Jack Shian and the Destiny Stone (12 page)

Jack avoided looking at his grandfather as he sipped from his goblet.

That’s not bad!

Then he clutched his head, as a roar assaulted his ears. Like the loudest traffic noise he had ever heard …

Oh no! Déjà vu.

In slow motion, Jack imagined Rana and Lizzie falling off their seats.

I know what’s coming next …

Yes: birdsong. Then … darkness.

My head hurts already.

Jack was dimly aware of voices; and of being carried. Over the next while – minutes? hours? days? – he was aware of arguments above him. Snatches permeated his consciousness …

“… poisoned him!” “Traitor!” “This is a plot!” “Unseelie spy!”

… but mostly the sounds wafted over him, like the angry buzzing of wasps. He felt sick, and stomach cramps gripped him.

When he could finally open his eyes, he felt roasting hot; and yet cold, at the same time. Armina’s blurred face hovered over him, and he could hear Ishona intoning a song, or a prayer, or something, beside him. He’d never felt so ill in his life. Opening his eyes made him want to be sick; but closing them made his head swim. In his head he begged for recovery.

“… quite clearly poisoned …” Armina’s firm voice again. “Like before.”

“We have never poisoned him. Someone must have slipped something into his goblet …”

Jack’s mind wandered off again. His forehead felt like you could fry eggs on it.

When he awoke, it was to the uncomfortable jolting sensation of being carried up steps.

“Where …” but he got no further.

“Don’t speak; save your energy.”

Evidently his father was carrying him.

Then a blast of icy air as they emerged into the open. Jack felt himself bundled onto a cart, which pulled away. Ishona knelt beside him and mopped his brow.

“We’re going to see someone,” she said calmly. “The
cailleach
will know what to do.”

Cailleach
? Jack had only heard that name at the start of spring, when Grandpa Sandy had taken him and Lizzie to see the Blue Hag clear the snows.

They trundled for what seemed like hours, finally stopping beside an old stone house. There were two tiny windows, and a low door which seemed overgrown by the thatched roof. Jack heard someone knock; then Iain Dubh’s voice murmuring. Shortly after, Jack was lifted from the cart and carried inside.

The house was dark, and reeked of peat smoke; but at least it was warm. Iain Dubh remained by the doorway.

“Put him doon.”

“
Cailleach
,” began Ishona as she set Jack down on a low bed, “this boy was poisoned. He has the key to the safety of our people. He recovered the
Mapa Mundi
, and it will only work when he is there. We need his help to retrieve our Gusog feather.”

The
cailleach
muttered inaudibly, but came into Jack’s vision.
Was it her?

“Mmmph.” The old woman peered at Jack, examined his eyes and tongue, then lifted his shirt and palpated his belly. Jack squirmed as his tender abdomen was prodded and poked, but he determined not to cry out.

“Aye, it’s me,” she said, reading his mind. Then, turning to Ishona, she barked, “And why is this mainland boy here? He should be in his city home.”

“He fled the Kildashie. And he seeks to return home, and send them away.”

“Kildashie – Raca!” The old woman turned and spat.

“They have stopped the seasons turning,
cailleach
. Their work is
infama
.”

Jack watched the
cailleach
get up and go over to the dresser. When she returned, she held a small wooden wheel, which she held above his head.

“Do you know this, boy?” she demanded.

Jack nodded. “It’s a season-wheel. Marco’s got one; and Iain Dubh.” A spasm of pain racked him, and he retched, a painful dry heave.

“And what happens if the wheel stops turning?”

Jack shook his head.

“You have a special ring there, boy,” barked the
cailleach
. “Show me your use of it.”

Gasping for breath, Jack tugged Tamlina’s ring off his finger. He gulped hard.
The last time I did this I saw Ploutter being tortured …

“Show me!” The order brooked no denial.

Fighting back the sickness, Jack grasped the ring and stared hard at the Triple-S pattern. One faded spiral arm, two bold ones. Slowly, the shape began to spin, and Jack closed his eyes. Between spasms of nausea, Jack could make out …

Edinburgh’s High Street. There’s torrential rain: rain so hard it bounces off the ground. Gutters overflowing. A newspaper shop; the sodden headline on the A-board says ‘Capital chaos – monsoon’s fifth day.’ There’s something bloated in the gutter – a child’s body!

