The Falconer (Elizabeth May) (19 page)

‘Here,’ I say, standing. ‘Take the helm.’

Gavin slides into the driver’s seat behind me. ‘A few words of instruction might help.’

The
sluagh
are so close now. My heart slams against my ribs. I have to do something before they overwhelm the ship.

‘Make us harder to hit and keep us over the water.’ I spare him a fleeting glance. ‘And I’ll make sure you don’t die.’

‘Very considerate of you. A woman after my own heart.’

I kick a lever near my feet. The central compartment swings open and I pull out a massive crossbow. It’s fixed to a swivel-stand, so I can pivot the heavy weapon freely and hold it more steadily than if I had to support its full weight. I’ve also added handles with a quick trigger mechanism. The inner chamber has the same reloading feature as my smaller design, only it shoots quarrels twice the size.

‘So,’ Gavin says, ‘I take it we’re not running, then?’

‘Correct.’

I line up my eye with the sight, but just as I pull back the handles, the ornithopter dips. The crossbow’s gears tick and the quarrel fires. A miss.
Hell and blast
. I’ve practised with the crossbow before, but never in these conditions.

‘Steady, Gavin,’ I say.

‘I’m
trying
. Do you realise how long it’s been since I’ve flown one of these?’

I smile grimly and focus my gaze through the sight again. The ornithopter shudders and swings, but I move with it. I breathe deep. On the exhale, I release another quarrel. It hits the
sluagh
right in the neck. A perfect shot.

The
sluagh
screams and explodes in a burst of light. The resulting mist surrounds the flying machine, swirling and coating everything in a blast so frigid that the raindrops on my arms freeze.

The
sluagh
let out angered, deafening squawks and begin to circle the machine in a frenzy, lustrous eyes bright and glowing now. There are so many of them. I swivel my crossbow to aim, but they’re too fast. They clamour around the machine and I duck as one tries to claw at me with its talons.

Suddenly, they dive at us.

‘Hard left!’ I scream to Gavin.

The ornithopter lurches and I almost lose my balance. The
sluagh
scream again and swoop towards us for a second pass. They are agile, swift. One of them blows more mist at me, and I barely duck in time.

I struggle to stay on my feet to stare down the crossbow’s sight, aiming for the
sluagh
that tried to claw me.
Breathe
, I tell myself.
Steady
. I pull the handles again. The quarrel flies into the air, lightning-quick, and strikes the
sluagh
. The faery explodes and cold mist blows into me.

The
sluagh
dive again with piercing shrieks, wildly flapping their wings. Talons grasp at my clothes and slice my bare shoulders. I drop into a crouch. All I can see are veiny, flapping wings.

Before I can get back to the crossbow, one of them hurls itself at me. I brace myself for the heavy impact.

But it goes
through
me. And I feel as if my soul is being torn from my chest.

I try to draw a breath, but the inhalation becomes a gargle at the back of my throat. My throat closes and cold constricts my lungs, spreading under my skin and freezing my heart. The
sluagh
reappears above me, arcing its body to swoop down again.

Gavin.

I manage to turn my head. The faery is flying towards Gavin, who is turned away. Because he trusts me, trusts that I’ll save him.

I move, biting back a scream at how much it hurts to move through the ice. I leap through the
sluagh
’s frigid body and slam into Gavin, pinning him to the floor of the ornithopter as the
sluagh
glides over us.

For a second, I rest my cheek against the slick, wet skin of Gavin’s neck. My body aches and I shiver from the cold.

‘Your knee is digging into my spine,’ Gavin says.

‘You’re welcome,’ I murmur. My tongue is heavy.

I pull myself to my feet and stumble, my muscles protesting the sudden movement. My vision is dotted, unfocused and blurry. I close my eyes hard and shake my head once. If Kiaran were here, he’d tell me,
Stand up
and
move
. A second spent dwelling upon pain is enough time for an enemy to regroup.

‘Are you all right?’ Gavin asks.

‘Fine.’

I grab for the crossbow and swing the weapon around on its stand, blinking through the stars in my vision to take aim. I yank the handles back. Another miss. I swear softly and try to still my body, clenching and unclenching my freezing fingers to make them warm again.

