The Black North

by Nigel McDowell

  As the words left Oona’s mouth she saw violent past and dark present together: figures at her feet tearing, men with as much burning in their hearts as there was in the Big House, flames edging in … Oona shook her head. She swallowed and said, ‘I know what you did. I know you shouldn’t have stayed and burned, it only let Slopebridge win. And he got away, didn’t he? He lived on and all of you died.’

  ‘Chased out of this Blessed Isle, he was!’

  ‘Aye! I can still see the look on his face, the big bulging eyes on him!’

  ‘And how he tripped and wept like a child, begging us to spare him!’

  ‘Some things are more important than staying living!’

  ‘What’s the point in a life led without pride or honour or cause?’

  ‘We got rid of him and that’s that!’

  But, Oona thought, were the voices weaker, more unsure? And the deepest and slowest of them all – that voice was staying silent.

  ‘Aye,’ said Oona, ‘you got rid is right. But then what happened? He went across the sea and told those over the water what we were like. Must’ve told them what barbarians and all we were, and then, not long after, the Invaders came. Blessed Isle became Divided Isle.’

  Oona didn’t know how she knew this, but knew she spoke the truth.

  There was no answer for her, no other word from the walls. And in Oona’s hands there was a sudden chill – the stone was cooling, had (for the moment) given all its secrets, felt fragile. And then the voice that had been silent spoke, deepest and slowest –

  ‘You say these things, child, but it is a knowledge gained without learning.’

  Oona opened her mouth to answer but was interrupted.

  ‘No disagreement, girl. I know you’re fond of it, but this you cannot argue with. You do not know what you carry, but I do. It was something given you, a something you don’t yet understand.’

  ‘What is it then?’ asked Oona. ‘If you know so much – tell.’

  Voice: ‘It is a something more powerful and dangerous than you have ever dreamed of.’

  Oona didn’t speak then. She held the stone closer, like someone might reach out, snatch.

  ‘Tell me your name,’ said the voice.

  Oona said, proud as she ever was of herself, ‘I’m of the family Kavanagh. My mam gave me the name Oona. It means “Unity”.’

  A softest sigh from this someone unseen. The deep and slow (and now soft) voice replied –

  ‘Kavanagh? Thought as much. Now – do you know my name?’

  ‘I do,’ Oona found herself saying. She waited. And the stone passed her truth: ‘You’re a Kavanagh too. You’re my great-grandfather.’

  ‘I am. I was given the name Aedan. It means “Born of Fire”.’

  ‘How did I know all this?’ asked Oona, hearing a helplessness in her own voice that she couldn’t hide. ‘What is this stone? Where did it come from?’

  The walls shivered, shadows shrinking.

  ‘Where has it come from?’ repeated the voice of her great-grandfather. ‘It comes from the ages, from the blood and broken bones of history itself – from the nightmare of the past. What is it called? Has been called many a thing in its time: the Knowing Stone, the Darkness and the Seeing, the Nightmare Stone. But the name my wife always gave it before she handed it down to your grandmother was this: the Loam Stone.’

  Oona looked – the Loam Stone’s light was low, a slither and flicker, but at the same time so very fierce. It might have been small but the ardency of its convictions were great, and too much to be looked at. Oona had to turn her gaze.

  ‘Your wife?’ she asked.

  ‘It is an object that has been passed down through generations of Kavanagh women,’ said her great-grandfather. ‘An object that allows you to know the most painful of things. Allows you to see all darkness, all nightmares. And through such dark – all truth.’

  ‘I woke and I’d been dreaming,’ said Oona. ‘But not like normal dreaming. I saw the burning, the screaming here in this Big House …’

  ‘When you are dreaming,’ said Aedan Kavanagh, in a voice only just above a whisper, ‘you are defenceless, and that is when it likes to take hold. For years, whichever of the Kavanagh women had it in their custody would sleep with it under their pillow. And during the night it would feed on all pain and discomfort, all anguish of the family. Have you ever, Oona, had a dream like the one that woke you earlier? The one that brought you here? Tell.’

  Oona remembered that voice she’d heard in the Kavanagh cottage – the set of promises, of threats uttered in her mind before her granny had clouted her awake.

  ‘Yes,’ she said.

