And then the doors popped open and her grandmother and Mrs Mullarkey squeezed out, arguing loudly.
‘Oh, my poor head! Your driving will be the death of me, Nora, so it will!’
‘My driving? I like that, Eileen! There wouldn’t have been a problem if you hadn’t distracted me with all your yelling and screaming!’
‘Oh, so I’m supposed to keep quiet while you kill me, am I?’ Granny noticed Brúid, lying still on the hillside above them, and her hand flew to her mouth. ‘Nora! You have killed someone! You’ve knocked that poor man’s head off! It’ll be lying around here somewhere! Oh, I can’t look!’
Bansi found her voice, though it trembled a little. ‘It’s OK, Granny. He didn’t have a head to begin with.’
Granny wheeled at the sound of her beloved granddaughter. ‘Oh, my wee darling!’ she cried.
Bansi ran to her, arms wide, found herself seized in a warm and welcome embrace.
‘Thank goodness you’re safe, love!’ Granny said. She looked down at her, and then her smile changed to a puzzled frown. ‘What do you mean, he didn’t have a head?’
‘Never mind that,’ Nora Mullarkey interrupted, bustling over to them. ‘Just look what he’s done to my car!’
They looked. The Morris Minor Traveller was scratched and battered. The roof was badly dented from the collision with the tree in the stone circle. One window was smashed, and the rear seat was covered in leaves and twigs and a huge broken branch.
‘I don’t think you can blame that headless fellow for all of that,’ Granny pointed out.
‘He’s one of the Good People, isn’t he?’ Mrs Mullarkey spat, marching up the hill towards the hollow where the fallen monster lay. ‘It’s their fault, and they’re all as bad as each other.’ Bending over the lifeless brute, she examined it with dispassionate curiosity. Bansi felt herself flinch anxiously, even though she was sure the creature was no longer dangerous. ‘Oh-ho,’ Mrs Mullarkey exclaimed. ‘One of those beasties. The Anthropophagi, and men whose heads do grow beneath their shoulders. Fancy them being real after all. Well, that’ll teach you to go terrorizing wee girls. And,’ she added to the world in general as she made her way back down the hill towards the distraught-looking Morris Minor, ‘he won’t go leaving people’s cars in this sort of state again, either.’
‘I think the way you slammed us against that big tree might have had something to do with it, too,’ Granny pointed out. ‘If that magic hadn’t worked just when it did . . .’
‘Yes, well that’s because I was right, wasn’t I? About it still being dawn in the circle, even if the sun had risen on the other side of the hill.’
‘Here – there’s a point,’ Granny interrupted. ‘It was dawn a minute ago. Now it looks like the middle of the afternoon. How did that happen?’
Mrs Mullarkey tutted impatiently. ‘If you knew anything worth knowing, Eileen, you’d know that time doesn’t mean the same to . . . to them as it does to us. It’s different here. Knowing our luck, by the time we get back home a hundred years’ll have gone by, and they’ll have stopped both our pensions. In any case,’ she added, casting another glance at her miserable-looking car, ‘whatever time it is here, I’ll bet there’s no such thing as an open garage or a decent mechanic.’
‘But you can still drive it, can’t you?’ Bansi put in. ‘So if we can find out where they’ve taken Mum and Dad, maybe we can still reach them in time!’ As she said this, she felt hope light up inside her. For the first time since waking in the clearing all those hours ago, she felt that perhaps – just perhaps – they had a chance of success.
‘That’s true,’ Mrs Mullarkey agreed. ‘Ah – no, it isn’t,’ she added, inspecting the vehicle more closely. ‘Not for a few minutes, anyway. We’ve got a flat tyre.’
And so they had. There was nothing to be done but change it. Nora Mullarkey unloaded several heavy cardboard boxes from the boot of the car, and produced the jack and spare tyre from the under-floor compartment.
‘Take a look through those,’ she told Bansi, with a nod at the boxes. ‘It’s all the scrap metal your Granny’s been hoarding in her garage. It looks promising enough – there’s some old horseshoes in there, for one thing. Sort out everything that’s made of iron and put it back in the car. Iron,’ she repeated meaningfullly. ‘Not steel.’
Bansi set to work. Mrs Mullarkey and Granny turned their attention to the flat tyre, squabbling contentedly about every little detail.
