by Alys West
Chapter 4
As she chopped mushrooms for stroganoff, Zoe looked out of the kitchen window. Finn was digging the vegetable patch. He’d been out there for hours. In Donegal they called this ‘a soft day’ but the relentless drizzle didn’t seem to bother him. His hair was plastered to his face, his tattered old jumper soaked through. As he tossed another spade of earth aside, she saw his face was set in grim lines of determination.
He’d not slept at all last night. Sometimes she thought those nights were better than the ones when he woke screaming. She’d believed her dreams were bad until she slept next to Finn’s.
The phone ringing broke through her thoughts and she walked to the dresser to pick it up.
“Hey, Zoe. How’s tricks?” Winston’s deep voice replied after she’d said ‘hello’.
“Not so bad.”
They chatted for a few minutes about the renovations they were doing to the house Finn had inherited from his uncle, Padraig. Then Winston said, “I think there’s something brewing in Orkney.”
“What kind of something?” Her eyes widened as he told her about finding evidence of a ritual in the chambered tomb of Maeshowe. “What kind of person would do that?” she asked when he finished. “I mean, it’s an ancient burial chamber. Isn’t that incredibly dangerous?”
“On the solstice? Yes. Even if you know what you’re doing, it’s playing with fire.”
“I’d forgotten it was the solstice last night.” That explained Finn’s sleeplessness.
“There’s something else. One of the pages we found was from a book about magic that Nina Stewart was writing.”
“Who?” Winston said the name as if it should be instantly recognisable and as usual with all things magical she felt like she was running to keep up. Winston tended to forget that although he’d grown up with all of this, she’d only found out about it a few short weeks ago.
“Nina Stewart, one of The Order.”
“The Order who all died on the same day?”
“That’s the one.”
“So this could be important? A clue to who killed them?”
“Possibly. As I see it, it’s got to be more than a coincidence that it’s turned up now. I’ve just got to find a way to convince Jenna of that.”
Zoe’s eyes widened. She knew what druids were like about secrecy and how hard it had been for Finn to tell her who he was. “You told Jenna about this?”
Winston laughed hollowly. “I didn’t have to tell her. She already knew. Nina Stewart was her mum.”
“Oh my God! Didn’t you know?”
“Not a clue. Jenna must have her dad’s surname so I never thought…”
“It must have been tough for Jenna, finding this after so long.”
“I guess. She’s got a funny way of showing it.” Finn had told her about Winston’s reputation and that no girlfriend ever lasted more than a few months. She’d like to meet the woman who made him sound so unexpectedly thoughtful.
To test her theory she said quietly, “Sounds like it’s a good thing you were there.”
“You’d think…” Winston murmured, then his voice became more business-like. “Look, I need to know if you’ve seen anything, anything at all that might help. I’m blind here.”
She couldn’t quite get to grips with Winston’s belief in her supposed gifts as a seer. Okay, she’d foreseen the stone circle on Dartmoor where Finn met and eventually defeated the spellworker, Maeve, but since then there’d been next to nothing. And she was fine with that. She liked the quiet life. She’d had enough excitement to last her for several lifetimes back in April. “Nothing that means anything. The latest one was like a nightmare in a library. There were these enormous black birds and a ring of fire and someone lying down with a head wound.”
“I don’t fancy being around when that one happens.”
“Me neither. It’s like something out of Grimm.”
“Send me a picture, will you? I’ll ask Jenna, see if she recognises anything in it. Might be nothing but we won’t know unless I check it out.”
“Okay. I’ll email it to you.”
There was a pause and then Winston said, “How is he?”
Zoe turned back to the window and looked out at her boyfriend. “The same. He’s still hardly sleeping. He works until he’s dead on his feet. If it’s not on the house then he’s out doing druid stuff somewhere and when I ask him, he says he’s practising because he never wants to feel that helpless again. Then he sleeps for three, sometimes four hours and that’s on a good night. Sometimes he doesn’t sleep at all. I don’t know how he’s keeping going.”
