Neither Dead Nor Alive Page 5

  She’s been out early picking blaeberries so we can start right away. She produces a polybag full of them. We take half a dozen each, swallow them and squat on the sleeping bag to wait for something to happen.

  After about five minutes Fiona asks, “How long did it take last time?”

  “Dunno. Can’t remember when I picked the berries.”

  We take another handful, just to be sure.

  Another five minutes and I get impatient. “It’s not working. You must’ve got it wrong.”

  She’s angry now. “I didn’t get it wrong. It’s in MacPhee’s book. Anyway, you’ve not done a lot to try and find out what’s going on.”

  I start to tell her it’s me that’s done the runner and been chased by the police, but suddenly she snaps her fingers.

  “You’re dead right. I DID miss something. The book says ‘freshly picked.’ Perhaps they’ve got to be absolutely fresh. I got these before breakfast.”

  “So we’ll have to go out and get more.”

  “Fraid so. I’ll go and bring some back,” she offers.

  “Then they won’t be fresh.”

  “How fresh is fresh?” she asks.

  “Maybe you’ve got to pick them yourself. No point in getting it wrong again.”

  “All right, but we’ll have to be very careful.”

  I stick the dirk in my belt. That won’t help if it’s the police that get to me first.

  Fiona goes out on to the road. She signals that it’s OK and tells me in whispers where to get the berries.

  There isn’t anybody about, so we could talk normally, but I whisper back, “Let’s go for it.”

  We’re on the road that leads past the caravan site with the karting and diving. I hope we get out of today time before we pass it because there’s bound to be people about. Fiona leads me off the road into a rocky hollow overgrown with brambles. We pick our way through the thorns, and down among the rocks there’s millions of blaeberries.

  I only eat two or three, then my cheeks turn inside out. These ones are dead sour.

  “Take more,” she says.

  “How? That’s all I had last time.”

  “That’s the point. Last time you came back into today.”

  “Too right, I did.”

  “Think about it. We don’t want to come back to today till we’ve completed our mission. So we have to take extra.”

  Completed our mission! Whew! What’s she like?

  But I see a problem. “What if we can’t get back for days and days?”

  “Doesn’t matter. Once we’ve completed our mission we can just hang around till the effect wears off.”

  “Who’s gonna make your dad’s tea, then?”

  “Don’t be sarky.”

  “OK.”

  I pick a handful and try to swallow them without chewing. She does the same. The blue juice stains our fingers. I wipe them on my – her – T-shirt. I can see she’s not pleased but she doesn’t say anything.

  “Now what?”

  “You tell me. You’re the one who’s been here before.”

  “I don’t know. I just sort of walked about.”

  “OK. We’ll walk about. But we’ll have to watch out for today people who might recognize you.”

  We go back to the road. We`re going to have to pass the caravan site, and I can see there’s folk milling about there as usual.

  I want to run.

  Fiona says, “No. That’ll only attract attention.”

  So we play it cool. We slink along pretending we’re dead bored with things. Once we’re past the big sign that says: “GO-KARTING” I want to shout, “Yahoo!” But just then a woman with an English accent shouts, “Hey; that’s the kid that was on the box last night. Sonny, come here a moment.”

  We keep our heads down and walk on.

  “Come here,” she hollers. “Jeremy, Nigel; catch him.”

  Two big guys bounce out of somewhere and come after us like Usain Bolt.

  “Move,” I say.

  We leg it.

  I’m ahead, but I drop back to push Fiona on. They’re faster, but we’ve a good start and maybe we can dive into bushes and rocks somewhere, like I did when I fooled the police.

  We’re round a corner now, out of sight for a moment and I’m looking for a place to hide when she trips. She gives a small squawk and she’s down in a heap.

  I grab her by the elbow and haul her to her feet, but she hasn’t got her balance properly and after a couple of steps she’s down again.

  That’s it. Bye-bye Aidan. Back to Paisley for me. I help her up, but there’s no hurry now. We’re screwed up.

  “Keep going,” she screams.

  “Get real. We’re nicked.”

  “No we’re not.”

  I look back and there’s nobody chasing.

  “These big guys, where’d they go?” I ask.

  Then I see why Fiona tripped. We aren’t on the road any more. It’s a muddy track full of holes and ruts.

  “Have to check this out,” I say. “Gotta make sure.”

  I take her back round the corner to where we ought to be able to see the caravan site. It’s not there, only trees and some bracken.

  Fiona doesn’t seem to realise what’s happened, but then she’s not done this before, like me.

  I tell her, “We’ve made it to the old land.”

  “But how?”

  “Look.” I point. “There should be a sign that says: ‘GO-KARTING’ – remember?”

  She nods.

  “Well, where is it?”

  “’S not there any more.”

  “Got it in one.”