Jack opened his eyes, and vomited.

“Well?” snapped the old woman, when Ishona had wiped his mouth.

“Floods. Edinburgh’s under water. And a child drowned.”

The
cailleach
sat and thought for a moment. Then she leant forward, and whispered to Ishona, “He has the sight; he is the one. But the remedy he needs will not be ready for three weeks; when the mistletoe blooms.”

Three weeks?!

“I can keep him comfortable until then. Send for his family.”

“His family are keen to leave now, to get to Novehowe,” said Ishona. “But his father will stay.”

“Three weeks is too long,” protested Iain Dubh. “The weather’s closing in. We need to get to Tula, then Novehowe by the solstice.”

“He cannot leave until he is cured. If he is necessary to your journey, then you must postpone your departure!”

“Very well,” said Iain Dubh slowly. “But Phineas will be needed to help us plan. Perhaps one of his cousins can come.”

As Iain Dubh left, Ishona offered to stoke up the fire.

“The peats are in the corner,” grunted the old woman. “But they must last me the winter.”

Once the fire was blazing, Jack dozed off. When he awoke, the
cailleach
offered him some broth.

“It’ll help,” she said gruffly.

Jack sipped the piping-hot liquid, and was surprised that he did feel a little better.
What did the cailleach mean – the peats must last her the winter?
He raised his head and looked at the old woman.

“You send the snows away in spring. Can’t you control the weather?”

“I am the sign of the seasons, boy. I do not control them. To interfere with time and the seasons is against nature –
infama
.”

Jack thought for a moment. “But the Hebseelie want the Gusog feather so they can speed up the winter.”

“It does not speed up time; merely their perception of it.”

“Like when we slowed down time at the midsummer festival? And we speeded it up at Oestre. I even used the fugitemp charm against the Grey.”

“Old witch! I hope you banished her!”

Jack pondered this. Had he banished the Grey? The McCools hadn’t believed she was gone for good.

“Are the Kildashie controlling the weather, then?” Jack lay down again. His brow was burning.

“I thought maybe they had – for a while. But I do not believe so now. They think that winning Shian treasures will give them power – and so it will. But there’s something they’ll never understand, the fools.”

Jack sat up eagerly.

“They don’t realise that the creator force binds everything together. Their treasures will give them nothing unless they are in harmony with that. And ye know about that, eh? Your ring tells me you do.”

Tamlina’s ring?
Jack had no time to follow this thought, as another wave of nausea broke over him.

“But the rascals are dangerous,” continued the
cailleach
, oblivious to Jack’s torment. “And they have allies, too. One of your group is a traitor. You were poisoned.”

“Poisoned?” Jack gasped as the nausea returned once more. “Why?”

“Somebody wishes to halt your quest.”

“What did they use?” asked Ishona. Jack had not seen her in the gloom.

“Something crude. The mistletoe will purge his body; but the berries are not ready yet.”

On cue, Jack turned on his side and retched. His guts ached; and his head felt like it would burst.

I wish I was off this island. I’ve been ill most of the time here.

“You need to rest,” said the
cailleach
. “But it will be a long three weeks. You’d better sleep. Drink this.”

Jack’s throat was parched, and without thinking he sipped the proffered goblet.

The room swam … birdsong …

Oh no … Déjà vu all over again.

Jack woke to the sound of his cousins fighting.

“Can … I have some water?”

Rana released her sister’s head, and came over to Jack’s bed.

“How’re you feeling?”

“Water.”

Rana splashed some water into a goblet, and held it to Jack’s lips.

“What day is it?”

“Thursday. You’ve been sleeping.”

“You wake up, and just go back to sleep,” added Lizzie. “We’ve been here for ages.”

Jack turned on his side. “How long?”

“Nearly three weeks. It’s freezing here. That fire doesn’t give off much.”

“Where are we?”

“The
cailleach
’s house. Ishona brought you here; don’t you remember?”

