Hold Back the Tide

by Melinda Salisbury

  “All right. Gavan, you open the door, and let Ren and me deal with anything out there,” I say. Gavan nods, and I turn to Ren. “Now remember – you only get one shot, so make it count. On three,” I tell Gavan, his hand ready on the latch, while Ren and I point our guns. “One. Two. Three.”

  Gavan opens the door, and Ren fires the gun.

  The sound echoes into silence.

  “Are you joking?” I speak at last through clenched teeth. “What did I tell you?”

  “I panicked!”

  I growl and move forward, the gun raised and ready. Beyond the door the sky is pale lavender on the horizon, still deepest blue above. Once I reach the frame I turn, looking around. There’s no sign of the creatures, but the shadows are still too long for my liking. I want to be able to see more. Especially as Ren has just announced to them we’re here.

  I step back, and close the door.

  “Are they out there?” Gavan asks, his knuckles white on the handle of the axe.

  “I can’t see anything, I think it’s still too dark. Let’s give it another ten minutes or so,” I say, before adding, “We can reload the flintlock and give Ren another lecture about responsible gun use.”

  “I look forward to it,” Ren says, gleeful malice in his eyes. “Who better to teach me?” And I remember pressing the mouth of that selfsame gun to his temple, hard enough to leave a mark. Apparently, so does he.

  My face burning, I snatch the flintlock from him, gritting my teeth when he laughs, and head to the study to reload the gun. Ren follows, laughing softly.

  Ten minutes later, we leave the cottage once more. Ren grips the axe, Gavan now holds the gun and has been thoroughly drilled in its use, and outside those shadows have lessened, revealing nothing sinister in their wake.

  As I step outside, I stub my toe on a blunt object, and look down to see a silver horseshoe on the stoop. For a second I’m confused. It’s supposed to be above the door. Every house in the village has one to keep evil out—

  Oh… I wonder then if the evil in question is the gods – monsters – whatever they are.

  Well, it seems to have worked so far, so who am I to argue with it? I pick it up and fling it inside the house, making a note to put it back up when we return, locking the door behind me.

  Dawn is coming in fast, but we move faster, with Ren on my left, watching the scrub, and Gavan to the right, his eyes on the loch.

  There’s a fine mist draped over it, like a lacy shawl, but it stays on the water, so we see the sheds clearly as we get closer.

  And as the sun breaks over the mountain top, bathing us in light the same golden yellow as the yolks we ate earlier, we see the hunched white thing caught in the cage.

  “We did it,” Ren breathes. “We got one.”

  “Keep looking around,” I remind him. “For all we know its friends are still nearby.”

  But I don’t heed my own words. I can’t take my eyes off it.

  My heart soars with triumph. I realize I never thought Ren’s plan would work. That these things were too clever, too unreal to be caught in anything so mundane as a cage. And yet there one is, caged.

  As we get closer I can see more. The explosion of chicken feathers that means the bait did its job, poor wee thing. Then there’s the creature itself. It’s on its knees, hunched over, arms hooked over its head as if it’s shielding itself from us. If this is the same creature that I saw that night then it looks greyer in the sunlight than it did in the moonlight, its skin cracked and papery-looking. It doesn’t move, even as we walk right up to the cage.

  “Is it sleeping?” Gavan asks in a whisper.

  A strange feeling comes over me. My skin begins to crawl. Something’s wrong. Very, very wrong.

  “No,” Ren says, and his voice is grim. “It’s not sleeping.”

  Then he steps forward, poking the handle of the axe through the bars, driving it into the creature’s side.

  SEVENTEEN

  “Ren!” Gavan cries as the axe makes contact.

  And the thing disintegrates.

  I watch with horrified fascination as it collapses in on itself. Within a matter of seconds it’s a pile of dust on the ground, a few particles drifting in the air before settling on the mound of grey ash that used to be the creature.

  “To think we’ve been scared of them,” Gavan says, relief in his voice. “They’re weak as anything.”

