The Stone of Destiny

by Caroline Logan

  Harris raised an eyebrow. “Feeling better?”

  “Oh, yes. Best cure for a headache is killing pompous knights.”

  Angus gave them both a long look, then sprang up quickly. “I’m going to go and get us some food and water,” he exclaimed cheerily and ran back down the hill to the inn.

  They were silent for a while, watching the clouds float by. Ailsa pulled her knees to her chest and glanced sideways at Harris. He had his face screwed up and turned towards the sky, yet his eyes seemed glazed.

  “Seems like you and Angus are getting friendly,” he said.

  Ailsa shrugged and wound her arms tighter around herself. “I guess he finally wore me down.”

  Harris scratched his chin, where there was some short stubble growing. “Well I’m glad, I suppose, though a bit jealous.” She looked at him quizzically and he shrugged. “Of the head rub he gave you.” He folded his arms across his chest and stuck his bottom lip out. “Maybe I should be crabby and get my head rubbed.”

  She shoved his shoulder and smiled. “You seem pretty crabby right now. Would you like me to?”

  His mouth popped open, then he narrowed his eyes, unsure whether she was joking. She met his stare and he nodded slowly. “Sure.”

  Ailsa scooted round so that she could pull his head onto her lap. He watched her warily for a while, until her gentle stroking made him close his eyes and sigh.

  She swirled her fingers over his brow and thought about how much had changed. A week ago, she had been alone, with no one in the world. She’d been happy about it too. But now, she actually cared about Harris and Angus. Angus was naive and far too upbeat sometimes, but he was also kind and selfless. At some point, she’d stopped being annoyed by his happiness and had started to look forward to it.

  Harris, on the other hand, was becoming more of a mystery the longer she knew him. She had thought he was frivolous and conceited, but then he’d stood up for her in front of the prince’s men. He had rescued her from the kelpie and had been furious at Angus on her behalf, even though it hadn’t been his fault. He had read her stories and made her tea. And last night’s dancing… Although, he had abandoned her for the first part of the night, dancing with every other girl in the room.

  She simply could not work out what he wanted. Sometimes she thought Harris liked her. Other times she wondered if it was just because she was convenient. A fuzzy memory of his lips being awfully close to hers as he put her to bed came unbidden to her mind.

  Continuing to massage his temples, she cleared her throat. Since they were alone, maybe she could get some answers.

  “Harris, I think we need to talk about last night.”

  She waited with bated breath for his response. Would he tell her he liked her? Or would he make a joke about things as he always did?

  The silence stretched on, so she peered worriedly into his face. “I mean, when you brought me to bed, did we—”

  A loud inhale stopped her sentence in its tracks. After a beat, he snored deeply, oblivious to the world.

  She sighed and eased back onto the grass, careful not to jostle him, folding her arms beneath her head.

  Probably for the best anyway, she thought. She still wasn’t sure how she felt about this. She wanted answers, but when all was said and done, he’d be off gallivanting around Dunrigh while she went back to her beach. She would be better off not bringing it up again.

  Why do I feel so disappointed?

  Harris and Ailsa had snoozed in the grass for most of the afternoon. Angus had brought them food, but upon finding them asleep, had thought better of waking them. Now they were starving, so Gibby and his daughters made them a feast to eat while they lounged in squishy brown chairs. Most of the food was fried.

  Lorna brought out the last dish, a cheesy dip that smelled heavenly, and they tucked in, relaxing before the fire.

  “So, will you be spending more time with us?”

  Angus snagged a piece of chicken. “We’d better set off in the morning. That is, if you’re feeling better Ailsa?”

  She groaned around a mouthful of potato. “Aside from the pounding head, yes.”

  “How far do you have to go?” asked Flora, while she nibbled daintily on a piece of bread.

  “We’re heading to the Isle of Faodail,” Harris answered.

  Gibby paled. “Why would you be wanting to go there?”

  “It’s important,” said Angus, leaning forward to grab another spoonful of potato.

