Beneath

by Gill Arbuthnott

  Jess blinked again and again, astonished by the clarity with which she could see things. Not just see; she could hear the breeze pushing against the grass stems, smell the scents of flowers and water, even of stone. She was suddenly aware that under the bark of the tree she was leaning against, sap moved like slow blood.

  “What’s happening?” she asked Finn uncertainly.

  “Nothing,” he said. “You’re just seeing my world properly now that it’s light.”

  “But it’s all so… sharp. So bright.” She couldn’t express it properly. It was as though, back in her own world, she had spent years seeing everything through a cloudy, muffling veil. Here, the veil was gone. “So beautiful,” she murmured.

  She turned her attention to Finn’s home. At first, astonished, she thought the house was afloat in the air. As she looked more closely, however, she realised that it sat on a series of wooden piles that held it clear of the water. Built of wood, it almost looked as though it had grown from its surroundings, not been built at all.

  Instead of a single structure there was a series of circular buildings, linked by little bridges and covered walkways. On the side that faced them, large windows stood open to the morning sun, but Jess could see no sign of any occupants.

  “Wait here,” said Finn quietly.

  “No – stop,” Jess hissed.

  With a resigned sigh, Finn turned back.

  “Promise me you’ll bring her. Promise me you won’t give me away.”

  He closed his eyes briefly.

  “Don’t you understand what this does to me?” He fingered the torque. “I have no choice. If you tell me to do something, I have to do it. I can’t give you away. So, can I go now?”

  “There’s one more thing.” Jess hesitated. “I’m sorry I’ve had to hurt you to get Freya back. I didn’t know it would do that to you.” She gestured to the angry weal under the torque.

  Finn watched her face.

  “But you would have done it, wouldn’t you, even if you had known?” he asked quietly.

  She nodded.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Time slowed to a crawl for Jess. She’d watched Finn make his way across the meadow without looking back, and disappear into the complex of little buildings. Since then, nothing. Not a glimpse, not a sound. She’d expected him to reappear with Freya more or less immediately. What was he doing?

  Despite what he had said, she pictured him with his family, showing them the torque, the others working out a way to trick her.

  She imagined how he must have watched her family and the farm, thought of all the times she’d felt there was someone near her in the woods. It was a disturbing idea, but it had never felt like a threatening presence at the time. Was he horse or boy as he watched? She found herself wishing she had spotted him, and that they could have become friends. She felt herself drawn to him in some way she couldn’t articulate.

  Where were they? Why was this taking so long? Something must be wrong. Five minutes more and then…

  Wait.

  Two figures emerged from the building at last. Finn and Freya, hand in hand, smiling and talking, looking as though they had known each other all their lives, as if they had nothing better to do than to stroll beside the river.

  The noise of hooves distracted Jess. She glanced towards the sound, and saw a horse galloping towards Finn’s house. Had he found a way to summon other Nykur to help him? Was this a member of his family?

  This horse was smaller than Finn, more delicate, but just as black, just as glossy. As Jess watched, the horse neared the floating house and…

  …and was gone. Jess blinked, thinking this was some trick of the shifting light, but there was no horse any more. Instead there was a girl, a girl with black hair falling in curls and waves around her face.

  It was one thing to have in your mind the idea of a horse that changed into a person, but to see it happen… Jess felt overwhelmed by Finn’s world. What had made her think she could come here and rescue Freya from these people? She held her breath, waiting to see what the girl would do, and let it out in relief when she ran lightly up the steps into the house.

  As soon as she was gone, Jess hurried out from the shelter of the trees, retaining just enough sense not to shout Freya’s name. She watched as Finn’s expression changed to dismay and Freya’s to bafflement, saw Finn silently mouth Get back at her, and stopped dead.

  They were close enough now for Jess to hear Freya’s voice as she turned to Finn and said in puzzlement,

  “Who’s that, Finn?”

  Although Finn had warned Jess that Freya wouldn’t remember home, Jess had thought she would know her, but Freya looked at her as though she were a stranger.

  Jess arranged her face into something that looked like a smile as Finn replied.

  “This is Jess. She’s a friend.”

  Jess could hear the tension in his voice, saw Freya glance at him as she picked it up too, and then look round at the house from which they had come, Finn pulling her towards Jess all the time.

  “Wait,” said Freya. “Rowan just got back. Didn’t you hear her? Surely she’ll want to see Jess too?”

  “She can see Jess later,” Finn said, ploughing grimly on.

  Freya stopped and tried to pull her arm loose.

  “Stop, Finn. Let’s call her. She’ll want to come with us.”

  Before Finn could do anything, Freya had turned to the house.

  “Rowan!” she shouted at the top of her voice. “Hurry up. Someone’s come to see us.”

  There was no point in trying to stay hidden now. Jess saw figures appear outside Finn’s house, staring across the meadow towards them: the girl she had glimpsed changing from horse shape, and a man and woman who must be Finn’s parents.

  Panic propelled her forward.

  “Freya, it’s me, Jess! Come on.”

  She grabbed Freya’s free hand and together with Finn, began to pull her towards the river.

