Icefall (4 page)

I got bored fast with Rory's new game, since I couldn't get near it. It was no great thrill watching him and Lauren sprawl on the bed and hog the controllers, so when I stood up and stretched, I was easily distracted by a black scrap in the sky. Opening the window I leaned on the sill and watched the raven soar and dive and loop impossible loops. That'd be Faramach. For all the mob of birds that hung around the cliffs, there wasn't another one that took quite such delight in showing off.

Finn was with him. She stood right on the edge of the cliff, arms folded, watching him fly. Either the squabble with Seth was over or she'd stormed out: wouldn't be the first time. But I reckoned they'd made it up, because she looked perfectly happy. Her hair whipped crazily in the breeze, but even out there on the bleak cliff-top she didn't look cold.

She spent a lot of time out there—especially when Seth was working away from home—though it was barely more than wind-scoured grass and whin, and any fence must have crumbled away as the rock face did. All that was left of a formal garden was the mass of laurel and rhododendron that hugged the house and blocked the light from the downstairs rooms. I used to wonder why the clann didn't cut the bushes back to get the view, but I'd worked it out now. It was the wrong sea, that was all. They loved it but they didn't want the permanent aching reminder of the right one. No islands at the horizon here, just a fusion of sky and water.

Finn liked the cliffs, though. Sooner her than me. As I watched, she sat down on the cliff-edge, dangling her legs over, then leaned forward to follow Faramach's aerobatics as he spiralled lower. My stomach lurched just watching her.

Faramach wheeled upwards again, but Finn went on staring down. There must be something else at the foot of those insane cliffs that fascinated her.

The sea had turned silver-blue, glittering and popping like a million flashbulbs, so brilliant it hurt my eyes. I didn't want to spend any more of an afternoon like this with a couple of Xbox bores, and they hadn't even started the game proper: they were still choosing weapons from a ridiculously massive arsenal. Boys would be boys and some girls would be boys too, and Finn would be much better company.

Unfortunately, though I stalked off unnoticed, I didn't get far. To the left of the staircase the door of the TV room stood open, and Grian was leaning on the newel post glaring up at me, blocking my way through the hall. I glanced past him at the darkened space within. The volume on the TV was so high I could follow every word of the dialogue.

I eyed Grian again. Big and blond and a trueborn healer, and I didn't know which of those gave him his permanent air of superiority.

‘Get in here,' he said. ‘We want a word.'

With a very bad grace I stomped down the remaining stairs and barged past him into the room.
We
didn't seem to want a word at all. The rest of them, about a dozen or so, were slouched across sofas and armchairs, feet on the upholstery, drinking beer out of bottles and watching
Blackadder
on DVD.

Boys, I thought for the second time in a minute, would be boys.

‘You bunch of slobs,' I said. ‘It's a gorgeous day. At least open the curtains.'

‘Hi Hannah.'

‘Hey, Hannah.'

‘Shut the door, girl.' Sprawled across Iolaire's lap, Jed waggled his fingers by way of greeting.

‘Somebody better pick up those peanuts,' I told them, nudging the spilt bowl with my foot, ‘before Finn gets here.'

‘She's busy.' Fearna sniggered.

‘They're not still fighting?' Iolaire glanced across.

‘Nah,' I said, and ate a peanut.

A suggestive sigh drifted round the room.

‘Leave them alone.' Braon appeared from behind me with a platter of chicken wings and a bottle of hot sauce. Not like her to do the cooking for this lot; she must have been really peckish. ‘Seth has to go back to work tomorrow. Course they're fighting.'

‘Aye,' said Iolaire. ‘It's an excuse to make up.'

‘He shouldn't go away,' snapped Grian, flicking his hand across my scalp. ‘His place is here. It should be Seth keeping the lid on you and Rory, not me.'

‘He has to work, Gri,' said Braon mildly. ‘We all have to eat.'

‘He can live off us.'

Braon gave him a
you-can-tell-that-to-Seth
look.

Grian clicked the mute on the remote. ‘Can I get some backup here?'

Iolaire helped himself to two wings, feeding one to the flat-out Jed and wagging the other at the huge flatscreen TV. ‘Leave her alone, Gri. There's no harm in it.'

‘There could be.' Grian wouldn't let it go. ‘Would you slobs focus? You know what the little cat's dragged in.'