  The older man let out a long whistle. “It had better be. Few go to that island and make it back alive. Those who have vow never to return.”

  Harris stretched his legs out. “I’ve been before. It was fine.”

  The innkeeper squared his jaw. “How long ago?”

  He shrugged. “Twenty years?”

  Lorna tossed her hair impatiently over her shoulder. “The disappearances have been more recent than that.” All three girls had stopped eating and were now staring at them with the same concerned look as their father. Ailsa wondered whether they were being superstitious or had a reason to be so worried. In her experience, superstitions were often borne from genuine fears. “They say there are monsters on that island,” Lorna finished in a whisper.

  “Some people would consider present company to be monsters,” Harris responded darkly.

  Kirsty raised her chin. “I would have thought that you would want to be more careful since Ailsa’s narrow escape.”

  Harris’s only reply was a crunch as he took a huge bite of pastry. The sound of his chewing echoed around the silent room.

  Gibby finally shrugged and grabbed a plate of haggis. “Well, I suppose you’re going to go anyway. How do you plan to get there?”

  “Swim?” Harris suggested. Ailsa sniffed in answer. No way was she swimming across the sea.

  The old man clicked his tongue. “My cousin lives on the coast, tell him I sent you and he’ll let you borrow his boat. It’s a rowing boat but it’ll get you there.”

  Angus smiled. “Thanks, Gibby.”

  His face grew serious again. “Just look after each other, will you?”

  Harris slid a hand to Ailsa’s knee and squeezed it. “We will.”

  Chapter 41

  After a quick farewell to Gibby, Lorna, Flora and Kirsty the next day, they set off again. Ailsa’s throat had healed and there were barely traces of the bruises that had decorated her skin. Still, she rubbed the skin as they walked as if to erase the mark quicker.

  The sun shone brightly and, for the first time in weeks, Ailsa did not feel the prickle of an impending downpour on her scalp. Eilanmòr was a completely different place in the sunshine. Clear skies turned ponds and lochs a glorious sapphire and they could see squares of farmland etched like patchwork on the earth. Sparkling faintly on the horizon, like shards of pale green glass, was the ocean. The trio could even see a row of snow-capped peaks to the north-east, beyond the sea.

  “Snow in summer?” Ailsa studied the distant mountains curiously.

  “That’s a different country. Monadh,” said Harris absently, “it has a… strange climate.”

  “It used to be part of Eilanmòr,” Angus’s gaze was also trained on the mountains, “until the sliver of land that connected us cracked and fell into the sea. Since then, they’ve had unusual weather.”

  Harris let out a bark of laughter. “More like supernatural!”

  Ailsa raised an eyebrow to say: Well you’d better continue or I’ll hit you. He sighed and rolled his eyes, eliciting a low growl of warning from Ailsa.

  Stupid know-it-all selkie.

  “The south of the island is mostly flat rainforest, humid and hot. But when you reach the foothills of the mountains, the temperature plummets and the forest… stops. I’ve only gone as far as the edge, but you can see that nothing grows there anymore. It’s as if life just ends. No one really knows much about the interior mountain range. I’ve only ever swam around it or seen it from afar.”

  Angus readjusted his pack, glancin
g again at the jagged peaks. “Some of our people lived there, before the islands split and tried to venture north. But the weather changed suddenly and none returned; their families decided to move back to Eilanmòr. The people who live there now actually came from a country in the far east. They don’t venture further than the forest boundary.”

  She could almost see it, two different worlds clashing together. She imagined stepping from jungle into a winter wonderland and shivered. “What made it that way?”

  “The original inhabitants seemed to think it was the work of the Gods,” replied Angus.

  Harris’s face shadowed. “I’ve heard different.”

  “Nicnevan?” Ailsa asked.

  “Witches.”

  “Witches?” she scoffed. “Those are real, too?”

  “Well…” His mouth twisted and he glanced at her sideways. “I don’t think I’ve ever actually seen one.”

  Angus gave Harris a friendly shove. “It’s just superstition, Ailsa.”

