Beneath

by Gill Arbuthnott

  The house would soon be quiet. Her mother thought Jess was trying to sleep, so wouldn’t disturb her. It should be easy to sneak out to collect some twigs. They would have to be as thin as possible so they would bend enough to braid.

  There were birch trees at the edge of the forest, and she wouldn’t have to go far for the brambles either. Of course, the best ones were by the pool itself, but…

  She gasped as she realised.

  The horse’s mane had been caught. Was it possible that some hairs might still be tangled among the thorns?

  That settled any remaining doubts she had. If there were some hairs there, she was meant to do this.

  Jess found a satchel and her knife and shoved her way into her jacket and boots with a new sense of determination. A quick look out of the window to make sure she wouldn’t meet anyone coming in, then she crept down the stairs, trusting that Ellen would be safely ensconced by the stove, knitting. Sure enough, the regular click of needles was reassuringly audible.

  Jess let herself stealthily out the rarely used front door and

  took a looping detour that kept her out of sight until she could get into the woods.

  Her heart was beating fast as she went in under the trees. She hadn’t been out here since Freya had been taken, and every sound seemed louder than it should, and full of potential threat. She kept thinking of the wolves her father had hunted during the summer, just a few miles from here.

  She slowed as she neared the pool, alert for the sound of hooves, scanning the ground for prints, but there was nothing. Still, she waited in the trees for almost ten minutes before she could bring herself to approach the brambles where the horse had been. She’d thought, setting out, that she knew exactly where to look, but now she wasn’t so sure.

  Fifteen minutes later she was close to giving up. It seemed increasingly unlikely that any hairs would have stayed among the brambles until now. She didn’t know whether she was devastated or relieved.

  Jess took out her knife half-heartedly and cut a clutch of spindly bramble trailers, reaching in among the stems to get as much length as possible. The whirr of a duck’s wings made her turn to see a Goldeneye scuffing to a halt on the water. The pool looked as though nothing out of the ordinary had ever happened.

  With a sigh, Jess pushed the brambles into the bag and the knife back into its sheath and turned to go, watching where she placed her feet among the thorny stems. Half a dozen steps and she’d be clear of them.

  Something caught her eye: there was a tiny scrap of colour at about shoulder height, only a few paces from where she was. Jess made her way to where it was, suddenly tense.

  A fragment of red cloth, the size of a fingernail.

  It must be from Freya’s dress. If this was where Freya had been, Jess had been searching in the wrong place. She peered with new interest at the arching stems and only a few seconds later drew in her breath sharply and reached forward to unwind two long black hairs from a bramble spur.

  She had it. Hair of the Kelpie.

  She could scarcely believe it. Holding tight to the hairs with one hand, she reached into her bodice with the other and pulled out the kerchief she’d brought just in case. She wrapped the hairs up carefully and tucked the little bundle back into her bodice where there was no danger it could fall out. Appalled and elated in equal measure, she started for home.

  ***

  Jess looked at the collection of objects spread on the bed before her: two combs, a tiny cloth bundle, half a dozen bramble stems and a selection of the longest, thinnest birch twigs she’d been able to find.

  “Right then,” she said to herself under her breath. “You’ve got all these things; it would be stupid not to use them.”

  She untangled two or three of Freya’s long golden hairs and a few of her own from the combs, then unwrapped the two precious hairs from the horse’s mane and tied them all together at one end with a piece of thread. She worked the hairs into a tiny braid and tied thread around the other end. Next she twisted the braid round a birch twig and tied it in place.

  The rest was easy. Three stems of bramble, three of birch – including the one with the hairs – and soon she had a prickly braid. Was it long enough? She looked at it critically, decided it was. Any longer and it would just be unwieldy. She turned one end back on itself to form a loop, threaded the other end through and checked to see if it would run freely.

  It didn’t, of course, but considering it was covered in thorns, that was hardly surprising.

  Now for the blood.

  She’d pricked herself on thorns several times as she made the halter, but she wasn’t convinced that the tiny droplets that had oozed from her fingers were enough, so she got the knife and made a little cut in one fingertip.

  As Jess stood there watching the crimson blood drip on to the green stems and lie there like berries, her bedroom door opened and she looked up, startled.

  “I’m sorry. I just came up to see if you were still slee…”

  Ellen’s voice froze, her gaze on the halter.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “What are you doing?” Ellen said in a deadly whisper, coming in and pushing the door shut behind her.

  “Just… I’m making a halter,” Jess replied, unable to think of a convincing lie.

  “You surely don’t mean…” Ellen’s face was so papery white that Jess feared she was about to faint. “You can’t. You mustn’t. Not you.”

  “Why not me? There’s no one else. You know that.” Jess wrapped her kerchief tightly round her bleeding finger.

  Ellen sank heavily into the chair.

  “When I told you all these things… It was for Arnor to do, not you.”

  “But I told you what happened when I went to see him.”

  “It doesn’t matter. I would never forgive myself if you did this and something happened to you.”

  “Nothing’s going to happen to me,” Jess said with a confidence she was far from feeling.

