So Oona looked once more –
Again the same press and onslaught of Giant nightmares: rising fire and ocean, earth cracking open as it had already done at the Divide, dust and echoes and suffocating quiet … but this time Oona had decided not just to watch, but to dream. If I could dream fire in Loftborough, she thought, and command that, then maybe I can do more? She knew what the Giants feared, so knew what darker things would inflame. The Stone boiled in her hand, sending fierce encouragement everywhere, power trickling into limb and head and frantic heart, and Oona gave the Giants fire: wavering sheets like she’d seen in Innislone. And then water: as Merrigutt had told, the sea sent storming over land when the King’s City had first risen. And then earth: land rising and walking, so much tearing that the ground was a mire of dark places to fall. And then the worst truth: the Hollow Mountain itself, the dark eating in, the end of knowledge as books were torn and burned. And this last was the spark that started everything –
The Giants roared, ‘Stop!’ and its force sent Oona staggering backwards, falling, but she didn’t release the Loam Stone. Oona looked up, held the Stone high and persisted with nightmares, showing the Giants a North swept clear of every tree and township, every roaming or squirming or foraging thing lost, destroyed, the whimper of the Whereabouts Wolves rising on dark-choked air and their wives, the Giants in the pass, nothing but dust –
The cries of the Invaders –
‘Hold them back!’
‘Shoot them!’
‘Use the fire! Stop them!’
But the Giants were rising. So small and sobbing one moment, fit for nothing, and then an alarming height: from crouch to stand, any fold of flesh stretching taunt, muscles thickening beneath. The Invaders scattered, hurling what fire they had but seeing it deflected, dying. And the Giants roared a rumble of such words: ‘You shall not destroy nor decimate all that has been here for centuries, all that history has woven! We shall not sit and watch this land reduced to ash and cinder! To bid the land to rise, for generations to be exhumed and defiled when they wish to lie dead – such a crime!’ And they had only to move their feet to rip themselves free of bonds, had only to reach to tear hunks of dark rock from the walls and hurl them into the air – their aim precise, their power peerless, they struck Invader weapons on the farthest side of the cavern, shattering cannons and firearms and sending soldiers into a scatter.
Oona decided she’d better move herself – in a crawl she went, eyes on narrow river, small boat, thoughts fixed on escape.
She heard the bird on the Faceless Invader’s shoulder screaming, ‘Shoot them! Bring them down!’
Perhaps some gunshots, but not enough to slow the Giants: skin so tough, hardening almost to stone like their wives, deflecting any bullet.
Then the bird’s screech of wondering: ‘The girl, where is she? Do not let her escape with the Stone!’
Oona ran.
She heard Invaders throw the call to one another to stop her, and Oona was snatched at, but when any Invader came near she held her defence high, Loam Stone bringing to their minds the shared nightmare she knew terrorised them. They cringed like uncared-for children, all uncomprehending.
Oona reached the river and leapt into the boat she’d been brought in. But of course one –
‘Didn’t you listen to me earlier on, girl? I said you weren’t going to be going anywhere!’
Same Invader who’d taken her from the boat took her once more, same fashion – hair and arm and whatever he could grab and Oona squirmed and bit and in the struggle she dropped the Stone, hearing its hard clatter in the bottom of the boat. She formed a fist and caught the Invader on the side of the skull with it. He cursed her up and down and Oona had a moment’s release to reach for the Stone.
‘You’re going nowhere,’ the Invader told her, taking her by the ankle. ‘If we’re all gonna die in this mountain, then so will you!’
But no giving in for Oona Kavanagh: she had a last surge of strength and kicked out and feeling the Invader’s grip loosen she reached for the Stone, laying a touch on it with only tips of her fingertips. She’d no other thought or command or wish in her head, only this dream: Evelyn Merrigutt and all the jackdaw women – save me.
‘No escape!’ said the Invader, flipping Oona on to her back and pressing a knee to her chest, blade to her throat. ‘You’ve got nothing to save you now, my girl!’
‘I wouldn’t be so certain about that, young lad.’
