Riot Girls: Seven Books With Girls Who Don't Need A Hero
Page 23
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Cows of Gladness
THEY STARTED OFF on their journey early in the morning with empty stomachs rumbling.
Several hours later, they arrived in the small town of Dunipace and stopped at a cafe, where they were more than happy to fill their plates with generous helpings of fish and chips. Eamon rejoined them in the human world for lunch now that the majority of the travel was done. The glamour he chose was a little weird—he took the guise of a old lady, out with her grandchildren. It made sense, but Lizbet found it pretty freaky whenever Eamon's voice came out of grandma. It did give them a better cover in case any of the now numerous people who might be looking for them happened by. There was nothing about a sweet, old granny-lady in the mix as far as any of their potential captors knew. It might prevent people from thinking about them too carefully.
Using the cafe wifi, Lizbet plotted out the rest of their trip to the hills of Dunipace. The hills were located near an old cemetery. After they scarfed down enough chips to satisfy the stomach rumbles, they set off on their bikes toward the side of town where the small hills jutted up above the flat landscape. When they got to the cemetery entrance and could see both of the hills, they stopped for a while for Eamon to decide which one they would be visiting that night. Eamon shook his head.
"These are the wrong hills—there should be another visible in that direction," Eamon pointed off to the northwest. "A mile or so away, over there. That's the hill we need. We should be able to see the top of it from here."
"There's no hill over there, Eamon." Lizbet said, "Are you sure it isn't one of these?"
"No, it was the third hill. There were three hills in Dunipace that looked like these—jutting up suddenly and rounded, a large mound more than a hill, slightly flattened at the top. Mount up, laddie. We need to go that direction." Eamon jumped up on the handlebars of James's bike and they headed toward where Eamon had pointed.
About a mile and a half to the west, they pulled up outside of a rock quarry. There was a pit for the quarry and gentle slopes around its sides, but no hill to be found. Eamon jumped off the handlebars and stared at the quarry in disbelief. "They've taken away the entire hill! Myrddin's gone." Eamon collapsed onto the ground and hid his face in his hands. "We've failed. We can't do it without the bones."
Lizbet tried to comfort the visibly shaken gruagach. She knelt down in front of him and spoke softly. "Eamon, we aren't giving up on this. They don't just throw bones away when they find them. You said that the grave was still here 200 years ago, so maybe the bones were discovered and taken to a museum or something."
James walked up to the quarry office and returned about fifteen minutes later. He told them, "The office staff didn't know anything about the history of the area, but someone did say that there has been quarrying on this spot for at least a hundred and fifty years, so that would definitely be enough time to take an entire hill away. They also said we might be able to get some information at the farm up the road, because the people who live there have had family in the area for hundreds of years and are kind of into the local history."
"Oh, laddie, what will it matter? The grave is gone. We'll not find a trace of him. This quest has gone on for fifteen hundred years, and now it comes to nothing. You might as well just go home."
"Eamon, we're not giving up!" Lizbet said again. "We've come all this way, and now you just want to go home? I don't think so! Remember that little pep talk you gave me a while ago?"
"And what do you suggest, lassie?"
"I suggest we go find that farm house and have a nice talk with the people up the road. If that doesn't pan out, there has to be someplace around here where we can find out about the local history. If they found a grave when they were quarrying, wouldn't they have to move the bones and bury them somewhere else?"
"Aye, you have a point. I suppose it's worth the attempt. You might also ask if they mind if we spend the night on their land. An offer of a wee amount of money would never go amiss when makin' the request."
Eamon stayed at the end of the long drive up to the farmhouse, hidden from the road among a small stand of trees. Lizbet and James walked their bikes up the dirt road.
"Do you really think we have a chance of finding out what happened to the grave?" asked James as they walked toward the stone farmhouse.
"Anything's possible, right? I keep thinking about what will happen if the fae just disappear, and if I can't help them. My parents will kill me, for a start. I better be able to cough up some live fairies when this is over, or I'm toast."
