Bloodstone: 2 (Rebel Angels)

by Gillian Philip

  ‘Gone back to his loch,’ said Torc, shrugging.

  I said, ‘I asked him to stay but you know the Watchers. Law unto themselves. Said he’d been gone too long already.’

  ‘Good. He had.’

  ‘He’s getting on a bit, the grumpy old fart. He’s going to be redundant anyway, if the Veil goes.’

  Conal glared at me, and the black bared its teeth in aggressive sympathy. ‘Don’t even say that.’

  I don’t imagine I was the only one who’d noticed the baby’s new lease of life. He seemed an awful lot healthier than he had, especially his voice box. As we rode west he was working himself into a spectacular state. Stuck on the horse between Jed and Conal, he was demanding from one what he couldn’t get from the other, and throwing a tantrum when he was thwarted.

  ‘Can someone shut up the squalling brat?’ My teeth were gritted, and even Torc looked harassed.

  ‘I’ll deal with him,’ muttered Eili.

  ‘Like hell you will,’ said Jed and Conal simultaneously.

  ‘We never behaved like that when we were little,’ Eili growled to Sionnach.

  ‘Oh yes, you did,’ said Conal mildly, halting the horse and gazing around at the moorland. ‘He needs to run around a bit. And he needs a pee break.’ Reaching back to scoop up the child in one arm, he swung down off the black.

  ‘He needs a slap,’ hissed Eili. ‘If we’re being stalked we’re not exactly a challenge.’

  ‘What are the swords for?’ snapped Jed.

  The growl in Eili’s throat verged on laughter. ‘Aye, Cuilean, it’s that easy.’

  I watched Branndair and Liath play with the infant, Liath swatting the boy into the heather, Branndair rolling over to let him scramble across his belly. Even Eili seemed in a kindlier mood now that the racket had been silenced. She pulled her whetstone from her belt pouch and reached up for her second sword. Her fingers didn’t close on it, though. They clenched into a fist as a shudder went through her.

  Conal’s head snapped round to her. ‘Eili?’

  ‘Ach.’ It was a dry rattle of disgust in her throat. She leaped to her feet, both swords drawn.

  ‘Lammyr.’ I drew my own blade off my back.

  ‘Shit,’ growled Conal, on his feet beside her. ‘Sionnach.’

  Sionnach was already moving, running fast and low to the ground, leaping up to a low granite outcrop and crouching to stare around the moor. The wolves, stiff-legged and snarling, were on their feet above the child, who had fallen onto his bottom, a comical expression of shock on his face. Grabbing Jed by the shoulder, Torc pulled him roughly back, and the wolves closed in again at his sides. Stunned, all he could do was lift his little brother into his arms.

  The air around us was still, as if the entire moor was holding its breath. Not a bird or an animal stirred.

  Sionnach tensed. ‘It’s in the rowans.’

  ‘Coming now,’ yelled Torc. ‘To your left, Cù Chaorach!’

  ‘It’s here.’

  A flicker of whiplash motion, and I spun and lunged. Missed the bastard, but I didn’t wait to regret it, springing sideways. Three spinning blades sliced the air and thunked into empty ground just beyond where I’d stood. Sionnach flung himself to the earth as a fourth flashed over him, and a lock of his black hair drifted to the ground.

  Torc wasn’t the world’s fastest mover, but at least the bulk of him protected Jed and his brother. Snarling, he didn’t even try to dodge when the Lammyr doubled back, whip-wire fast, but Conal intercepted it, his sword deflecting the flung blades. There was a rasping ring of metal meeting metal, and Jed was gaping at three blades sunk half into the earth in front of him. They shimmered, quivering: small, curved and evil.

  As the Lammyr leaped to clear Sionnach and reached the apex of its spring, it was clearly visible: a thin, strong, grinning thing, pale-eyed and sleek-haired. Not Skinshanks, I realised, spitting out my disappointment as it leaped clear of my sword again. It loosed a blade at Jed, who ducked, but he’d been saved by the Lammyr’s wild aim, not his own pathetic speed.

  Eili raised both her swords, slashing them down so that the Lammyr had to bend backwards almost double to dodge them. Licking colourless lips it sprang back upright like a hazel twig. It took a running leap, slammed its feet into Eili’s chest, then ran up her falling body to take once more to the air.

  Conal met it mid-leap, twisting like a cat. The two figures spun off each other, grey light glinting on the edge of blades. Then Conal dropped to earth, awkwardly but on his feet, sword held before him. The Lammyr fell like a stone, deadweight. A rattling sigh trickled from its lips before its bright hard eyes went dead.

