‘Who put it there?’ Even as I said it, I knew. ‘Oh! My father did it. Oh my God. The paintings. You said long-lived. How long are we talking?’ The pieces fell into place before he opened his mouth. ‘The original Calain Gilmore was in the sixteenth century! Apart from Fionn, there are no pictures of wives or children. Only adult males all the same age. That’s what you saw, isn’t it? They’re all him. How stupidly Phantom.’
He nodded and sipped at his coffee, not looking at me.
‘So I guess you saw me and realised what I was, then saw the pictures and realised whose daughter I am.’ I sucked in slow breaths of moist, warm air. ‘I still don’t get it all. You asked if Greene was my real name. Is Litson yours? How old are you? Even if I accept what you’re saying as true, how does my father fit into this? Why did he put the block in my mind?’
Logan grimaced. ‘I’m twenty. My aunt’s name and mine is Freyson. She’s two hundred and eighty, but don’t tell her I told you. We move a lot too, but not just because of our age. There’s more to it.’
‘Wait, wait, wait,’ I interrupted. ‘If I remember my History – and admittedly I did fall asleep in class – the Norse legends of the Vikings. Your name “Freyson”, does literally it mean the son of Freyr, lord of the Light Elves of Norse Mythology?’
He nodded, rubbing his thumb over the back of his hand. ‘Children in our culture take the name of the higher ranking parent. But I don’t know what family my father belonged to. He…died without ever telling me or Maeve. My aunt and mother however… their great-great-great grandfather was the son of Freyr, three thousand or so years ago.’
I dug thumbnail marks into my foam cup, waiting. Children giggled and screamed in the park. I squinted against the sunlight, watching them play, trying to absorb everything and failing. This had to be bullshit. Elves? Then I caught the pulse and flare of the sianfath from the trees nearby and had to accept his words as truth. Or at least some of it.
Logan said nothing so I filled the silence he seemed content to let lie between us.
‘So are the Light Elves you...us?’
‘The humans have called some of our people Light and some Dark Elves but both are us.’ He skirted the edges of answering my question, his eyes flat and hard.
‘Well that makes no sense.’ I slanted him a look under my lashes. ‘What’s the difference?’
‘In every society there are those who work for peace through non-violent methods. Then there are those who believe force, ironically, is the only path to peace,’ Logan said. There was a tension in his voice and shoulders that belied his calm words. ‘When human farming threatened the wild forest places, some of our people advocated working with them. Others wanted to fight the inevitable, put off the dilution of the gene pool; even destroy the humans altogether. Or, at the least, rule them.’
‘And?’ I prompted, shivering again at the images his words conjured. A spark lit the inside of my mind: swords raised, flashing in the sun; men in armour; arrows darkening a blue sky. Pain displaced the images and I grimaced, pressing my temples.
‘And the issue divided us.’ He seemed unwilling to elaborate.
‘C’mon, you’re holding something back.’ I folded my arms, glaring at him.
A sliver of something, cold or apprehension maybe, slipped down my spine.
Logan brushed imaginary crumbs off his shirt, avoiding my eye. ‘Some of the worst tyrants in history were Dark Elves or advised by them: Genghis Khan, Hitler, Attila the Hun, Pol Pot. But some of the best were Light Elves: Gandhi, the Buddha, Confucius, Mother Theresa, Jesus Christ.’
‘Seriously?’ I gaped. ‘Well that puts a different slant on things, anyway.’
He smiled thinly but still didn’t meet my gaze. ‘Yes. And because of the worst of the Dark, people like the Mors Ferrum hunt us all. Typical human intolerance and ignorance. And greed.’
‘So how can I get them to leave me alone?’
Logan made a sound of frustration, crushed his coffee cup and threw it into the bin with unnecessary force. ‘You don’t, Red! Don’t you get it? They won’t leave you alone until they get what they want.’
‘Well, I know what they want: this ocair thing.’ I lifted my chin and met his eyes unflinchingly. ‘If I give it to them, they might leave me alone. Did that ever occur to you?’
