you in out of the goodness of his heart, and in return you shot him and kidnapped Gavan.”
“He’s lying!”
“I know he’s lying,” Maggie snaps. “And I expect half the village does too. But as long as he’s paying their wages, they’re not going to say anything about it. They can’t afford to.”
“So what, then?” I ask, tears of frustration pricking my eyes. “We do nothing? Leave Cora down there with those things? A human sacrifice, like the good old days? Let Giles Stewart keep running the mill until the loch is empty and those monsters can stroll across and take us all whenever they like? Keep our traps shut so King bloody Stewart doesn’t get his knickers in a twist? People will die.” I choke. “People have died. We have to do something.”
“Alva?”
I whip around to see Murren Ross standing in the doorway of Maggie’s parlour, looking drawn and pale. I’ve woken him with my shouting.
“You’re alive.”
Ren walks over, staring all the while, as though if he takes his eyes off me I’ll vanish. He sits carefully at the end of the sofa, by my feet, looking me up and down.
“I thought…” He doesn’t say whatever he’d been thinking. “Where were you?”
“In their den. We were right – it is in the mountain, in the caves there. When the loch is healthy the entrance floods, so they can’t get out until the water drops. Ren … it’s huge. It goes right back under the mountain, as far as I can tell.”
If possible he looks even more shaken. “How did you get away?”
“Cora was in the cave too; she helped me.”
“Cora? Cora Reid?”
“Aye, she was at the cottage last night. Her and James got suspicious seeing you and Gavan together and they followed you back up the mountain to see what you were doing. They hid in the hen house, but those things found them. They killed James and took Cora.” I swallow. “I found Hattie’s body, where they kept us.”
The bell on the wall jangles to life, making Ren and me jump. Maggie frowns. “You two stay here,” she says, rising. “Not a sound.”
She leaves us, closing the door firmly behin
d her. Ren stands and crosses to the window, peering out.
“It’s Mhairi Campbell. She looks vexed.” He ducks back quickly. “I think she saw me.”
“She was here when I arrived,” I remember.
A thought catches on my attention like a thorn, but I lose it when Ren crosses the room and squeezes himself next to me on the sofa, pressing his leg against mine.
He looks at me with soft eyes. “Don’t worry,” he says. “You’re all right now.”
His hair looks like a haystack sticking up from his head. I fight the urge to smooth it down. Then I give in and do it anyway, only to sigh when it just springs back up.
“You really need a haircut,” I say.
“I’m ready when you are.” His gaze moves to my arms. “Did they hurt you?” he asks, running a gentle thumb across the gauze Maggie has bound the grazes with, then looks at me.
“No. But Ren, Cora’s still down there—”
I stop abruptly as we hear footsteps in the hall, and Ren shifts forward, shielding me.
When the door opens we both jump, but it’s only Gavan. There’s a bandage around his throat, and he’s even paler than Ren. He looks as though there’s not a drop of blood left in his body.
“I thought I heard you but I didn’t see how…” Gavan says, peering at me in wonder. He moves like an old man, edging over to Maggie’s chair and dropping into it. “What happened?”
I swallow. James, Hattie, Cora. Two of his best friends dead and the third in that pit.
I tell him everything as clearly and cleanly as I can, Ren watching me all the while. I get to the part about Cora telling me to leave her and go, and Gavan closes his eyes.
When I’m finished Gavan goes to stand by the window.
“We’ll get her back,” Ren says to him. Gavan gives a jerky nod, and then lowers his head.
“I’m glad you’re all right,” I say to Ren. “Both of you.”
“I tried to get to you,” Ren says. “But that thing just picked you up and ran.”
“What about the one I shot?” I shudder as I remember the wild way it screamed.
“It got away,” Gavan says, still facing the window.
“The sun burns them for sure,” I say. “I saw it happen.”
“At least we have that,” Ren says. “It means we’re safe in the day…”
“Until winter,” I point out. After the feis samhain – the autumnal sister festival to the feis samhaid – the nights will start to draw in. At best we have six hours of sun, less if it’s cloudy. Which gives those things eighteen hours of darkness. Long enough to decimate the village. To find new hidey-holes closer to the village. To get down to Balinkeld…
“Surely the loch will be full again then?” Ren asks. “The rains…”
“If the mill keeps running that won’t be enough.”
“Then Giles has to shut the mill down,” Ren says firmly. “Or we have to shut it down for him.”
“That’ll take time. And we don’t have time. Cora needs us. We have to kill those things, the sooner the better.”
“Kill them?” Gavan says, still with his back to us.
I watch him, puzzled. “They’re monsters, Gavan,” I say.
“Are they?” He turns now, his expression unreadable.
Ren and I exchange a look. “You saw them,” I say. “Of course they’re monsters. They killed Aileen, and Hattie, and James. They took me and Cora. Attacked you. What else would you call them?”
“They’re predators, aren’t they? Trying to survive.” He shrugs. “Maybe we’re just not used to being prey.”
“We’re nothing like them,” I say. I glance at Ren, whose expression is thoughtful. “I’ve seen what they can do. I’ve looked in their eyes. And I’ll call them what they are. So should you. Both of you.”
I swing my legs off the sofa and stand.
Ren tries to catch my arm. “Alva, wait.”
“Wait for you both to discuss whether those things have feelings? No, thanks.”
