Tide
Authors: Daniela Sacerdoti
This book is for Lindsey
Thank you Ross, Sorley and Luca, for putting up with me writing, writing, writing, and then writing some more! I couldn’t do it without you three cuddling me, feeding me, making me laugh and being so understanding when my head is somewhere else for days at a time.
From the bottom of my heart, thank you to my editors, Janne Moller and Kristen Susienka, and to everyone at Black & White Publishing. Thank you to my agents, Lindsey Fraser and Kathryn Ross, my velvet and steel fairy godmothers – what would I do without you?
Thank you to my families, the Sacerdotis and the Walkers, for their belief in me. Thank you to Irene, my best friend and little sister – our daily emails keep me (relatively) sane. Thank you to my amazing girlfriends and their warm, generous support (and help with the school run when I’m overwhelmed with edits!).
Thank you to the musicians who soundtracked many hours of writing: Julie Fowlis, The Treacherous Orchestra, Runrig, Manran, Corquieu, and as ever for many years, the wonderful Maire Brennan. Thank you to Kirstyn Knowles and Jenny Masterson for Sarah’s song, “Do it Alone”, Martyn Bennet, Margaret Bennet and BJ Stewart for the lyrics of Niall’s song “Grioghal Cridhe”, Pentangle for their rendition of “Cruel Sister” and Sting, with Robert Louis Stevenson, for the musical version of the poem “Christmas at Sea”.
Thank you to Jim Sutherland, David Stanton and Peter Kerr for Gaelic help.
And finally, thank you to Linda Norgrove, one of the women of courage and belief who inspire me to be
braver
:
www.lindanorgrovefoundation.org
.
Prologue:
Salt and Lilies
3
Stolen
8
Makara
9
Listen
12
Scrying
13
The Watcher
15
Torn
16
Full Moon
17
Goodbye
20
Slaughter
21
Seawater
22
Banished
23
Islay
26
Together We
29
Turning Tide
30
Ghosts
31
Chrysalis
32
Runes
33
Adrift
35
Winter
37
Darkness
38
Andromeda
39
Be Ready
40
Comet
47
Poison
50
Threshold
55
One Soul
58
Blind
59
Prophecies
It was the first time that Sarah ever felt close to Morag Midnight, and the last time she saw her alive.
The beach was vast and windswept, and the black-haired girl wrapped her scarf around her neck twice, struggling to keep up with her grandmother as they strode towards the sea.
“Come on, Sarah!”
Sarah broke into a run. She didn’t understand what the rush was, and she didn’t know why her grandmother was desperate to take her for a walk on the beach all of a sudden. Her parents had driven over to the other side of the island – Secret business, as usual – and they had left her with Morag, in spite of the fact that Morag’s behaviour was becoming increasingly erratic. As soon as Sarah reached her grandmother on the shoreline, Morag took the girl’s hand.
“The water is very cold,” the old woman said.
Sarah felt a flutter of apprehension. The sea was wide and grey, and choppy under the wintry wind. She didn’t like to think how cold the water would be, how freezing the white-topped waves. Her skin puckered into goosebumps.
“Have you ever swum in the sea in winter?” Morag asked. Sarah noticed how the water was lapping their boots now. The bottom of her jeans was wet already.
“No. My mum and dad wouldn’t let me. It’s too cold.”
Morag laughed, a brittle laugh that made Sarah shiver. “Of course! Imagine your mother letting you swim in there at this time of year. That would be crazy. What mother would do that?”
Morag’s grip was tight around Sarah’s hand, and Sarah flinched but she didn’t say anything. She knew better than to provoke her grandmother. Her temper was such that she would fly off the handle at the slightest provocation.
“It’s so cold that you wouldn’t drown. Your heart would just stop,” Morag continued. Her once blonde hair, now grey, was coming loose from its bun, and long strands framed her graceful face. Morag’s eyes were big and blue, and her features as stern as a northern goddess. She was tall, and always stood very straight. Everything about her spoke of pride and strength.
Sarah swallowed hard. She fought the instinct to free herself from Morag’s grip and run. She didn’t want to be standing with her feet in seawater, with her grandmother holding her hand so tight it hurt; she wanted to be home with her mum and dad.
“Gran, I’m cold. Let’s go home.”
Morag turned to look Sarah straight in the eye. She softened her grip on the child’s hand and bent down, her face now level with Sarah’s. Unexpectedly, she stroked Sarah’s cheek.