A single jackdaw alighted on the rock that did the job of mooring the boat. Jackdaw, then old woman – a blink and the black and grey of the jackdaw was replaced by the black and grey of Evelyn Merrigutt who plucked a handful of that scarlet powder from her clothes and tossed it into the Invader’s face. He screamed, holding both hands tight to his eyes as he lunged blind, blade slashing air as Merrigutt stood aside, calm as anything, and let the Invader topple scalp-over-soles into the river.
Oona and the old woman looked at one another.
A moment, and then the rest: dozens of jackdaws stormed through the cavern, attacking the Invaders and crying –
‘Ruin our North, will you? Monsters!’
‘Ruffians and thieves and pillagers and nothing else!’
‘Foolish and proud and ridiculous men remaking the world!’
And the attention of the Invaders was split between birds and Giants, not knowing what to aim for or where best to fight, but then one screech outdid all: ‘Stop the girl!’
The Invaders closest ran for Oona but Merrigutt tossed more scarlet powder –
Up soared flame from the ground, keeping the soldiers back.
‘Not just as good as you are with the fire,’ said Merrigutt, looking at Oona, ‘but it’ll have to do. Now, my girl – I say we get the hell out of here!’
Both into the boat then, Merrigutt flicking (what looked like last) supplies of scarlet powder at the rope that held them to the shore. It sizzled, snapped, and Oona found the paddle to push them off as rock fell everywhere, exploding on water, soaking them. Oona struggled, setting sight on the way out – a dark tunnel she fought towards.
‘Such an easy escape? Surely you didn’t think it so?’
The bird with blazing eyes landed on the stern, leaving the Faceless Invader standing on the shore. It said, ‘You think you can defeat the King with mere powders and tricks?’
‘No,’ said Merrigutt, ‘but I know very well how to deal with an old bird.’ And she snatched up the sack that had been used for covering Oona’s head and enclosed the bird in it, tightening its top and hurling it into the air. It went high, landing on the opposite shore. Oona watched for the Faceless, worried: without the bird, what was it? Only this: a puppet with its strings cut, powerless. Arms scarecrow-stiff, the Faceless collapsed backwards.
‘Keep going,’ said Merrigutt. She laid a hand on Oona’a shoulder. ‘Almost there.’
Oona drove the paddle into the river, pulling them towards the tunnel. Almost at it, close to almost free –
But gunfire –
And so many jackdaws falling, transforming into women as they struck stone –
And Giants in a storm of smashing rock –
An Invader shouted, ‘There! Stop that boat!’ Another ordered, ‘Blow it up!’
A fizzle of fuse and seconds later a cannon-blast collided with rock: above the tunnel, everything began to fall.
Invader: ‘We’ve got them!’
Another: ‘Kill the old one, we need the girl alive – King’s orders!’
The tunnel was blocked by tumbling stone, the prow of the boat arriving to bump pointlessly against. Trapped, Merrigutt chose this time to say, ‘I’ve none of my powders left and no other trick up my sleeve. It’s up to you now, my girl – show me proper what power you’ve learned from that Stone.’
70
‘I dunno if I can,’ said Oona, looking to the Stone still lying by her feet. ‘What I’ve seen – too much. It showed me –’
‘It’s shown you all the very
worst I bet,’ said Merrigutt, speaking over. She took Oona’s hand. ‘Things you didn’t want to see. But I’ll tell you one thing – if you can use it to bring me from another place to this place just by dreaming, then you can keep going and not let us just get killed or captured by this shower of fools.’ Merrigutt took Oona’s face in her hands. ‘Don’t let this be the end of it. Not after all the Black we’ve ran and walked and crawled through.’
More jackdaws were dropping, not returning to the air –
More Giants cowering under the assault –
An Invader close by called, ‘We’re not letting you go, girl! But old woman or whatever you are – you better say your goodbyes now!’
And then Oona saw with sudden clarity – the Invader’s finger tightened around the trigger. Oona snatched up the Stone and snatched too at any dream and a limb of compacted earth with tree and bush and briar sprouting like brittle whiskers along its length suddenly thrust itself through a gap in the mountain. It swept the Invader aside and any gunshot went astray.
The arm of a Muddglogg waited. Awaited instruction, Oona realised.
And she saw in the eyes of all the Invaders the same thought: Is our own magic turning on us?
‘Now this is more like it, my girl!’ cried Merrigutt, and she gave Oona such a smile.