  “What are you doing? Let me go!” Freya struggled to pull her hands free.

  “Come on Freya. I’m taking you home,” Jess gasped desperately.

  “What do you mean? This is my home. Get away from me.”

  Freya twisted in Jess’s grip, shouting back now to the other members of Finn’s family who were hurrying towards them.

  “Help! Help me!”

  Jess heard the woman shout. “Finn! Stop her!”

  Finn dropped Freya’s hand and fell to his knees, his hands at his throat, caught between the imperatives of the torque and his mother’s command. As Jess looked, the torque seemed to tighten.

  Dredging up reserves of strength she had never dreamed she possessed, Jess began to haul Freya towards the water again.

  “Let her go.”

  The woman’s voice was impossible to ignore. Jess’s steps faltered, and she looked round.

  Finn’s family stood poised, watching her: the black-haired girl, so like Finn that she must be his sister, a man who looked no more than forty, but must be Euan, and Finn’s mother Gudrun, with a strong, handsome face, and golden brown hair falling past her shoulders.

  “Let her go,” Gudrun said again.

  Jess shook her head, pulling Freya inexorably onwards.

  The woman held up her hand and Freya disappeared.

  Jess gave a scream as Freya’s hand was replaced by the slimy, muscular body of a huge eel, writhing and twisting round her arms. She gritted her teeth and ploughed on towards the riverbank, her grip tighter than ever round the squirming thing.

  Remember… this isn’t real, she told herself.

  Just as she felt she had a secure hold of it, the eel was gone. Jess stumbled as the weight of its body disappeared, and opened her hands. At once a white and gold butterfly fluttered from her open palm.

  “No… no!” Jess stopped herself from clutching at it, watched it flutter onto one of the yellow flowers, trying to ignore the sound of running feet coming closer.

  She crept nearer to the flower, reached
out both hands and gently cupped them round the butterfly, then ran for the river.

  The butterfly burst from her hands, changed into a peregrine falcon, hooked beak and slashing talons and angry yellow eyes. Jess gave a scream and gripped the bird as tightly as she could. She had it by both legs, safe from the talons at least, but it beat its wings, screeching angrily and stabbing at her with that wicked beak.

  “I’m not letting go,” Jess yelled, as she concentrated on reaching the river.

  Nearly there, she told herself, then yelped in pain as the falcon changed and she found herself with an armful of briars, the blood-red flowers matched by the blood dripping from her hands, where the great thorns bit deep into her flesh.

  “I’m taking her!” Jess screamed, turning to face the Nykur as she reached the riverbank at last.

  Finn was still on his knees, face twisted in pain, fighting to breathe as the thorned metal bit into his neck harder and harder. Rowan knelt beside him, desperately trying to pull the torque from his neck.

  Finn’s parents were only a few steps away now.

  “I’m taking her home,” Jess called out, edging down to the water.

  Gudrun held up her hand again.

  “No,” she said, and the briars burst into flame.

  Jess screamed as flames engulfed her arm. She could smell her flesh burning. She fought the reflex that urged her to hurl the burning briars away from her.

  Hold fast the flame.

  She couldn’t hold on. The pain was too much. With a despairing cry, Jess threw herself into the river.

  She’d failed. Lungs straining, Jess kicked herself upwards. She’d let go. Freya was lost forever.

  She could see a light above her now. Was it the sun of the Nykur world or her own?

  She should have held on tighter. Her head broke the surface and she gasped in a lungful of air.

  Trees. Brambles. A pool, not a river. Roseroot Pool.

  She was home.

  The water swirled beside her and another head broke the surface. Jess floundered away, fearing a vengeful Nykur, a great dark horse, but it was a human head, blonde hair darkened by water.

  Freya. It was Freya.

  Freya looked around her, treading water.

  “Jess?” she said uncertainly.

  “You know who I am!”

  “Of course I know who you are. What are we doing in the pond?”

  Too overwhelmed to say any more, Jess splashed her way to shore beside Freya. They pulled themselves out of the water and collapsed, breathless.

  Jess rolled over to look at her friend, reached out a hand to touch her, to make sure she was real.

  “It’s you,” she said through her soaking hair.

  She focused on her own hands in wonder. “I’m not burned. Or scratched. Look – not a mark.”

  Freya stared at her as though she was insane.

  “What are you raving about? Look at my dress – the dye’s running. It’ll be ruined. I can’t remember how we got into the pond. Did you push me in? Jess? Jess? Why are you laughing?”

  Jess managed to get herself under enough control to speak.

  “You don’t remember anything, do you?” she asked Freya, who was trying to wring the water out of her skirt.

  “What on earth do you mean? We were picking brambles, and then I must have slipped, or you pushed me in, or something.”

  “Freya – you’ve been missing for five days.”

  Freya stopped what she was doing and stared hard at Jess.

  “You must have hit your head. You’re not making sense. Come on, we’d better get you home.” Freya got to her feet and stretched a hand down to her half-hysterical friend. “Honestly, Jess, I wonder about you sometimes. It’s a good job I’m here to look after you.”