I’m limping and dizzy, which means my exit isn’t as damning as I’d like it to be, but I keep my chin up, ignoring both of them imploring me to listen.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Maggie stops me in the corridor, Mhairi with her. “You’re in no state—”
“Am I the only person who gets this?” I shout. “They’ve got Cora and God knows how long she’ll be alive down there. And if you don’t care about her then think about this: they’ll come back tonight. And every night until we’re all dead. We have to be ready for them. We have to stop them. If no one else is willing to do anything, I am.”
I storm through the store, still in Maggie’s nightgown, my feet bare. She catches up with me at the counter, reaching for my arm.
“Alva, wait,” she begs, pulling me with her, back towards her private quarters, and I hear something in her voice that should make me stop but it doesn’t. Cora’s family, that’s where I’ll go. She has brothers, they’ll help me.
“We don’t have time for this,” I hiss, wrenching free.
“Alva, get away from the door,” she barks, her eyes wide and horrified.
I look around and gasp.
On the other side of the glass stands Giles Stewart.
TWENTY-ONE
He stands, frozen, as he stares at me in disbelief, lips pulled back in a furious snarl, and I realize too late that Maggie was trying to warn me.
Giles pulls open the door, his hand snaking out to grip my wrist before I can stop him, dragging me outside.
“Get off me.” I bend my knees, shifting my weight back. “You have no right.”
In response he twists my arm behind me and presses it against my spine until I cry out, tears springing into my eyes. “I have every right after what you did to me, you wee bitch. You’re under arrest. Now walk,” he commands, pushing me forward. I notice he’s limping and feel a flash of vicious pleasure, until he squeezes my wrists so hard the bones grind, and I cry out.
“On what charge?” Maggie says, hurrying after us.
“Assault. Kidnap – my son has been missing all day. Accessory to murder. And that’s just for starters.”
“Kidnap?” snaps Maggie. “Gavan is inside. You know damn well he wasn’t kidnapped by that slip of a girl – he’ll tell everyone so himself. And I shouldn’t think you’d want to bandy that word around after locking her in your attic and telling her to take her clothes off in front of you. Don’t think I don’t know about that.”
“You watch your mouth, Maggie. You don’t want to cross me.” He smiles nastily. “You could lose your store if you do. And then what will you have in your life?” He pauses. “Tell my son I’ll be back for him.”
Maggie puffs up at his threat, but she lets Giles yank me away from the shop.
“Where are you taking me?” I ask.
“Where you belong,” Giles replies.
He means the gaol, then. I shudder again, wondering if I’ll be in the cell beside my father.
I slip and his grip on my arm tightens. People are staring out of their windows as he hauls me through the streets, their faces pale and shocked, and my own burns in humiliation. Maggie’s nightgown is too long, and I keep tripping over the hem, though I’m grateful it’s at least covering me.
“You have to listen to me,” I gasp through gritted teeth, forcing myself to talk. “The thing that killed Aileen, it’s not a cat—”
“Shut it,” he says, kicking my ankle so I stumble, jerking me upright by the arm. I cry out, tears on my cheeks, as fire blazes through my wrist.
He means to break it, I realize. That’s what all this pushing and pulling is about. He’s hoping I’ll go down, and it’ll snap under his fingers. He’s furious that I escaped him in his house, and he wants to punish me. But I have to make him understand about the mill.
“Giles, listen—” I say as we round the inn and enter the village square.
I don’t know if it’s because I used his name, or that he’s reached the end o
f his tether, but he kicks me again, hard, behind the knee, and my leg collapses, me with it.
My visions whites out with pain as my shoulder is wrenched from the socket. I scream, a high, shrill release of agony.
“What the bloody hell are you playing at?” I hear a man’s voice, and then the pressure at my wrist is gone, my arm falling uselessly to my side as I drop to the ground. Nausea rises, my stomach heaving from the pain, and I start to retch, curled over myself. I release a thin stream of tea, and then sit back, gasping.
“Alva, pet, are you all right?” a tender voice asks, the owner rubbing my back gently, and I turn to it, blinking up at Deirdre Gray, one of the mill worker’s wives. When I nod she helps me to my feet, whimpering as every single motion jars my dislocated arm, and I face Giles. Dizzy Campbell stands at his side, though for once he doesn’t look like his henchman. Instead he’s poised to stop him if he tries to reach for me; I can see it in the set of his jaw, the readiness of his hands. It calms me.
“She’s under arrest,” Giles says again, though he sounds less sure now.
“She’s sixteen,” Deirdre replies, unfastening her earasaid and tucking it around my shoulders, taking care not to jolt my left arm. “And she’s not dressed.”
I nearly smile at that. Bless her sense of modesty.
I can’t miss my opportunity to tell them about the creatures again. I raise my voice, loud as I can. “I need to tell you something,” I say. “All of you. It’s about Aileen and Hattie.”
By now others have arrived; they must have followed Giles and me through the streets, and so a crowd gathers around as I screw my courage together. I look for the Ballantynes and the Reids, but if they’re here I can’t see them.
I clear my throat and begin. “The thing that killed Aileen wasn’t a cat. It was something I’ve never seen before. There are lots of them, living in caves in the mountain. They look like us, they walk on two legs, they have arms and hands, but they’re not like us. They’re monsters—” I think of Gavan’s protest, and pause.
It’s enough for Giles to find his footing again, an ugly smile distorting his mouth.
“Are you hearing this?” He steps forward, a finger pointed at me like a malediction. “Monsters, she says. Aye, we know there’s monsters in Ormscaula; they go by the name of Douglas.”
Hold Back the Tide Page 16
