The Broken Raven

by Joseph Elliott

  So that’s it, then: I can’t never go back home. The realization hits me like a thunderpunch in my stogg. I’m never goin back.

  My face is drenched but none of it’s tears. I wish there was a way I could let Granpa Halvor know I’m all right, that I’m doin somethin important, somethin I believe in. I miss him so much. The thought of never seein him again makes me . . . All I want is one hug from him. One hug. And for him to tell me I’m doin the right thing.

  I’m not cryin. It’s rain, I swear it.

  I prefer this to my old life any day: on my own, not relyin on no one but myself, no one pullin me this ways and that, tellin me what I gotta do for all the days long.

  Here, I’m free.

  I wipe the rain from my face.

  Here, I’m free.

  The boat’s gone. I slump against the tree it was tied to, staring down at the limp rope. Who could have taken it? An imitator? The only people who knew its location were Donal and Violet, and it can’t have been them — they wouldn’t have left me stranded here. If they had taken it for themselves, they would’ve sent someone back with it, surely? With no boat, we don’t have any way of crossing the channel. We’re stuck here.

  “What are we going to do?” I say, hating the desperation that has slunk into my voice. I turn to the Badhbh. “Is there anything you can do?”

  He cocks his head. “You overestimate me if you think I can walk on water,” he replies.

  “You’ll have to swim,” says Cray.

  I almost laugh, until I realize he’s not joking.

  “I can’t, it’s too far. The water’s too deep.”

  “I’m not sure you have any other choice,” says Cray. “Unless you want to spend the next couple of days making a raft.”

  I haven’t got two days to waste. My clan need me to return with the Badhbh today. Now.

  “How deep do you think it is?” I ask.

  The Badhbh clears his throat. “I’m afraid you’re still overestimating me if you think I can swim.”

  He can’t even swim? What sort of person can sever shadows from people’s bodies and snap people’s necks without touching them but never learned to swim?

  “What if I came with you?” asks Cray.

  My heart leaps. “Would you do that?”

  He shrugs. “Sure. That way you can stay on Bras,” he says to the Badhbh.

  “Bras can swim?” I ask.

  Bras huffs at me as if to say Obviously.

  “All Highland cows can,” says Cray. “Better than you’d imagine.”

  I’m even more surprised that Bras can swim than that the Badhbh can’t. Okay, so it looks like I’m swimming, then. Great. Maybe it won’t be so bad if Cray and Bras are beside me . . .

  We wander down to the shore. The water stretches out in front of us like a field of dead grass. Crossing the sea in a boat is one thing; swimming in it is a whole new world of terror. Cray must notice the intensity of my breathing, because he puts a hand on my shoulder and says, “It’s not as far as it looks. We’ll be fine.”

  That’s easy for him to say — he’s never encountered a rush of deathfins. What’s to say there isn’t a whole load of them waiting for us out there? All water is connected, so there’s no reason they couldn’t have swum into this channel. We’re entering their world now.

  “The only danger is the cold,” says Cray. “So whatever you do, don’t stop swimming.” When a deathfin attacks, I might not have much choice. “We’re going to be fine,” he says again. His reassurance does nothing to ease the cramping in my stomach.

  We reach the water’s edge; it’s painfully cold, even through my boots. Bras lumbers in ahead, the Badhbh wobbling on his back. The bull seems strangely at home in the water and swims with unexpected elegance. His head lolls on the surface, lifting every now and then to stretch over the larger waves. Cray is standing in the water beside me.

  “Why are you helping me?” I ask him.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’ve done so much already — for both me and my clan — but you don’t owe us anything. So why are you doing it?”

  He looks at me like the answer is obvious. “Because I like you, of course.”

  My whole body feels hot despite the icy water licking at my feet, and sweat prickles my armpits. I don’t know what he means by that, so I choose to ignore it, sloshing into the water to end the conversation.

  I shudder all over as my body submerges. The first few strokes are the hardest. My lungs feel like they’ve frozen and my eyes ache at the thought of what’s hiding in the water below me. It doesn’t take long for Cray to overtake, but he keeps glancing back to check that I’m okay.