It was as they were jacking the car up that something moved among the foliage on the back seat. Something alive, but not human.
Chapter Eighteen
The creature thrashed furiously, beating the leaves and twigs with angry black wings, struggling for freedom.
They stepped back cautiously. Bansi drew the poker once more. Mrs Mullarkey, eyes fixed on the broken window, dipped her hand into a box of ironware and pulled out a horseshoe. The movement continued, growing wilder, as whatever it was strove to liberate itself.
Suddenly a head emerged through the broken pane – a small black head with a thick, powerful beak. One dark, beady eye regarded them and fixed on Mrs Mullarkey.
‘You!’ it exploded. ‘Oh, bloomin’ ’eck, I might have guessed!’ With a flick of the head it took them all in again and turned its attention to its surroundings. ‘Hang on, where’s my tree? Where are the stones? Where . . . Aw, no! We’re there, aren’t we? You stupid old bat! You’ve gone and done it to me!No!’
Infuriated, the raven hopped out through the broken window and stared up at Mrs Mullarkey. ‘You . . . you . . . don’t you wave that horseshoe at me, missus, not after what you’ve just gone and done!’
‘What are you going on about?’ Mrs Mullarkey snapped.
The raven glared. ‘All I had to do was stay there, that’s all. Just stay there.’
It occurred to Bansi, as she squatted down, that only the day before a talking raven would have been the most amazing thing she had ever seen in her life. Now her sole concern was whose side it was on; but the raven didn’t seem dangerous, just furious. ‘Stay where?’ she asked it. ‘What do you mean?’
The raven fixed her with an angry look. ‘You don’t think I’ve always looked like this, do you? Once, I was just a simple faery – no need to look like a snake’s crawled up your bottom, missus,’ it added scornfully, glaring again at Mrs Mullarkey. ‘It’s all right if we say it. Come to that, it’s all right if you say it here ; it’s only in your own world that it’ll draw us to you.
‘Where was I? Oh, yeah. Once, I was just a simple faery – a pixie, as it happens. Only then the Lord of the Dark Sidhe turned me into a raven. Not for ever, mind – just for five hundred years.’ It laughed bitterly. ‘Five hundred blinking years! And here’s the thing: I had to be in that tree in the stone circle every twilight, morning and night – but I had to stay in the mortal world, see? The curse said, if I come back here, the five hundred flipping years start all over again! Easy, I thought. Just stay up in the tree. You have to be touching the earth to pass through the gate. Or if you’re touching something else that goes through the gate – sitting on a horse, say – you’ll go with it. But you’re safe in the tree. Anyway, the gate hardly ever opens these days. So, I think, I’ll just stay in the tree, do my time, get turned back and be a bit more careful whose larder I’m raiding next time.
‘But then,’ it continued, looking resentfully at Mrs Mullarkey, ‘along come these two old biddies, bouncing and rolling in their old car.Bang! The branch I’m perching on goes through the window and gets torn off! Suddenly I’m in the car, the car’s on the ground, and Wham! – here I am, back at square one.’
‘And . . . how long had you been there?’ Bansi asked cautiously.
The bird looked at her. Its throat quivered, as if it was trying to force out words too painful to say. Its head twitched; it looked daggers at Mrs Mullarkey.
‘Four hundred and ninety-three years!’ it howled suddenly. ‘Four hundred and ninety-three years of eating carrion and roa
dkill! Mostly her roadkill, lately! You’ve no idea how hard it is getting the gooey bits out of a hedgehog that’s been flattened the way she flattens ’em. It’s bearable,’ he sniffed, ‘when you know it’s not for much longer. When you know it’s only for seven years more . . .but not for another blinking five hundred! I can’t stand it!’
Bansi and Granny stared awkwardly at each other, not knowing what to say. But Mrs Mullarkey was not abashed.
‘Hmmmph!’ she snorted. ‘Well, all I can say is that no one asked you to go breaking and entering my car!’
The raven stared, open-beaked, and for a moment Bansi was afraid it was going to do Mrs Mullarkey some damage.
‘But now that you’re here,’ the old lady went on, ‘perhaps you can help us, and help yourself into the bargain.’
‘Help you!’ the raven spluttered.
‘That’s right. We’re here to stop the Dark Sidhe killing my friend’s young granddaughter, here, and her parents as well. And perhaps when we do that, we can persuade him to undo the spell on you. How does that sound?’
