Beneath (4 page)

One old woman in Kirriemuir remembered what had been said about the horse after Euan disappeared, and started to whisper about the
Kelpies
. The Kelpies were a legend: a race of beings who lived in another world that could only be reached through water. It was said they could appear in our world in the guise of a human or of a dark horse: a pure black, blue-eyed horse. It was said that sometimes they would steal a child away to live in their world.

But nothing like that had happened in living memory. The occasional child went missing of course, but there were enough dangers in the real world to explain that without having to invent ridiculous ones about horse-people stealing children. A legend was exactly what the Kelpies were. There was only the word of a frightened girl to link the tale to the disappearances. Who knew what nonsense she’d been fed, what stories she believed? Maybe she’d made up the horse to hide the fact that she was involved in the boy’s death.”

Jess felt the hair on the back of her neck prickle as she heard the note of bitterness in Ellen’s voice and realised just what her grandmother was telling her.

“It was you, wasn’t it?” she whispered. “You were that frightened girl.”

Ellen looked at her with something like defiance. “Yes. I was.” She picked an imaginary thread from her skirt. “And now it’s happening again, and still no one will listen. Back then I was too young and now, it seems, I’m too old. But I don’t want you spending half your life wondering if you dreamed what happened, or if you’re going out of your mind.”

“Is that what it was like for you?” Jess hesitated. “I’m sorry. I never knew.”

Ellen got to her feet and crossed to look out of the window.

“There’s no reason why you should, child. I soon learned that talking about it only caused trouble.”

“You said that the Kelpies steal children to live in their world.” Jess paused, half afraid of the answer she might get. “Does that mean Freya might still be alive?”

“If what that old woman told me was true. Mind, I never heard any stories of someone Freya’s age being taken, just little children. I don’t know why it’s different this time.” Ellen turned to look at her granddaughter again.

For a few seconds she hesitated, then plunged on again before she lost her nerve. “She told me something else as well, though she told me too late. She said that according to the legends, a child stolen by the Kelpies could be rescued if it was done quickly enough.”

Jess leapt to her feet.

“How? Tell me how.”

“Remember – I have no idea if this is anything more than a tale. The story went that a stolen child could only be rescued between the stealing and the dark of the moon that month.”

Jess thought. “That’s five days away.”

Ellen nodded. “Someone had to make a halter for the dark horse and lie in wait for it. If the horse appeared they had to let themselves be taken by it and fasten the halter round the horse’s neck before it took them both under the water to the land of the Kelpies. The halter would give the rescuer power to command that Kelpie, and to demand the return of the stolen
child. Supposedly.”

“But you don’t know if anyone’s ever really done it?”

Ellen shook her head.

“So it just needs someone to wait at Roseroot Pool with a halter from the stable and—”

“No,” Ellen interjected. “I was coming to that. Not a normal halter. You have to make one – a strange one. There was a rhyme… Let me think…”

She closed her eyes and, after a few seconds, began to chant.

Silence lay thick in the room as Jess tried to make sense of what she had just heard.

“Birch and bramble and blood and hair? How can you make a halter out of that? And what does the bit about holding fast mean?”

Ellen shook her head again, making a helpless gesture. “I’ve told you all I know. Now, if you don’t think I’m raving, then for pity’s sake find a way to convince Arnor so that he can try to save his daughter, for he’ll not listen to me.”

Jess’s heart quailed at the thought of facing Arnor’s grief again.

“I spoke to Arnor myself, but he looked at me as though I was mad,” Ellen went on. “I’ve tried to persuade your father
to talk to him, but he stormed out of the room without even listening to me. My story is the family’s shame, you see. Your grandfather’s family wanted to stop him from wedding me, and when your father was a lad he was always getting in fights with boys who said I was unhinged at best and a murderess at worst. He’s determined not to believe such things happen.” She gave an exasperated sigh. “He would never forgive me if he knew I had told you all this. No one really understands but the two of us. No one but us has seen the dark horse. No one but us believes in it. You’re the only person who has any hope of making Arnor see the truth. You’re the only one who can give Freya a chance.”

“I know,” said Jess miserably. “I’ll go and talk to him tomorrow.”

Jess lay sleepless that night, trying to work out what to believe. Things like this only happened in stories, not in the real world. But she’d seen Freya being taken; she knew it must be true. And now Ellen had given her an explanation that made sense – to the two of them at least.

She tried to imagine a conversation with Arnor that ended in him believing in the dark horse and agreeing to make the halter, but her imagination failed her. He had convinced himself that Freya had drowned, even though Jess had told him what had really happened. She couldn’t think of anything more she could say or do that would make him change his mind.

But it didn’t matter how impossible it seemed; she would have to find a way.

This time he hadn’t hesitated. This time he’d taken his chance. He’d taken her. He burst from the pool, elated. And then he saw what he’d really done.

It was a disaster. All the risks he had taken to get her, and he had failed. He had taken the wrong girl. He’d risked everything for this, ignored his family’s warnings.

But it hadn’t changed how he felt. She burned in his mind.

He wouldn’t give up.

