Beyond the Pale: A fantasy anthology

by Jim Butcher

  As the shadows lengthened I began to despair of finding the bird, and the thought of dragging Lilith back to the dun without it was more than I could face. Niall, thirty yards away, gestured to a high outcrop of stone that breached the moor like the fin of a basking shark, and headed his horse towards its sloping flank; Lilith and I took the further and more gentle rise.

  The sun, too brilliant to look at, was sunk halfway beneath the horizon when Lilith gave a cry that made my blood cold.

  I hoped it was Dornadair; I hoped it wasn’t. But as my horse picked its way across the smooth rocks towards the untidy mess of limp black feathers, it was obvious what lay there. Lilith slipped from my horse’s back before I had even reined it in, and was running across the plateau towards the crow’s corpse.

  Niall rode across at my shout, and dismounted to hold my horse’s reins; I made myself go to Lilith’s side and crouch down. I didn’t dare touch the sleek black feathers, twitching and blustering in the wind, but she reached out and gathered up the crow’s pathetic remains, hugging him against her as if she could warm life back into his bones. But even her hot tears dripping into his feathers couldn’t do that.

  I squeezed her shoulder, and got to my feet, finding it difficult to take a breath through the pity in my throat. I was about to speak to her again when I noticed the other, smaller dead thing, a slab of rock and a small crevice away.

  I went over to it, and lifted it by one wing. The carcass was ripped open at the breastbone, but otherwise barely touched.

  Besides, even when it’s stripped to the bone, I know what a pigeon looks like.

  Leonora sniffed, wrinkling her nose in distaste. “Poison, certainly. Quite a lot of it.” She laid the pigeon down on the bench. “At least it must have been relatively quick.”

  If that was meant to calm me, it had the opposite effect. “I’ll kill the little bastard,” I snarled.

  “You think it was Ramasg? You ought to be sure, Griogair.”

  “I’m more than sure. Fionnaghal says a pigeon was stolen from the kitchens, and the other children say it was Ramasg who took it. I didn’t even have to threaten them. Lilith isn’t the only one who’s upset.”

  Niall poked gloomily at the pigeon’s gizzard. “I never thought he’d go so far.”

  “If I’d ever thought it myself, I’d have strung him up by the balls. Too late now. We should have known.”

  “Offer Lilith a whipping. When you catch up with him.”

  “I doubt she’ll settle for that. Did you see the state of her?”

  “And it’s if you catch up with him,” added Leonora. “Has anyone seen the boy?”

  Niall shook his head. “Lying low. The first smart thing he’s done in a year, not that it’ll help him. He has to come back to the dun sooner or later.”

  Leonora slipped an arm round my waist and hugged me. “It wasn’t your fault, Fitheach. And grief-stricken as she is, she’ll find another familiar.”

  “True,” said Niall. “It’s terrible, but it isn’t like losing a bound lover.”

  He spoke very lightly—more lightly than he would have done if he’d actually bound himself to Lann by that point—but I think he was wrong, anyway. Perhaps Lilith wasn’t joined to Dornadair at the soul, but she was not quite twelve years old and she loved him more than I think she’d loved anything in her brief life. That wasn’t a bond you could dismiss; and love came hard to Lilith under any circumstance.

  All the same, after a few days she had recovered her composure enough to return to the life of the dun—quietly, and making eye contact with no one, but she was there among the clann, and her eyes were dry. Her quick recovery surprised and pleased me, though her underlying grief remained tangibly raw. I had the feeling some of the clann children wanted to sympathise with her, to apologise for Ramasg, but one flinty stare and they’d back swiftly off. So much for my hopes, so high in the early spring, for her full integration into clann life.

  Ramasg was still skulking. At least, I thought, the last of the harsh winter had been driven off by what promised to be a fine summer. He wouldn’t freeze out there—though in my harsher moments I thought he fully deserved to—and he was as familiar with caves and shelter stones as any clann child would be after fourteen years running wild on the moor. Besides, Lilith was already back to her habit of roaming—more mournfully now that she had no companion—and I had no doubt that if she saw so much as Ramasg’s broken fingernail in a rockface, she’d tell me.