"Good point." James smiled. "It would also be primo if I can avoid ending up in jail for abducting you, so I'm definitely keeping the ol' fingers crossed."
The elderly woman who answered the door, Mrs. McShane, ushered them in as soon as she discovered they were interested in the local history. She sat them on the couch and offered them cookies (she called them biscuits) and tea from a real tea pot.
Lizbet began their story, "As I said, we're visiting our Uncle Eamon from America, and we really want to chase down some of our ancestors. The family records show the grave of our great, great, great, great, great grandfather being in this area, near one of the hills."
Mrs. McShane nodded, "Aye, that would be back toward Dunipace—there's a graveyard that cosies right up next to the smallest of them."
"We looked there, and it doesn't seem to really match what we're looking for. It’s too recent. The grave was supposed to actually be on one of the hills, off by itself," said James, "The map our uncle copied for us shows the hill being away from the other two in this direction."
"Aye, I know the hill you're talking about now! They started the quarrying operations at the side of a hill just over there in the eighteen hundreds," she pointed out the window toward the quarry, "I dinnae recall the exact dates, but I remember seein' it in one of the local papers my grandfather saved. As I recall, there may even have been a bit of the original hill left when I was a young wife."
"Did any of the papers talk about what happened to the grave or if they even found a grave at the quarry?", Lizbet asked.
"Nay, I'm afraid not."
Lizbet sighed. "Darn, that's too bad, but thank you for your time. You've been so nice."
"I wish I could help ye more. My recollection is no longer what it used to be. I donated most of the papers my grandfather saved to the local historical society over in Denny. You might want to stop in there tomorrow. It'll be open in the afternoon. Let me just write down the address for ye." Mrs. McShane wrote down the address on a pad of paper, tore off the sheet, and handed it to James.
James took it and said, "Thank you. And the tea was great. But since it looks like we'll be staying in the area overnight, could we ask another favor?"
"Ye can ask whatever ye want, laddie. I'll let ye know the answer once I hear it."
"We wondered if we could spend the night on your land—we have sleeping bags, and we were going to continue on to Stirling to camp, but now…"
"Of course ye can. Thank ye for askin’ instead of just bedding down like so many of the backpackers round here. You want to stay up the slope a bit. You'll know you're in a good spot if you're on the other side of the pasture fence. Otherwise you might be bothered by some very nosy cows in the morning. There are several nice spots between the fence and the tree line. You'll probably find an old fire pit to the north a bit. My boys used to have a bonfire there every so often."
Mrs. McShane walked James and Lizbet to the door, where they thanked her again for her hospitality. She pointed them in the direction she thought would make a good spot, and the two rode up the slightly sloping pasture toward the tree line.
~*~
Lizbet and James used the few hours before dark to gather dry wood and ready a fire. They easily found the stone lined fire pit Mrs. McShane had mentioned. It was just below the tree line in a small depression that hid the spot from the house, but it wasn't so far from the house that you couldn't get there in a hurry. It
was the perfect camping spot for boys who wanted to pretend they were in the wilds while still being close to home.
Eamon let them know he was there and then wandered down to the pasture where a group of cows was making a meal of the long grass. He appeared to enjoy just standing there watching the cows, and they appeared to enjoy watching him back. Lizbet wasn't sure what was up with that, but it occupied his time until he returned at dusk to eat dinner with them.
After he made short work of his meal, Eamon curled up by the fire, pulling his child-sized sleeping bag up tight around him. He turned over to face the pasture, although he couldn't possibly see the herd in the dark. "I've so missed the wee cows," he sighed. And then he was asleep.
Lizbet slipped into her bag on the tree line side of the fire, across the pit from James. She was tired from the long bike rides of the past two days and fell asleep almost as soon as she closed her eyes.