His lip curled. ‘You’re a fool if you think that. It’s not going to be that easy.’
I opened my mouth. His head snapped up and he scanned the road, ignoring me. I followed his gaze, but there were only rows of quiet suburban houses marching into the distance. Then a half-familiar discomfort roiled in my stomach and pressed against the base of my skull. A thousand pinpricks under my skin.
‘Shit.’ He snatched up our rubbish and jammed it the bin, before limping back to the bike.
‘What?’ I hurried after him. ‘What is it?’
He rounded on me. Who did you call? He gripped my shoulders, grey eyes drilling into mine. When you were in the shop. Who did you call? Your mother?
‘I had to let her know I was ok, and warn her we have to leave. I didn’t tell her where I was.’
Logan jammed his fingers through his hair. ‘Goddammit, Red. You’ve been on the run your whole life and you do something that basic? They tracked your call.’
‘They couldn’t have.’ I glared at him. ‘I’m not an idiot. I bought a burn phone, used our codewords. Kept it under a minute and pulled the battery straight away after the call.’
‘Damn!’ He shoved the helmet on and, with a grunt, swung a leg over the bike. ‘That’s worse. It means they’re watching Anna closely and they have resources. Seriously high tech resources that tracked your call straight away and at least gave them a cell area to search. They’re coming. Get on.’
I slid on behind him. ‘But that means they may have her already!’
‘I doubt it.’ He flipped down the visor. ‘She’s pretty safe with Eisen’s security. More likely they have her phone tapped.’
He revved the engine and took off from the carpark in a spray of gravel, looking over his shoulder as he did. I followed his gaze. Two black four-by fours rounded the corner at the end of the street. They sped up.
I clung to the bike, overriding instincts to lean. I willed myself to act like a gearsack so as not to hinder Logan’s control of the machine. He threw the bike around corners in a way that spoke volumes about his anger. I couldn’t blame him, only myself. I’d underestimated whoever was after me and that could prove fatal.
The bike screeled around a corner and tarmac filled my vision, leaving me white-knuckled. The bike was faster and more manoeuvrable. But the SUV’s were close and the streets in this country town were broad and open. There were no convenient alleys too small for cars. No backstreets to hide in. Logan gunned it down a straight section of road. I risked a quick check behind. Our pursuers trailed but were still in sight.
Our speed dropped so fast my cheek smacked into Logan’s back. My grip tightened reflexively. He slammed on the front brakes and slid the back wheel out sideways. At the end of the road, a third black SUV slewed around the corner and closed that exit. Dropping the clutch Logan took off again, straight at what looked like a driveway. A quick peek under his arm showed a narrow concrete easement between two timber fences. Steel bollards at the entrance should make it impassable to cars.
How far did it go and how did we get back onto the streets?
Behind, tyres squealed as the three cars ploughed to a halt. Plastic and metal exploded as a bullet destroyed the bike’s rear taillight. I flinched, my heart pounding. Another showered us with timber shrapnel as we rounded a backyard fence. Then we were hidden from view. A temporary reprieve.
The easement forked. Logan drew the bike to a halt, glancing both directions. One seemed as good as another, to me. He chose the more northerly route and I had no reason to object. As long as it got us out of the area I was perfectly happy. This was turning out to be one helluva day.
The easement segued into a walking
track. We followed a little creek, shaded by weeping eucalypts and flittering with bird life. Of course that meant a predictable exit and therefore a high probability our trackers would find us. Anyone with a smartphone could pull up a map and see where we had to emerge.
Timing was everything.
Logan pushed the bike dangerously fast on the narrow path. I bit my lip to stop a scream as he slipped between another pair of bollards in the track. My heart beat so hard it stole my breath. All I could do was catch it back and hope.
We burst onto a larger cross-road, narrowly missing a woman with a pram. Logan opened the throttle. We flew along the tarmac, dodging cars and earning angry gestures and beeping horns from everyone we passed. I twisted to check behind. The black SUVs were nowhere in sight.
