Bloodstone

by Gillian Philip

  Whoa shit.

  ‘What?’

  Jed’s expression froze only for a second. Then he lashed out, aiming a backhanded fist at my throat, and I had to arch back swiftly. Stumbling, Jed was caught and locked in Sionnach’s arms, saved from falling but also stopped from taking another shot. He breathed high and hard, speechless.

  Sionnach shook his head at me, bemused. ‘What is wrong with you?’

  I could tell he really meant it, he really wanted to know.

  ‘Oh, sorry.’ I made myself meet Jed’s loathing eyes. ‘Finn told me about your mother. Sorry.’

  Finn blinked. ‘But I—’

  I turned on Finn and gave her a whiplash of the pain she was so quick to mete out. Not too much, but enough, because she had no idea how to block. She reeled back, stunned to silence, but kept her footing. And when she stared at me, disbelieving, she shut up.

  Sionnach’s grip loosened, and Jed shook him off. Finn put her face so close to mine, I could feel the hiss of her breath.

  ‘Tell me something.’ She could barely get the words out through her clenched teeth. ‘What was that man Cuthag talking about?’

  I blinked, playing for time. ‘When?’

  Everybody had found something fascinating on the ground again.

  ‘He said something about Conal. And farmers.’

  ‘Don’t take a word of what that tosser says—’

  ‘Seriously? But you did, Eili. And you.’ She glared at me. ‘What else don’t I know?’

  Leonora licked her lips. ‘Conal is... ah, a fighter. A captain, Finn. He—’

  ‘He’s not the violent type!’

  I couldn’t repress my snort of derision. Maybe I felt, for the first time in sixteen years, that I was repossessing Conal from her, just a little. And I know that was childish, and I regretted it later. But to be honest, I was enjoying Leonora’s discomfiture, too.

  She almost touched Finn’s shoulder, then thought better of it. ‘He’s the son of a violent man, Finn. It’s in his genes. Ancient, and close to the surface, and he doesn’t like it himself, but it’s there. He’s had to do things – things he wouldn’t want to – have to – do.’

  The girl said not a word. She was chewing her lip. Sometimes people do that to repress tears; not her. She seemed very thoughtful, and I could feel her crushed-down rage, like the bunched muscles of a hungry kelpie.

  Leonora turned on me, eyes glittering blue. ‘I’ll expect you to take Jed and Finn back as soon as the coast is clear.’

  ‘You can expect all you like, dearie. The only orders I’ll take are Eili’s, and I’ll only take those till Cù Chaorach gets here.’

  ‘Oy, listen!’ Jed’s fists were clenched, his face white. ‘I’ve got to get home, Tinker Be—’

  I didn’t think; my hand shot out of its own accord, seizing him by the throat. It was practically a reflex, but I went with it anyway, and tightened my grip. He kicked and struggled for breath, scrabbling at my wrist, but it was no effort to hold him fast.

  I looked at my hand. Looked at his blood-suffused face and his bulging eyes and his juddering tongue. Hot damn. I was throttling Mila’s boy.

  I made myself break my hold. He fell awkwardly back, and I stared at him, flexing my fingers. I don’t know what I was feeling; only that I was on the edge of my temper, all the time; always starting to slide. I felt like an addict who couldn’t get his fix. Trouble was, I had no idea what my fix was.

  I spat on the ground. ‘Don’t. Do it. Again.’

  Jed wheezed in oxygen, clutching his throat. ‘Right.’

  ‘Because I know you’ve been dying to say it,’ I hissed. ‘But it’s really not worth it. Dying. To say it.’

  ‘I just. Meant. I need to. Get back. To my mum.’

  ‘Aye, well it’s complicated. We all wish your mothers would come and get you.’ The small devil nipped again. ‘Though Stella’s the kind of mother who doesn’t go looking.’

  ‘SETH.’

  Leonora’s voice was the terrifying one of her youth and power, and I couldn’t repress the involuntary cringe of fear. I shook myself angrily.

  ‘I only said it, witch. The rest of you, go on and think it. You hypocrites.’

  ‘Stella has absolute authority where—’

  ‘Stella, if that’s what you want to call her, is a fool and a reckless one.’ I seized Finn’s shoulder and thrust her forward. ‘Tell her. Tell her. Everything. You owe her.’