  ~

  He’d been gone a week when my uneasiness grew too great to ignore. He might not freeze, and he might not starve, and wolves wouldn’t touch him, but he was just stupid enough to get stuck in a cave or run into a wandering rogue Lammyr. My rage still burned hot in my chest, but I was afraid that with time it might subside to an ember and that I wouldn’t have the heart for any punishment he’d deserve.

  And the blunt fact is, I was worried.

  I chose a warm bright morning to go out looking for him, the kind of morning no one could resist. On a day like this, anyone in his right mind would long for home and for happiness; anyone would swallow his fear and his pride and bow to the inevitable, get the worst of his homecoming over with. Or at least, he would be tempted to. If I could meet him halfway, drawn from whatever cave he was hiding in by the smell of new wildflowers and the glittering sea, I could bring him home to face us all. The world never looks so bad on such a day.

  I left my sword behind as well as my coat; a rare thing for me to do, but that was the atmosphere in the sky and the breeze. The closest caverns of any depth were about two miles to the north of the dun; however the seas raged, however hard the storms whipped the waves against the cliff, in the blackest depths of those rock-holes there was always dry sand and safety. It seemed the obvious place to begin my hunt; and only after I’d checked them thoroughly would I search the bleakest furthest edges of the moor. I didn’t see the point of prolonging this, and I was confident I’d find the boy.

  Instead, I found Lilith.

  I called her name, and rode down the narrow gully in the rocks onto the hard sand. She waved, but didn’t get to her feet to greet me. The reason was quickly obvious: the kelpie-colt lay on the sand beside her, its forelegs tucked beneath it, its newly-bridled head resting peacefully in her lap. When I dismounted and walked the last few yards—my horse refused to go a single step closer to its oh-so-distant cousin—Lilith glanced up, her grin impish, her face flushed with delight.

  “Look!” she whispered. “I’ve tamed him!”

  “Yes,” I marveled. “You have.”

  For all I knew of kelpies and for all I knew of witches, there was something innocent and delightful about the scene. She was a ragged little wild thing, dark and intense; it was a crafty brute with a relentless thirst for flesh; but all I could think of as I watched them was old paintings of maidens and unicorns.

  She stroked its head in wonder, tugging at its ears, combing its silky forelock with her fingers. And suddenly I was more than accepting; I was glad that after the terrible end of Dornadair, and her inconsolable desolation in the days afterwards, she’d found another companion.

  “He’s very beautiful,” I smiled. “Make sure he’s fully tame before you bring him near the dun.”

  “Of course I will. Thank you, Griogair!” She bent her head to the kelpie again, crooning, and reached for her pouch, drawing out a small chunk of meat. The creature shifted its head to take it delicately from her hand, gulping it down before taking her second offering. She stroked it as she fed it, caressing its cheekbone, its neck, its gills.

  I don’t know why the first shiver of cold certainty rippled across my skin; perhaps it was her contentment, the utter obliteration of her grief; perhaps it was the realisation that she and her little bow had graduated to bigger game. The chunks of flesh she fed it were torn from something far larger than a pigeon, and as the kelpie nickered, peeling back its upper lip to sniff for more treats, I saw tiny threads of woven fabric caught on its canine te
eth.

  I snatched for the next morsel as Lilith took it from her pouch, but she held it away from me, shaking her head solemnly, and gave it to the creature. I was certain there were strands of wiry black hair stuck to the meat.

  “It’s better if I feed him,” she said. “For now.”

  “Lilith.” The blood in my veins was snow-water. “Have you seen anything of Ramasg? I thought he might be in the caves.”

  She looked over her shoulder, very calmly, at the slit of darkness that was the first cave mouth. I almost thought I could hear the cliff breathing; I shook off the fancy.

  “No,” she said. “I think he was here. But he isn’t now.”

  Everything she said was not quite a lie, and not quite the truth. That was what I’d thought the day I first met her; that was what I thought again the day I said goodbye to her, lifting her onto the bay pony’s back.

  At least, I tried to lift her; but she clung to me, her eyes wide and tearless but her grip tight enough to crush my spine. I turned helplessly to Leonora, who reached out a hand to the child.

  “Come along, now. You’ll like Kate, I promise.”