~*~
Thomas kept an eye on the campsite from beyond the reach of the fading firelight. Who knew the modern monk outfitted himself with infrared goggles, listening equipment, and tracking devices? Certainly not the naive, sleeping girl his grandmother's memories now inhabited. Her innocence was helpful to him as he trailed along while she and her companions collected the items the gruagach had stolen over the course of hundreds of years. When he'd taken them back, he and his brothers would have a right laugh over how unprepared this trio were for their hopeless quest.
~*~
Lizbet stood a short distance from the fire pit, looking back at the sleeping-bag wrapped bodies by the fire. James and Eamon were still asleep as far as she could tell, and the fire had burned low. It took a moment before she saw her own sleeping body was still where she had lain down for the night.
She was briefly disoriented, and then she realized she must be riding in the mind of the fae Morgan. She shared the fae's eyes as the fae turned and began to move quickly up the slope, into the trees.
After a trip through a wooded area, she was on the crest of a short slope which looked out over the quarry on the other side. The fae Morgan continued walking along the top of the slope until she came to a series of stones that looked like the foundation of an old building. She crossed the foundation stones and once she was on the other side, she knelt in front of a rectangular area of long green grass. The rectangle was surrounded with dead leaves and brown earth for several feet until small trees and grasses started to wander out onto the empty ground. She felt as much as heard this is where they moved Myrddin as the fae Morgan ran her hands slowly across the patch of green. Lizbet felt the fae's emotion for a moment, and she realized the fae was devastated that she was unable to connect to the man who lay beneath the green. A tear began to build in the corner of her eye. Then, as quickly as she sensed the feeling, there was a harsh burst in the back of her head that ended the sensation. The tear dried and went unshed.
Lizbet sprung awake in the small glow cast by the last embers of the campfire. She didn't mind the whispers in her head or the memories of other lives; most of the time they were helpful and comforting, but sharing a body with the fae was unsettling. She knew that the fae was tightly controlling her thoughts when Lizbet was with her. There were things she didn't want Lizbet to know. Lizbet was glad of the help, but she wondered what the fae was hiding.
~*~
James made a trip to Denny the next morning. After Lizbet told them about her dream and took them through the woods and up the hill to view the grave, she insisted they needed to be sure before they dug it up.
James didn't mind going into the next town for research. He knew he couldn't put what he felt into words, but more and more he felt his fate entwining with Lizbet's. It was right that he should be here, helping her. Perhaps he had known she was his fate from that first moment when he’d felt such a connection to her. Yeah, but who wouldn’t want to feel a connection to a pretty redhead with a killer smile?
With help from the local historian, James located an old newspaper article about a body in a stone coffin which had been found at the top of the hill during quarry operations. Arthur or not, I've got wicked history-geek skills that can help my fair damsel. Anyway, weren't Arthur and Morgan brother and sister in all the old myths? Yeah...maybe I'll rethink that fantasy of being Arthur.
Unfortunately, the article said nothing about what had happened to the body after it was discovered. Although the middle ages were his specialty, James knew enough about the Victorians to know that it was unlikely they would treat a body disrespectfully and thought it would probably have been moved to another location. He asked the librarian if she knew a likely place, but she didn't know where it might be.
On a hunch, James stopped on his way back to ask Mrs. McShane if she knew anything about the grave. He soon found himself once again sitting on her old but comfortable couch, enjoying a cup of tea and some “bikkies”.
"Now, that green patch up the hill, I've never believed 'tis truly a grave," Mrs. McShane began, "There are stories about it, but it didn't occur to me that it might be what ye're looking for."
"Why not?" James asked.
"The folk in the village here have always called it 'the fairy grave': just the shape, ye ken, and because the grass spouts green above it year 'round, even when all of the rest of the pasture has gone brown. Me own father believed that nonsense, but I'm made of more sensible stuff. I suppose it never occurred to me that it might just be a grave wi' no fairies involved. The stories go back to Victorian times, so t'would match with when the quarry was being built. I don't recall any of the letters of the family referring to it before that. The Victorians did love their fairies. It was a popular picnic spot."