Next morning, her heart feeling like a stone she had somehow swallowed, Jess set off for Kirriemuir.

A despicable corner of her mind had been secretly hoping that her parents would forbid her to go, but on the contrary, they seemed to think that her pretext of returning Freya’s clothes, which had still been in Jess’s cupboard, was a good idea.

“It’ll be some sort of comfort to Arnor to have Freya’s things,” said Martha, suspiciously bright-eyed. “Even if it is a very small one.”

“So you don’t mind me going on my own?” Jess said, just to be sure.

“It’s the woods that are dangerous, not the road,” said Ian. “The pool anyway,” he corrected himself.

Seated in the corner, Ellen said nothing.

In her room, Jess took Freya’s jacket from its peg, laid her carefully folded clothes on the bed, smoothed a wrinkle from a dress, and to her own surprise, burst into tears.

Martha found her five minutes later, sitting on the bed with red eyes and a swollen nose, damply clutching Freya’s tear-spotted jacket.

“She’s gone,” said Jess thickly.

“Oh, Jess.” Her mother sat down and put an arm round Jess’s shoulders. They sat like that for a little while, then Martha said, “You don’t have to go today, you know. Or maybe your father or I should do it.”

“No,” said Jess, suddenly filled with resolve. “I’m all right. I need to do this. I’ll be fine.”

“Sure?”

Jess nodded. “Sure.” She wiped her eyes on her sleeve and started to pack the clothes in Freya’s bag. Martha took one last look at her and left her alone.

Half an hour later, Jess rode out of the farmyard, Freya’s bag strapped behind the saddle. She gave her mother a curdled smile as she waved goodbye. She couldn’t remember ever dreading anything as much as she dreaded seeing Arnor today.

Her mind usually wandered on the way into town, but today it refused to go anywhere except through the door into Arnor’s store.

They seemed to reach Kirriemuir very quickly. Jess kept her head down, ignoring the curious glances she drew, as she rode past the smithy and up to the shop. The wolf’s head looked down at her with a sad expression she could have sworn hadn’t been there before.

She climbed down from the saddle and tied the reins to the rail, then unfastened Freya’s bag with clumsy fingers and walked slowly into the shop.

It was terribly quiet inside, in a way that somehow suggested not many people had been in that morning. Lachlan stood behind a counter, staring into space, but there was no sign of Arnor. Lachlan looked round at the sound of Jess’s footsteps and his face brightened visibly when she got close enough for him to recognise her.

“Jess, lass! It’s good to see you. How are you?” He went on without giving her time to answer. “Och, this is a terrible thing.” He shook his head and sighed. “People are staying away.
It’s as quiet as the…” His voice trailed away as he realised what he’d been about to say and closed his mouth on it.

There was an awkward silence.

“I’m fine, Lachlan,” Jess said. “I wanted… Is Arnor…?”

Lachlan gestured towards the rear of the shop.

“He’s in the back room. On you go.”

Jess tried to convince herself that her knees weren’t trembling as she walked the long, long way to the back room. She knocked and went in before she lost her nerve and ran for it instead.

Arnor sat in a chair near the one small window, clutching something in his arms. Jess realised as she stared that it was the bolt of vivid blue cloth Freya had chosen for the ceilidh dress.

It was a moment before he looked up, and a longer one before he seemed to realise who she was.

“Jess?” he said uncertainly.

“I brought…” she said, but her voice didn’t make any sound. She licked her lips and tried again.

“I brought Freya’s clothes.” To her relief, it worked this time. “I thought you’d want them back.”

Jess walked towards him and was shocked by his appearance as she drew closer. He seemed to have shrunk inside his clothes. He looked diminished, in every possible sense.

She held the bag out to him. Slowly, he put the cloth down on a table next to him and took the bag. He took out Freya’s jacket and looked at it, frowning, as though it was a puzzle he had to solve.

“It’s her jacket,” he said finally, as though it was something he had just discovered.

“Yes.”

How could she do this? What on earth was she going to say?

She could just go. No one would ever know. She would tell Ellen she had tried. But that would mean betraying Freya. She couldn’t turn her back on this chance that she might be saved.

“I don’t think Freya’s dead,” she blurted out before she could think of all the reasons not to say it, and saw Arnor’s
hands tighten on the jacket, his eyes go wide with shock.

“What? What are you talking about? You were with her. You saw her fall into the pool and drown. You tried to save her.”

Anger kept her going then.

“No! That’s not what happened. I told you before. I keep trying to tell my parents. There was a horse… I think Freya was taken by the Kelp…”

“Why do you keep saying this? That old woman’s been filling your head with her mad stories.”

“It’s true! And if you’ll believe me, maybe there’s a chance to save Freya.”

He surged to his feet so violently that the chair crashed over behind him.

“You were her friend. Why have you come here to torment me like this? Get out!” he roared.

“But…”

“Get out!”

As Jess ran through the shop, Lachlan stepped out from behind the counter and tried to stop her.

“Wait, Jess! I need to talk to you,” he called. “About the horse.” But she was already gone.

