by Leyland, L J
Chapter Twenty-three
‘Land ho!’ cried Noah. He threw my binoculars down from his perch and I caught them instinctively. I turned to where he was pointing and put them up to my eyes, adjusting the lenses so that the blurry picture became sharp and focused.
There, looming out of the slate grey sea, rose mountains and lochs higher than anything I had ever seen before. The highest of the mountains was like a castle floating on the water, turrets and towers of rock swept down to cliff walls that tumbled into the sea. It was magnificent. In the Periphery, mountains were very rare as only the highest tips peaked out from the water. But here, the mountains were so large that the entire structure thrust itself defiantly out of the sea. I could see a dusting of snow on the peaks that gleamed white like a beacon. At the bottom of the mountains, the sea raged and threw itself upon the jagged rocks, which did not budge. They were time-hardened and ever-enduring; they looked as though they had been there since the beginning of the earth and no mere matter of an angry sea-storm would dislodge them. The whole air was that of a fortress. Impenetrable in its might, the Highland mountains were far too hostile, wild, and remote for occupation. I could now see why the Metropole had given up the fight for colonization here. It was as though the entire land, its entire spirit, was dedicated to resistance. It was the only place in the entire continent of Europa that was free from the reign of the Metropole and I was instantly in love with it.
Noah leapt from his vantage point and landed deftly next to me. He put his arm around me and pulled me closer. ‘The Highlands.’ His warm breath caught in my hair and turned into icy vapour that crystallised on each strand. ‘We’ve done it. We’re here. Now we can bring Iris home, where she belongs.’
He looked euphoric. I was feeling less so. ‘Don’t count your chickens before they’ve hatched,’ I said quietly.
He dropped his arm from my shoulder and I immediately felt the cold. ‘Why the pessimism?’ he asked.
‘Not pessimism, just caution.’
‘That’s not like you to be cautious.’
‘Perhaps I’m maturing,’ I teased.
He smiled and picked up a blanket to put around my shoulders but I shrugged it off. ‘No, I like the cold. It helps me keep my mind clear.’
But I was beginning to feel very anxious; not really for my own safety but for Noah. A fear of failure lay heavily in my gut. I couldn’t bear to see Noah crushed should we fail. What on earth were we doing here? How could we possibly think that we could just sail to the Highlands in a houseboat, scour the vast terrain in a couple of days and stumble upon Iris by chance? How could we ever possibly think that we could parlay with the Highlanders, who are renowned for shooting on sight and asking questions later?
But then Noah took my hands in his and began to rub some feeling back into the icicles that had replaced my fingers. The anxiety began to subside slightly. ‘You should wear gloves,’ he said.
‘But then I can’t shoot this.’ I waved the little golden gun that Noah’s grandmother had given me.
He tried to smile but it looked more like a grimace. ‘I thought you had said you weren’t going to use that unless you couldn’t avoid it?’ he asked. His voice was edgy and as brittle as the ice around us.
I hated to admit it but I had started to grow attached to the weapon. The revulsion I had originally felt for the little gun had somehow turned into respect. Well, it had served me well and saved us from the rabid Deddern. If I hadn’t have fired it in the cave, Rhian wouldn’t have let go of Grimmy. Surely that was justification enough for its use?
I spun the barrel and watched the six bullet holes spin round and round until one clicked into place. I looked at the shiny metal affectionately and stroked its smooth surface with my fingers. It felt cool and deadly. It was empowering. I caught myself smiling foolishly and hastened to wipe the grin off my face. Perhaps I was starting to feel too attached. But I couldn’t abide the thought of being without it now and I had slept with it under my pillow last night. The thought worried me a little so I tried to make a joke. ‘Well, every hero needs a weapon, right? A calling card? Robin Hood and his arrows. King Arthur and his sword. You know. I could be the Girl with the Golden Gun. Catchy, right?’
But he didn’t laugh. ‘Maida … that gun. I don’t think you should use it too often. I think you should stick to your knife from now on.’