The raven’s beak dropped open in surprise. After a moment, it closed it again with a sharp clack! ‘It sounds completely bonkers,’ it said. ‘Count me out. This is what he did to me when I just got up his nose a bit. Imagine what he’d do if he got really cross!’ It spread its wings and took to the air. Within moments, it was just a small black speck against the sky. Bansi watched it go, a twinge of pity tugging at her heart.
‘Well! Talk about unreasonable!’ Mrs Mullarkey tutted.
About ten minutes later, the raven was sitting at the top of a tree in the forest, muttering to itself, when a movement far above caught its eye. Wary of predators, it spread its wings once more in readiness for flight as it looked up.
It was a swan, and it was closing in rapidly. Within moments it was circling within shouting distance.
‘Hey!’ the brownie on its back yelled down. ‘Have you seen a mortal child near here?’
The raven hunched its shoulders in an all-theworld’s-against-me kind of gesture. ‘Might’ve done,’ it said peevishly.
Pogo scowled. ‘Never mind “might”,’ he said. ‘Have you seen her or not?’
‘All right, then, I have. What’s your point?’
‘The point is, either you tell us where she is or my friend here will turn into a great big eagle and eat you.’
The raven eyed the swan warily. There was something very unswanlike about its expression just at that moment. ‘She’s at the edge of the forest, with two barmy old ladies. Or she was a few minutes ago.’
Pogo was so relieved he almost smiled. ‘Well, now,’ he said, ‘at last something goes right. Whereabouts at the forest’s edge?’
The raven indicated with its beak. ‘About where that wolf and those four armed warriors are heading.’ It looked back at Pogo and Tam – but they were no longer there. They were just a blur, shooting towards the edge of the forest.
‘Oh, no,’ the raven called sulkily after them, ‘don’t bother saying “thank you” or anything! Don’t bloomin’ mention it! Don’t mind me! Nobody else does!’ It sighed. ‘Don’t even know where my next bit of roadkill’s coming from. Who’d be a raven, eh?’
Chapter Nineteen
It began with hoofbeats, thundering like drums. Bansi turned. The horses were already upon them. An arm reached down to grab her. She lashed out, struck it with cold iron. The warrior recoiled with a yell of pain and anger. Even as his speed carried him on, the second rider bore down. Bansi whirled, swinging the poker. The horse started away. The wolf sprang from nowhere, all teeth and claws; her forearm was caught, seized agonizingly in its powerful jaws. Bansi cried out; the weapon fell from her grasp. The third horseman leaned down and swept her in one single fluid motion onto his horse’s back.
Mrs Mullarkey screamed fury and hurled her horseshoe. It struck Bansi’s captor hard. He flinched, but did not fall. The fourth horseman grabbed the old woman by the hair. She yelled in pain. There was a nauseating blur of enchantment as she, too, was lifted onto horseback and carried away.
It had taken seconds. Granny, hidden from view as she knelt, jacking up the car, had no time to react before it was over. She leaped to her feet, hurled useless threats and curses at the departing backs of the kidnappers; but within moments they had passed out of sight. She was alone.
Or so she thought. She was unaware of the hidden eyes that watched her. From the shelter of a gnarled old tree at the top of the slope, Moina looked on, her thoughts in turmoil. And in a tall clump of wild grass nearby, a little cluricaun bit his lip in dismay.
In the undergrowth at the forest’s edge, other eyes watched, too.
The world whirled by; the tall trees at the forest’s edge were no more than a continuous blur of browns and greens. Bansi struggled with her captor against the firm grip that held her tight; the studs and ridges of his ornate leather breastplate dug painfully into her back. She yelled; she jerked and thrashed; she screamed; and when the warrior clamped one hand over her mouth, scraping her cheek roughly with the knotted thong that fastened his wristband, she bit down hard. The man cursed violently. Seconds later, she felt a sharp sting against her neck. She froze as he drew the knife blade lightly around her throat and tweaked her ear lobe with it; a warm, wet droplet welled up beneath its touch.
‘A sacrifice without ears,’ the man hissed, softly and darkly, ‘is still a sacrifice.’ Bansi flinched. She felt the point press and ease, press and ease with the smooth galloping motion.