  “Like selkies?” Harris questioned with a bite of sarcasm.

  They had no response to that.

  The sun beat down upon their backs, warm enough to coax them out of their wools and leathers. The sweet smell of late summer flowers wafted on the breeze as they walked. At one point, Harris bent to pick one, a lilac-coloured bloom, and offered it to Ailsa. Angus stuck out his bottom lip before he, too, was presented with a flower. They both tucked the blossoms behind their ears.

  Weary but enjoying the fresh air, they walked most of the day. With every step, they were closer to the ocean and Gibby’s cousin’s village. Perhaps he would give them a place to stay, in addition to letting them borrow his boat.

  Harris, leading ahead, was the first to give a shout. Ailsa and Angus raced up the hill to join him, aghast at the sight below.

  It was not the ocean, so close and sparkling that had their attention. Their eyes traced a path, which curved down the slope until it reached the village below.

  Or what was left of one.

  Smoke billowed from the carcasses of buildings clustered together. It looked like the fires had been burning for at least a day.

  A wave of horror coursed through Ailsa’s body.

  Her feet carried her swiftly towards the village, soot making her cough as she neared. She heard the footsteps of Harris and Angus behind her, their presence a welcome comfort.

  Was this Gibby’s cousin’s village? What had happened here?

  Without a word, they spread out. Ailsa, carefully climbed over the smouldering wreckage, ducking her head into homes, attempting to find any survivors. The first house was filled with suffocating, black smoke. The furniture had been consumed by the fire and all that was left of the main room was an empty shell.

  The next building was missing a door. At first, it looked as if it had burned away, but as Ailsa explored inside, she noticed that the hinges were at odd angles and huge splinters littered the floor.

  The door was kicked down.

  Whatever had happened here, there were no bodies. She’d expected to find the charred remains of people, but the buildings were empty.

  Where were they?

  Angus called for them from the other side of the settlement. When she reached him, his silhouette was opaque against the sun, which looked blood red through the smoky haze. He was kneeling in the mud, wiping at something buried there.

  “I think I know what happened.” His voice was sombre as he held up an arrow. The end of the shaft had been tipped with a red feather, although it was coated with soot.

  “Raiders?” Harris questioned from behind.

  They stood in silence for a moment, absorbing the scale of destruction. How many people had been in this village? Where were they now?

  “It’s likely they’ve either been taken as slaves or sacrifices.” Angus stood from his crouched position and chucked the arrow to the ground in disgust.

  “Is there anything we can do?” Ailsa asked. She thought of the Avalognian skull masks and shivered. She didn’t fancy crossing paths with raiders again.

  “Not unless we have an army,” said Angus.

  “We’d better look for this boat,” said Harris, kicking the dirt. “But be careful. They could still be close by.”

  Their small group spread out again, and after a half hour of searching, they found a rowing boat behind one of the lower buildings. The sun had all but set by the time they’d hefted the craft down to the beach and readied it for the next day. Sweat poured down Ailsa’s back.

  They were quiet as they walked back up to the edge of the village. They stopped a good distance away, still in sight of the boat, but with enough respect for any ghosts lurking around. A combination of sorrow for the smouldering community and the uncertainty of the next day, had them setting up camp in silence.

  They’d just set out their packs, closer than usual, when Harris’s head snapped up.

  Ailsa followed his gaze. “What is it?”

  “Shh. I heard something.”

  They peered into the darkness, holding their breath. It had been a cloudless day, but now a thin blanket of mist blotted out most of the stars. The sound of distant waves crashing over the shore was all Ailsa could hear. This close to Angus, she could almost feel the adrenalin radiating from his body as he coiled in anticipation.

  Snap.

  A twig cracked to their left. They swung round, Ailsa and Angus unsheathing their weapons.

  A flare of flame in the dark suddenly blinded them. Their hands immediately shielded their eyes and Angus gasped in surprise as their surroundings were illuminated.

  Further up the slope stood thirty men, all wearing light armour and carrying rapiers.