Jess fumbled to untie the reins, afraid that Arnor would come after her, but there was silence behind her now. She hauled herself shakily into the saddle and kicked the horse into a reluctant trot.

When she got home, Jess took as long as possible to unsaddle the horse and stable it before she went inside, but she couldn’t put it off forever.

Her main worry was that Arnor would come storming out to the farm and tell her parents what she’d done. He’d been so angry; more than ever he’d resembled a bear, but not a friendly one any more.

Then there was Ellen. Jess couldn’t help feeling she had let her grandmother down, even though she had felt she had little chance of persuading Arnor even before she set out.

But of course, worst of all, there was Freya, trapped – if Ellen wasn’t mad – in the Kelpies’ world, with time running out.

Martha and Ellen were both in the kitchen. Her grandmother gave Jess an enquiring look as she came in. Jess shook her head slightly and watched Ellen’s face droop in disappointment.

“How was he?” Martha asked.

“He’s like someone else. Lachlan says hardly anyone’s been into the shop. Arnor was just sitting holding a roll of cloth.”

“What did he do when you gave him the clothes?”

“I think it upset him more.” It was a half truth of sorts.

Martha gave her daughter a swift hug.

“It was brave of you to go and see him. I’m not surprised he was upset, but I’m sure he’d want Freya’s things back.”

Jess found an excuse to go to her room soon after that, and it was no surprise when she heard her gran’s step on the stairs. Ellen came in and sat down on the bed, looking, at that moment, older than Jess had ever seen her.

“I’m sorry Jess. Maybe I was wrong to say anything to you at all.”

“No!”

“It would be easier for everyone now – you as well – if you forgot about the horse and thought of me as a daft old woman.”

“No,” said Jess firmly. “I know what really happened, and so do you. It’s everyone else who’s wrong.”

“Sometimes, knowing you’re right isn’t a great deal of comfort.”

Jess couldn’t wait for the rest of that miserable day to be over, so that she could escape for the night and try to find some peace in sleep. She’d been wound tight as a spring every time she heard a step in the yard, in case it was Arnor, coming to confront her parents about her behaviour.

She shut the bedroom door behind her with relief. He couldn’t possibly mean to come today at any rate. She closed the shutters and changed quickly. It was a cold night, and she wanted nothing more than to disappear under the covers until morning.

As she reached for her comb there was a knock on the door that made her jump.

“Yes?” she called.

“It’s only me,” Ian’s voice replied.

“Come in.”

Ian opened the door.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” he said. “I know how hard this must be for you anyway, and seeing Arnor today…”

Jess conjured half a smile from somewhere.

“I’m all right. Just tired.”

Ian nodded. “Goodnight then,” he said awkwardly.

“Goodnight.”

As he closed the door again Jess turned back to the comb, but it wasn’t on the chest of drawers. She must have knocked it down the back. She got down on her hands and knees and reached under the chest. At first, all she found was dust, then a mummified apple core. Finally her hand closed around the comb and she got up.

It was Freya’s, a few bright hairs still caught in it. Jess hadn’t known it was there.

She scrabbled around until she found her own comb, and then knelt there, staring at them both, hairs caught in both sets of teeth.

Martha put a plate of porridge down in front of Ashe as Jess appeared in the kitchen doorway.

“Dearie me,” she said, looking at the dark circles under her daughter’s eyes. “You don’t look as if you got much sleep last night.”

“No,” said Jess ruefully as she sat down.

“I suppose you were thinking about Arnor and Freya.”

“Mmnn,” said Jess. It wasn’t an out-and-out lie, after all.

Her mother handed her a bowl of porridge.

“Thank you.” Jess reached for the milk and a spoonful of raspberry jam. Ashe stared at her as she ate it.

“Why are you gawping at me? Stop it.”

“You look strange. Even worse than usual.”

Jess couldn’t be bothered to rise to the bait this morning, but to her delight Martha cuffed Ashe round the ear.

“Leave your sister be. She’s had a terrible time. In fact, I think you should do her chores today, so that she can try to get some sleep.”

Ashe opened and shut his mouth, speechless with dismay.

Jess doubted that she had slept at all, but not for the reasons her mother thought. She had tossed and turned under the bedclothes all night, trying to decide what to do. She knew what she
ought
to do, but she was frightened one minute and convinced the next that she and Ellen were simply mad.

It they were, there was nothing to be frightened of. But if they weren’t…

What if she made this halter?

What if the dark horse appeared and carried her under the water? What if she too was trapped there?

Jess shivered. She had to try, there was no way round it. How could she live with herself, knowing there was a chance she could have saved Freya and she hadn’t even tried?

She called it a decision before she had time to change her
mind.

The first task then, was to make the halter. And there too was the first problem.

It didn’t seem likely that the horse would have left a comb lying around, so how was she to get its hair? All she could think of was to wait with the rest of the halter made up and when the dark horse appeared (
if
the dark horse appeared) try to pull a hair from its mane or tail and quickly tie it into the halter.

As a plan, it didn’t have much to recommend it, but it was all she had. At least bramble and birch were easy to come by. And blood, though she didn’t much like the idea of that.

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.