“All right,” she finally said. “I trust you, Da’.”
He nodded and almost smiled. “Then let’s bring yer Poppy home.”
Chapter 11
Isle of Parthas – The Moorlands
The moors appeared wild, almost magical in the moonlight, but Rain barely noticed. She was too busy trying not to die.
Kincaid sped toward the rocky shoreline, narrowly avoiding what seemed like hundreds of boggy patches, big rocks, and other obstacles designed to throw them directly into the air and send them crashing to bits on the ground. Apparently he’d left his caution at the camp this time.
She clung tighter to his waist, until he gasped for breath. “Slow down, will you?” she shouted over the roar of the bike.
“Can’t,” he yelled back. “Any slower and we’ll get bogged and have to walk. That’d take all night.”
“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”
“Aye. Done this a hundred times.”
“Great.” That wasn’t as comforting as she wanted it to be. She rested her helmet on his back and closed her eyes, thinking she should’ve ridden with her father. But he’d lagged behind to prepare a few spells and arrange transportation for all the people they hoped to save, and she’d wanted to get moving quickly.
This might be too quick, though.
At last, the heart-stopping pace of the motorcycle slowed. Rain risked a glance and saw the jagged line of rock formations looming ahead, black against the dark sky. The ground below was more stone than swamp now, and Kincaid piloted the bike with less bobbing and weaving.
She’d finally caught her breath when he sputtered to a halt and stopped the engine. “Well, here we are,” he said. “Now what?”
“We find them.”
“How?”
She dismounted the bike, willing her shaking legs to hold her up, and removed the helmet, then reached around briefly to make sure the sword was still tied to her back. Kincaid had left the headlight on, and it illuminated the towering mass of sharp, thick rock ahead that stretched to either side as far as she could see. There had to be a mile or more, all of it riddled with caves. It was a lot bigger than she remembered.
They probably should’ve thought this through a bit longer.
Kincaid climbed off and put the kickstand down. “Guess we could try a Finding spell,” he said as he took his kit and two flashlights from the bike’s saddlebag, handing her one of the lights. “Might work now that we’re close. Ish.”
“Maybe.” She turned the flashlight on and panned it slowly across the rock range. “But there has to be something — there. See those trees?”
He looked at the scraggly specimens near the base of the crag. “Poor things’re half dead, aren’t they?”
“Yes. From cormorant droppings,” she said. “There’s a colony here.”
“And a bunch of great bloody birds are going to help us how?”
“They might know where the creature’s lair is. In fact, they almost certainly do.”
Kincaid snorted. “Well, let’s just ask the birds, then.”
“That’s what I’m doing,” she said with a wry smile. “I can talk to animals. It’s my gift, remember?”
“Oh … right. Knew that.”
“Sure you did.” She patted his shoulder. “Wait here.”
She moved toward the trees, keeping the light pointed at the ground so she wouldn’t startle the birds. “Hello?” she called over the gentle sound of the surf lapping against the other side of the rocks. “Don’t be frightened,” she said. “We’re friends, and we could use your help. We know about the monster.”
Something stirred ahead, a slight rustling. Great cormorants didn’t vocalize much, except when they were mating, but she heard a few low, guttural sounds that felt nervous and uncertain.
“We know about the monster,” she said again. “We’re here to drive it from your home and restore peace, but we need your help to find it. Will you help us, please?”
Another burst of soft sounds responded. She risked shining the flashlight slightly ahead and saw a single black bird with a yellow bill perched on the lowest branch of a tree, watching her. “Hello, there,” she said. “Can you—”
The bird took flight. She frowned as she watched it rise and circle her twice, then tried not to jump when it drifted down to land on her outstretched arm.
The thoughts of the cormorant were fast and taut, like a steel wire. She picked up a series of flashing images: the duin’alla with fangs bared and black lips writhing, the creature picking its way along the face of the sharp rock with a silk bundle in two of its four arms, a cave strung with human-sized cocoons of silk like grotesque piñatas.
One of those was her Poppy.
“That’s it,” she said in strangled tones. “That’s what we need to find. Will you show us the cave?”
The cormorant loosed an agreement in the form of a bleating call that sounded somewhere between a sheep and a walrus.
“Thank you.”
She turned and walked slowly back to Kincaid with the bird still perched on her arm. “She’ll take us,” she said. “It’s not far from here.”
“Wow,” he breathed. “Your gift is bloody amazing.”
“Right now, it’s useful. That’s the important thing.” She glanced at the cormorant, which blinked and flew off. “Follow that bird,” she said.
As she went after it with Kincaid close behind, she found herself thinking about his remark. She’d thought her gift was amazing too, when she was young. Being able to communicate with any animal, from a gnat to a great black bear. She’d made friends with fish and foxes, cuddled cows and snuggled sheep. The girl she was had found it all so magical.
But eventually it became just another chore, like identifying plants and memorizing spells and reading lore. All the ritual and ceremony, the solemn secrets and the endless list of things no one would explain to her, had driven the fun right out of it — until even talking to animals, the coolest thing ever, was just another thing she had to endure.