  ‘Only once? Because your grandmother had been burdened with all nightmares for all the years of your life. Same as all the Kavanagh women who came before her and slept with the Loam Stone close – they would wake in the morning and know their family better than they knew themselves, know her husband better than he liked to admit. The women of the house would know all, and endure all pain and nightmares for the sake of the family.’

  Oona remembered her granny Kavanagh – confused, plagued. She felt closer to understanding. ‘My granny,’ she said, ‘could see things that were happening elsewhere. She knew things.’

  ‘Over time the power of the Stone can stretch,’ said her great-grandfather. ‘It can sense the nightmares and fears of the family even when they are not at home.’ Another slow sigh. ‘It is a terrible thing to bear, Oona. A burden that my wife, in the end …’ The voice of Aedan Kavanagh went silent.

  ‘Then I should get rid of it,’ said Oona. ‘I don’t want it. Don’t want to know these things.’

  ‘I would agree if we were in more peaceful times. But that object is something you cannot surrender, not to anyone.’

  ‘The Invaders are looking for it,’ said Oona. ‘They’re taking the boys and asking them for information about it.’

  ‘In their foolishness,’ said Aedan, ‘they think that something so powerful must be kept among men, passed from father to son. It gives you an advantage, for the time being.’

  ‘Not much chance of that seeing as she’s planning on carrying it up with her into the Black North!’

  Oona turned: a jackdaw was perched in an empty window-frame.

  ‘I thought I told you to stay put!’ said Merrigutt. In one swoop she was in front of Oona and no longer a bird but back to an old woman, pointing, nagging: ‘If we’re going to survive then you’ll have to start doing as I bid! You’ve no self-control in you at all!’

  ‘Now don’t be so harsh on her, Evelyn,’ said Aedan Kavanagh. ‘She’s already learned the trick of resisting the Stone, was able to pull herself away from it and able to pull out what knowledge she liked. More importantly – she wasn’t driven mad by it, and there’s been many’s a Kavanagh woman who has seen that sad fate. I would say that shows some self-control, wouldn’t you?’

  Merrigutt said nothing.

  Oona said to the old woman, ‘You knew I had this or knew it was in the Kavanagh family – that’s why you came to the Tower and took such an interest, isn’t it?’

  ‘I needed to make sure,’ said Merrigutt, not looking at Oona, ‘for the good of us all, that the Stone didn’t drop into the hands of the Invaders. But like I say – some chance of that now!’

  ‘You should’ve not lied and just told me,’ said Oona.

  ‘You were supposed to be taking it South and to safety!’ said Merrigutt.

  ‘There’s no safety now, Evelyn,’ said Oona’s great-grandfather.

  ‘I told her that too!’ said Oona.

  ‘We’ve heard whispers from the forest, from the many Invaders passing by – they are moving across the Divide in vast numbers, bringing with them all magic they can summon, all creatures they can recruit. Soon the South will be as Black as the North.’

  Then another of the men spoke from the walls –

  ‘You plan to go North, into the Black?’

  ‘We do,’ said Merrigutt. ‘Apparen
tly.’ She gave Oona such a look, could’ve curdled milk.

  ‘My brother Morris is there,’ said Oona. She looked to the shape of her great-grandfather that haunted the chimney-breast. ‘That’s why I’m going. He was captured and I want him back. I’ll not lie – he’s a pain in the arse most times, but he’s all I’ve got now.’

  Oona heard the same long, slow sigh from Aedan Kavanagh. Then he said: ‘Tis a foolish folly indeed, heading into the Black.’

  ‘Exactly!’ said Merrigutt.

  ‘And I don’t have the heart to tell you what awaits you beyond the Divide.’

  ‘Are you listening, my girl?’ said Merrigutt, giving Oona a sharp nudge.

  ‘But.’ A pause. ‘I can think of no greater reason to do such a foolish thing than for family, and no greater fool to do it than a Kavanagh.’

  Oona smiled the kind of smile she hadn’t smiled for too long a time. Merrigutt muttered, ‘Heavens-and-the-Sorrowful-Lady-herself help us!’

  Then other words entered the room, which sent shivers everywhere. The sound of outside voices –

  ‘She came up the slope here, I can see tracks. Search the house from top to bottom, every room and crack and cupboard!’