  We stood motionless, breath held, swords raised, muscles tensed. Then Conal lowered his sword, flicking the coat distastefully aside to reveal a long slash the length of its naked torso. The path of the blade was so clean it was barely discernible, only a line drawn on flesh that seeped a pale fluid, but the Lammyr had been cut almost in half. As we watched, the edges of the wound sagged apart, the stain spreading fast, and Conal flicked the coat back over it.

  Jed stepped forward, trembling. The Lammyr’s eyes were open, staring directly at him, and the smile was still on its face.

  ‘See that?’ I coughed and spat. ‘They love death so much they even love their own.’ There was a long gash on the front of my t-shirt, I realised, and a red line on the flesh beneath. Annoyed, I rubbed the cut with my arm, smearing the blood.

  Conal pulled Eili to her feet. She was still gasping, winded, but she spat at the corpse. ‘Carrion. It was aiming for the child.’

  As Torc sheathed his broadsword and held out his arms, Jed gave the baby up to him, shaking too much to hold him any longer. Rory’s frozen silence melted into sobs of shock, and Torc handed him on to Conal while Jed leaned forward and hung his head down, retching.

  Liath’s maternal tongue lashed his face. Wincing, he shoved her away and staggered to his feet, trying to reclaim his dignity. As Conal passed the baby on into his arms, Jed gave him a dry look and spat remnants of bile. ‘Get you, flyboy.’

  ‘My lovely gossamer wings are under the shirt.’ He laughed, then gestured at Sionnach’s arm. ‘Sionnach, do something with that, will you?’

  Sionnach glanced down at his arm, which was pumping bright scarlet blood. Sitting down suddenly he held his arm high, letting Eili take hold of it and bare it, and he didn’t wince as her fingers slid deep into the gash in his flesh. He stared groggily at the infant.

  ‘You know what?’ he said. ‘It went for the boy, not the baby.’

  I ran a finger thoughtfully along the edge of my sword. ‘I think you’re right.’

  ‘Why? A baby’s such easy prey. Ow.’ Sionnach flinched as Eili’s fingers tightened hard inside his arm. Simultaneously she reached into her pack with her left hand and tossed a wet rag to Conal.

  Conal caught it. ‘Ach.’ With disgust he wiped mucal fluid from his sword.

  ‘That won’t do your blade any good. I wet the rag in a burn, but it’s not the same. Get it into running water as soon as we reach some.’ She glanced back at Sionnach’s arm. The wound was an ugly raised ridge but it was closed, the bright blood no longer flowing, and she pulled his sleeve back down over it. Sionnach got stiffly to his feet, and kissed her bloody hand.

  Conal was still eyeing his sword with suspicion. ‘Um. I don’t think it’s too bad, Eili. Sionnach, if you’re okay we shouldn’t hang about here.’

  ‘Too late,’ said Torc.

  ‘What?’

  He nodded towards the dip in the hills.

  ‘It was only an outrider.’

  It wasn’t an attack; we could tell from the casual way they rode down the glen towards us, three of them on horseback, and one Lammyr on foot. Skinshanks kept pace easily with the riders, its coat flapping loose around its yellowish torso, the blades at its belt glinting in the weak winter sun. It grinned and gave me a little wave.

  We were on horseback to meet them, blades unsheathed but lowered. Cona
l’s teeth were clenched so hard it made his stubbled cheeks cadaverous. It occurred to me again that I’d seen my brother look a whole lot better.

  Cuthag reined in his grey mare five yards away, the other two riders halting just behind him. Skinshanks sauntered forward and folded its arms. I bared my teeth at it.

  ~ I’ll have you, I told it.

  ~ I’ll be delighted, Murlainn!

  Cuthag encompassed us all in a broad smile. ‘Cù Chaorach. This is a pleasure.’

  I blew out a bored breath. ‘Oh, get on with it.’

  ‘I believe Slakespittle had a word earlier?’ Smugly Cuthag eyed my torn t-shirt.

  ‘About half a word, before Conal shut it up.’

  Skinshanks pouted at that. ‘Murlainn, you can be so uncivil.’

  ‘What do you want, Cuthag?’ Conal spoke through his teeth.

  ‘Easy. I’m here to return your goddaughter.’

  Conal went pale, then, and lifted his blade to point it at Cuthag’s throat.