  Lilith wouldn’t look at her.

  With a sigh, Kate herself dismounted, signaling her two escorts to stay on their horses. She came over to Lilith, who remained pressed to me, and she crouched close beside her, making the girl meet her eyes.

  “You’ll be happy with me,” she promised. “I’ll make sure of it.”

  Her pale hand stroked the child’s cheek gently, rhythmically, till at last Lilith’s eyes seemed to focus, staring hard into the queen’s. Many a grown Sithe had flinched under that gaze, but Kate didn’t.

  And when she wanted or needed to be, Kate was simply enchanting. I’d seen my monarch many times; I had spoken to her, laughed with her, argued with her, carried out her wishes; and still, every time I saw her my gaze could only linger. Her tall paleness; her intense amber eyes; the summer sunlight striking flakes of gold from her chestnut hair. I did not love her, except as my queen, but more than enough people did; and the adoration she inspired had kept her on the throne for centuries. There was no one her equal, no one to compete with her; or no one, I thought with a glance at Leonora, who had the desire to do so.

  “Give her to me, Griogair.” Kate smiled at Lilith, running a hand through her hair.

  “Not me that’s holding onto her,” I muttered dryly. But even as I said it, I felt the child’s grip loosen very slightly.

  “You know well I’ll take care of you,” said Kate. “Don’t you, Lilith?”

  The girl hesitated, then nodded.

  “And you know you can’t stay here. You know that, after what you did.”

  She nodded again, silent, though her expression was without shame or remorse.

  “Griogair doesn’t want you to go.” Kate slipped her fingers into Lilith’s behind my back. “But he has no choice. He can’t keep you here. I’m sure you can come back when you’re grown. In fact, I promise you can. I’ll bring you back to Griogair in a few years. Yes?”

  Lilith looked up at me, studying my face for the longest time. And then, at last, her arms slipped reluctantly from around me, and Kate brought her hand forward, their fingers entwined.

  “I’ll miss you,” I said truthfully, as Kate stood up and put an arm round Lilith’s shoulders.

  The girl only nodded. Niall Mor brought the pony around once more, and this time I lifted Lilith onto it with no effort. Kate sprang lightly onto her own dappled mare.

  “It’s for the best, Fitheach,” murmured Leonora, clasping my hand in hers. “It’s all we can do. The clann won’t tolerate the child now.”

  Lilith had turned back to watch us as the escorts led the way out of the gate, and her unnerving gaze met Leonora’s. I can’t say for certain that anything passed between them, but I’d swear they Saw each other properly for the first time, and that words were exchanged.

  Something twitched at the corner of Leonora’s mouth as we watched them ride away, something that might have been a smile.

  “And the kelpie?” she asked, as the gates swung shut behind Lilith and the queen.

  “Gone,” put in Niall. “Nobody’s seen it since... Well. Since that.”

  “It’ll come back to her.” Leonora sounded not entirely unsatisfied.

  “So long as it doesn’t come back here,” muttered Niall as he walked away.

  “He’s right.” I put an arm round Leonora. “So I don’t like the look in your eye.”

  She shook her head thoughtfully. “The child went about things in a bad way, but she wasn’t wrong. She’s a witch but she’s also a Sithe. We were closer to the waterhorses, once.”

  I rubbed my temple. “I knew I didn’t like the look in your eye.”

  “Then don’t ask me questions.” She smiled and kissed me. “And you needn’t be so regretful, Griogair. It’s true; she’ll return when she’s older. And I’ll bring you news of her when I go to Kate’s dun in the autumn.”

  “The autumn?” I frowned. “If you’re leaving me again so soon, you owe me some time.” I tightened my arm around her waist, suddenly longing for her. Leonora, Rochoill, destroyer of all my sadness.

  “I know I do.” Her smile was a touch smug, making me laugh. “I’ll see you at sunset.”

  “So long?” I was hungrily disappointed, but I knew there was no point arguing. It would be all the sweeter for a delay, anyway. “Where are you going now?” ~Rochoill?

  But she had already shuttered her mind as she flicked me a last amused glance.

  “To the shoreline, Griogair, my love,” and her voice was already a bewitching lilt. “Down to the sea to sing.”