I sniggered. ‘Yeah, good one, Noah. Because a blunt kitchen knife is totally the best weapon to challenge the Highlanders with.’
‘Believe me, Maida. That gun has been in my family for dozens of generations. I was surprised when my grandmother gave it to you. In fact, I was angry; I don’t know what sort of game she was playing, giving it to you. I know what that gun has been used for in the past and … well … don’t get me wrong, I’m not superstitious, but it has a chequered past and things happen with it.’
‘A chequered past? How can a gun have a chequered past? It’s an inanimate object. You’re talking as though it is alive; “things happen with it”. You know me better by now to know that I don’t believe in superstition.’
Then his eyes met mine. They were sorrowful and, I couldn’t believe it, pitying. He pitied me. It was as though we were suddenly gulfs apart from each other. I was unexpectedly very upset. Why would he pity me? How could he? We were supposed to be equals yet he was making me feel as though I was a dumb child that was to be pitied for my lack of understanding. The embarrassment I felt melded into knee-jerk anger and I pulled my hand away from him petulantly.
‘Please, I can explain,’ he said hurriedly. ‘Don’t get upset. I’m not patronising you or trying to control you because I think I know better. I just really don’t like you using that gun.’
‘Why? Think I can’t handle it? Think I’ll get power crazed and start shooting everyone on sight? Think that only Bluebloods can be trusted with a weapon and everyone else is too stupid to have one?’ I put on a mock Blueblood accent, ‘ Oh darling, we must confiscate the weapons from the commoners or they’ll blow us –’
‘Stop right there,’ he said ominously and I knew I had crossed a line. ‘I don’t think that at all and you know it.’ His voice was deathly quiet.
Redness coloured my cheeks – this was the first time I had ever seen him angry. Of course I knew he didn’t think that. I knew that he didn’t think I was too stupid to have the gun but I just couldn’t stop myself from getting riled up. Idiot, idiot, idiot, why did you say that? Why couldn’t I control my fat mouth? Why did I have to start picking fights with allies all the time? ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I know you don’t think that, it’s just that I’m so used to being patronised by Bluebloods and Parrots that –’
‘Oh, don’t give me that “poor me, I’m so downtrodden” routine because I know it’s false. You said it because you’re hot-headed and don’t think before you speak.’
I was briefly stunned into silence. ‘Wow. Well, that’s a pretty damning assessment,’ I replied, feeling sulky that he had seen through to my true, blemished personality yet again.
‘But it’s OK.’ He sighed. ‘I know you don’t mean it but I would appreciate it if you could stop lumping me in with the Bluebloods and stop seeing enemies where there are none. I’m on your side.’
He put his arm around me and I tentatively rested my head on his broad shoulder. Such close proximity allowed me to study his face. The shadow of stubble coloured his chin and strong jaw line. His features were all so straight: straight nose; straight teeth; strong, straight, black eyebrows that framed his soulful blue eyes. It was the face of someone to put your faith in. Strong and stern but not without emotion. We were silent for a few minutes whilst we listened to the waves slosh against the side of the boat. It sounded so lonely until the air was broken by the pained voice of Matthias lecturing Grimmy about something below deck. This interrupted Noah’s reverie.
‘The reason I don’t like you using that gun is that nearly every person who has used it in the past has died.’
&nbs
p; ‘Really?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, if you play with fire …’
‘That’s not the reason,’ he replied haughtily.
Once again, we remained silent until he chose to elaborate. ‘That gun is known in my family as the Gun of Honour but sometimes we call it the Martyr Maker if we are being flippant. Remember when I told you that the most important rule in the Blueblood world is maintaining your honour, keeping up appearances, and saving face? Well, I really do mean that. We preserve our dignity, our honour, our beliefs to the very end. To the extreme. And I don’t just mean hiding Iris away in a room to rot. That’s just child’s play. We do a lot worse.’