  ‘Alive, of course. Alive and unharmed. Relax.’

  ‘Aye, right.’

  ~ Shut it, Seth. ‘What’s the catch?’

  ‘Catch? There isn’t one. Kate offers you a straight swap.’

  Conal’s brow creased. He gave me a glance. My spinal cord filled with ice.

  ‘She wants me, she can have me,’ he said in a low voice. ‘But I want Finn out of—’

  ‘Oh, get over yourself, Cù Chaorach. It isn’t you she wants.’

  Cuthag had been so looking forward to that line. I smiled at him. ‘How long did you practise that one in the mirror?’

  A red stain suffused Cuthag’s neck; one of the horsemen behind him bit his own cheeks, and managed to remain impassive.

  ‘Spit it out, Cuthag.’ Conal sheathed his sword with an air of utmost boredom.

  Cuthag tilted his chin, swelling with self-importance. He nodded arrogantly at something behind us, and Conal blinked and turned to look. We all did.

  Jed stood there, his baby brother in his arms, eyes flickering from one to the other of us. I frowned, glanced back at Cuthag.

  ‘The infant,’ he smiled. ‘He’ll do.’

  ‘What?’ Conal stared at Cuthag as if the git had grown cow-horns.

  He shrugged. ‘The baby. No contest, I’d imagine. That scrawny brat for Aonghas’s daughter.’

  ‘Why?’ was all Conal said. But it was drowned out by Jed, who took a sharp step backwards, arms tightening round his brother.

  ‘You can go fuck yourself!’

  ‘I imagine he has to,’ I murmured.

  ‘You’re such a diplomat, Murlainn,’ said Eili sweetly. ‘But a little truth is so vital in diplomacy.’

  She and Sionnach had backed their horses, barely perceptibly, to protect the boys. Conal, on the other hand, nudged the black forward to bring him close to Cuthag. Torc was playing with his broadsword: flip-and-catch, flip-and-catch. I smiled. Cuthag had been in the lines the day Torc took Fearchar’s head off, and memory lit his eyes with fear.

  ‘You’d be wise to hand him over,’ he spat. ‘We’ll take him anyway. This way you get Aonghas’s witch-spawn back in one piece.’

  Slowly Conal turned once more to study Jed, who was breathing hard and fast. He glanced back at Cuthag, jerked his thumb in the boys’ direction.

  ‘What the boy said.’

  Cuthag’s features stiffened with rage, but the Lammyr smiled cheerfully. ‘Ah, Cù Chaorach! I was hoping that would be your attitude.’

  ‘Quite.’ Cuthag recovered his sneer. ‘You know how a Lammyr loves a slow hanging.’

  Conal closed his eyes, languidly drew his sword again, and flicked its point to Cuthag’s throat. I saw the man’s flesh convulse as a tiny bead of blood welled up. Conal’s eyes snapped open.

  ‘You touch her,’ he said quietly, ‘I’ll skin you from the feet up.’

  I nodded, examining Cuthag from head to trembling toe. ‘He’d look much better as a bridle.’

  ‘Several bridles,’ said Eili, shutting an eye to measure him.

  Cuthag spat, kicked his mare hastily into reverse. His dignity took a blow when the startled animal brushed against the Lammyr, and shied violently.

  Recovering his balance, he snarled. ‘I wouldn’t touch her with a bargepole. I’ll get somebody else to put the noose on her neck. I’m shocked, mind you. That you’d let the girl die for the want of a half-breed runt.’

  My head snapped round so abruptly, Conal must have noticed. But he gave no sign. ‘What?’ he whispered again.

  ‘You heard me. The infant’s a mongrel. Probably won’t even live; you know how it is. What is it they say, Cù Chaorach? About the chances of live spawn from a full-mortal?’ An irrepressible grin lit Cuthag’s face; suddenly he was all joy and triumph and delicious hatred.

  ‘It’s like wringing blood from a stone!’

  Time slowed to a lurching crawl. I didn’t want to look at Conal, but I had no choice. My blood had turned black and slow in my veins, and if I didn’t orient myself by him, I might lose contact with reality to the point of falling off the roan. But Conal’s skin had turned ashen; his cheekbones beneath it jutted as if they’d break through; even his lips were dry and white.

  It was Cuthag’s turn to close his eyes, tasting the moment. He licked his lips.

  ‘You promised Kate four centuries ago you would bring her the Stone,’ he hissed. ‘Do it. And you may still have your girl.’