"Fairy grave, huh? I doubt my old ancestor was anything other than human, but you never know." James smiled and wondered how the sensible woman would react if he could tell her the truth.
"I do know that it isn't any of my own people buried there. There would have been records of a burial outside of the family graveyard, which is much farther to the north. That patch of earth is not a place for my ancestors, so 'tis possible it contains yours, if a grave it be."
With that, James believed he had the answer Lizbet was waiting for. As he finished his tea, he was glad that he could partially confirm her belief that the grave was the right one and they weren't going to be digging up one of Mrs. McShane's beloved relatives.
He wasn't looking forward to digging up a body, no matter how long it had been in the ground. It seemed not only disrespectful, but frankly, creepy. He hoped that when they opened the coffin he managed not to scream like a girl.
CHAPTER TWELVE
One Foot In The Grave
"IT'S TIME TO go now," said Lizbet, as she stood up from the fire.
James stood up then, too. The firelight played across his face, hollowing it out and making him look older and very somber. "Would I be a wimp if I said that I'm not looking forward to this?"
"Aye, lad, you would. I thought everybody enjoyed a little ghoulishness once in awhile." Eamon smiled, but his golden eyes didn't share that smile. They just looked sad. "I'd rather leave this to an actual ghoul, but there's never one around when you need one. Och, well, ghouls are really only interested in fresh graves, anyway."
Lizbet mouthed, "Ghouls?" at James, who mouthed, "Yike," back. Lizbet thought, this new life of mine is just getting weirder and weirder. Did I really sign on for this?
Lizbet led her companions through the woods and across the crown of the slope to the rectangular swatch of grass. They carried the folding camp shovels James had picked up in Denny, but it seemed that none of them wanted to be the first to put a shovel to the dirt. Lizbet sighed, flipped up the shovel blade, and pulled out the folding handle. She started cutting through the turf around the outside of the grass with the sharp end of the blade so that they could turf out the grass in long sections and place it back over the grave when they were done. She didn't want the locals noticing that the ground had been disturbed. Eamon and James began the same process
on either side of her.
It took about an hour and a half before they ran into stone a couple of feet down into the hole they had made. They cleared the dirt from the top of the stone coffin lid and dug down around its sides, clearing additional space at the left of the lid so that they would have leverage to move it to the side and access the body below. Within half an hour, with all of them working and not speaking, they were ready to move the lid.
Eamon told them the best way to move the heavy stone from the coffin was to shove it off using their legs. They arrayed themselves along the side of the grave and got their feet into place. Lizbet figured Eamon was the expert on grave robbing, so he'd know best, until she flashed to the many times she’d been there opening coffins right along with him.
"How will we know it's him?" asked Lizbet.
"You'll recognize him if his amulet is still in place. Since it wouldn't have been visible to anyone who found him after Faolan pulled the veil between the realms, it should still be with him." Eamon said. "Now, push."
They all strained against the edge of the stone and the lid moved to the side enough that about ten inches of the inside of the coffin was exposed. Eamon hopped up, knelt on the coffin, and looked inside.
"Aye, lassie, it's him alright." He reached into the coffin and when he pulled his hand back, he held what looked like a finger bone. "And this is part of what we need. Lassie, you'll want to retrieve the amulet. That's the other part."
"Why?" asked James.
"Morgan said she would leave the amulet with Myrddin until she, Faolan, and he were all returned at the same time. This is the time. Even if we succeed at saving the tree, the fae will still be at risk—can you imagine what it will be like when humans realize that fairies are real? They'll want to dissect us. There may come a time when we need a powerful druid with his memories returned."
Lizbet shuddered, remembering the horror she felt watching through Maude's eyes as she collected Faolan's amulet. "Okay, I'll do it. But I am not liking it.