He took the gun from my hands. ‘Notice how the gun is decorated so elaborately? It’s so elegant but impractical. Why would anyone take it into battle? Or to go hunting? It’s too small. You have to reload constantly. The metal gets too hot for continual firing. It’s far too valuable to be taken into a muddy field. So what is the point of it?’
‘Ceremonial?’ I guessed.
‘Exactly. It is used by Bluebloods to restore or maintain their honour. And there’s no greater way of doing that than being a martyr to your cause. We die for our honour and we expect others to die for theirs. You know the phrase “falling on your sword”?’
I nodded and he handed the gun back to me.
‘Been shown to be a disgrace to your name? You can restore your pride with the Gun of Honour. Need to make a stand and die a hero’s death? The Martyr Maker will do that.’ He laughed bitterly. ‘They don’t see the irony that dying is the coward’s way out. It would be far braver to face the music and live.’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ I said pensively, thinking of Matthias’s parents who had died for Regina. I thought they were incredibly brave, facing death with their heads held high despite the fact that their leader had gone missing. The mystery of Regina. Was she a martyr for her cause or was she a coward? A runaway or a hero? I was beginning to get a headache from thinking too hard.
Shock registered through me as I remembered that Noah’s grandmother had deliberately given the gun to me and no-one else. I put the gun on the deck and pushed it away with my feet. ‘Noah? Why did your grandmother give me this?’
He angled his face from me, shielding himself against my gaze and refused to look me in the eye.
‘Noah?’
He walked away and leant over the handrail, perhaps poised to jump off if I continued down that line of questioning. I followed him, unable to let it slide.
‘Tell me why she specifically gave me this gun and not another one,’ I demanded.
Still he didn’t answer. But he didn’t need to. I knew the reason why this specific gun had been given to me only. ‘She expects me to die, doesn’t she? She thinks I will have to finish what Regina couldn’t and give the rebels their martyr, their symbol. It’s true, isn’t it?’
His eyes were shiny with unfallen tears and he tried to avert his face from mine but I wasn’t prepared to let him. I grabbed his chin and forced him to look at me. ‘I’m her disposable hero, aren’t I? I’m her catalyst. I’m supposed to die.’
His head dropped into his hands and he pulled sharply on his messy black hair as though to cause himself pain.
I walked to the bow of the boat in a trance, sat down, and dangled my legs off the edge. I was so close to the edge, only a little closer and I would be drowned at sea. Now I knew what was expected of me. Sea spray tickled my face and froze there in little salt snowflake tears. I heard footsteps behind me.
‘When I told her about meeting you in the Complex and how you stood up to the Mayor and escaped, she laughed. She hadn’t laughed in as long as I’d known her. She said, finally, someone could finish what the rebel girl started. Someone could finish the job that Regina began but failed to complete. Someone could be the cause, the symbol, the martyr. That’s why she wanted to meet you, to give you the gun, to make sure you did it properly. To make sure that nothing went wrong this time. To make sure the cause had their symbol and then the Bluebloods could move in and capitalise on your death.’
‘Disposable,’ I spat. ‘That’s how she sees me? Nothing put a pig for the slaughter. And you knew? You didn’t tell me? What were you going to do, Noah? Hand me the gun at the end and hoped that I’d got the gist? Shoot me yourself and pretend that I’d done it?’
He clattered to the floor and twisted me around to face him. His tears were falling now. ‘Of course not! Don’t be stupid, you know that I wouldn’t. Haven’t I proved to you enough that I’m loyal to you? That I’d give up my entire family, my past, and my future to stand with you or die with you? I don’t belong to that family anymore, I belong to you.’
He grabbed me and kissed me, urgently then slowly, then gently. Light and warmth and happiness and sorrow. His lips were hot against mine. He pulled away but rested his forehead against mine, his hands stroking my cheeks and neck. I was trembling but couldn’t feel the cold anymore. ‘We’re in this together and I’ll never let you stand alone.’
Our fingers weaved together and we sat on the bow for a long time. The breeze stirred my blonde hair like seaweed dancing in the tide. His warmth still burnt on my lips despite the icy wind.