  “Your parents would never forgive me – and they’d be right,” her grandmother went on. “The Kelpies have brought nothing but trouble to this family. Your father spent his childhood listening to people tell him his mother was mad, or that maybe she was a murderess. How will he feel if he finds you’ve gone off to do this?”

  Ellen looked at Jess as she spoke.

  “I found the Kelpie’s hair,” Jess said slowly. “What were the chances of that, do you suppose? I have to do this. I’m meant to do this. The only way you’ll stop me is by telling my parents everything and helping them keep me locked up. I don’t suppose they’ll be very happy to find you put this idea in my head though, do you?” Jess knew how despicable the words were as she said them, and what a terrible gamble she was taking that Ellen would remain silent.

  She forced herself to look her grandmother in the eye, saw her lips tighten.

  Ellen got to her feet. “Very well,” she said, admitting defeat. “But at least have the decency to tell me when you mean to go, so that I know when to worry.”

  Jess nodded and watched her gran leave. She didn’t feel as though she had won; she felt as though she had broken something fragile and irreplaceable.

  “You haven’t eaten anything, Jess.”

  Martha came across the kitchen, peered at her daughter’s face and put a hand to her forehead. “Do you feel all right? You don’t have a fever. You’re very pale – are you cold? Did you sleep any better last night?”

  Jess could almost feel the questions bouncing off her skin. She looked at her untouched porridge. There was no way she could force down even a mouthful, she was so nervous.

  Now Ashe was staring at her too.

  “I’m fine,” she said to her mother. “I’m just not hungry.”

  “You have to eat something,” Ashe said unexpectedly. “I bet you’re just trying to get out of your chores again.” He scowled at her.

  “No, I’m not. I’ll go and start them now to prove it.”

  Jess got up, her chair scraping on
the flags as she pushed it back, glad to have an excuse to get away from her mother’s scrutiny.

  “I’m going to the dairy to skim the cream. I’ll just say good morning to Gran first.”

  Martha nodded absently, her mind somewhere else.

  Jess ran back upstairs, collected her jacket and the old satchel with the halter in it. She hesitated for a second before she knocked on Ellen’s door, then went in.

  Her gran looked at her.

  “There’s nothing I can say that will change your mind, is there?”

  Jess shook her head.

  “How long will you wait at the pool?”

  “All day if I have to. But not past dark. I’ll be home in time for supper.”

  “And if you’re not?”

  “I will be,” Jess said firmly. “I’ll see you later,” she said with a queasy smile, and left before she had time to think better of it.

  After that, it was easy. Jess waited until there was no one else in the farmyard, then slipped out and headed for the woods.

  It seemed oddly quiet as the trees closed in around her. Watchful, you might say.

  Stop it! she thought. She tried hard to keep her mind on everyday things until she was close to the pool, then stood for several minutes, listening for any hint that there was a horse nearby.

  When nothing revealed itself, she began to walk towards the pool again, more slowly this time. Twenty paces, stop and listen again, nothing. Move on.

  She wanted to find a spot from which she could watch the pool unseen. Surely the horse would come out of the water when it appeared? She paused again, scanning the trees and bramble thicket and the pool itself, in case the horse was already there somewhere, and when she saw nothing, she turned her attention to finding a good place to keep watch.

  It only took her a few minutes to find three spindly pine trees growing so close together that their trunks almost touched, with a tangle of autumn-crisped ferns in front of them. With the solidity of the trunks at her back and the ferns screening her, she still had a good view of the pond. Jess made herself as comfortable as possible, and settled down to wait.

  It was difficult not to daydream when you’d been sitting against a tree for… however long she’d been here. It felt like months, but the light told her it couldn’t yet be much past noon. Jess had let her mind stray to Magnus for a while. Not that there was much to think about if she considered it properly: a couple of dances, some smiles, a few visits to Westgarth. Not a word, much less an arm round her waist, or a kiss. It was probably all imagination; it was her gran’s fault really, she’d put the idea in Jess’s head.

  Jess got stiffly to her feet, more than ready for a break. In fact, as she eased her cramped legs and shifted the satchel strap on her shoulder, she wondered if she should just go home. The whole thing seemed faintly ridiculous now; she was nearly ready to believe it was no more than an old wives’ tale.

  And then…

  There was no sound. No splash of water or crack of twig, no sign at all. And yet, Jess knew, though her back was to the pool, that the horse was there.

  As she turned, she tried to convince herself that it was her imagination at work, but she already knew somewhere deep in her heart that it wasn’t.

  The horse stood at the edge of the pool, watching her.

  Jess froze, poised for flight, balanced on the edge of fate, as the horse studied her with those too-blue eyes, and she studied it in turn.

  She could run. She could probably lose the water horse where the trees crowded together. She could run.

  But she didn’t. She stood quite still, her heart beating painfully hard, as the horse’s gaze settled on her face.

  Jess moved forward slowly, almost without thought, one hand sliding into the satchel to check the halter. A few paces from the water horse she stopped, and time ran slow as they stared at each other.