  Once I hit my stride, it becomes a little easier, and I soon get used to the cold. In fact, the salty water helps soothe the sores on my neck. If it wasn’t for my overactive imagination, this could actually be enjoyable. Then I make the mistake of looking behind me. We’ve come farther than I realized; Scotia is now far away, but so is Skye, leaving us stranded between the two, at the mercy of the sea. If something were to attack now, I wouldn’t be able to reach either shore in time.

  Don’t stop swimming.

  Bras and the Badhbh are way ahead, and the distance between me and Cray is increasing. I’m falling behind.

  What was that? Something on my leg, I’m sure of it. I lash out, kicking with the heel of the opposite foot. Nothing there. But there was. I keep swimming, faster than before. My arms are tiring. A side wave takes me by surprise and salt water rushes into my open mouth. I have to stop to spit it out. It leaves a stinging sensation in my nose. I’m treading water, my legs dangling beneath me. I shouldn’t have stopped.

  A jolt on my leg, one I definitely didn’t imagine. Something curls itself around my ankle and starts tugging me down. I cry out, kicking at it again and again.

  “What’s wrong?” Cray is next to me in an instant.

  “Something’s on my ankle,” I say. “I can’t get it off.”

  I’m gasping desperate breaths, my neck straining to keep my mouth above water. There isn’t enough air.

  “Keep breathing,” says Cray, then he dives under the water. He tugs at whatever is on my leg, but he can’t dislodge it. When he next breaks the surface, there’s concern on his face, which he tries, but fails, to hide.

  “You have to keep swimming,” he says.

  “But what is it? I can’t.”

  “You have to. It’s . . . I think it’s a sucker eel.”

  Then I understand. I launch myself forward. I need to get to land. Now.

  Cray’s suspicions are confirmed when a second one wraps itself around my other leg. A scream finds its way through my clenched teeth.

  “Another one?” asks Cray. He’s swimming backward so he can watch me at the same time. I nod, spitting out more water. He turns his head and whistles for Bras, but the wind steals the sound; the bull is too far away, oblivious to the danger I’m in. As I’m staring at Cray, the left side of his body dips and he stifles a yelp. He’s got one on him too. “They’re not poisonous,” he says. “If there’s only a couple of them, they can’t hurt us.”

  But there are more than a couple of them. Another one twists around my right knee, and a fourth is circling my stomach. It’s how sucker eels hunt: they work together to drag their prey under water until it drowns, then feast on its remains. That’s what’s going to happen to us.

  My arms thrash at the water, creating great splashes all around me. I know it’s not helping the situation, but I’m losing focus.

  “Jaime,” says Cray. “We have to stay calm. The only way we can get them off is to reach the shore, and we’ll only make it there if we keep swimming.”

  Another tug on my right leg, stronger this time, more insistent. How much easier it would be to give in, to let them drag me under and not to have to worry anymore. About anything.

  I’m only vaguely aware that Cray is still talking to me. “We can do this. Jaime, look at me. Look at me!”

&nb
sp; I steady my arms long enough to concentrate on his face, at the worry lines that are spread across his forehead. He’s right: we can survive this. And, more important, I want to survive this. I give a quick nod, and the two of us swim side by side with renewed energy. There are so many sucker eels on me now that I’ve lost track of the number. My whole torso is a mass of writhing bodies. They snake up and down my legs and under my clothes. Every now and then a new one attaches itself, the tug of their combined efforts pulling my head a little farther beneath the water. Each time, Cray reaches down and heaves me back up again. I do the same for him; he’s better at disguising it than I am, but he’s struggling too.

  At some point he takes my hand and I let him. It’s harder to swim while holding hands, but it also makes me more determined to keep going. We coordinate our arm movements and look at nothing but the land as it inches slowly, slowly toward us.