‘No-one has to be a martyr this time,’ he eventually said. ‘Once we show the townsfolk the tape at the coronation ceremony, they will be riled up enough to rebel. No-one needs to die.’
‘But isn’t that what the townsfolk want? They want a legend, a symbol. Someone to avenge. They were denied that by the Mayor when he made Regina disappear last time. Perhaps it is my duty to do it this time around.’
‘Don’t talk like that,’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘We’ll do it differently this time. The tapes will expose the Mayor and that will be enough. You don’t have to be a martyr.’
A large wave hit the prow and made the boat lurch violently towards the left. The golden gun slid across the deck and landed right next to me, nudging my thigh. I laughed.
‘Well, the gun doesn’t seem to think so.’
‘I thought you said the gun was just an inanimate object?’ he teased. The irresistible urge to toss the gun into the waves came over me; but it would be stupid to abandon it now. It still had a duty to fulfil, defending us from the Highlanders.
‘What about your family? Aren’t they going to be mad when you don’t support their coup? What will they do when they find out that you’re not going to persuade me to be the martyr and you’re going to support the townsfolk over them?’
‘I made my choice a long time ago,’ he said baldly. ‘My family aren’t bad people … just misguided. But if they can’t accept the inevitable … well … they’ll have to deal with a townsfolk government or leave.’
‘And you’d be ok with that? Banishing them?’
His brow crumpled. ‘If it’s necessary …’
Chapter Twenty-four
There were little markers everywhere. Stuck into the soil and hanging off trees, the Highland island we landed at was covered in them. Shards of antlers, gnarled branches, and jagged upright rocks were flagpoles on which dyed flags were hoisted, inches above the ground, or dangling from twigs like a macabre imitation of bunting. Some of the tattered flags were white, some were yellow, others red, but occasionally the scene was punctuated with a black flag. Grimacing white skulls had been painted onto these black flags. Their meaning was clear and unclear all at once. Danger, they signified. But what sort of danger did they mark out?
‘Watch your step,’ Matthias said, before we left the boat. I instantly understood his wariness; the flags obviously signified that something was not quite right in the ground that lay underneath. I didn’t want to be the unfortunate test dummy who discovered what the danger was and therefore I tried to pick out a path through the flags before I set foot on that strange island. But it was not easy.
They littered the entire shoreline, making it difficult to land our boat and forcing us to dock against the serrated teeth of the cliff rocks. The
hull groaned as it skimmed the jagged surface but Matthias refused to go near the most obvious and safe landing area because of the presence of so many red and black flags. There was a fluttering sound as the flags danced tauntingly in the breeze. It looked like an abandoned party – silence and misery where once there had been happiness. The Highland mountains provided the perfect eerie backdrop to this desolate party.
‘Are they graves?’ asked Noah.
‘I don’t think so,’ I replied. ‘If they were graves, why would the markers be coloured coded? No, I think the white ones mean we are safe, the yellow and red indicate that we are on increasingly dodgy territory, and black … well, look at the picture on it. I think we can be certain that nothing good will come of stepping near there.’
‘Booby-traps?’ said Matthias.
Grimmy was hopping nervously from foot to foot and was looking more agitated than I had ever seen him. He was twisting his waistcoat into knots with anxious fingers, fraying the hems and pulling out threads. ‘Who do you think planted the flags here? Are they on our side? They must be or else why would they be warning travellers of the danger? Unless it’s a trick and the black flags are really the safe flags … or maybe it’s a double bluff? Maybe –’
‘You’re wittering, Grimmy. Let’s just get on with it.’
‘The flags are obviously here for a reason and we will avoid them. Do not, I repeat, not go near them. And yes, Grimmy, I’m looking at you,’ said Matthias.
‘What do you think I am? An idiot?’ he protested.
We all went silent before I could contain it no longer and burst into laughter. ‘I didn’t know you were a mind-reader, Grimmy.’