  Finn was unsteady on her feet, and not just from my rough handling. Leonora stood for long moments, fists clenched, lips compressed, breathing hard through her nostrils. Oh, she’d recovered fast. It crossed my mind to thank my own gods that she was dying, because the light in her eye was a deadly one.

  Silently Sionnach came to my side. ‘He’s right,’ he said.

  Leonora looked from him, to me, to Finn. At last she held out a hand to her granddaughter.

  ‘Come with me, child.’

  ‘I’m not a—’

  ‘I said come.’ She threw me a last, fleeting, homicidal glare. ‘We’ll talk about this alone. None of it’s any business of your—’ she fought for a suitable expression ‘—your grandfather’s by-blow.’

  By sheer force of will she led Finn, silent and pale, into the dark line of the trees. The rest of us avoided each other’s eyes for a hideously long time.

  ‘Ach.’ I stood up sharply. ‘The hell with all of it. I’ll get us something to eat.’ I called the roan silently, grabbed a handful of its mane.

  ‘Want company, Murlainn?’ Sionnach gave me a half-smile.

  ‘Do I ever? I’ll have your crossbow.’ Pilfering it, I scrambled onto the roan, which was already breaking into a trot.

  Company? I couldn’t think of anything I wanted less.

  Not in real life, anyway.

  ‘Sod off, Faramach.’ Finn ground her teeth.

  Ignoring her, the raven settled on her arm. Fair enough: it wasn’t the bird’s fault. It was her family she wanted to hate, but that was being undermined by some fierce emotion she didn’t like to name. It felt a little like being at home. A lot like belonging. And it still made the grief spark and flare into a ball of white fury in her spine, because it was built on such an enduring lie.

  She stared at the spot where Leonie had been, where she’d calmly stood and torn to shreds everything Finn had ever known, everything she’d ever thought she was. A little regretful, but unapologetic, the old woman had left her with an abrupt consoling hug, and since then Finn had simply stood and waited for the world to make sense. Her heart felt cold as stone.

  The silence of the wood closed in, Faramach’s stare making it even more oppressive. She liked him, always had, but he seemed different here: not quite so much of a pet. She wanted human company; no, only one human. She wanted Conal, wanted him desperately.

  The raven’s head jerked up, making her snatch her hand away. He gave a growling caw. And Conal strode towards her out of the shadow of the trees.

  Her face cracked into a reluctant smile. She called – whether she was aware of it or not – and he came. Wasn’t that always the way? She understood better now why that was, but she had never in her life been happier to see him. He was wearing that long black cashmere coat she’d always liked. He was beautiful in it. Not, she thought with filial pride, that he wasn’t beautiful anyway.

  ‘Conal!’

  He didn’t smile, not even a little, and that was so unusual a tremor rattled down her spine. She halted within a few feet of him.

  ‘You’re angry with me?’ She took another pace towards him.

  Conal smiled at last, but it was the ghost of a smile, and all she could sense in it was a massive emptiness. He glanced over her shoulder, towards the sea, then looked back at her and laid the palm of his hand against her cheek. It felt very, very cool and dry. No, not cool. Cold.

  For the first time in her life she wanted to run from him. But that seemed ridiculous, so she held her ground and his intent stare. His eyes were as black and
fathomless as the eyes of Seth’s horse.

  Absently Conal withdrew his hand from her face, and touched his own throat. Then he glanced down at Faramach, but the bird only stared back at him.

  She frowned. ‘Conal...’

  His head jerked up, and he placed his fingers against her lips as he stared towards the camp. Then he smiled at her properly, and winked. And then he walked away.

  ‘Conal!’ She had a strange notion then: that she ought to delay him, that she must at all costs stop him walking on. But there was only movement, light and shade, the dull gleam of fair hair, the flick of a black coat merging into shadow. He was gone.

  She blinked, her heart twisting; then she shrugged off the hurt and the niggling fear, and snapped at the bird instead. ‘What’s your problem?’

  Faramach looked thoughtfully skywards, then tilted his head back towards her. And then, strangely, he craned his sinister head forward and pressed it to her cheek. It was an odd combination of sensations, the warm skin and feathers, and the cool black beak.

  ‘Finn!’ The call was abrupt.