Without warning, the horse came to a halt. Bansi dared not move her head; but she rolled her eyes downwards to see the wolf standing in front of them, teeth bared in a silent snarl. The other horses had stopped, too, forming a crescent around the great grey beast, their riders grinning, leaning forward in anticipation of an entertaining quarrel. Bansi’s captor slowly relaxed his grip on her; she felt the pinprick of the knife point withdraw.
The wolf shrugged off its pelt, letting it fall to the ground, and Conn stood there, his face cold and hard. ‘Put the dagger away, Kearn. The child is not to be harmed. Not yet, and not by us.’
‘The Lord said nothing of that,’ the warrior answered dismissively.
Conn glowered. ‘I’m saying something of it. Not one drop of her blood is to be spilled. Or you answer to me.’
Bansi couldn’t see the man’s face, but she heard the amused contempt in his reply. ‘Aye, well, it’s a shame you didn’t mention it earlier.’ He held up his knife in front of her, almost touching her face; a blurred trickle of blood ran down its shining bronze blade. ‘I’ve already spilled a drop.’
Conn’s face betrayed nothing. ‘Then you answer to me,’ he said, in a voice at once calm, controlled and deadly.
Instantly, with perfect, gymnastic grace, Kearn was off the horse. He towered over Conn, his stance relaxed, confident, threatening, and looked down at him with an expression Bansi recognized from the playground. It was the smile of a bully showing off to his gang, ready to play cat with a new victim.
‘Now, boy?’ he asked, flashing a white-toothed film-star grin. With a single, swift movement, one long lean leg hooked the wolfskin and brought it backwards, out of Conn’s reach. ‘Without your dressing-up clothes? And with no weapons?’ He brandished his dagger mockingly. ‘If you wish. The Dark Lord’ll be sorry to lose you, I’m sure, but my bringing the child to him will more than make up for that.’
Bansi’s gaze darted cautiously from one face to the next. Kearn’s eyes and Conn’s were locked together, shutting out all else. The other warriors were entirely focused on them, hungry now for the scent of blood. The one who held Mrs Mullarkey was enraptured, his smile wide and greedy in cruel anticipation; the other horseman’s pale, beautiful face was flushing with excitement; the woman was licking her red lips as if to taste the wounds of battle, her gleeful eyes fixed on the combatants. They pressed in, unconsciously nudging their horses closer, edging Bansi out. Her horse stepped back; she tugged the rein, dug her heels in
to the horse’s sides as unobtrusively as she could, willing it to turn and run.
There was no response; not even a twitch. She tried again, harder. The horse ignored her.
She looked around again and met Mrs Mullarkey’s gaze. Her granny’s friend was still held fast by her captor, but her eyes fixed on Bansi’s, held her and then flicked towards the forest. Again they fixed on her, held and flicked. The message was unmistakable.
Go.
Her first thought was that she couldn’t leave Mrs Mullarkey to the mercies of these cruel faery warriors. But this was not just about her. It was about her parents; it was about Pogo, and Tam, and the lives of who knew how many others like them; it was about making sure a cruel tyrant did not gain power. And with a stab of fear that made her shudder, a line from the prophecy returned to her:
Then shall the ways between the worlds reopen.
Would the Dark Lord be satisfied with ruling only Tir na n’Óg if he could bring his evil to the mortal world? It didn’t bear thinking about. She looked again at Mrs Mullarkey, who was staring at her with urgent eyes, and her mind was made up.
No one else was watching. The other horses were edging forward, crowding in; their riders leaned forward intently. Conn and Kearn were fixed on each other, the rest of the world shrunk to shadows for both of them.
She moved one leg quietly across the horse’s back.
‘Come on, then, boy,’ the warrior said, scorn edging his tone. ‘Time to make me answer to you. If you can do it without your hearthrug.’
Conn breathed deeply, his whole body relaxing. ‘You know, Kearn,’ he said calmly, ‘the wolf isn’t all in the skin.’
The sudden, sheer animal savagery of the attack was frightening. He leaped, catching Kearn off-balance, knocking his knife-arm aside, bringing him down like a wounded deer. His teeth tore at the man’s throat. There was a ghastly gurgling sound.
Bansi slipped off the horse and ran. The ground was more level here, and they were still close to the forest’s edge. It took her only moments to reach it.
Bansi O'Hara and the Bloodline Prophecy Page 11