So she’d run from it all. And now, it was surprising how quickly she could remember everything she’d tried to forget.
The cormorant slowed to a drift, gliding in a lazy circle and gaining height. It landed somewhere in darkness. Rain reached the point where it vanished and directed the flashlight up the face of the rock to where the bird perched above an almost perfectly circular opening, twenty feet off the ground.
Kincaid caught up fast and glanced along the path of the beam. “Wonderful,” he said. “Too bad we’re not spiders. Don’t know about you, but I can’t jump that high.”
“We climb, then.”
“On those sharp rocks? We’ll slice ourselves to ribbons.”
The cormorant called once and took off in a flurry of wings, but it dipped down and landed on Rain’s arm long enough to offer a final thought. “The creature’s not in there right now,” she said. “So if we’re going to save them, we’d better get up there fast.”
“Right.” Kincaid brought the other flashlight out and played the light around the base of the rock. “Wait, here’s something,” he said, approaching the crags slowly. He pointed the beam behind a jagged boulder. “There’s kind of a path here,” he said. “Looks worn fairly smooth, and it goes up quite a ways.”
Rain walked over to him and looked. There was something like a path, narrow and slightly ridged, heading up the rock face at a moderate incline. It sloped away from the cave entrance, but it looked like there was a flat place about halfway up. They might be able to climb from there. “Works for me,” she said. “Let’s go.”
He nodded and started up. “Careful,” he said after a few steps. “It’s a bit slippery.”
They made slow progress. The path was wet, apparently formed by eroding water, and the slick rocks offered little purchase. At the halfway point, the flat place turned out to be a long shelf of rock extending in both directions, with another inclined path that doubled back toward the cave. It wou
ld’ve been impossible to see this path from the ground.
“I’m thinking this cave’s been occupied before,” Kincaid said as they started up the second path. “Not sure if I like that idea.”
“With you on that,” she said.
By unspoken consent, they slowed and stopped before the mouth of the cave, listening for movement. There was nothing but the rhythmic surf and a steady sea breeze.
Rain reached back and drew the sword. “I’m going in,” she said softly.
“Right behind you,” he said. “I’d go first, but you’re the one with the sharp object.”
“Yes. Let’s hope it’s sharp enough.”
She entered with caution and played the flashlight around the cave. It was fairly large as caves went, and mostly smooth, as if hollowed out by water. No sign of the duin’alla — but she quickly spotted the cocoons suspended near the back of the cave.
“There they are,” she said, trying to ignore the gorge rising in her stomach. Please be alive, she thought desperately. “Let’s get them down.”
It took both of them to support one of the cocoons. The sword cut through the thick string holding them in place easily enough. They lowered the first one gently to the cave floor, and Kincaid knelt beside it, drawing a dagger from his kit. “If I wasn’t seeing this,” he muttered, his face pale in the wash of the flashlight. “Giant bloody man-spiders. Such a thing shouldn’t exist.”
He used the dagger to slice the cocoon open carefully. “Grab a side,” he said, taking hold of the one nearest him. “All right, now pull.”
The cocoon crackled and shifted as it came apart. Inside was a young man, not yet twenty, curled in a near-fetal position with his eyes closed and his mouth slightly open. There were puncture wounds on his neck, and his skin was tinged slightly blue with patches of white.
He didn’t appear to be breathing.
“Danny MacCallan,” Kincaid said roughly. “Bring that light closer, will you?”
Holding back tears, Rain crouched lower and shone the light on the boy. “He’s dead, isn’t he?” she whispered.
“Maybe not.” Kincaid touched the boy’s throat gently, just beneath his jaw, and waited. After a minute his expression contorted and he gasped, moving his hand away. “It’s some kind of toxin,” he said, going back to his kit. This time he brought out a battery-powered lantern, turned it on and set it next to Danny. “Hurts like hell, whatever it is. He’s in shock, and his heart’s slowed to almost nothing … but he’s alive. Barely.”
Her throat clenched. “Can you save him?”
“Don’t know. I’ve never felt anything—” His features hardened, and he sent a glare at the mouth of the cave. “Let’s get the others down, and I’ll get started.”
They made short work of the rest, detaching and lowering the cocoons to the ground, then cutting and pulling them open. Ewan was in the last one. He wasn’t quite as blue as the rest of them, and Rain could see the shallow rise and fall of his chest. When they cleared the silk shell away from him, he moaned softly.
“Poppy?” she whispered, cupping a hand to his face as the tears flowed. “We’re here, Poppy,” she said. “We’re going to bring you home.”
He didn’t respond. But at least he kept breathing.
Kincaid walked down the line of victims and returned to Danny. “No time for candles,” he murmured, removing items from his kit. A silver flask, a small leather pouch, a stone with a hole through the center. “Listen. Call your father, and tell him to hurry,” he said without looking up. “This could take a while, but I can work spells on the go. We should get them out of here right away. In case that thing comes back.”
She nodded and pulled her phone out. Her heart sank when she looked at the screen. “No service,” she said.