  The walls all whispered: ‘Invaders! Invaders! They’re coming!’

  ‘A way out, Aedan,’ said Merrigutt, and she was once more a jackdaw, again on Oona’s shoulder with claws closing tight. ‘Fast as you could would be appreciated.’

  Another pause, then the echo of Oona’s great-grandfather breathed, ‘Into the fireplace. Hurry.’

  Oona had to edge around the opening in the floor, the men on all walls cowering, their darkness slipping low to the skirting-boards, skulking. Then the voice of an Invader, inside the Big House, too close: ‘You three go upstairs, the rest search this level and anything below.’

  ‘Aedan,’ said Merrigutt, ‘is that him? The Faceless?’

  Oona whispered, ‘Who are you talking about?’

  Voice from the hall: ‘I sense something close. This way …’ Then Merrigutt and her great-grandfather both: ‘Quick!’

  Oona found the fireplace, ducked down and crouched in its emptiness. She felt like a child seeking not to be seen and futile in her effort.

  Then a voice: ‘There she is.’

  Oona saw a figure in the doorway. And she wanted to believe that the dark was confusing her: what she saw was a figure with arms hanging almost to the floor and wearing an Invader uniform, on its shoulder a small bird with crimson eyes. And surely some trick, some devilry in the dark air – the figure had no face, wore only grey-white blankness for an expression, like a grubby page awaiting scrawl.

  A voice coming from somewhere near this faceless Invader said again: ‘There she is.’

  And long-armed and long-legged, the Invader moved in two strides to clear the chasm with hands outstretched, reaching for Oona –

  Then, all in the same moment –

  Cry of Merrigutt: ‘Protect the Stone!’

  Screech of the bird on the faceless Invader’s shoulder: ‘Grab her!’

  Cry of Aedan Kavanagh: ‘Now, Evelyn!’

  Merrigutt leapt to a candle bracket and then to Oona’s shoulder, and the back of the fireplace opened and shut like a trap and Oona was swallowed, the hands of the faceless creature and the screech of the crimson-eyed bird left on the other side.

  23

  Oona demanded, ‘What the hell was what thing?’

  But her great-grandfather’s voice was keen to urge, ‘Hurry! Down the steps and don’t stop for nothing!’

  ‘But –’ began Oona, but beginning to move too.

  Merrigutt said, ‘Just move like you’re told or we might as well say our Farewell Prayers to Her Sorrowful Self! And keep that Stone close!’

  So Oona moved, on bare feet down cold stone steps.

  ‘Quicker if you can,’ said her great-grandfather.

  The Loam Stone gave some light to see by, the littlest; felt smaller in Oona’s hand, seemed shrunken. Like it’s been frighted, thought Oona. But even if there’d been more light from the Stone it would’ve had nothing to show: walls to left and right of Oona were blackened, same as above. Alongside her she had the sense of something moving, of her great-grandfather keeping close. He said, ‘Don’t spend time looking for me. Just concentrate – quickly down. Few more steps just.’

  Oona felt laden with questions, but she waited till the end of the staircase and her feet fell on flatter ground and then she let words escape: ‘Now tell me what that was. Or who? Was it a who or a what?’

  ‘A creature,’ said Merrigutt, still on Oona’s shoulder. The jackdaw sounded almost breathless, like she’d been flying ceaselessly for a long, hard season and had landed only that instant. ‘A thing. And something I wasn’t expecting to see.’

  ‘Must’ve come South to lead the Invaders,’ said Aedan Kavanagh. ‘He is the King’s most trusted advisor. His Captain.’

  ‘He –’ began Oona. She wasn’t sure how to say it except to just say it: ‘He didn’t have a face.’

  ‘We should be thankful he didn’t,’ said Merrigutt. ‘Thankful he wasn’t wearing some other face he’d stolen to fool us!’

  ‘He can take on the appearance of any he likes,’ said Great-grandfather Kavanagh.

  ‘How’d he get like that?’ asked Oona. ‘Some North magic, is it?’

  ‘Some darkness,’ said Merrigutt. She shook her feathers. ‘Some seed that the King planted, fed with blood and poison and up popped that creature. Was tugged out like a weed by the bird he carries on his shoulder – a Carrion Changeling. And since then the two of them can’t be separated, some rotten bond between. The bird does the talking, the thinking, all things – the bird is the thing you need to worry about.’