  “No,” Ren says bluntly. “Look at it, it’s ash. It’s like it … burned up.” He looks up thoughtfully, shielding his eyes as he finds the sun, and I follow his gaze, then look back at what remains.

  He’s right. It’s like when a log in the stove burns from the inside out. It looks whole, until you try to move it with a poker. Then it crumbles. Exactly like the creature did.

  I look again towards the sun, squinting. So far, all the attacks or sightings have happened at night. There’s been no sign of them in the day. And now this.

  “They’re not just nocturnal. The sun destroys them,” I murmur. “It must do.”

  This makes everything harder. If we had one, we would have something real to show the village. But even Ren – who knows me better than anyone – didn’t believe me until last night. No one else is likely to.

  “Come on,” Ren says. “We’d better get down to Ormscaula.”

  “What’s the point?” I say bitterly. “Let’s face it; no one is going to believe us. Not without proof.”

  “Never mind that. Gavan and I will get proof.” He looks at the other boy, who nods in agreement. “You have a donkey to collect, don’t you? This is your chance, Alva. The creatures aren’t your problem.”

  But I think they are my problem, because they come from the loch my family is supposed to tend, and they’re documented in my family’s secret books. They’re the Naomhfhuil’s problem. My father neglected to do anything about them. I don’t want to do the same. I don’t want any more deaths on my conscience.

  I make a split-second decision. “The stagecoach goes every week.” I shrug. “I’ll go next week. My employers will understand.”

  “You’re a fool,” Ren says. There is anger in his voice.

  “Why do you care?” I ask, bewildered.

  “Because I’m a fool too,” he says. “That’s why.” Then he is walking down towards the shore, leaving me and Gavan staring after him.

  “It’ll be fine,” I say, though it sounds more like a question. My job will wait, I tell myself. They’ll give me a week to make an appearance. They have to. And if not, then I have money, enough to get by till I find something else.

  I want to see this through, I realize. I want to catch one, and I want to be here when we tell the village what it is. I want to know the truth. I want them to know it.

  I want them to see I’m not like my father.

  “We’ll try again tonight,” I say, iron in my voice. “We’ll lure it indoors, so that it’s under cover when morning comes. Then we’ll bring the villagers to it.”

  “Where can we set the trap?” Gavan asks.

  I think for a minute. “At the cottage.” I square my shoulders. “I’ll get the cart.”

  “I just want to say, again, that I think this is a really stupid idea.”

  Ren’s arms are crossed as he watches Gavan and me carry the cage into the hallway of my cottage. Greyish powder still sits in the bottom. He stood and watched as we lifted it on to the cart at the sheds, avoiding the remains of the creature as they sifted through the bars to the ground. He wouldn’t take a turn pulling it either, his expression dark and brooding as he followed us back.

  “Thank you, again, for your thoughts,” I grunt as we lower it to the floor. “Your actual help wouldn’t go amiss.”

  Ren stays where he is as Gavan and I turn the cage so the entrance faces the cottage’s front door. It leaves deep welts in the wood as we drag it around, but that doesn’t matter now.

  “That should do it.” I straighten and rub my hands.

  “I still don’t see why it
couldn’t have been set up inside one of the sheds,” Ren says.

  “Because they’ll be wary of anything near the sheds now. Animals learn to avoid places that are dangerous to them.”

  “Are they animals, though?” Gavan asks.

  “They’re not people,” I say.

  “Still, it’s surprising that one went into the cage at all,” Gavan says. “Surely it could see what it was?”

  “Not if it was the blind one,” I say, thinking aloud. “Remember, the one I saw was blind. Maybe it heard and smelled the chicken, but couldn’t see the cage. Could be that others are too,” I add. We can but hope.

  “What are we going to bait it with tonight?” Gavan asks, while Ren glowers.

  Good question.

  My goat is dead. The nanny we’ve had for as long as I can remember is lying on the floor of her shed, her throat torn out. The chickens are dead too, their own necks a bloody mess. The coop is a riot of blood, gore and feathers.

