‘Does it?’ His jaw was rigid again. ‘Made no difference to Conal.’
I turned away on the pretext of looking at the swords. Sometimes Seth was my best friend; sometimes, like now, it felt as if we lived at opposite ends of parallel universes. For sixteen years we’d despised one another, before I discovered who I was and who he was. Maybe that was how we were meant to be. Maybe we’d screwed it up by understanding each other. How odd, I thought with a stab of regret, and how sad.
Scrabbling for a neutral topic, I blurted, ‘How’s Orach, by the way?’
‘Grand. Fine. Better than she’s been for four hundred years, probably. She dumped me.’
‘She. Dumped. You?’ Not knowing which word to stress, I ended up stressing them all. I could hardly get my jaw shut. ‘Sorry.’
‘S’okay. It’s not like I was committing.’
‘Um.’ I still couldn’t contain my shock. ‘You’d think she’d have twigged that a couple of centuries ago, if it was a problem.’
‘Yeah. Well.’
Maybe that accounted for his volatile mood, but I didn’t feel inclined to press on with the subject. ‘Tell me about Hannah, then. Isn’t someone missing her?’
Seth scowled at a blunt blade, flicking it with a fingertip. ‘The mother’s gone to find herself: not expected back any time soon. The parentis-in-loco couldn’t give a toss.’
‘For God’s sake, Seth. There’s a war on.’
‘Officially. Nothing’s happened in all this time, Finn. ’
‘And speaking of the time–’
‘Don’t,’ he snapped, and I raised an eyebrow in slight surprise. ‘It’s fine. The balance is fine. Gocaman’s on the other side, and he’s keeping an eye on it for me. If there’s any sign of a slip he’ll let me know. Look, this stalemate could go on for centuries, and we deny Rory an awful lot in the meantime. I couldn’t deny him a friend.’
‘Would you let him walk into someone else’s war?’
He chose not to answer that, leading me back into the sunlight where our horses stood waiting. ‘Anyway, Hannah’s mad keen to find her father. Obsessed. Don’t think she’d have stayed otherwise, even for Rory.’ He tugged the bridle’s headstrap over the roan’s ears.
‘And what have you done about finding him?’ I asked darkly. ‘You just wanted a distraction for Rory.’
‘Probably.’ He blew out a sigh. ‘Ach, she’s a hellion, but I like her.’
‘Of course you do.’ I hoisted myself onto the black. ‘She’s very like you.’
Seth stopped with his fingers tangled in the roan’s mane. ‘She’s a feral wee slapper with an alcopop habit!’
‘And a father fixation.’ I bit my lip, too late.
He took a breath, ice forming in his eyes. ‘Piss off, Finn. You go too far.’
‘Fine.’ Urging the black forward, I didn’t look back at him; I was too angry to apologise. So Rory was under house arrest; but Hannah could be taken from whatever family she had and dragged across the Veil? Besides, I couldn’t begin to explain it, but something felt wrong. A thin menace hung over the dun, tingling in my spine.
Or maybe I was just too used to being on my own, a solitary animal who was jealous of the pack and their strange historic bonds. I’d never understood the clann; Seth had as good as told me so when he exiled me.
Eili, now: there was a woman I’d rather have avoided for the rest of my days, yet without Eili there would be no Sionnach. And Sionnach I’d miss like a piece of my heart. When he trotted his horse alongside mine, the day was suddenly calmer and cooler – in a good way – and he didn’t even open his mouth. He just smiled and winked, and I grinned back, and I knew for certain that at least one of the clann was glad to have me back.
His sister was waiting there on her grey horse with Jed and Iolaire. Eili’s direct smile at me, as she handed Seth a tangled bridle, was not like Sionnach’s.
‘Whose is that?’ I asked, genuinely curious.
‘My kelpie’s,’ said Rory, giving me a hateful look. He kicked his horse’s flanks and headed for the dun gate. ‘As I’ve failed to master it, my father will no longer have it near his lands.’
‘It’s a killer,’ said Seth curtly. ‘Well, that’s their nature. But you don’t keep a masterless killer in your back yard.’
‘And naturally my father will have no problem getting it to do what he wants.’