Calming myself, I look through the sight. A
sluagh
screeches and heads straight towards me again, flying so fast I barely release another quarrel in time. It slices into the
sluagh
’s neck and the creature erupts into white vapour.

Faery power flows into me, warm and soft. My body is so charged, so energised, that my blood runs hot again. I aim the crossbow, swiftly firing one quarrel after another. I kill with such efficiency that the
sluagh
are unable to come near the flying machine. Gavin turns the ornithopter in circles and my wet hair whips at my face as I shoot another
sluagh
. My sodden petticoats cling to my thighs and rain slaps my skin. Ice from dying
sluagh
coats my arms.

And each time I kill, my agility improves. My mind becomes clearer. Murder is the simplest thing in the world, uncomplicated by emotions. It’s just me and my victims. Hunter and prey.

My chest expands with triumph, with utter elation. My mind chants a single word as I kill. A benediction. A prayer.
More
.

Only one
sluagh
remains. It circles through the clouds, a wary ghost. My quarrels are gone and I have only my pistol left. My victim needs to be much closer for me to shoot accurately. I know what I have to do.

The
sluagh
sweeps underneath us, still cautious. I reach into the middle compartment shelf to pull out a canvas bag and draw my lightning pistol.

‘Aileana,’ Gavin says.

The
sluagh
rises towards us, preparing for an attack. I smile at Gavin, breathing so hard from my kills that I think my lungs might burst.

I pull my arms through the pack’s straps. ‘You take care of my bairn.’

He blinks. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘My ornithopter.’

I step up onto the seat and fling myself into the sky. Air rushes around me. Gavin screams my name, his voice echoing through the clouds. What’s left of my skirts flutters upwards as I gain momentum and I have to shove them down to see.

I hold the pistol out in front of me and point the barrel at the
sluagh
’s head as I plummet.
Steady now
. I pull the trigger.

The
sluagh
bursts apart in a cloud of electricity and mist. Cold, thick fog surrounds me as I fall through it, and ice adheres to my skin and hair.

I pull the cord attached to the pack on my back. Silk material billows above me and jerks me skywards. I close my eyes, shoving my pistol into its holster as I glide over the water. The sea laps below me, comforting, rhythmic. A soft breeze caresses my cheeks as I descend.

I take that last moment of calm to feel the faery’s power wash over me, tickling along the inside of my skin in a soft electric current that weaves its way through my body. I let myself relax in the comforting embrace of my parachute and listen to the waves, to the hiss of wind and patter of rain around me.

Until I have no choice but to land in the water. So I grab the latches attached to my parachute and sink as close to the surface as I dare before pulling on them to release the canopy.

I fall the last few feet and it’s like hitting stone, so frigid that I gasp and almost suck water into my lungs. Then I’m pulled under, dragged down and down by the Forth’s ever-changing current.

I fight and kick above water to heave in air, opening my eyes to gaze up at the low, heavy clouds and the onslaught of rain. I can barely move my limbs, but I force my legs to tread, to stay afloat any way I can. I fight against the current. My legs buck and cramp. I swallow and the saltiness makes me gag as I’m sucked underwater again.

I kick myself back up and look around frantically for land. A short distance from me is a rocky beach.

Swimming there is excruciating. The heavy, waterlogged material of my dress floats around me and pulls me down. It is an encumbrance, a test of my strength. I endure it, swimming with the help of the incoming tide, until I can crawl on my stomach across the jagged rocks of the beach, on land at last.

I cough up the water in my lungs and roll onto my back. Rain sprinkles my face, sliding down my cheeks. I press my palm to my chest and feel my heart thumping steadily within.
Alive
.
Still alive
.

I watch the clouds glide overhead, their rapid movement dizzying. I’m uncertain how long I lie there. Time ceases to matter. All I care about is the organ beating firmly beneath my fingertips.

‘Aileana!’

I turn my head slowly. My vision is hazy, but I recognise Gavin racing towards me. The ornithopter is parked on the beach behind him. I never even heard it land.

‘Aileana, thank God.’ He kneels beside me. ‘Are you hurt?’

‘No,’ I croak, licking salt off my lips. ‘But I’m just going to lie here a moment.’ My words are slurred. ‘See? Hard to kill.’