  She turned towards Eili’s voice, then yelped. Faramach had given her forearm a hard nip. Instinctively, immediately, she shut off her thoughts, remembering Conal’s cold fingers against her lips.

  ‘Where have you been? Come back to the fire. Sionnach says there’s something out here.’

  ‘Again?’

  ‘In the trees. Don’t you believe me?’ Eili chewed her lip thoughtfully. ‘Look, you miss Cù Chaorach. When he gets here you’ll feel better. Now come.’

  She was suddenly very sick of it. She wanted to yell: His name is Conal MacGregor. And his brother is Seth MacGregor. They don’t have other names. THEY DON’T HAVE NAMES I’VE NEVER HEARD IN MY LIFE.

  ‘Oy. Calm down, you. The north of England can hear you think.’ Eili threw her a dark look as she pushed back a branch. There was the clearing, and the crackling fire. ‘Look, I’m sorry about Seth. He’s wound you up. Don’t provoke him.’

  ‘Seth’s a brat.’

  Eili sucked her teeth. ‘Seth’s seen a lot you haven’t. He certainly isn’t spoilt.’ She paused for a heartbeat. ‘Not the way you mean. And Conal loves him.’

  Glaring at her, Finn sat down close to Jed. ‘Conal loves everybody.’

  ‘But Seth loves Conal. And Seth’s love is something you don’t see every day. You know what? You need to sleep.’ Eili laid her hand casually against the back of Finn’s head.

  Finn was hit by a heavy wave of drowsiness that washed over her brain, flooding and deadening.

  Fine. Kill thoughts, and there was more space for dreams. And in this place she dreamed of her mother, but a different version of her, as if she was the woman Stella had abandoned here. Come on, Finn. Come to me. Arms wide and welcoming.

  Finn touched her emerald pendant, the coolness of it a bright pebble of awareness in the fog of sleep creeping from Eili’s fingers. Couldn’t think. Didn’t want to.

  Don’t think. Don’t think.

  Dreams are better.

  I relaxed into it. Why not? I needed to block out the real world, I needed to get my head round how things had changed, and why. I knew why Leonora had returned, and I couldn’t see how Conal was going to stop her, and in truth I didn’t want him to. I was sick of the Bloodstone, sick of exile, sicker even than I’d been in the early days.

  ~ Hush now. Don’t think these things. Don’t think.

  She curled down beside me, leaves rustling in the faintest breeze, barely distinguishable from the whisper of her dress as it billowed across my body. Nearby I heard the movement of the roan, the small whimpering sigh of Branndair. I was tired but I didn’t want to go back to the others yet, even if they were waiting for my still-warm catch. I could smell the deer’s blood. I could hear the drip of it onto dry leaves. I must be half-awake still.

  ~ No, don’t go back yet. Not yet...

  Fine by me. I found her dream-mouth, pushed her red-gold hair back from her face. She tasted of hazelnuts. Liking that, I stopped kissing her, licked the corner of her mouth, and she made a small happy sound. I felt her hand run across my thigh, slide between my legs, and I gasped and grinned. Her grin was against mine. I kissed her again.

  ~ How foolish it all is. I like you, young man. I like you very much.

  There was nothing I could answer to that. Instead I pulled her against me and onto me.

  ~ I even like your brother, traitor as he is...

  It was Branndair’s soft resentful growl that made me open my eyes. My heart thudded. The prickle of leaves beneath me was real against my skin, the drip of deer-blood behind me was clear and real. The cool breeze was no dream either.

  Copper hair brushed my face, lips touched my cheek, turned my lips back to hers.

  I jerked back, stumbling.

  ‘Kate. Gods.’ I snatched behind me, seeking my sword. Couldn’t shut my eyes on her quiet smile.

  Her altogether real smile.

  Reaching across me, she held my arm. Surprised by the strength in her fingers, I could only gape at her.

  ‘Am I armed, Murlainn? Am I? I no more wish you harm than I did in dreams.’

  ‘You do.’ My voice was a croak. I wondered where her fighters were. I could think only that to die like this was the worst of humiliations. I thought of Conal, and shrivelled, inside and out.

  ‘Oh, hush. You think I would bring you here to murder you? That’s not my way.’

  Why not? I thought. It always has been.