“Damn. Well, let’s hope he’s on the way.” He uncapped the flask, poured a small amount of oil on the stone and placed it at Danny’s throat. “Should’ve brought more comfrey. Lots more.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
He glanced up at her. “Remember how to cast a circle of protection?”
“Um. Mostly.”
“Mostly will have to do, then. There’s salt in my kit.”
“All right.”
As she moved to join him, something flickered across the light cast by the lantern. A shadow, tall and misshapen. Then a low, buzzing chatter filled the cave, and something hissed sharply.
The duin’alla was back. And it was angry.
Chapter 12
Isle of Parthas, Eastern Shore – The Cave of the Beast
Heart pounding, Rain held the sword in both hands and faced the creature. It hadn’t moved yet. It was just standing at the mouth of the cave, staring at her.
“Rain?” Though Kincaid was right behind her, he sounded far away. “What should I do? I’ve got the dagger here. We could both go after it.”
“Stay back,” she said without looking at him. “Cast the protection circle.”
“I won’t let that thing—”
“Just do it.”
She could read the thoughts of the beast. Its anger had turned to hunger, because it saw food. And power. The more it fed, the stronger it became. That was why it started with the lamb and moved up — to the boy, the adults, the druid. It saw Poppy as weak, but a druid all the same.
Now it was confident in taking on both of them. She sensed its intentions to keep her, wrap her up and store her with the others. But it wanted to kill Kincaid for tampering with its pantry. And it was strong enough to do it.
She blinked, and it was gone.
“Watch out!” she called, sweeping a desperate glance around the cave. There were dozens of shadows for the creature to hide in. “It’s moving.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.” She backed up a step, switching to a one-handed grip as she held the other behind her. “Hand me a light.”
A rustling, clicking sound whispered from somewhere in the darkness. Kincaid slapped a flashlight into her hand, and she brought it around and switched it on, directing the beam at the shadowed perimeters of the cave. The sound came again. Closer now, but still no sign of the beast.
Then she remembered it was part spider.
She looked up.
The duin’alla dropped, fast and silent. She moved away and slashed wildly with the sword, felt it strike something. The creature let out a shrieking hiss, landed on its arms and sprang back upright. A shallow cut across its torso dribbled something thick and black.
It grinned at her and advanced.
She lunged and missed when the beast hopped back. Knowing she had to keep it away from Kincaid, she gritted her teeth and pressed forward, swinging with every step. The creature evaded her easily. She ran at it, and it jumped aside with a low, liquid bubbling sound. It was laughing.
With both hands on the sword, she raised it and pivoted as fast as she could, bringing it down on a wide arc. The speared tip slashed one of the creature’s arms. Black fluid sprayed from the wound.
The thing screamed and lunged at her. Two arms smacked into her with powerful force that sent her briefly airborne, until she collided with the cave wall and crumpled breathless to the ground.
“Rain!”
Kincaid’s shout was tinny through the ringing in her ears. She couldn’t draw breath enough to warn him, tell him to stay away. Light clouded her vision — the same cold white moonlight he’d taught her to summon at the castle.
She focused on drawing it into herself. The world cleared, and she was able to stand.
The beast had Kincaid. It gripped him with all four arms, held him struggling in the air as it drew him slowly toward bared fangs. She rushed at it with a sudden, singular intention to part the creature’s head from its body. Nothing less would do.
As she swung, the light seemed to fill her, instilling strength and confidence that guided her stroke. The blade passed through the neck of the beast with a wet crunching sound, sending up showers of white sparks. And the
head toppled to the floor, a snarl fixed on its lips.
Kincaid collapsed with the body on top of him.
“Eurgh,” he said, giving it a violent shove and scrambling away. “You all right, then?”
Rain lowered the sword slowly, panting for breath. “Think so,” she said. “You?”
“Still kicking.” He got to his feet and stared at her. “How’d you do that?”
“Not sure. My father said I’d know when I needed to, and … I guess I did. Kind of.” She could still feel the light inside, fading but present. “That whole envisioning the light thing you told me about helped. So thanks for that.”
“Envisioning?” His brow furrowed, and he took a step closer to her. “That was more than a vision. Didn’t you see those sparks?”
She gaped at him. “You saw them?”
“Aye. Clear as day.”
“Oh,” she said in a small voice. “Well.”
For an instant she thought she’d faint. Then Kincaid was there, embracing her, and she sagged against him in relief. “Never had anyone save my life before,” he murmured. “In my books, it doesn’t matter what you did. I’m beyond grateful for it.”
She managed a smile. “You’re welcome.”
For now, she decided, he was right. It didn’t matter how. The beast was dead, the victims alive. So they hoped, anyway. She’d worry about all the rest later.
But one final instinct gripped her, and she cleaned the black blood carefully from the sword before she went back to helping Kincaid.
Chapter 13
Isle of Parthas, Eastern Shore
Lachlan Finlay had little to say when he arrived in an ancient-looking truck with a wood frame bed. By then, Rain and Kincaid had managed to bring the unconscious but breathing Danny down to ground level. The rest were still in the cave at various levels of healing, but it seemed they’d all make it.
The Cursing Stones Page 5