  Chapter 42

  Ailsa didn’t dare take her eyes off the soldiers for one moment; she could feel the tension rolling off her companions. She gripped her axe tighter and curled her lip.

  One of the men strode forward until he was little more than ten feet from them.

  “Identify yourselves.”

  Harris raised his chin. “Why should we? Who are you?”

  The man gave a chuckle. “I have more men—and more swords. You first.” His voice had a slight accent that Ailsa couldn’t place.

  “Just three soldiers. I’m Harris, this is Angus and Ailsa. We’re from Dunrigh.”

  The man swaggered towards them, clearly enjoying the situation. “I am Chester Scarsi, Captain of the King’s First Battalion.”

  “But not the King of Eilanmòr?” said Angus, raising his chin proudly. He still had his sword raised.

  The man smirked. “No. King Merlo of Mirandelle.”

  “What are you doing so far north, Captain?” asked Harris, a muscle twitching in his jaw.

  Scarsi placed his hands on his hips, inches away from his sword. His clothing was far too colourful for a soldier, Ailsa thought. His jacket was a bright, cobalt blue with a green trim. And was that velvet? She tried her best to keep her snort inside. He looked like a peacock.

  “Just visiting the delightful countryside,” he replied. “We accompanied the King’s emissary to Dunrigh for the coronation, but we wanted to sail around instead of waiting.” He beckoned his comrades forward and they sheathed their rapiers at their sides. They wore drab beige clothing, better suited to an army.

  A peacock surrounded by peahens.

  Angus barely masked a grimace but lowered his own weapon. “Will you be attending the coronation yourselves?”

  “We wouldn’t miss it. We’ll be sailing south in the morning.”

  One of the other men stepped forward. “Please, come and share our food with us,” he offered.

  Scarsi’s eyes darkened. “What a splendid idea, Lieutenant,” he ground out. “Let’s get to know each other… if you are indeed King Connall’s soldiers.”

  The troop led them up and over the neighbouring hill until they reached a campsite. One of the men gave them each a plate of meat and some ale, while Scarsi stalked to the other side of the campfire. Most of the s
oldiers eyed them curiously. One or two shot them hostile looks as they sat down. All were young men, which was strange considering they were supposedly the first battalion.

  Perhaps they don’t let older men into military service, pondered Ailsa.

  Scarsi, however, was a stocky man in his mid-thirties with a broad chest and hunched shoulders. Aside from his ridiculous clothing, the man screamed violence; not the regimental fierceness one would expect from a soldier, but the reckless savagery of a bar fighter. One of his ears was cauliflowered, like he’d had it punched one too many times. His face was angular below his close clipped beard and his eyes were calculating as he watched the trio get comfortable in front of the fire.

  “So,” Scarsi cocked his head, “What brings you so far north?”

  Harris held out a hand to forestall Angus’s reply. The selkie narrowed his eyes. “We heard that there had been some Avalognian raiders spotted on this coast, so we were sent to investigate.”

  Scarsi smirked. “On foot?”

  Harris shrugged. “Well, they would have spotted us out at sea.”

  “Did you see what they did to the village?” asked Angus.

  “Yes,” said the captain. “In fact, when we arrived, we saw them picking up the last of the villagers.”

  Angus stood, rage turning his face ruddy in an instant. “They were alive?”

  “You didn’t try to stop them?” cried Ailsa.

  Scarsi inclined his head. “Yes, they were alive. Captured.” His voice became deathly quiet. “And I didn’t fancy having my men join them.” He spread his hands out with a rueful grin. “We were grotesquely outnumbered, I’m afraid.”

  Or just too selfish to help.

  “Have those Avalognians been making a habit of this?” he asked Harris. “They don’t usually go as far south as Mirandelle.”

  “Some. We’ve had a few attacks on isolated villages. But nothing like this.”

  “Barbarians. Surely you’ll send soldiers to handle it?” He widened his eyes dramatically. “Or are your outer towns unprotected?” Scarsi’s smooth voice did little to hide the threat belying his words.