Seth took an exasperated breath, but Jed interrupted. ‘It needs to go back to the sea and stay there, Rory. It’s only a question of… um…’
‘Leading a horse to water,’ suggested Iolaire with a grin.
‘And making it drink,’ said Jed, and laughed. ‘Well, we all like a challenge.’
‘Well. Pay attention, Cuilean, and watch your back.’ Seth rubbed the green-stained bridle between his fingers. ‘Forget about Laszlo for forty minutes.’
‘Don’t worry your pretty head, Murlainn. I could kill him in my sleep. I do it all the time.’
There were a lot of things I could have said to that, but none of them sounded right in my head. Of course in thirteen years he’d learned to kill. He’d be dead by now if he hadn’t.
I licked my lips. ‘Be careful, Jed?’
Jed smiled at me. God, I thought with a wry smile back, he could still make my heart flip. ‘Like a kelpie, Finn. He needs dealing with.’
He scared me. Turning the black’s head, I rode out of the gate and let the horse pick his way down the rough stone steps onto the grassland. This was what I’d come for, second only to the people I loved: the world where I belonged, and it was beautiful. Summer had brought a rash of colour to the green sweep of grazing between the dun and the sea, a multitude of wildflowers, and the backdrop of the sky was a clear deep blue that made my eyes sting. I heard hoofbeats, felt Seth at my side, but just for a moment I didn’t want to look at him.
‘I’m sorry,’ he growled finally. ‘Okay?’
‘Okay!’ Damn it, but I liked and knew him too well not to forgive. ‘Me too. Sorry.’
I used to be just this soft with Conal, I thought wryly. They could both wrap me round their little faery fingers.
‘Yeah, you are soft.’ With a grin he reached to squeeze my hand. ‘Just find your ruthless streak, Dorsal. Before you really need it.’
HANNAH
My people skills, I’d realised, were better when I wasn’t in the vicinity of Aunt Sheena. I got along just fine with all the Sithe. Except for Sionnach, of course, so surly and violent; and Finn, who I detested out of loyalty to Rory; oh, and I’d noticed that Seth didn’t smile at me so much any more. He watched me like you might watch a sleepy snake: as if he was wondering when to risk stamping on me.
But mostly, I liked them. And the weather had warmed to a hot and cloudless summer, and Rory and I had two white-sand beaches and a crystal sea to ourselves. We had an irresponsible amount of freedom, so there was little besides work to kick against. For me and Rory, it was half boot camp, half anarchy.
More than anything – except Rory, obviously – I liked the horses. The first one they’d given me, Jed’s semi-retired bay mare, had been sweet but staid. My new chestnut gelding was a bit of an equine delinquent, so he suited me just fine. He needed a decent run, though, not this lazy meander they called a hunt.
I nudged Rory and he grinned; as he did so often, he was thinking the same as me. Jed and Iolaire had drifted to the left, quite a bit distant and engaged in some private project of their own, and the white dog was staying close to Jed. Seth was ahead with his dog, Finn riding at his flank, and the twins were a good bit further back. They were all far too busy gossiping to notice us ride quietly away from the group.
‘Gallop?’ I whispered hopefully.
‘Sh. Don’t draw their attention,’ hissed Rory as he veered subtly right. ‘I know a short cut here. I’m not letting him get to my horse first. And it is my horse.’
‘Too right.’ Checking behind, I could tell none of the others were watching us, and they were out of sight among the tr
ees surprisingly quickly. As soon as it seemed safe to give the chestnut his head, he was only too willing to break into a smooth trot.
I glanced back as we slowed to a walk again. ‘I thought the dogs might follow, but we’re okay.’
‘I’ve told you, they’re not dogs.’
‘They are dogs,’ I said wearily. ‘They look a bit like wolves, but they’re dogs.’
‘How could they be dogs? They’re out of the same litter and they’re four hundred years old. Have you ever heard of a four hundred year old dog?’
I gave him a long sarcastic look. ‘Are you seeing the flaw in your logic at all?’
‘Ach, shut up.’
So bite my head off, Rory. If it helps.
The trees thinned around us and very suddenly there weren’t any, apart from a few half-drowned stumps. The horses’ hooves sank and sucked in boggy ground, and the brilliant line of the loch ahead of us was dazzling. It was all very pretty, but there was a smell in the air: a dank murky water-smell with a hint of dead things.