  By the time we reach the shore I’ve swallowed so much seawater that my guts feel like they’ve been turned inside out. I let go of Cray’s head. There’s no beach here, just stony ground with the odd tuft of coarse grass poking through. My head throbs and my arms pound, but I have to keep moving; the eels will only release their grip once they sense they’re too far from water. They redouble their efforts, squeezing and squirming in protest at being removed from the sea. The skin on my legs feels tight enough to burst. I drag myself across the hard earth on my hands and knees without once looking down. The sound of the eels’ squelching is sickening. Ahead of me, the Badhbh stands next to Bras, watching. He makes no attempt to help.

  Once I’ve crawled a little farther, the eels start to leave. It’s only a couple to begin with, but the others soon follow. There are dozens of them, all over my body. I turn and shake my legs, pelting the eels with the backs of my hands, desperate for them to be off me. One by one, they slither along the stones, their grumpy bodies lurching back to the surf. I pat myself down to make sure they’re all gone, then lean on my elbow and throw up in a shallow rock pool. What comes out is mainly seawater with the smell of putrid fish.

  As I sit up, an eel appears in front of my face. I shout and slap it aside, but it swings back at me, almost hitting my nose. I jerk my head away.

  “Careful!” says Cray. He’s holding the creature by its tail. Its body is a thick strip of brown flecked with mud-yellow spots. It fixes one of its eyes on me: a small black dot in a pool of white, as if it’s been taken by surprise.

  “That’s not funny,” I say to Cray, shuffling back another few inches. “Get it away from me.”

  “Thought you might like to see one close-up.” He smirks. “Pretty creatures, aren’t they?”

  “Stunning, yes, thanks so much for sharing,” I say.

  The eel opens its mouth, revealing two neat rows of tiny teeth — teeth that would have ripped us apart had its ambush been successful. I resist the urge to throw up again.

  Cray places the eel on the ground with great tenderness, and it slides away.

  “Well, we made it,” he says. “Just like I said we would.”

  I’m cold and I’m wet and I stink of vomit. “Hooray for you always being right,” I say as I drag myself to my feet.

  “You said it’s only a short walk to the enclave you’re staying in, right?” says Cray. “I could do with drying my clothes and maybe getting something hot to eat before Bras and I head back.”

  I have a sudden image of Cray in Clann-na-Bruthaich’s enclave, talking to people from my clan.

  “Um . . .” I don’t know how to say this. “That’ll be fine, but . . . When we arrive at the enclave, maybe . . . Well, you know my clan thinks differently about some things than yours, so maybe don’t mention the fact that you . . . you know . . . ?”

  “Don’t mention what?” he asks. He knows exactly what I’m talking about. He wants to make me say it, but I don’t want to. Not here. Not in front of the Badhbh.

  “You know, about . . . you . . .”

  “What about me?” His brow is well and truly furrowed now. Why is he making this so difficult? “Are you ashamed of me, Jaime?” he asks. “Ashamed to be seen with me?”

  “No! Of course not. I just . . . It doesn’t matter.”

  Does it matter? I don’t even know anymore. We walk the rest of the way to the enclave without talking to each other.

  Clann-na-Bruthaich’s enclave is easy to spot; even though it’s only midafternoon, fires are burning all around the outer wall. The wind whips the flames up into a frenzy. At times, they look like they’re in danger of going out. As we draw nearer to the Lower Gate, chimes sound to announce our approach, and the Hawks and the Moths eye us with suspicion. They probably don’t recognize me, and they won’t have seen a Highland bull before. With the addition of Cray and the Badhbh, they’re right to be cautious.

  I’m about to speak when someone calls, “Crayton! It’s C-Crayton. He’s my favorite one!” Agatha beams down at us from the top of the wall.

  Cray waves at her, making her smile grow even wider. The gates open and we walk inside. We’re only a couple of paces in when Agatha comes running down from the wall and throws her arms around Cray. He hugs her back.

  “I’m very — very h-happy to see you, Crayton,” she says.

  “It’s nice to see you too, Agatha,” he replies. “Jaime tells me you helped save your clan?”

  Agatha does several overemphasized nods. “I did the very clever plan. Do you want to touch our heads together?”

  “Sure.” He places his forehead against hers and they breathe in three slow breaths.

  “Jaime says you like to kiss boys and not — girls,” Agatha says.