“Stick with it. He needs you.”
“I know.” She swallowed hard as tears threatened. Winston must be worried if he was confiding in her.
“I need a word with him. There were some herbs used in the ritual at Maeshowe that I want him to identify.”
“Okay.” She pulled open the heavy door. “Come over again soon, will you?” Winston’s visit a month ago had been the last time she’d seen Finn really laugh. Though the half bottle of whisky they’d drunk probably had a lot to do with that too.
“Sure. But if this kicks off I’m going to need both of you in Orkney.”
About to step out of the porch, Zoe froze. “He’s not ready for that! You can’t ask him. He’ll say yes because it’s you. You know what he’s like. But he’s in no state to fight. Or deal with any more deranged spellworkers!”
“That’s his decision, Zoe. Not yours.”
“But…” She bit her lip and then blurted out. “You don’t know what it’s like. Sometimes it’s as if Maeve haunts him and there’s nothing I can do.”
She heard an intake of breath. “He’ll come out of it. Just give him time.”
“Sure.” She hoped to God he was right. Unable to think of anything else to say she walked down the path to hand the phone to Finn. Back in the kitchen, she put the kettle on to boil and watched as he talked. When he’d finished, he slipped the phone into his pocket and went back to digging. She watched the rise and fall of his back, the rhythmic working of his muscles beneath his bulky sweater.
She’d been insanely naïve to think the fight ended at the stone circle; that they could walk away and get on with their lives. For a moment she wondered if, when Finn had asked her to live with him, she’d known what was in front of them — that the fallout would follow them over the Irish Sea and lurk in their little cottage in Donegal — she’d have said yes.
As if he sensed her watching, Finn turned, brushed his wet hair from his eyes and raised his hand. The rain was strengthening. Through the raindrops sliding down the kitchen window, she smiled back. Of course, she’d have come. She’d rather be constantly worried about him here than comfortably dull back in her old life in London. The kettle clicked off and she poured water into two mugs. Slipping her coat on, she took one out to Finn.
Chapter 5
Rachel Sinclair wiped down the top of the bar and dumped a selection of plastic glasses in the bin. It had been a smooth crossing today from Scabster to Stromness but, with the notoriously turbulent waters of the Pentland Firth beneath them, they never risked using real glassware in the bar of the MV Hamnavoe.
“What are you doing with your days off?” Rachel said, as she washed the cloth in the small sink behind the bar.
“Sleep,” Carrie said. “At least until Mike gets home on Saturday. There won’t be much time for sleeping after that!” Carrie’s boyfriend worked shifts at the gas terminal on the island of Flotta. They’d not been seeing each other long and Rachel had heard rather too much about their developing relationship. It wasn’t that she begrudged Carrie the excitement or the sex, it was only that when she hadn’t had much of either for a very long time, hearing about it made her feel even lonelier.
“But I’m away out in Kirkwall with the lasses tonight,” Carrie added as she pressed the button on the till that started the printout of the day’s sales. “Do you want to come along? You’ll be more th
an welcome.”
The lasses were all in their early thirties like Carrie. Rachel had been out with them once and that had been enough. They weren’t her kind of folk. It wasn’t the age gap but the giggling girliness, their apparent need for a man, any man.
“No, thanks but I’m alright. And I’ve got the early shift again tomorrow.” There’d been a time when she’d regularly gone on shift on hardly any sleep with a hangover that only hit after she’d been working for several hours. Those days were long gone.
“Don’t be like that. You never come out anymore. I know you’ve had a hard time with your dad and all but you need to get out and have some fun sometimes.” Carrie nudged her with her elbow. “I’m only saying because I care, you know. I don’t like to think of you being all alone in that house night after night.”
“I’m alright.” Rachel gave the beer pumps another unnecessary swipe with the cloth. She hadn’t been though, not since Tuesday night and that was why she had to get back on the Crystal Goddess site and find out what had gone wrong. She’d been too exhausted last night. After enduring a thumping headache all day she’d gone straight to bed as soon as she got home.