  “Jesus,” Ren says, resting a hand on my shoulder, his annoyance at me forgotten in the face of the massacre before us. “This is savage. They didn’t even eat them. Just … slaughtered them. Poor things.”

  Gavan turns and walks back to the cottage in silence.

  Hattie. He’s thinking about Hattie, and wondering if she’s dead, and was it like this. I hope not. I hope if she is dead then it was faster and cleaner. I hope she isn’t dead at all.

  “Let’s burn them,” Ren says swiftly.

  We make short work of it, me building a bonfire from the pile of wood at the back of the cottage, while Ren gathers up the corpses. I go into the cottage for matches and pause by the study door, now closed. Gavan must be in there. I raise my hand, poised to knock, but in the end I take the closed door at face value, and return outside.

  “How’s Gavan?” Ren asks, lowering his voice.

  “I think he wants to be left alone.” I bend low and strike a match, holding it to the kindling. “I don’t blame him.”

  We watch the fire take hold, the pops and crackles making me think of the feis samhaid. A lifetime ago, as Gavan said. When the blaze has reached its zenith, Ren throws the chickens on. It takes both of us to carry the goat, and we haul it on too.

  The air is filled with the smell of roasting meat and I feel sick when my mouth waters.

  “Come on,” Ren says, covering his nose and mouth. “Let’s go for a walk.”

  I nod. I could do with fresh air and the creatures surely won’t be out now, in full sunlight. Even so, I make sure the gun is in my pocket.

  We leave the fire behind and head towards the loch, turning right and following the bank along. Ren’s limp is more pronounced than usual, as if the lack of rest is wearing on him. I don’t mention it, though I do slow my pace. He matches me, a brief smile claiming his lips.

  “So, you are still going, then?” Ren asks as we approach the path down the mountain. “Still leaving?”

  “Of course. Haven’t I been planning this for years? I just need to see this through first.”

  “Good.”

  “Anyone would think you wanted me gone,” I say, kicking a stone.

  He snaps at me. “I don’t want you gone.”

  Bewildered, I stare at his profile. “Then why are you angry? Christ, Ren, I’m not a mind reader.”

  “Because you’re not safe here.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “No.” He stops, and I stop too, turning to face him as he continues. “Not just because of the monsters. Because you kept your father’s secret, all those years ago. Like Giles said: you were complicit. What if a judge decides you should be punished too? Or what if the villagers don’t want to wait for a judge to decide? What if they do it first? For your mam, and now for what’s happened to Aileen, and Hattie. Frightened people do stupid things, Alva. They don’t listen to reason.”

  My blood chills at his words. I never planned to stick around to see what happened when the villagers discovered my father’s guilt. I haven’t thought about what would happen after, because why would it matter when I was miles away? But Ren’s right – I’m not miles away. I’m right here, and in the middle of another crisis my father covered up. Perhaps I will end up in court beside my father, begging for my life, pleading I didn’t know any better, as a judge pulls a black hood over his head and sentences my father to death for murder, and me alongside him for lying and covering it up.

  “I was so happy to see you last night,” Ren says quietly. “And then so … angry. I thought you were safe, riding off into the sunset on the mail cart to your new life. But you’re still here and every single minute you are is dangerous.”

  “Ren…” I don’t know what else to say.

  “If you end up dead because of this, I will never forgive you,” he says, looking back at me. “I mean it.”

  For a moment his eyes blaze bright, cold fire burning into me.

  “Fine,” I say in a shaky voice. “I promise not to die.”

  He scowls, as though I’ve said something ridiculous, and then reaches out, grabbing my hand and lacing his fingers through mine. He starts to walk back towards the cottage, tugging gently. “Come on.”

  I fall into step with him, mystified by the last few moments, wondering how they’ve culminated in me and Murren Ross holding hands.

  I’m even more surprised to find that it’s nice. Our hands fit.

  “How did you end up keeping company with Gavan Stewart?” Ren asks, breaking the awkward silence that’s fallen between us.

  “I can tell you, but you’re not going to like it,” I warn him. “Seeing as my safety is so important to you.”