‘Not planning to swim the horses, are we?’
‘Hardly.’ He gave a short laugh. Much more slowly he let his horse pace forward, its flanks shivering with tremors. Again I glanced over my shoulder the way we’d come.
‘They’re way behind,’ he said dismissively.
‘Cool,’ I said, suddenly uneasy. ‘Maybe we should wait for them.’
‘Let’s not.’
Tiny waves lapped at the loch shore, flickering with sunlight. Further out nothing stirred, not a fish or a bird. A crescent of soft sand was better footing for the horses, so we rode along that towards a lonely copse of pines. Not that I didn’t appreciate the summer sun, but the shade beneath them was a relief. I stripped off my sweatshirt and tied it round my waist, enjoying the tiny goosebumps that rose on my arms.
Rory turned in his saddle, but whatever he was going to say died on his lips. He frowned, then paled, and lifted his wrist. The silver bracelet flashed a band of light across his eyes, but it was the dangling stone he was staring at.
‘Ow,’ he said, and clutched his forehead. Then his eyes focused beyond me, and widened.
I rolled my own eyes. ‘You’re not gonnae make me look. I wasn’t born–’
‘Shut up!’ His voice was a scared rasp. ‘Hannah!’
The jeers dried on my tongue. If he was taking the piss he was doing it way too convincingly. I really, really didn’t want to turn to see what he was gaping at, but if I didn’t it would be my back that was turned, and that was even more intolerable. Setting my teeth, giving him one savage look to warn him what would happen if he was winding me up, I turned.
The horse on the shore was a pretty colour: white-ish but mottled like a cold sky. Its feathered hooves straddled something on the ground that might once have been a deer or a calf, and its head was lowered as if to protect its prey. But its eyes held me: black, blank and psychopathic. The green spark in them was ancient and evil like some phosphorescent fish: one of those prehistoric creatures that never ought to see the light.
I stared at it, transfixed. It didn’t have the crazed look of Seth’s blue roan, but its upper lip was pulled back from grinning yellowed teeth. It had canines, abnormally big and pointed ones, and it whickered invitingly.
So anyway, I thought. Why not?
The chestnut gelding trembled beneath me, rooted to the ground with terror, but I stared into the empty eyes of the cloudy-white horse and I suddenly wasn’t afraid. I wanted to touch that horse. I wanted to stroke its powerful neck, gentle it, tame it. I wanted to ride it. I shifted my weight in the saddle and began to dismount.
Softly a shape rode between me and the white horse. As Seth reined to a halt I froze, my feet hanging free of the stirrups and one leg half-over the chestnut’s haunches.
What was I doing?
My blood was ice-water. Very, very cautiously, I eased myself back into the saddle and, cringing, found my stirrups.
The windless copse was silent; not even a breath of bird-song. I’d only just noticed that. I was aware that Finn was there too, and the twins a bit further behind, but I couldn’t look, not even at Rory. All my attention was locked on the white horse, my nerves ragged with the fear that it might dodge Seth and lunge for me.
Gripping the stained bridle, Seth slid off the blue roan as it shook its neck and whickered. The white horse blew an amiable response, but its expression was sly and wily as it angled its head back towards Seth, and the soft skin of its muzzle was dyed red. Seth dangled the green bridle on his extended fingertips.
‘Come to me, eachuisge,’ he said. ‘I don’t care how many you’ve drowned. I don’t care how many you’ve killed. That’s your way.’ Seth’s voice was low and crooning, and the white ears flickered towards him. ‘But come to me. Go back where you came from. Don’t you miss the sea?’ He gave it a savage grin much like its own. ‘Go back to your lair and think your dark thoughts.’
It whickered and flicked its tail. The two of them gazed at each other.
‘You are old, so old, eachuisge,’ Seth lilted. ‘Grow older. Go back to your lair and live. Better than being hunted. No-one here wants to master you, not any more.’
The horse took an idle pace forward, tilting its head towards the bridle.
Then it happened, though I didn’t know what it was: at first I thought it was something Seth was doing on purpose. His back arched violently, as if someone had thrust in an invisible knife.
Stumbling forward, he fell onto his knees. Instantly the white horse jerked its head up, alert. I could read the change in its expression; anyone could. It wasn’t seeing Seth. It certainly wasn’t seeing a potential rider. All it saw was weakness.