  Oona said nothing. She drew her mother’s cloak closer.

  ‘Is this tunnel even safe, Aedan?’ asked Merrigutt. ‘Will they not have it covered at the other end?’

  ‘Let’s hope and give prayers that they don’t. This is the tunnel Slopebridge used to escape, and I don’t think many know about it. It’ll take you all the way into the next county – to Ballyboglin and the island town of Innislone. It’s the best choice you have. From there, it’s not far to the Divide.’

  Oona had more questions but had to concentrate – on into the lowest stone tunnel, stooping, her head held so low all of her soon hurt, neck and spine and scalp. Merrigutt had to swap Oona’s shoulder for the ground to hop ahead. And still Oona couldn’t help checking for her great-grandfather, wanting to see him fully, this remainder of a Kavanagh she’d not ever known. She watched, and saw something like a shadow of her own shadow travelling keen, fast-moving, and always a little ahead. And then she lost him. His whisper said, ‘This is as far as I can take you. Only as far as the fire touched.’

  Oona looked and saw some end to the burning, some stone untouched.

  ‘So you’re trapped in that Big House?’ said Oona. ‘Forever?’

  ‘And ever more,’ said her great-grandfather. ‘It is where I died, where my body rotted and bones burned. I died, as you said so rightly, in a shameful way – in search of wealth. And so here I must remain.’

  ‘But what happens if the house just crumbles away to nothing?’ asked Oona. ‘What’ll you do then?’

  ‘I do not know,’ said her great-grandfather.

  ‘Or can you not try some other way to get out maybe?’ asked Oona. ‘Are you some kind of spirit now or …?’

  ‘I do not know what I am. Perhaps only little more than an echo.’

  Oona opened her mouth with more but found that she couldn’t follow such fine words.

  ‘Listen,’ said Great-grandfather Kavanagh. Behind them, following: fast footsteps. Ahead: an uncertain light. ‘Go now!’

  But Oona didn’t want to leave. He might only be darkness and uncertainty – whisper and shadow – but she had found some comfort in the presence of her great-grandfather. And before she went, for a silent moment she settled one hand to the stone, to w
here she imagined his dark lingering. Then Oona heard Aedan’s voice once more, a final murmur for her only –

  ‘Be careful with that Stone. Be so very careful. Its echoes have destroyed so many in our family. In the end, everyone has lost sight of its light and fallen into nightmares.’

  Oona said, ‘I won’t let that happen to me. I’ll be different. I promise it.’

  Then the sound of footsteps still approaching, and faster –

  ‘I’ll distract them as best I can,’ said Oona’s great-grandfather. ‘Good luck.’

  ‘Go!’ said Merrigutt, always there to will on, to command.

  But already Oona was running, eyes on the end of the tunnel, on a light that flickered and fell in scraps and made doubles and triples of her juddering shadow.

  ‘Firelight?’ said Oona.

  Merrigutt said, ‘Aye. It’s Innislone.’

  Then Oona remembered Bridget’s words, and said to herself aloud: ‘The town that won’t be drowned.’

  24

  Suddenly Oona was walking through water, a soup of sucking and squelching beneath her feet.

  ‘Ballyboglin,’ said Merrigutt. ‘Dampest and dankest county in the whole Divided Isle.’

  So walking (near wading) onwards, Oona lifted her cloak and dress and was thankful just then for the firelight to see by …

  Noise reached her ears first – a crackling-crunching, loud as a whole forest being taken by flame. Noise, then heat, and Oona lifted herself from the passage and looked down: fire was tearing at night-sky, the town of Innislone under attack.

  ‘Well hell’s bloody bells,’ breathed Oona.

  ‘Look out!’ said Merrigutt.

  Oona ducked down and half-ran, finding a bedraggled birch – web-choked and rotten and broken by the same dispell that had crept into Drumbroken – to hide behind as a trio of Invaders appeared from the tunnel. They looked about a bit, but were more drawn by the sight of Innislone. They ran on and down, joining Invaders who were streaming in across the bogland from all sides, all flowing into the hollow towards blaze and battle.

  Oona edged up for another look, a squint.