I silently passed the good news on to Logan. He acknowledged it curtly and took several turns at random, gradually slowing down to the speed limit and heading away from the main road. Open farmland and patches of rainforest lay ahead. Not an ideal place to hide unless you knew the routes intimately.
After half an hour through winding back roads, Logan manoeuvred his way to a highway and opened the throttle. He headed east. Signs appeared, pointing to Cairns. Without slowing, Logan hit the first curves of the Kuranda Range. The tightly-winding road clung to the steep escarpment that dropped from the Tablelands to the coast. I closed my eyes as he skimmed between two thundering trucks. The acrid scent of exhaust fumes hit my face.
Is the bike registered to you? I threw the thought at him tentatively, unsure of my reception.
No. His mental voice was terse. We’ll stop at the bottom of the range and I’ll flip the plates, just in case. He cut the connection.
It felt like a slap.
We passed the major shopping centre at the base of the range but he didn’t stop. He swung the bike off the main highway and headed for Cairns by a back route, through cane fields, past farmhouses and across the Barron River.
I gave up trying to reach him. His mind was a blank wall. He was obviously still mad at me. I had bigger things to worry about: my mother was possibly being held captive in lieu of myself. I couldn’t be sure about Logan’s blithe assurance of her safety. What the hell did I do next? I needed to get in touch with her, or the kidnappers, and find out what they wanted. I’d trade myself if I had to.
But I had no right to endanger Logan or his family, and no real reason to involve them either. Sure, Logan had helped, but I’d paid him back by saving his ass at the shed. Anna’s safety wasn’t his priority and he clearly distrusted me. I wasn’t interested in playing any more mind games. I had the information I needed – the name of the organisation and idea of what they wanted. Anna was more important than any other morsels of information he felt like doling out. Once she was safe, I could focus on taking these Mors Ferrum bastards down. I didn’t need anyone’s help.
13
Are you safely away?>
Yes, now. They are closer than we thought, though. Whatever they want her for, it must be important. They’re throwing everything at finding her.
She’s not prepared for this sort of encounter. Up until now she’s skirted around the edges of their awareness. She’s had a few close calls when she got careless, but nothing on this magnitude. If she’s caught she will break.
…
That’s where I think you’re wrong, Maeve. I don’t think she’s insignificant. As much as I’d like it to be otherwise, I think she may be the most important player in this. I just don’t know why, yet.
Logan, I have to go to the bathroom. Can we stop at that gas station up ahead? You can switch the plates.
He didn’t reply, but veered into a suburb the faded green signs labelled ‘Redlynch’. If he chose it as some sort of black dig at me, I wasn’t amused. He stopped at a small petrol station which had a good collection of food, touristy crap and mechanical bits and pieces cluttering up the display area inside.
Two rather ancient security cameras covered the bowsers and the store interior. Anna’s work had taught me the majority of security cameras were low-resolution and not as easily accessed or enhanced as the TV crime-shows would have their audiences believe. Logan must have seen them, for he parked the bike in a camera blind spot. We dismounted out of view of the passing parade of cars filling up and families with children traipsing to the bathroom and shop.
I grabbed my backpack and headed for the shop, keeping my face averted. It suited me for Logan to be annoyed enough not to watch me. He busied himself switching the plates on the bike.
Inside the shop I acted swiftly. A baseball cap and cheap sunglasses hid my face from the ATM camera as I drew the maximum daily cash limit from both my cards. Even if my cards were flagged it would take the fourbys a little while to get here. By then we’d both be long gone. I grabbed the rest of what I needed and dumped it on the counter. Chirpy conversation kept the serving girl’s mind busy while she scanned and totalled.
Behind, I half-heard whispered conversations – not loud enough to understand the words, though. Hopefully nothing about me. How could it be?
On the way out I passed Logan and wordlessly handed him a cap. He took it. I raised one shoulder and jerked a thumb at the bathroom sign.
‘I’ll be in there. Give me five minutes. I had to draw cash out so we can’t stay long.’