  He looks at me from the side of his eyes, unamused. “Go on.”

  I take a deep breath and begin, telling him everything that happened after I left him yesterday, until I came back. The only part I omit is going to his home; something tells me it will shame him to know I was there.

  And I was right, he doesn’t like it at all. When I get to the bit where Giles Stewart told me to get changed at gunpoint, he tries to tear his hand from mine and I know if I let go he’ll be straight down the mountain and shortly afterwards in the cell next to my father, on much the same charge. So I keep a firm grip on him.

  “I dealt with it,” I say. “It’s over and it won’t happen again.”

  He pulls me around to meet his gaze, his other hand rising to cup my face, thumb tracing my cheekbone. I can’t remember the last time someone looked at me so softly – treated me so softly. Like I’m precious. Not precious like china, or glass, something cold and brittle to be wrapped up and put away from harm, never taken out in case it gets damaged. But precious like I’m necessary. Precious like I mean something.

  And I know, with the certainty of someone who has spent the last seven years relying on their instincts to keep them alive, that he’s going to kiss me. And I want him to. I want Murren Ross to kiss me, and I want to kiss him back.

  A breeze blows my hair across my face, and Ren brushes it behind my ear, using the motion to move closer, his face lowering to mine.

  Then he stops, and looks behind me, before stepping away.

  I turn to see Gavan coming out of the cottage.

  “There you are,” Gavan says, seemingly oblivious to the moment he’s interrupted.

  “Here we are,” Ren says. “We had to get away from the fire. The smell.”

  “Yes,” Gavan says, nodding grimly. “Anyway, I’ve been thinking about what else we should use for bait.”

  “And?” I ask.

  “Me,” he says. “I’ll be the bait.”

  Ren and I stare at him.

  “What are you suggesting?” Ren asks. “That we put you in a cage, and then what? When it gets in with you, we shoot it?”

  “That’s plan B. Come and see plan A.”

  I exchange a glance with Ren, and we follow Gavan back inside, to my father’s study.

  Where it seems instead of grieving, he’s been working.

  On the ta
ble is a drawing of a huge trap, easily big enough to fit Gavan and one of the creatures inside.

  Before Ren or I can say anything, Gavan speaks.

  “What we need to do is create a double trap using a second cage. Lashed together it looks like one long cage. See?” He points at his diagram and pauses to check we’re keeping up.

  “But then you’re stuck in there with that thing.” Ren frowns.

  “Not so fast. We’ll actually remove the back of the second cage so it’ll only look closed,” Gavan says. “The creature will think I’m caught inside, but as soon as it gets in the first cage, the trapdoor will spring and close the front end. Then I’ll trigger the trapdoor of the cage I’m in, it will fall down and become the back wall of the first cage, and the thing is captured. All you two have to do then is untie the back of the second cage, I’ll get out, and we’ll have it.”

  “And if we don’t manage to trigger the door in time?” Ren says. “Those things move fast.”

  “Then Alva will shoot it. Plan B.”

  “Why don’t we just shoot it in the first place?” I ask. “We don’t need it to be alive to show the village what it is.”

  Ren shakes his head. “Firstly, we don’t know that bullets will kill it, so let’s not waste them. And, secondly, even if they do, it might disintegrate like the other. We don’t know for sure if that happened because of the sun, or because it died of shock, or something else. We need it trapped.”

  I think of how the first book in the hidden chest fell apart when I touched it, too old to take even the slightest contact. We don’t know how old these things are. Maybe Ren is right. Maybe they’re so ancient that they fracture completely in death.

  Even so, this plan is madness incarnate.

  “You can’t think this” – I point at Gavan’s drawing – “is a good idea. I mean, it is a good idea,” I say hurriedly, when Gavan looks hurt. “But it’s too risky.”

  “I think it could work,” Ren says thoughtfully. “So long as Gavan can trigger the second door in time. We need something they can’t resist. If they liked human sacrifices, way back when – then this might be it. And after last night, they’ll want vengeance. That might override their survival instincts.”