“So what will you do tonight?” Carrie said, hitching up her black uniform trousers.
“Read mainly. I got the new Amber Sanchez book from the library yesterday and I can’t put it down.”
“That’s the books with Blade in them, isn’t it?” When Rachel nodded, Carrie nudged her. “No wonder you won’t come out then.”
Heat crept up Rachel’s cheeks. Did she bang on about the books that much? They’d pretty much kept her sane after the split with Kenny but she didn’t think she’d made it that obvious.
“Though you can’t stay at home with a good book forever,” Carrie added. “You’ve got to get back out there sometime. Not all men are like Kenny but don’t spend so long with the fictional ones that no one real will ever measure up.”
How dare she? Carrie knew what she’d been through, what her life was like now. It’d been too much, everyone said so. If Kenny had done the decent thing then perhaps she’d have been okay about Dad in time. Well, not okay exactly because you could never be okay about what happened to him but coped, she would have coped. But now she was on her own, it all rested on her and she could barely put one foot in front of another most days because she was so tired. If it wasn’t for Amber’s books and the friends she’d made on the Crystal Goddess site, she didn’t know what she’d do.
Water in the sink next to her rippled as if a breeze had blown across it. The ferry shifted against its berth as a wave lifted it. Was that…? Glancing out of the window, she saw the late afternoon sunshine being blotted out as a heavy black cloud moved across the sky.
That couldn’t be a coincidence, could it? It wasn’t normally this instant. She normally got time to think, a moment to soothe the panic before it started.
Just in case, she took a long inhalation, then another, like Nina had taught her, closing her eyes and breathing the knot of emotions away.
“Are you alright?” Carrie’s voice sounded further away. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. If you want to stay at home with a book then don’t let my big mouth put you off.”
Rachel opened one eye and then the other. The black clouds had passed over, the ferry was steady beneath her feet. She pulled the plug and released the water from the sink.
Fifteen minutes later she walked down the gangway of MV Hamnavoe and, as always when her feet hit solid ground, she felt a little less alive. Stromness harbour was quiet. The folk who’d arrived on the ferry had dispersed to homes or holiday accommodation across the islands. The fishermen had finished for the day and left the place to the tourists who wandered around taking photographs and enjoying the late afternoon sunshine.
Stromness was a town of the sea. The houses, constructed from grey stone, crowded around the harbour like children pushing and jostling to see who could get closest. The buildings next to the water each had a short pier or slipway, built to give the town’s folk quick access to the ships that had called here as their last stopping place or first landfall on journeys to and from North America.
Rachel headed down the narrow main street. It was barely wide enough for a single car and several times she had to step out of the way as a vehicle slowly passed. The drivers that knew her gave a wave. Because it was Thursday she stopped at John Rae’s to buy The Orcadian, picking up a second copy for her elderly neighbours, the Sutherlands, as Arthur’s knee made it hard for him to manage the hill, and then, yawning, walked up the incline to Scapa Crescent.
Knocking on the Sutherlands’ door she heard Jack, their Yorkshire Terrier, barking with the wild yapping of a dog that knows it’s too small to do any real damage. When the door didn’t open, Rachel slipped the newspaper through the letter box, grateful that she’d been spared the usual twenty-minute conversation as Mrs Sutherland passed on all of the gossip she’d heard since the previous Thursday.
Unlocking her own front door, silence swarmed out to greet her. She never got used to it; to the absence of her dad’s voice calling hello.
Tugging her uniform shirt out of her trousers she put the kettle on and made a cup of tea. Carrying it through to the sitting room, she picked up the newspaper. The story on the front page was about a planning application for a development of luxury tourist accommodation at Nethertown on the edge of Stromness. As she read about the plans to build on the land next to the cemetery, anger flickered inside her. Wasn’t this the development Nina had campaigned against before she died? Rachel hadn’t taken much notice but she had gone to the demonstration, walking proudly along behind Nina, pleased to be part of something for a change.