Gavin swears softly as he removes his frock coat and lays it on top of me. ‘If death ever comes to take you, I imagine it will be due to your own stupidity.’

‘Water’s cold,’ I say.

‘That’s because you’re lying in it.’

He’s trying not to yell at me, I think. The sensible, gentlemanly approach to a woman he no doubt believes to be absolutely insane.

I smile wanly and study the way his blond hair curls into the collar of his filthy shirt. A memory flashes, unprovoked, of the day he left for Oxford. The silly vow I made to myself that when he returned, he would never treat me as a second sister again.

The thought makes me laugh. ‘Do you know, I wrote to you while you were away.’

Good heavens, why did I say that? My mind is muddled, unfocused, probably because I’m so cold.

Gavin glances at me, startled. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Letters. Five of them.’

‘I never got any letters.’

I laugh again, rather drunken sounding, and shift my bottom on the sharp rocks. A wave barrels in and completely drenches my legs again, but I still don’t bother moving. I think I’ll pass out if I move. ‘Never sent them.’

‘What did they say?’

‘Dear Gavin.’ My teeth chatter around the words. ‘Today I accidentally smeared ink across my mouth. I thought of you.’

‘You did not write that.’

‘I did.’ I grin. ‘If I wrote one today, it would say: Dear Gavin, today I saved your life. Please remember that before you reproach me.’

He pulls me into a sitting position. Another wave comes in and I begin to shudder uncontrollably. My teeth click together so hard that my jaw aches.

‘As I recall,’ he says, pulling his coat more tightly around me, ‘you tackled me from behind.’

‘So?’

‘How do I know I was in any real danger? Maybe you just wanted a bit of a cuddle.’

I narrow my eyes. ‘Indulging in fantasies now, are we, Galloway?’

‘My fantasy at this precise moment is to enjoy a dram or two. I could use the drink.’ He glances at the flying machine. ‘I don’t suppose you have any whisky in your ornithopter.’

‘I don’t drink and fly! And even if I had some, you wouldn’t be allowed any.’

‘Harpy.’

‘Cad. I’m still sitting in water.’

‘Would you like me to help you up?’

My legs probably won’t work. The swim to shore took so much effort, I doubt my body will listen to me any more. ‘Um,’ I say, a little uncertainly, ‘no, thank you.’

I plant my hands down on the devilishly sharp rocks and manage to stand on shaking legs. My legs buckle.
Oh, damnation
. . .

Gavin grabs me around the waist. ‘I have you,’ he murmurs.

I raise my eyes to his, but it’s too dark to see him clearly. He is so quiet, his breathing as slow as the waves that lap around my legs. As rhythmic as the rain falling around us.

How can he be so calm about all this? I was the one who brought destruction into his life. Now he’ll never be able to hide again, not here. He’ll never be safe around me.

If my shaking legs would have allowed it, I’d have released his shoulders then. ‘I don’t blame you if you never want to see me again after tonight,’ I say.

‘Why wouldn’t I?’

‘Because,’ I say, a bit helplessly, ‘because you’ve tried to avoid the fae and I brought them right to you.’

‘That thought had occurred to me.’

I nod. He doesn’t have the skill to fight them off. A Seer’s energy is a boon to any fae that finds one. He’ll be just as hunted as I am.

‘But if I did that – walked away – what kind of friend would that make me?’

‘An intelligent one,’ I say.

‘But not a good one. That’s not the kind of man I am.’

I stare up at him. I wonder if he thinks me damaged, beyond saving. Whether he is only here out of obligation, because we grew up together. I may not be his responsibility the way that Catherine is, but he treats me as though I am. He always has.

‘Gavin,’ I say, hesitant. ‘I-I think—’

‘What?’

I need control. I shouldn’t feel this vulnerable or exposed. It’s exhaustion from the fighting, it has to be. ‘I can walk the rest of the way on my own,’ I say.

‘Right. I’ll let go of you, then.’

He gently releases his hold. I squeak as my legs collapse under me. I would have fallen if he hadn’t caught me again. In the dark, I see the flash of his teeth in a wide grin. He’s enjoying this.

I almost swear at him. The smug bounder. ‘I don’t suppose you could—’

‘Shall we dispense with the preamble? You want me to carry you.’