  The horse shook its head gently and moved slowly towards her. Almost against her will, Jess stretched out a hand and the horse nuzzled her palm. She felt its warm breath, the impossible softness of its muzzle.

  Jess slid her hand up over its cheek and down to the strong neck. Her mind was a blank. Why was she here? There had been some reason, something important, but she couldn’t remember what it had been. It didn’t matter now anyway.

  Her body leaned in towards the horse’s flank of its own volition, and then she was no longer on the ground at all, but on the horse’s broad back.

  Jess took a gasping breath and came out of whatever trance she had been in. Terrified now, she tried to slide down from the horse’s back, but her legs were clamped to its flanks and she couldn’t budge them, however she tried.

  “No!” she yelled, panic stricken. “Let me down. Stop!” But the horse was turning now, towards the water.

  Her arms were still her own to move. Shouting all the time, Jess hit the horse on the neck as hard as she could, tried to reach forward to its head, but couldn’t.

  Water rose around the black hooves as the horse picked its way with an odd delicacy into the pond.

  Jess flailed wildly, trying to pull herself free, not thinking at all now, blind with panic. Her right hand closed on something. Thorns bit into her flesh. She gasped with pain, and with the pain came clarity.

  The halter.

  That was what she had to do. It came back to her as water touched her legs, began to climb up her skirts.

  Desperately she pulled the halter from the satchel, kept tight hold of one end with her right hand as she let the other end dangle and reached under the horse’s neck to catch it with her left.

  The water had risen to her thighs now. The Kelpie was almost in the centre of the pond. Jess scrabbled frantically, caught the trailing end of the halter and brought both ends up. She felt the horse tense beneath her and prepare to dive. Jess somehow fumbled the free end through the loop and pulled as hard as she could as the horse’s muscles bunched beneath her and it leapt forward.

  In mid-leap the horse seemed to stiffen as it became aware of the thing round its neck, but its plunge into the pool continued.

  Jess screamed once, felt blood running through her fingers as the thorns gouged deep.

  Water closed over them. She held her breath, hands clamped on the halter, hauling on it so hard that it must surely break.

  The water boiled around them. They were tossed over and over, insubstantial and powerless as bubbles.

  Jess couldn’t hold her breath any longer. She was going to drown. She was going to die.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Jess opened her eyes to utter darkness. I’m dead, she thought. I’m drowned and dead, floating in Roseroot Pool. What happens now? Can I feel? Can I move? What do I do?

  She moved a hand experimentally and felt what seemed to be grass under her fingers. As she lay looking up, the darkness resolved itself into different shades, and she found she was looking at a night sky through a lacing of branches, black on black; no moon or stars in the land of the dead.

  It was cold, being dead. The cold had crept through her flesh and into her bones, slowing her blood.

  My heart’s still beating, even though I’m dead, she thought. And I still need to breathe. And I’m cold.

  She sat up, hoping that the land of the dead wasn’t going to be dark all the time. As if in answer to the thought, a light flickered and caught through the trees, a little way off to her right. It looked for all the world as though someone had just lit a fire.

  Jess got to her feet, a bit unsteadily, and walked between massive trunks towards the light. There was a man crouched by the fire with his back to her, breathing on twigs and fragments of tinder to encourage the flames, adding bits and pieces to feed it. He didn’t seem to have heard her approaching, so she stopped and simply watched him.

  In the shivering firelight, she couldn’t see much: dark clothes, longish dark hair. He half turned to reach for a branch as a resinous twig caught and spat flame, and she had a glimpse of his face in profile.

  He was young.
She hadn’t expected that. The flame died and he was lost in shadow again, still now, and listening. He knew she was there.

  Jess stepped forward into the light and heard him catch his breath, then let it out slowly.

  He was staring at her, his expression unreadable.

  “Hello,” she said, for want of something better.

  He didn’t answer, but his hand went to his neck, pulling at something.

  Shivering, Jess moved closer to the fire, still looking at him. Above his tunic, his fingers tugged at something twined green and gold, black and brown, barbed with thorns, tight about his neck.

  She felt as if all her blood had drained away through the soles of her boots.

  “I’m not dead,” she said in wonder.

  He stared at her, perplexed.

  “No.”

  “It worked.” She was talking to herself as much as him. “It worked.”

  Suddenly fearful, she looked around.

  “This is the Kelpie world?”

  He started to nod, then stopped suddenly, hand going to his throat. “Yes. To you it is.”

  “And you…” She pointed at his neck. “That… You… You were the horse?”

  “Was… am…”

  Jess’s mouth went dry as just what she had done hit her properly.

  It worked. I’m in the Kelpie world. Oh no. What do I do now?

  “Are there more of you?” she asked. Ellen had said the halter gave power over one Kelpie; this forest could be full of them, preparing to overpower her and free the horse-boy.

  “Of course. But not here. Not just now.”

  “How do I know you’re telling the truth?” She took a couple of steps towards the fire.

  The boy pulled again at the thing round his neck. Why did he keep staring at her?

  “Don’t you know what you’ve done to me with this? I have to do what you tell me. I can’t lie to you. How did you know how to make this if you don’t understand what it does?”