Shaking open the paper she glanced at the inside front cover to see if anyone she knew was mentioned in the births, deaths and marriages notices. Her stomach plunged. It was in the centre of the page in bold, black type:
HAY – SKEBISTER
Carole and Duncan are delighted to announce the wedding of their daughter Amy Elizabeth to Kenny Skebister on Saturday 2nd of July at 2pm at St Magnus Cathedral.
The paper rustled as her hands shook. The room spun. Nausea swam up her throat. Swallowing hard, she clapped her hand over her mouth. The room darkened. Rain pelted the window. The mug of tea by her elbow juddered and fell, a pool of beige on the blue carpet.
Oh God, was she doing this?
Closing her eyes, she exhaled a ragged breath, tried again to do what Nina had taught her. Rain fell harder, a torrential downpour blurring the glass. A gust of wind rattled the panes.
It had to be her. No way would a storm blow in that fast, not even here.
She exhaled again, her fingers twisting her ring as she repeated the mantra Nina had taught her. The rain kept coming, the wind whistled down the chimney.
She had to stop it. And as it wasn’t working here, there was only one option. After tugging on her shoes, she ran out the door.
Rain soaked through her thin shirt, plastered her hair to her skull as she dashed across the road, down the steps and darted into the narrow close between the houses. She almost fell down the steps onto Dundas Street. Folk, raising umbrellas, peering out behind the hoods of waterproofs, frowned at her as she sprinted along the road. She didn’t have time to worry about them. The slipway at Gray’s Noust was blocked by an old boat trailer. Swearing, she kept going along Alfred Street, past Rae’s Close, ducking around the corner by the Museum and, heedless of her shoes and the layers of seaweed coating the pebbles, waded down the slipway into the water.
She pressed her hands flat against the surface of the water and looked up. Thick clouds, black and indigo, quilted the sky. Rain poured from them, each drop hitting the sea, creating a million tiny pinpricks on the surface. Gusts of wind battered her. Waves smacked against the shore, moving faster as the wind whipped at them.
Eyes closed, she concentrated on each breath, counted in and out as Nina had instructed. Repeating over and over the words she’d been taugh
t. Control was more of a battle than ever before. Her hands curled into fists as she fought to calm the storm within her.
When the rain became a light drizzle she opened her eyes, pushed her sodden hair from her face. Slowly, burdened by more than the weight of the water, she turned and squelched out of the voe. A few steps took her onto the short pier in front of the Museum. Slumping into the bench next to the wall she took off each shoe and emptied water from them.
Something had changed. She’d not kicked up anything that bad in a long time. For the past six years, Nina’s teachings had been enough to quell it before it started. Even when things had been really tough. But today it wasn’t working. Today, the power inside her had very nearly been too much. Was this because of what she’d done at Maeshowe? Had whatever she’d unleashed unbalanced her fragile control? She didn’t know. But someone on the Crystal Goddess site would. As soon as she got home, she’d log on and see if she could get any answers.
She didn’t want to go home. The paper would be where she’d dropped it, stating in stark black and white that Kenny and Amy were getting married in less than two weeks’ time. It couldn’t happen. There had to be a way to stop it.
Watching the light change over the water, Rachel sat there for a long time, oblivious to her damp clothes and her wet hair. When the clouds dispersed and the sun broke through, she knew what she was going to do.
Chapter 6
The Fiddlers was the square white house next to the west front of St Magnus Cathedral. If there was any doubt from the name that it was a music venue, the crotchets and quavers surrounding the words would have put pay to that. Next to the door was a blackboard with “traditional folk session from 9pm” chalked on it in curly green script.
Winston pushed open the front door and found himself in a large square room taking up the entirety of the ground floor. A few folk sat around the wooden tables or relaxed in the brown leather armchairs. A middle-aged man and a pretty dark-haired girl stood by the small stage underneath the front windows. Jenna was nowhere to be seen. The bar filled the right-hand wall and Winston headed towards it. The barman had a strong Orkney accent and he had to concentrate as he discussed their selection of beers, ordered and then asked about the music.