  SOUTH

  ~

  by Gillian Philip

  Ice lies in a thin slick across the bay, but he’s in the water anyway. The boy always is. Just like his grandmother.

  It might as well be the other side of the earth: her side of it. A late and overcast day in monochrome, so there’s only white, and spikes of grass and tree, and the hills drawn in charcoal streaks with scribbles of gully in between. Not so much snow, now.

  The world’s only colour lies in the beam of the Land Rover headlights—sick yellow of winter grass, a few dull pink yards of road. I switch off the engine and the lights too. Creak the door open into silence, and walk down to the shore, tightening my scarf round my neck. Cold burns my throat when I call to him.

  ‘‘Culley. Time to come home now.”

  I wait, used to it now, the tight slow thump of my heart as I wait for him to not-come-back. One day he’ll be gone. One day, like his mother.

  Not today.

  He hauls himself from the water, nostrils flaring open, cropped hair stiff with salt against his long skull, bits of ice still glittering in it. He towels his scalp with one hand, pulls on jeans with the other, tugging denim over damp skin.

  He smiles at me. “Grandpappy.”

  “Culley. Your father is worried. It’s late.”

  He looks at the sky, surprised. “I was just coming.”

  Like a boy hauled from the slides in the play park, he’s sheepish, apologetic, a little resentful.

  The relief chokes my throat, so to pass the embarrassing moment I bend to retrieve his jumper from the black rocks, and hand it to him. Unhurried, he pulls it over his head; big as it is, it stretches across his overdeveloped shoulders. He smiles at me again, his dark hair stiff with salt and frost but already drying.

  “I’ll take you back,” I say.

  “Thanks. I’m sorry. It’s hard to know the time.” He scratches his scalp nervously, and the frost-light makes the slight membrane between his fingers look thinner than ever.

  He’s a gentle boy. He doesn’t like to cause hurt, regrets it when he so often does. I don’t worry for him. Not much.

  I keep the rifle in the Land Rover, but I know I won’t need it.

  ~

  His grandmother looked much the same, first time I saw her. Half-naked, that is, not gentle. In t
hat climate I thought she was mad, with nothing but a silky-fur blanket clasped round her like a cloak.

  I’d gone to watch the penguins because I had some time off, and watching the penguins was a hobby for me, not work like it was for Mal. He watched penguins and fur seals and sometimes leopard seals, when there were any, when there was ice in the bay. They didn’t come in the warmer weather. He watched them and counted them and made records, and because those were the days before the internet, he sent data back home on the Inmarsat. I helped him, when I wasn’t fixing things. He loved his job, and I loved mine. You had to, or you wouldn’t be out on this lonely outcrop of a godforsaken island.

  The unexpected woman sat on a rock, watching the penguins too, and they seemed more nervous of her than of me, but I wasn’t watching emperors any more. I laid my binoculars down because I didn’t need them; she was that close.

  When they say blood runs cold it’s a cliché, but there’s no other way to describe it. She wasn’t supposed to be there. I’d thought Mal and I were alone at this end of the island, and I thought for a ridiculous moment she’d missed her cruise ship and been left behind. Except that people off the cruise ships didn’t dress like that – half-naked under a silky-fur wrap.

  She turned her head and looked at me.

  “Are you all right?” I asked.

  My gut had tightened with the fear of madness. It was well below zero but her pale skin didn’t prickle with gooseflesh and she didn’t shiver, not once. Her hair was sleek and black and wet, and for a crazy moment I thought she must have been in the water. But that wasn’t possible. Not in her skin.

  “I’m fine,” she smiled, “I’m grand. Hello yourself.”

  To step away from a near-naked woman, and one so beautiful: that would have been the mad thing. And when Malcolm found out, as he certainly would the next time we got garrulous with homesickness and rum, he’d never let me forget it.

  So I took a step closer instead, and saw that her hair wasn’t black at all but an odd iron-grey, with a hint of what might have been dappling. And though she was so tall and straight and slender, and her face was a long reptilian oval – which isn’t to say it wasn’t beautiful – her shoulders looked disproportionately powerful. She smelt of the sea: of grease-ice and salt and tussac grass, and quite possibly penguin-shit. I fell in love.