  Cray flashes me a bemused look as I glance around to make sure no one overheard.

  “Well, yes, that’s true,” says Cray.

  “It’s not dùth to do that,” says Agatha, “but I don’t mind.” She gives him a big smile.

  “I’m very pleased to hear it,” he says.

  “Um . . . hello! I’m here too,” I say to Agatha.

  “Yes, Jaime, I saw you,” Agatha says. She breaks away from Cray and wraps her arms around me.

  “What happened to your n-neck,” she asks mid-hug.

  “Long story,” I say. “But you should see the other guy.” Agatha laughs, way harder than I expected her to. “Do you know where Aileen is?”

  “She’s in the enclave somewhere,” Agatha replies, “but I don’t know w-where.” There’s something strange about the way she says it, as if there’s more that she’s not telling me. She turns her attention to Bras and scratches him between his horns.

  “Who are you?” she asks the Badhbh.

  “He’s come to help us,” I say, once it’s clear the Badhbh has no intention of replying. “Where’s Catriona?”

  A small crowd has gathered around us while we’ve been talking. At the mention of Catriona, there’s an uncomfortable silence.

  “Welcome back.” A deep voice breaks the quiet. The crowd parts and Kenrick steps forward. I’m sure my face doesn’t hide my surprise. “A lot has happened since you left,” he tells me. “We have much to discuss. But first I suggest we find you some dry clothes.”

  “I had to leave Donal and Violet in Scotia,” I say. “We were attacked. You need to send someone to help them.”

  “Calm yourself, Jaime,” says Kenrick, holding his palms up toward me. “They have already returned, and both of them are fine.”

  “Really?” Relief floods through me. “When? That’s . . . that’s great news!”

  Kenrick gives me a sympathetic nod. “Go and get yourselves warm, and then we’ll talk. I’ll be waiting for you in the meeting bothan once you’re ready.”

  The many questions I have remain unasked as we’re led across the enclave. We pass the loch and at first I think my eyes are playing tricks on me, but no: there are hundreds of deer all around it. The only stag I’ve seen before was the one the sgàilean dragged into the courtyard at Dunnottar Castle, which I was forced to mercy-kill. Watching them gra
zing on the grass now, I’m taken aback by how incredible they are; I had no idea they were so graceful. Bras ambles over to join them.

  “Nice place you have here,” Cray says to me.

  “Like I said, it’s not our enclave,” I reply. “Ours is better.”

  “Maybe you can show me that one day, too?”

  I give him a weak smile and catch up with the others. Something doesn’t feel right about Cray being here, but I know he’d hate me if I admitted that.

  We’re shown into a small bothan with a large fire burning in its center. I peel off my sopping outer layers and let the warmth seep into my bones. I’ve never appreciated heat so much in my life. Someone brings us clean clothes, and I slip into an adjoining room to get changed. Once I’m done, I return to find that Cray has also changed; he looks completely different in the woven garb of our clan as opposed to the crude animal-skin attire I’m used to seeing him in — so much so, I let out a hearty laugh.

  “What?” says Cray, posing first one way and then another. “Don’t you think it suits me?”

  “I’m saying nothing,” I reply.

  The Badhbh stands by the fire, watching us. He refused the clothing that was brought for him, preferring to stay in his own tatty robe and cloak.

  We step outside and are led to the same meeting bothan that Catriona took me to the morning after the sgàilean broke free. Kenrick is there, and so are Lenox and Maistreas Eilionoir, who greet me with open arms and proud smiles. My palms start sweating when I introduce them to Cray, but they seem nothing but pleased to meet him and grateful for his help. Kenrick grasps Cray’s fists for a long time to show the extent of his gratitude. He then turns to do the same to the Badhbh, but something in the Badhbh’s gaze stops him from making contact.

  “I’m guessing you’re the one they call the Badhbh?” Kenrick asks. The old man lifts his shoulders and tilts his head in a half-nod, half-shrug. “And it was you who helped create these shadows?” The Badhbh gives another noncommittal gesture. “Well, we know they’ll return at nightfall,” says Kenrick. “How do you plan on returning them to the necklace?”