“The world is changing. I won’t be here to see how things map out, but you will be. Remember this, Sarah: whatever happens, the Midnight family must be protected and preserved by all possible means.”
Sarah didn’t know what to say. Though she was only eight years old, she was an old soul, and could see and feel things much beyond her years. Morag’s intensity petrified her. She nodded.
“At your age, Sarah, I was hunting already. But maybe you’re not meant for the hunt … like
she
wasn’t. Maybe there’s something else you need to do. Had I known … had I known what was happening, back then … what I was about to lose! But it’s too late now. It’s your parents’ time. And soon it will be your time, Sarah. Come,” she said, grasping her granddaughter’s hand tight again.
“Where are we going?”
“Back to Midnight Hall. There’s something I need to show you.”
The next morning Sarah awoke to find her mum sitting on her bed.
“Wake up, darling. Wake up …”
“Mum?”
Sarah was startled to see her mother’s face streaked with tears.
“There was an accident,” Anne began.
“Gran is dead,” Sarah said. “She walked into the sea.”
“Sarah … How do you know? Did you dream? Already?”
The little girl shook her head.
“Then how … Did you hear your father and me talking? Were you awake?”
“No. She told me.”
*
Morag had kneeled down and held Sarah tight all of a sudden – the little girl had stood tense, breathing in her grandmother’s scent of salt and lilies. “Sarah … They say that people from these islands belong to the sea. I think it’s true. Tomorrow I’ll go back where I belong.”
A teardrop had rolled down Morag’s cheek, and Sarah had wiped it away with her small finger. “Don’t cry, Gran,” she’d said.
“No. Of course not,” Morag had whispered. “I won’t cry anymore.”
For all the lovers who had no choice
Choose now which heart to break
Sean
Every night I watch over Sarah, invisible, concealed in her garden. As December approaches it gets colder and colder, but I don’t care if my hands are frozen and my lips turn blue. I must be there for her. The threat is far from over, Sarah is still in danger and Nicholas Donal is not the right person to protect her. I can’t trust him. Even though he saved our lives many times.
Who is he, anyway? He says he’s the heir to the Donals, a Secret family I’ve never even heard of. Hardly a satisfactory explanation. I watch him walking up the steps that lead to Sarah’s door and follow her inside. It’s clear enough that they’re together.
Just thinking about it makes me ill.
Only a few weeks ago, Sarah had feelings for me, before she discovered who I really am … I know she did. How can those feelings have changed so quickly? There’s something strange about the sudden hold Nicholas has over her. And she looks so pale, so thin. Even from the distance I keep she seems …
dazed
. She walks to and from school with uncertain steps, with her head lowered. Of course, she has been through so much, but even so. She is not the Sarah I know. Or knew.
Maybe I’m flattering myself that I’m better for her, when what’s between the two of them really is love.
No, it can’t just be jealousy; it can’t just be the fact that he took Sarah for himself the night he saved her life – him and those ravens, and those cold blue flames that sprung from his fingers. It can’t just be my spite at having lost her to him – not when I see Sarah as she is now.
What has he done to her? And how could I have allowed this to happen?
It was Harry Midnight, Sarah’s cousin, who entrusted me with her life. Just before his death at the hands of the Secret Council, the Sabha – the very people who were supposed to lead the Secret Families – he sent me, his Gamekeeper, his best friend, his brother in all but blood, to Scotland to watch over Sarah. Harry gave me his name and his identity – Sarah was just a baby when she’d seen him last – because he knew that it was the only way that she would trust me. And she did, until she found out about our deceit. And now she hates me for it. Even though it was all done to keep her safe.
We’re apart, and it’s killing me.
Crouched night after night in Sarah’s garden, I wonder what has happened to Harry’s friends – our friends. Elodie, his wife, was sent to a safe place in Italy, to guard the last of the Japanese Secret heirs. Mike Prudhomme, a Gamekeeper like me, was sent to Louisiana with Niall Flynn, the heir to the Flynn family. For a while we were able to keep in constant touch via secure phone lines, but the lines have gone dead now. There has been no signal – the short message we used to send each other at the same time every day – for weeks. I try to believe that it’s too dangerous for them to be in touch with me right now, because I can’t contemplate the alternative: that they have been killed. Murdered by the Sabha, or by demons, take your pick. The whole world seems to be against us, in one way or another.