‘Cheers, mate,' I growled.

‘What was Sionnach thinking, letting you do that? And where is he anyway? I want a word.'

I sighed, and nodded towards the garden and Sionnach's joinery workshop.

Braon hesitated, took her teeth out of a wing. ‘Is he okay?'

‘Okay as ever,' I said. ‘We had a … bit of an incident. On the way home.
That's
why we had to bring home the only witness, as it happens.'

Grian stiffened, folding his arms as if his point was made. His lazy grin fading, Jed pushed Iolaire's chicken wing away and levered himself up.

‘What kind of an incident?' he said.

I bit my nails. ‘Oh, a woman. Darach, Sionnach said she was. He, um … he dealt with her. It's okay.'

‘Darach,' spat Iolaire. ‘I know her.'

‘You knew her,' I said dryly.

There was a silence.

‘Did anyone get hurt?' asked Jed sharply.

I shook my head. As an embarrassed afterthought, I added, ‘Except Darach.'

‘Gods,' said Iolaire.

‘Sionnach should have killed the girl,' said Grian.

‘
The girl
is seventeen years old.' I felt my cheekbones redden with anger.

‘
The girl
is a nosy cow. We could feel it as soon as she walked in. You and Rory are idiots.'

‘You can take that and stick it—'

‘
Suicidal
fecking idiots.' Grian was yelling now. ‘Have you ever heard of keeping your heads down?'

‘Anybody for
Big Bang Theory
?' Iolaire interrupted brightly. ‘I don't think the Witchsmeller's that funny.'

‘That's 'cause it isn't comedy, it's history,' muttered Diorras. ‘Christ, I should know.'

‘Less of the funny, more of the news,' snapped Grian. He fired the remote at the TV as if he wanted it to shatter, and yanked his phone from his pocket. ‘I checked the BBC website a minute ago. Want to see?'

‘No,' said Sorcha, lifting a beer bottle to her lips.

‘I do.' Iolaire sat forward, dislodging Jed's head and provoking a grunt of protest.

‘Watch,' said Grian, and everybody did.

‘They kept themselves to themselves,'
a woman was telling a fuzzy microphone. Her hair blustered in the breeze across her pale face, and she combed it away then re-folded her arms. Behind her stood the shell of a council house, the neighbouring walls smeared with black smoke.
‘Very quiet and reserved. They seemed a nice couple. It's a nice area.'

The recording cut back to the balding reporter, swaddled in a dark overcoat, his face solemn.
‘The bodies were found in an upstairs room, and reports indicate the room may have been barricaded from the inside,'
his brow furrowed
, ‘and that items of weaponry were found with the couple. The police are not commenting at this stage. For Reporting Scotland, this is…'

Grian clicked the mute button. The silence, for a moment, was so oppressive I thought it would smother the lot of us.

‘Sgarrag and Fraoch, in case you were wondering. Because they buggered off to live by themselves.' Grian rapped the back of my skull with the remote. ‘Still fancy Durham University, do you, Hannah?'

‘Shit,' breathed Sorcha.

‘I hope,' said Braon, and cleared her throat. ‘I hope they were dead before the house was fired.'

‘They wouldn't
burn
them to death,' said Iolaire, not very convincingly. ‘They wouldn't.'

Nobody said anything. I guess nobody wanted to think about it too hard.

Sgarrag and Fraoch didn't account for many on-screen seconds. The newsreader was doing the final-item funny now. I didn't have to hear it to get the story: yet another sighting of the Beast of Ben Vreckan. The Beast itself featured in a uselessly blurry mobile-phone photo above the presenter's right shoulder.
Aye, sure
said her cynically tilted eyebrow.

‘Hannah,' said Iolaire, a pleading look in his eye. ‘Try not to bring strangers home, 'kay?'

His thumb was caressing Jed's close-shaved hair, and my anger melted away. Jed had shut his eyes, but I could tell from the tight set of his mouth that he wasn't asleep. He was unhappy, that was all, possibly unhappier than anyone, and Rory's reckless invitation to Lauren had put the already-distant prospect of home just that little bit further away.

‘Okay,' I grunted. ‘But it's only my cousin Lauren.'

‘I'm sure it is.' Grian's attempt at conciliation came out through gritted teeth. ‘This time.'