Jack’s thoughts gradually settled. The cart journey, the fever, being sick. Then there were strange dreams – or were they dreams? Voices, people talking above him. ‘
The Creator Force
,’ one of them had said, over and over.
He felt so weak.

“Where’s the old woman?”

“She went off to collect something; she was quite excited.”

“It’s the mistletoe, silly,” butted in Rana. “She had this special golden knife.”

The wind whistled as the front door opened, bringing in an icy gust.

“Brrr!” Lizzie shivered, and looked round.

“I’ve got the berries. Let me paste them.”

The old woman went over to the stove, and clattered among the pots for a moment.

“Is that what Jack needs?” asked Rana.

The
cailleach
grunted, and continued to work away.

“Where’s Dad?” croaked Jack.

“They’re down at the Hebseelie place. They’ve been arguing since you left. Grandpa wants to leave, but Iain Dubh says we’ve all to leave together, and we can’t do that until you’re better.”

“Out of the way, girl.” The
cailleach
shoved Rana aside as she knelt down by Jack’s bed. “Take this.” She proffered a goblet to Jack.

It was the bitterest thing Jack had ever tasted, and he screwed up his face.

“All of it. Otherwise the poison can’t leave you.”

Jack grimaced, and took another sip, but this wasn’t fast enough for the
cailleach
. She grasped the back of his head, and, lifting it up, forced the rest of the contents down Jack’s throat. He gasped as the foul brew found every taste bud. Coughing and spluttering, Jack sat up. The liquid seemed to be in his stomach for no more than a few seconds before it was clear that it was coming up again.

Frantically, Jack reached for the bowl beside the bed, and was extravagantly sick.

“There. It’s working.” There was a tone of satisfaction in the old woman’s voice which was completely at odds with how Jack was feeling.

He retched and spewed again, then lay back, gasping.

“Will that clear all the poison from him?” asked Lizzie timidly.

“It’s the only way. I’ve kept him from getting worse these past weeks, but this is the only way to get the poison out.”

Jack closed his eyes, and prayed for respite.
Please please please make this go away.

He shivered, and fell into a fitful sleep.

When Jack awoke, he felt ravenous. Sitting up, he realised how weak he was, and he lay down again.

There was a clatter of pans from through the house, and he could smell cooking. His stomach rumbled. There was no sight of Rana or Lizzie, though, and with some trepidation he called out, “Hello? Anyone there?”

The
cailleach
emerged from the gloom, carrying a bowl. Steam rose gently.

“Sit up. I’ve made some broth.”

Jack pushed himself up into a sitting position again, and gratefully accepted the bowl. When he had finished it, he was surprised at how much better he felt.

“Take a look at yourself,” said the old woman. She indicated a half-length mirror by the wall.

Jack stood up slowly, and edged over towards it. His face was hollow, and his shirt hung from him.

“Some of that’s from the poison,” said the old woman, matter-of-factly. “But mostly it’s because you’ve eaten little for a long time. Does it remind you of anyone?”

It didn’t take long for the image of the emaciated creatures at the Hebseelie Court to flit into Jack’s mind.

“You almost look like a local,” said the old woman. There was no satisfaction in her voice; it was just a statement of fact.

“And my family?” asked Jack. “Have they been eating since … since I came here?”

“Every other day. It is the way of things here in winter – excepting special days. Now you will see why they wish to retrieve the Gusog feather. It will allow them to endure the winter. Ishona will be here soon; she’ll take you back.”

“You mean … I can go now?” Jack was surprised at how well he felt.

“It’s special broth; you’ll be fine to leave the island in a day or two.”

“Thanks for … you know.”

“It was my duty. Yours is to defeat the wastrels who desire a perpetual winter.”

Jack thought for a moment.

“Those floods I saw, when I looked at Tamlina’s ring. Are they what’s happening now?”

“They are. The climate is disturbed; such things are rare; or should be. But the rhythm is changed. Was that the second time you used the ring?”

Jack nodded.

“The first time will have showed you something that had already happened; am I right?”

Jack gulped. “It was … an execution. I didn’t understand it; later, I found out it had happened.”