  Arms round each other, the girls began to squelch their way back to Westgarth. Nothing that Jess could say to Freya as they walked would convince her that she’d been missing. Even the mention of the horse drew nothing from her but an incredulous stare. By the time they got within sight of the farmyard Jess was starting to wonder if it was Freya who was right, and not her at all.

  How long had she been gone? It looked like late afternoon, but what day was it? She’d spent a night in the Nykur world. Finn had said that time ran differently there, but how differently? What if years had passed? She felt a prickle of fear.

  The farmyard was empty. For a few seconds Jess imagined it abandoned, the buildings empty but for spiders and mice and dust, but then she heard a cow lowing and a measure of her usual common sense returned.

  They got all the way to the kitchen door without seeing anyone, and it was Freya who shouted into the house.

  “Martha! We’re back, but we’re soaking. Can we come in anyway?”

  Jess heard the crash of a dropped dish from inside and her mother appeared in the doorway. She gaped at the girls, her hand clamped white on the door frame.

  “Freya?” she whispered. “Jess… what… where…?”

  She gave up, ran towards them and enfolded them both in a huge hug, then stood back looking at them at arm’s length as though to convince herself it was really them.

  Jess turned to Freya, and saw the first shadow of doubt appear in her eyes.

  “Are we late?” she said. “I’m sorry we’re wet.” Her voice trailed away as Martha continued to stare. “Martha, what is it?”

  “Where have you been, Freya? What happened? Oh!” She put a hand to her mouth. “We must get word to your father.”

  “Ian!” she shouted, making both girls jump. “Come quickly. It’s Freya – she’s here.”

  Jess felt Freya clutch her arm.

  “Jess, what’s going on? I don’t understand.” She sounded frightened now.

  It was a few hours later. Freya, wearing one of Jess’s dresses, sat mutely wrapped in Arnor’s arms, trying to take in what she had been told.

  Jess had managed to establish that it was still the same day here as when she had left. It was turning out to be, by some way, the longest day of her life.

  When the inevitable questioning started, she feigned confusion before settling on the patently ludicrous claim that she had found Freya wandering beside the pool, and then they had fallen in.

  Everyone seemed outwardly to have decided to accept it as the truth, though surely it must be clear it was nonsense. Jess saw her parents exchanging whispered words once or twice, and glancing at her when they thought she wouldn’t notice.

  In her usual chair by the fire, Ellen somehow continued to look calm, though Jess could have sworn she could feel the anxiety to hear the true story fairly crackling out of her. There was no chance of talking to her alone just now, though.

  It was decided that Arnor and Freya would stay overnight, and everyone went to bed early, overwrought and exhausted, Freya back in Jess’s room.

  Jess lay awake for a long time, aware of Freya lying equally sleepless in the other bed. Normally, they would have talked until they fell asleep, but now they lay silent. Neither of them knew what to say.

  Jess was drifting off to sleep at last when she realised that the sound of Freya’s breathing had been replaced by muffled weeping.

  “Freya? What’s wrong?” Jess whispered, sitting up.

  There was no reply.

  Jess lit the candle, got out of bed and went over to where Freya lay curled up as small as possible, and sat down beside her.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked again.

  There was a choked sob.

  “What happened to me, Jess? Why can’t I remember? I don’t understand what can have happened. You all thought I was dead. Where was I? We were picking brambles and your hair got tangled… Tangled hair – black hair. Why do I keep thinking about that? And then we were in the pond. And now everyone says there are five days locked away in the middle of that. Am I losing my mind?”

  What to say? Should she try and explain to Freya what had really happened? It was clear she didn’t remember any of it.

  Je
ss tried to imagine explaining about Finn and the Nykur and the halter…

  …and gave up. Freya wouldn’t believe a word of it. She’d think Jess was making fun of her. Jess decided that unless Freya herself remembered something, she wasn’t going to tell her anything. She put her arms round the other girl.

  “Don’t worry, Freya. You’re safe and you’re back with us. Nothing else really matters. It’ll be all right, you’ll see.”

  Why didn’t Jess believe her own words?

  They waved Arnor and Freya off after breakfast the next day, Jess promising to visit soon. Freya was still uncharacteristically quiet.

  It wasn’t how Jess had imagined it at all.

  When she’d been plucking up the courage to take the halter and search for the dark horse, she’d imagined returning with Freya, elated, full of the tale of what had happened. She’d imagined everyone apologising for not having believed her before, praising her for her bravery in saving her friend.

  But that wasn’t how it was at all. Instead of elated, Jess mostly felt worried. She was worried about Freya, of course, but she found that she was worried about Finn too. She couldn’t get that last glimpse of him out of her head. Finn fighting for breath, the thing she had put around his neck slowly choking him. What if he died? What if she had killed him?

  She shouldn’t care. She told herself she shouldn’t care. He was a stranger who had kidnapped Freya. He’d spent years watching Jess and her family. He wasn’t even human. It should have made her angry or frightened; she shouldn’t care what happened to him.

  But she did.

  Once Arnor and Freya had disappeared around a curve of the road, Jess and her family went back into the farmhouse. Ian gave her shoulder a quick squeeze and went off towards the orchard and Martha pointed at a basket of washing.