And Oona only had to imagine it and more Muddglogg arms came reaching, snatching and sweeping through the air to send Invaders tumbling as the Giants called, ‘The girl has the Nightmare Stone! She has learned how to use it! Protect her!’ Then one of the Giants crouched close, slipped massive hands beneath the boat and lifted it clear from the river. He huddled it close to his massive chest to shield Oona and Merrigutt.
But still there was Invader gunfire – made the Giant shudder, groan, stumble.
Oona said nothing, only imagined: the arm of the first Muddglogg she’d brought began to move towards them –
Another cannon-blast made everything shake and the Giant that held them was hit –
‘That’s one’s got the girl!’ shouted an Invader. ‘Load that cannon and fire again!’
‘Hold tight!’ Oona told Merrigutt, the Giant doing its best to lift them high as the Muddglogg was there to take, securing a hand beneath the boat. And as the boat left the hold of the Giant, Oona heard their collective voice rumble with words: ‘Remember this, inheritor of the Stone – in the end it is not nightmares that prevail, but instead dreams that defeat the dark.’
‘Fire!’
A final cannon-blast struck the Giant hard over its heart. A sound like shattering rock, and he toppled. And the sight of the Giant splayed – of its body shrinking small once more – made Oona stronger. Before they were withdrawn on the hand of the Muddglogg, Oona whipped her arm upwards and willed the river into a rise that swamped the Invaders who began to flee through whatever discoverable opening would let them, on their way still harried by claw and beak of the jackdaws. And then, almost free of the Hollow Mountain, Oona heard such echoes: a voice so close but coming from a City across the sea, a screaming from the edge of everything –
‘You will regret this, Oona Kavanagh! Soon I will show you such dark, such secrets, and you will wish you had never been born! You think you are close to the end now, close to triumph? I promise you this – your nightmares have not yet even begun.’
71
From among stars, on the palm of a Muddglogg, Oona could see the mountain itself beginning to end. All magic was deserting: like Innislone burning, she knew the peak’s time was short, would soon be nothing.
‘Need to get away from here,’ said Merrigutt.
So Oona directed the Muddglogg in a shout: ‘Take us to the river!’
It obeyed with long strides, Oona feeling as though they were crossing not just the miserable Black of below any more but the exhilarating black of the sky. She looked to Merrigutt – the old woman’s grip was tight on the edge of the boat. Oona said, ‘Now you’ve got to admit it – this is just a wee bit amazing.’
‘I never knew,’ said Merrigutt suddenly, slowly. ‘Never knew proper till I saw you on that rooftop in Loftborough how powerful that Stone is. Never knew such things could be done in the world.’
The look the old woman gave Oona: same as in Loftborough, an expression of awe, fearful wonder. And like possession and onus of the Stone, it was something Oona didn’t think she deserved. All the while, the Loam Stone stayed hot in her hand. But she could bear it, its heat indistinguishable from the heat and hammer of her own heart.
‘Is that the end of them?’ asked Oona. ‘The Invaders?’
‘Not a bit,’ said Merrigutt. ‘They’re hell-bent on getting to the Burren.’
‘The Giants didn’t tell them how to get in,’ said Oona.
‘They’ll not need that knowledge,’ said Merrigutt. ‘My guess is the magic around the Burren won’t be for lasting. It’s an ancient place, but too much has changed – the protection around will be fading.’
Their obedient Muddglogg stopped suddenly, one leg planted on either side of the river. It sank, lowering their boat and laying it with such gentleness on the surface of the river. Straightaway the current took: around one bend tight as a crook, swift, and then in among trees untouched.
‘You cannot escape what you have seen, Oona Kavanagh. The sight of it will tear you apart.’
No, Oona told the King: not saying, just thinking. I won’t let it kill me like it’s done to others. And I’ll destroy this Stone before I’d let you have it.
‘Fool! It cannot be destroyed. It is a thing that thrives on nightmares, so how can it end? There is enough dark in a person to sustain the Stone for a lifetime: it shall endure, survive even as you slowly are destroyed.’
Oona said nothing more. Only let herself sink, finally. At last let the Loam Stone slip from her fingers to tumble into the bottom of the boat. She shut her eyes.