  “OK,” she says. “What do we do now?”

  “We head for the dead dinosaur.”

  Chapter 10

  THE HILL OF GOLD

  We’re following the old Bronze Age track. I’ve not been on this bit of it before, but I’m getting used to finding my way about in the old time. Before long we reach the spot where I met Finn and Aidan and I know it’s not far to the dead dinosaur.

  It’s for real now. I’m trying to remember how I psyched myself the other day – heck, it was only yesterday – to tackle Gawawl.

  I tell Fiona, “Not far now.”

  “You know what to do?”

  “Chase Gawawl off with the dirk.”

  “About the bull, I mean.”

  I stop. “I thought... “

  I don’t want to tell her I thought she’d worked all that out.

  “How’re you going to do it?” she persists.

  “You’ve got the book,” I say. “Thought you’d know what it said to do.”

  “It only said someone of Finn’s clan would have to make the sacrifice. So, once you’ve got rid of Gawawl, you’ve got to kill the bull.”

  She wishes! I’ve just got used to the idea that I could see off Gawawl with the dirk, but slaughtering a bull – I’ve not even thought about that.

  “That’s the big one,” I say, playing for time. “Gawawl I can handle.” I manage a mini-swagger. “The bull, though... how to kill a bull... Fergus only killed a goat. Now if it was just a goat... ”

  I haven’t a clue how to kill a goat, either.

  “Or a rabbit?” she snaps.

  “A rabbit.” I feel a surge of hope. “Would a rabbit do?”

  “Sure you could handle a rabbit?”

  She doesn’t wait for an answer. “Or a mouse?” She’s relentless. “Or a beetle? You could manage to squash a beetle, couldn’t you?”

  I don’t know where she’s at now.

  “You idiot. It’s got to be the bull. Course you don’t have to do it yourself.”

  Another surge of hope.

  “I’m a McAlpine, too. Want me to do it for you?”

  I don’t believe I’m hearing this. “You know how to kill a bull?”

  “No.”

  “Then how... ?“

  “Because it’s got to be done. Think about Aidan.”

  She hesitates. “Maybe when th
e time comes The Morrigan will make it easy for me.”

  “Maybe we could let The Morrigan kill it herself.”

  “You know what the Red Book says.”

  So do I give the dirk to a bird who’s just tripped over her own feet? Besides, what if she DOES kill it and we go back to today time and she tells Mark?

  I can see the pink gum stuck to his back teeth when he laughs... ”So the bird did the business for you? Big deal.”

  I’ve got to bluff this one out.

  “OK. I’ll sort Gawawl out for you first. Then I’ll figure what to do about the bull.”

  Hopefully we’ll be back into today time before we get there or the bull will stampede or something.

  All this time we’re getting closer to the dead dinosaur and suddenly we’re round a corner and it’s there in front of us with its freshly dug earth and the big stone circle round the base.

  Fiona recognises it at once. “There’s the way in.” She points to the big upright stone slabs.

  Then there’s that horrible bellowing noise again.

  She comes up close beside me.

  “Ready with the dirk,” she whispers.

  I draw it and we enter the tomb.

  We’re in a long passage with ginormous flat stones at the sides and across the roof. It’s dead dark inside, but the sun’s shining straight in, so we can see for a bit.

  From the other end I can hear bellowing. It thunders among the stones and I’m scared they’ll all collapse on top of us. Then I see another light, dim, yellow and flickering, ahead of me.

  My hand’s sweating on the handle of the dirk.

  Fiona squeezes my elbow. “Go on,” she whispers.

  But I don’t. I stop.

  We’re at the end of the passage. In front of me there’s a long, low hall. Round the walls smoky torches are burning; bundles of twigs wedged in cracks in the wall. It’s difficult to see cos the light’s flickering like strobes at a disco except that it’s all the same colour, and the smoke’s making my eyes water.

  Then the bellowing hits me like an explosion and I see the bull, a big white shape like a ghost, at the other end of the hall. It’s got a rope round its neck and it’s tied to a post that’s stuck in the wall.

  “Cut it loose,” Fiona hisses. “Get it out of here.”

  It’s an angry bull, as if it knows we’re going to try and kill it. It’s pawing the ground and snorting, but I think if I can get behind it and cut the rope it’ll probably charge straight down the passage and outside.

  I push Fiona back into an alcove in the wall in case she gets trampled.

  I nip forwards but the bull swings round to face me, so I’ve got to dodge behind its horns if I’m to cut the rope.

  I’m bobbing and weaving like David Haye when there’s this shriek behind me:

  “Steve.”

  I spin round and the bull catches me in the ribs with its horn. It’s only a glancing blow. Still, it knocks me on the deck. But it can’t get far enough to trample me cos it’s at the end of its rope.