  She laughed, released my arm. I staggered to my feet, pulling my clothes desperately back on. My heart nearly failed as I struggled into my t-shirt, knowing I couldn’t see her for a second, but as I yanked it down over my torso she remained motionless, smiling up at me. She reached out her delicate hand. Not knowing what to do, I took it, raised her to her feet.

  ‘What do you—’

  ‘Listen to me, Murlainn. That’s all I want. For you to listen.’

  I glanced down at Branndair, who was watching her with fearful hostility. But he had eyes only for Kate, not for the trees around us or anyone they might be hiding. The blue roan took no notice of us at all, only went on cropping the grass where the deer’s blood had fallen. I listened for long seconds to the silence of the forest, then eyed her.

  ‘So talk,’ I said.

  She stroked my face with the back of her hand. I wanted to flinch, I wanted to lean into her touch. ‘I’ve seen inside your head, Murlainn.’

  ‘You had no business—’

  ‘No. But desperate times make us all desperate. I know what you’ve seen in the otherworld. Centuries of it. So many years of conflict and death and war. They’re not like us, Murlainn.’

  I barked out a laugh.

  ‘Oh, we can fight, Murlainn. But their hatred is different. You know it.’

  I thought of the things I’d seen, the places I’d been as I fought off the longing for home: the things that only made me long for it more.

  ‘I’ve seen all that too, Murlainn. You think I don’t know that world?’

  ‘If you know it,’ I said bitterly, ‘why would you want to own it?’

  Closing her eyes, she sighed. Her arms snaked round my neck and she pressed her lips to it. Sadness and regret seeped from her, pulling at my own tangled emotions.

  ‘You feel the Veil, Murlainn,’ she whispered. ‘Don’t deny it.’

  I was silent. I’d thought that was my own secret. Suddenly, horribly, I knew nothing was.

  ‘Do you?’ I asked at last. ‘Feel the Veil?’

  Her head moved against my neck, ~ No.

  I tried to push her back. I couldn’t think straight. Her touch was like water, filtering through my skin and my skull, soothing my brain, calm and cool. ‘Kate, I can’t do anything with the Veil. I can feel it, touch it, is all. I can’t help you.’

  ‘I know that.’ Her voice was barely more than breath; I sensed it more than heard it. ‘I know, Murlainn. I don’t want anything like that. I only want to hear you sa
y what you know: it’s dying. What will we do?’

  She shivered, and reflexively I held her tighter. ‘We’ll fix it.’

  Her brief laugh was almost a sob. ‘We can’t, Murlainn. I know you don’t believe in the Bloodstone. I do. But Leonora’s wrong. It’s not for saving the Veil, it’s for protecting us. The Bloodstone can’t save a dying thing, but it can save us. It can help us break the Veil. Be in control. You know the full-mortals. Don’t you want to have the upper hand? Don’t you want us to be in charge of our destinies when the Veil dies?’

  I thought of Catriona, I thought of Mila. I thought of all the others. ‘They’re not all—’

  ‘Enough of them are. Enough of them.’

  I thought of the wars; I thought of the camps. The rows and piles of skulls. I thought of grinning children wielding machetes.

  And then I remembered Conal, and twisted out of her grasp.

  ‘Get away from me, Kate. I won’t betray my brother.’

  She set her teeth, raked her hands through her beautiful hair. ‘I’m not asking you to! Do you think I’m stupid enough to ask that of you?’

  ‘Not stupid. But you’d ask it.’

  ‘Once I would have. It’s been a long time, Murlainn. I grow more desperate. I don’t want to see my people persecuted and killed.’

  ‘Hah,’ I said.

  She made a sound of frustration, took a step back from me. That surprised me a little, and so did her grieving glare.

  ‘We’ve had our differences, the Sithe, haven’t we? That will mean nothing when the Veil dies, Murlainn. Nothing! We need to prepare ourselves for that, and far more, we need to prepare the full-mortals.’

  In the silence, I swear I could hear the trees grow.

  ‘Conal says—’

  ‘Conal, always Conal! Your brother is a fine man, Murlainn, a noble man. But on this he is wrong. I mean him no harm. Why would I? He’s the finest soldier I know. To fight with him is foolishness. I want you both on my side. At my side. My Captains.’

  ‘Your henchmen.’

  She shook her head; I caught the scent of her hair, and almost reached for it. I clenched my fist.