‘You’ll be fine enough now,’ said Merrigutt. One of the old woman’s hands went to Oona’s shoulder, and the other she laid on Oona’s forehead. ‘You’re flushed as anything – you need to calm yourself.’
Oona wet her lips, wanting to speak. But she didn’t know which words.
Merrigutt told her, ‘Aye, just rest yourself. There’s not so much to worry about now, my girl.’
‘He’s been speaking to me,’ Oona confessed. ‘The King of the North – I’ve been hearing him in nightmares. It’s been like he’s been calling to me, leading me. He wanted me to see things.’
‘Quiet now,’ said Merrigutt. ‘These are words for later.’
But Oona was shivering all over like sudden disease had taken. And with sorrow she realised this: without the Stone in hand, she was worse. She needed it, had to have knowledge, and perhaps power. Without it she felt almost lost. But Oona resisted, instead holding tighter to Merrigutt and talking aloud all secrets she needed to tell –
‘I’ve seen things. From my family. Horrible things. I don’t know whether to believe them.’ She wanted to be contradicted, craving disagreement from the dependably disagreeable old woman, but –
‘I believe you,’ said Merrigutt. She sighed. ‘There’s some things we learn and we wish we hadn’t, my girl. And it changes you, but there’s nothing we can do about that. And if we’re in the mood for airing things, I should say that I’ve not been the most honest with you that I could’ve been.’
Oona opened her eyes. The old woman was looking off into the gloom. Oona didn’t know if she could endure any more harsh truths. Instead she asked, ‘What am I now? I’m a Kavanagh still, but …’ Oona tried to feel the familiar comfort of the name, that sure sense of somewhere belonging. ‘I’m a Kavanagh. And I –’
‘I’ll tell you what you are, my girl,’ Merrigutt interrupted. ‘You’re just you now. Not this or that other thing or whatever name you have. This is the North, and Black as it is and miserable and ruined as it’s become, there’s one thing we say up here that’s about right: You are whatever you wake as in the morning. But if by evening praye
rs you’re something else entirely, then be happy. Don’t weep nor worry: it’s no sin at all to become something today which yesterday you did not dream of being.’
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‘Waken up now, my girl. We’re far enough on from things, but I’d bet not far enough from harm.’
Oona had found sleep, and imagined herself near home. Dreamed herself and Morris: back in Drumbroken, scrambling up trees in a race to pilfer eggs from a kite’s ragged nest, then fleeing the vengeful mother when it returned. Then Oona challenging her brother, ‘Race you to the Torrid!’ And through forest and leaping into the river whatever season and splashing and diving down to disturb eels and search for imaginary treasure or snaring mayflies and using them as bait. And then after – dozing, damp to their souls, only waking when the first chill of dark descended. With eyes closed, it was easy for Oona to imagine this. And to dream the Kavanagh cottage closer – that she could just up and hurry to it. And home would be warm and secure and subdued, her grandmother whimpering with those worrisome dreams Oona understood well. And Oona would wake her slowly, whispering, ‘I’m here, Granny. I was away but now I’m home again. Don’t worry. You’re safe.’
Then Oona heard Merrigutt’s voice once more and all imagining had to be left behind: ‘Up now and have a look. It’s a better day about you, and another new place to look at.’
So Oona left dreams to look.
Unexpected day, unexpected daze – full of bluster, the sky shifting like an old skirt, its whites grubby and fast-moving, its blue wane but bright. Sunlight was scattered on the surface of the swollen river, and Oona could tell they’d travelled far – clear water, small shoals of minnow and stickleback. The idea of the North and its Black shrank almost to nothing in Oona’s mind. She noticed the Loam Stone still lying in the bottom of the boat. Despite the day’s light, the Stone kept its dark.
‘Where are we?’ Oona asked.
‘We –’ said Merrigutt. She stopped. She had the paddle in her hands and hadn’t returned to her jackdaw form. And Oona thought: Such brightness is a good thing to wake to, but it can be cruel enough too, showing up every wrinkle and crease and tiredness in the old woman. Merrigutt found words to finish: ‘We’re almost there. This here is a part of the North the King hasn’t paid much attention to. Not since he first arrived anyway.’
The Black North Page 22