I turned to leave. ‘And next time,' I said, ‘you can take it up with Rory. He's the one that invited her.'

‘Or maybe Seth can do some parenting instead of me, for a change.'

‘You've got a lot to tell him to his face,' I said spitefully. ‘Good luck with that.'

 

Rory

The thump of a car stereo beyond the window was enough to wake him from a restless sleep. Rory opened his eyes and stared at the wall.

They'd tried to kill Hannah. He'd thought he was ready for the possibility, but the fear was colder and more hideous than he'd expected. He wanted her here with him, in his own room, so he could never let her out of his sight. It wasn't as if they were even under-age any more. But Hannah had to be alone, and so did he. She was his first cousin, unremoved, and he couldn't have her. It was forbidden: by the clann, by his father, by his brother.

As if Jed was some model of moral rectitude.

Rory kicked off the duvet and swung his legs off the bed, glad to feel the cold floor beneath the soles of his feet. The air chilled his skin, since he was wearing only sweatpants, but at least it took his mind off his resentment. Not for long. Pacing to the window, he glared down onto the darkened drive, at his brother climbing awkwardly out of the Saab's passenger seat. As Jed straightened, giggling at something Iolaire said, he swayed slightly and had to grab the car's door frame.

Rory blinked. The rage was an acid ache, and he knew he wouldn't sleep again for a long time. Grabbing a t-shirt, pulling it over his naked torso, he went out onto the landing and peered over the banister. When he heard the door clunk shut, he padded down to the next flight and sat on the stair, blocking their way.

Iolaire, catching sight of his shadow before Jed did, swayed to a halt, one arm round Jed's shoulders. It wasn't just affection, thought Rory. He was holding Jed up.

Iolaire's smile was a little uncertain. ‘Rory. Hi.'

‘Hi, Iolaire. Pissed again, bruv?'

Jed gave him a red-eyed glare.

‘Leave him alone, Rory,' said Iolaire softly.

‘Nah,' grinned Jed. ‘Let him have a go, the wee hard man.'

‘Stop it, Jed. And you, Rory. It's too late for this. Talk tomorrow when you both feel better.' Iolaire pushed past, dragging Jed on.

The reek of whisky was enough to make Rory's throat catch. ‘They tried to kill Hannah today,' he snapped.

‘Yeah, I know—'

‘Oh, okay. I thought you might have forgotten.'

Iolaire's glare was uncharacteristically cold. ‘I. Said. Tomorrow.'

‘Rory?' Jed half-turned to face him. ‘Hey, listen. Nobody's going to hurt her. Promise, m'kay?'

Rory stared up at him. His lip curled, he couldn't help it.

‘Promise again when you're sober,' he said. ‘Bruv.'

*   *   *

As soon as it was out of his mouth he felt bad, but he was still too angry to go after Jed and take it back. Iolaire was muttering some half-hearted reassurance: at least he had the brains to stay semi-sober and in charge. Rory heard the door of their room open and close before the silence closed in on him, frigid and lonely. For the briefest of instants he felt like crying. But what was the point of that? It was late. Jed was hammered, and no use. He'd check on Hannah himself, and to hell with Jed and Iolaire.

Stealthily he padded along the corridor towards her room. Keeping quiet wasn't a problem. He didn't want to be Seen, but Finn was the danger there, not his father. He was as invisible to Seth's mind as Seth was to his.

He should be used to this: it was more than three years since Kate NicNiven had cut their link, had split his mind from his father's. Worse for Seth, whose soul was left leaking through a wound that wouldn't heal. But that had been life for so long. It shouldn't bother him so much. It was the lousy, frightening day that had made his nerves raw, that was all.

It seemed there was no danger of being found out: Finn wasn't paying attention. Rory could hear the pair of them squabbling, their venom muffled by the old panelled door. Despite himself, he hesitated.

‘You are not going back to the army,' he heard Finn snarl. ‘You are not going to fight somebody's else's war!'

‘You are not going to tell me what to do. And it's not someone else's war.' His father's voice was low, the way it was when he was truly furious. ‘It's ours. On this side.'

‘Semantics.'

‘Damn it, Finn. Don't you dare—'

‘It's not like it was. When were you last in a war over here? It's not the same.'