  He flicked the mare’s reins and turned, presenting his unprotected back to us. I itched to bury a blade in his spine; but of course he knew I couldn’t. None of us could, even as they rode away with all the contempt of easy victors. Skinshanks was the last to turn, giving me a final grin and a tip of its lank forelock.

  My brother didn’t move or speak till we’d watched the delegation dwindle in the distance, then vanish back into the gash between the hills. He didn’t stir even after that; he might have been dead, for all the expression that crossed his face. All that moved was his hair, blustering in the rising breeze.

  Somehow I hoped we could stay here, like this, forever. I wished we could be turned to stone, every last one of us.

  But Conal moved at last. One fist clenched and flexed; something shuddered through his facial muscles. Then he swung down off the black horse and walked back to Jed. Avoiding our eyes, Eili followed him, her blade still naked.

  Jed backed away.

  Conal didn’t smile and he didn’t speak. With two swift steps he had the baby out of Jed’s arms.

  ‘Give him to me!’ Jed cried. He’d have flung himself at Conal again, but I seized his arm and wrestled him back.

  Flailing his free arm, Jed whacked me hard on the ear as he tore a fistful of my hair. I snarled in stupid superficial pain, then twisted his hand high and savagely behind him, doubling him over. I made sure it hurt so much, he couldn’t speak. I had no wish to hear anything he had to say.

  Not that I cared if he hated me. After all, I knew what was coming. I wanted him to hate me.

  The baby gazed down in astonishment as Conal held it high and stared into its eyes. It laughed at Conal’s new joke and kicked in delight. Jed kicked too, lashing a foot savagely back at my shin, but I dodged with ease and twisted his arm further till he gasped in pain.

  Conal lowered the child gently to the ground. It lunged forward to hug his knees, and Conal raked trembling fingers through the fine blond hair. ‘He’s hiding it.’ Conal was dead-eyed and pale. ‘Gods, Seth. Eighteen months old and he’s hiding it.’

  I swore too, much more profanely, then laughed, freeing Jed to stumble forward and snatch up his brother.

  ‘So, Conal. The old witch’s prophecy wasn’t literal. Did your sainted mother consider that at all?’

  ‘You know she didn’t,’ said Conal bitterly. ‘I did; you did; but we were upstart boys and she was ancient and wise, wasn’t she? Stones, spells, witchcraft, that was all she cared about. Oh, no full-mortal would have it in them to save us. Questioning her was
heresy.’ His gaze was tormented. ‘She laughed in my face, Seth. And went back to her fecking rocks.’

  I looked away. I didn’t want to see his defeat, his humiliation.

  Sionnach gave a long, hissing sigh, rubbing his healed arm. ‘The child isn’t full-mortal, though.’ He glanced at Jed, eyebrows arched. ‘Is he?’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re on about. Leave him alone!’

  ‘Too late,’ I murmured, sick at heart. ‘Too late for that.’

  Eili’s laughter was horrible, with all the warmth of an ice floe. ‘Four centuries, Cù Chaorach! Four hundred years you’ve gone away from me to the other side, and you might as well have stayed by me, for your precious Stone wasn’t even born for most of it!’

  ‘Eili.’ Conal’s voice was as cold as hers. ‘Shut up.’

  ‘No, but just think,’ she went on, her smile tight and intent. She had the look of someone ripping the scab off an awful wound. ‘Your own child could have taught him swordplay.’

  Conal didn’t even look at her, but the glare he turned on Jed was terrible. ‘Where did he come from?’ His mad rage was terrifying, even if it was mostly at himself. ‘Who was his father?’

  ‘I don’t know!’ yelled Jed. ‘I doubt my bloody mother knew!’

  ‘There must have been someone!’

  Jed opened his mouth and shut it again.

  Part of him, the part that was all about self-preservation, recoiled from contradicting Conal. But I sensed something else inside him: a stirring knowledge, like something horrible rising up from dark water. It rippled on the surface of his mind. Something he knew, something he’d forgotten for a long, long time.

  Oh, hell.

  ‘We’re close to Kilchoran,’ I blurted. ‘It’s protected, Cù Chaorach.’

  ‘True,’ said Torc, visibly grateful for a distraction. ‘They can’t come near us there. Keep what you have to say to one another till then.’ He eyed Eili long and hard. ‘And there’s some things that should never be said at all.’

  I could see what Torc could not: the gleam of tears tracking down her cheek. But her fingers smoothed them lightly away, and drew a mask of angular hardness back across her face.