And I think it saw lunch.
As it came at Seth, his blue roan screamed threateningly and went back on its hindquarters, but the white horse took no notice. The bloodstained muzzle snaked towards Seth’s throat and I thought he’d duck and roll away, but he seemed paralysed.
Branndair sprang but the white horse lashed out a hoof, catching his skull and knocking him flying into the heather. Rory jumped from his horse, grabbed a rock and flung it; I slid off the chestnut and fumbled for a stone of my own. The white horse’s eyes swivelled maliciously our way.
My fingers closed on a big rock; I was about to throw it at the horse when Seth jerked his head round towards us. I reeled back at a ringing blow inside my head, and Rory staggered too.
Whatever Seth had done to us, it was his last effort. When the white horse turned back to him I knew nothing could stop its yellow teeth closing on his throat. Horror wormed in my blood and bones: I didn’t want to see him die. Trying to scramble upright, I scrabbled for another stone but my flesh was mush, as if the horse had already chewed it. Seth was going to die.
The horrible stillness was split by a clear violent scream, and Finn’s black horse sprang forward and thundered in like a truck. It slammed into the white horse’s head, banging it aside so that the vicious yellow teeth snapped on the air. There was a clattering echo: Finn’s barbaric yell, the collision of horseflesh, the clash of thwarted jaws. Then there was only silence.
‘Christ,’ whispered Seth.
There was no flinging Finn away, like he’d done to us. She was too close, and even I could see that if Seth hurt her he’d only leave her vulnerable. Her black horse straddled him, side by side with the blue roan, both glaring at the white one, while Finn fumbled over her shoulder for the hilt of her new sword.
She couldn’t get a grip on it. Now that her rage was gone she looked herself again, shocked and scared and completely incompetent.
The white horse drew back its lips, threads and gobbets of bloody flesh streaking its teeth. It reared over Finn, then plunged, and she gave a sob of terror that sounded to me a lot like Seth.
A whisper, and a soft thunk, and the white horse flung up its head on its twisted neck.
Eyes rolling, it staggered back on its hind legs, then collapsed. Its flailing muzzle and teeth grazed
Finn’s face and shoulder and the black’s flank.
Dying, it sighed a rattling sigh and sank down onto its forelegs, a shining bolt standing out from its chest. Its gaze, regretful, caught Seth’s. Then its savage head sank to the ground and the green light in its eye went dead.
‘Ach.’ The curse of disgust came from Sionnach, who dropped his crossbow as if it had burned his fingers. Ignoring everybody else he went straight to Finn, catching her as she lowered herself trembling from the black. With his bare hand he wiped the horse’s foamy pink sputum off her face.
Seth grabbed the black’s mane to haul himself to his feet, but he was almost knocked straight back to the ground by Rory, half-supporting and half-shaking him.
‘Dad. Bloody hell, Dad.’
Seth righted himself with an arm round Rory, but his cold eyes were fixed on Eili.
There were soft hoofbeats on the undergrowth, and then Jed was flinging himself off his horse, Iolaire right behind him. ‘Seth. Seth, I’m sorry. We saw something and followed it. I’m so sorry.’
‘Not your fault.’ Seth smiled thinly, eyes still locked on Eili.
‘Tsk.’ Eili shook her head solemnly at Jed. ‘That’ll teach you to chase phantasms, Cuilean. They may not even exist. Except in your somewhat fevered… imagination.’
Jed glared at her, his jaw grinding.
‘Bitch,’ said Iolaire softly.
‘Names, names.’ Eili turned her grey’s head and rode away.
The eyes of the white horse were open and empty, its forelegs splayed, muzzle on the ground. I felt suddenly sorry for the creature, dead because they’d messed up. Its half-eaten buck lay in the blaeberry scrub beneath the pines, and curiosity drew me closer. I took a step, and another, then stifled my own scream.
A hand fell on my shoulder and I stepped automatically back towards human protection. Jed pulled me back into his arms and turned my face firmly aside. I could feel his racing heartbeat, and his fingers tight on my jaw.
‘Iolaire,’ he said. ‘It’s not a buck.’
Wolfsbane: 3 (Rebel Angels) Page 12