Once outside, I checked to make sure he was occupied, in line for the counter. In the surrounding streets, I spotted what I was after. There. A nineties model Ford. Easy. Perhaps one of the employee’s cars. Hopefully they wouldn’t notice it missing for a few hours.
Even with my slightly rusty skills, it was the work of seconds to gain entry. A screwdriver into the ignition, a few other tweaks courtesy of my strength, and it was ready. My foresight in seeking out the seediest elements at school in LA had paid off. Logan hadn’t emerged by the time I turned over the starter. Grand theft auto. I grimaced. That was a new one. Although this wasn’t a particularly grand auto.
I had no idea if my mother was still at the MJE offices, or if she’d been abducted. The office seemed the best place to start, though. Pity I had no contacts here in Australia who were capable of tracking my mother’s phone. With a twinge of guilt at abandoning Logan, who may have those resources, I pulled out into traffic, obeying all the road rules and watching for police cars.
A few kilometres down the road, I spotted signs for a large shopping centre. Perfect. Driving a stolen car into the middle of a city, for which I had no mental or physical map, was plain nuts. I parked the car and left it unlocked with the screwdriver in the ignition. With any luck some enterprising thief would re-steal it. Before leaving I wiped every surface with wetwipes I’d bought for exactly that reason.
Inside the cool of the shopping centre I bought a phone, changed clothes, and donned a new blonde wig. Then I stopped in the food court for food, coffee and a few minutes to think about my next move. The backpack Logan had given me held no more than what he’d described. Which meant my second set of throwing knives, karambit blade and boot knife were still in my gym bag – in the boot of my car. But Logan said Maeve took everything from my car with her.
Damn. I would have to either get them or replace them quickly. Unfortunately, that posed a whole new set of problems, since all were illegal to carry in Australia.
I took a long sip of coffee, trying to plan my next steps. How did I find Anna?
It was difficult to think in all the noise. People chattered all around: talking, whispering. Weirdly, though, none of the conversations made sense. They almost sounded like running commentaries; a series of unconnected observations about other people and events. The din seemed to slide sideways through my ears and into my brain, derailing my train of thought.
Irritated, I focussed f
iercely on the steam rising from my coffee. After a minute I managed to block out the noise and think clearly again.
I replayed my lunchtime phone conversation with Anna. My mother hadn’t sounded at all odd. Nothing even vaguely sinister. She’d used none of our emergency words. So what was the story? Was my mother’s phone tapped? Was she in danger from these Mors Ferrum?
Or was Logan behind this? After all, I only had his word he wasn’t. If I operated under the assumption he had something to gain, what was it? Was this all some elaborate ruse to gain my trust? But again: why? Nothing sprang to mind.
There were too many ‘what ifs’ to make sense of it. The only thing I could do was confirm my mother was safe. If she wouldn’t leave, maybe I could get her to stick close to Michael and his security. But if I could get her out, that would free me up to force these Mors Ferrum people, if that’s who they really were, to back off.
I finished my coffee and marched towards the exit. Outside the automatic doors, heat slapped me in the face, reflecting off the tarmac, turning the air into steam. My new clothes stuck uncomfortably to my skin, and my scalp itched under the cheap wig. Two in the afternoon and the sun burned like a blast-furnace. What a ridiculous climate.
At the taxi rank I let two go to other people then stepped into the third. It might be paranoid, but what the hell. Absently, I gave the driver the address for the MJE building and leaned back against the seat, staring out the window at nothing.
The driver tried to catch my eye in the mirror. He seemed to be one of those chatty taxi drivers who felt the need to make cheerful conversation. He soon gave up when I replied in single syllables or simply didn’t bother to reply at all. He couldn’t help himself, though, and kept up a low-key muttering; a long monologue about how much he disliked his job, how annoying the passengers were and how little he got paid.
I ignored him and took care to keep the brim of my cap low, obscuring my face from the camera pointed at the back seat. Overhead, a plane climbed into the sky. Would that Anna was on it, safe. Sky and plane vanished as we travelled through the lush greenery of older suburbs.
Relics and Runes Anthology Page 72