  I look up.

  Gawawl’s got Fiona. One hairy arm’s round her shoulders, pinning her arms. She’s thrashing about and kicking. I look right into her eyes and see terror.

  His mouth’s half open and that slavering tusk’s pointing at her throat.

  But he doesn’t kill her.

  He drags her into the alcove – it’s much deeper than I’d realised. There’s a torch burning at the very back of it and below it there’s this huge golden bowl.

  Gawawl presses Fiona against it so her neck’s on the rim. But he still doesn’t kill her.

  From somewhere in his skin robes he pulls a knife like the one Fergus used to sacrifice the goat, and places its edge across her throat like a saw.

  But still Gawawl does not kill Fiona.

  He gazes up somewhere into the flickering darkness under the roof where the light of the torches can’t reach and begins to chant, “The Morrigan. The Morrigan. The Morrigan.”

  I’m like I’m watching a video. It’s not real, except that Gawawl’s minging and the stench is making my stomach jump up into my throat.

  Fiona’s gone all still and calm.

  “Steve,” she says quietly. “The dirk. Go for him. Remember your watch strap.”

  Her voice is like an explosion in my head. Suddenly I’m real again. I’m in the video. I can change it.

  I rush at Gawawl with the dirk out in front of me. I can’t remember any of the patter I’d rehearsed the other day. I hear myself shouting “Oh, when the Saints... St Mirren for the cup. Get into these animals.”

  Just like before, with Aidan, he looks scared. He lets Fiona go, puts up a great hairy paw to hide his face, and steps back into the shadows at the back of the alcove.

  She nips round behind me. She’s breathing hard.

  Gawawl’s not done yet. He’s cringing, but it seems like he can face cold iron if he looks away. So he comes back for us, roaring and shielding his face with one paw.

  “Kill him,” demands Fiona.

  I remember she’s a vegetarian.

  But I don’t have any choice. He’s coming at me with an open mouth and slavering tusks. I know that if I don’t get him I’m finished. So I go for it; try to stick the dirk up his nose, just above that gross tooth, but he backs off so quickly that I miss him.

  Next thing there’s a howl from him, a swirl of skin cloaks and he disappears down a black cave at the back of the alcove.

  Fiona says, “He’s escaped into the bowels of the earth where we can’t follow him.”

  After we’ve got our breath back, I ask, “What about the bull?”

  “Kill it.”

  I hand her the dirk. “Not my scene.” I don’t mind being honest about this now I’ve seen off Gawawl.

  She puts it away with her hand. “Me, neither. I was just winding you up.”

  “Just have to leave it here, then.”

  “Can’t do that. Gawawl will come out of the earth and get it back. We’ve got to get it out of here. Go and cut it loose.”

  This time I’m smarter. I cut the rope before the beast can turn on me and it bolts down the passageway and out into the open.

  “Now the cauldron,” she says.

  Between us we drag it out. It’s dead heavy.

  “Now what?” I wonder.

  The bull’s galloped off a bit, but now it’s eating grass just like any old cow.

  “The Red Book definitely says that it must be sacrificed to The Morrigan,” she repeats. “But it’s not just that neither of us fancies having to try to kill it. We don’t know the proper rituals.”

  “Rituals? What’s that?”

  “It’s special words you have to say, or maybe things you’ve got to do. A bit like reciting a magic spell. If you don’t get it exactly right it won’t work.”

  That makes me feel a whole lot better. It wasn’t that I was too scared to try to kill the bull. No point in trying when it wouldn’t have worked anyway. That’s the way I’ll explain it to Mark.

  “Perhaps The Morrigan will find a way to show us,” she says.

  I laugh.

  “Well, she’s led us this far safely.”

  Sometimes Fiona’s really spooky.

  Chapter 11

  THE END OF AIDAN

  THE YOUNG

  We’re just outside the tomb and I’m looking at the bull, wondering how The Morrigan’s going to show us how to sacrifice it.

  It’s not very big, but it’s got freaky horns and I don’t fancy getting close to it again. I’m thinking it`s quiet enough right now when suddenly it brings its head up and snorts. It’s looking round and listening. I can the whites of its eyes rolling.

  Then I hear what it’s hearing.

  Sort of chiming, like bells, a long way off.

  Only I soon realise it’s not bells; it’s the baying of dogs.

  Then there’s a crash in the bushes and Aidan bursts out of them with his bronze knife in his hand. He stares around him li
ke a hunted deer. Then he catches sight of me and Fiona.

  “The hounds.” He waves an arm despairingly.

  ****

  Four of them break out of a thicket and then check when they see us. They’re the biggest, ugliest dogs I’ve ever seen – black and shaggy – with slavering mouths and lolling tongues.

  The three of us get our backs together and they circle us, growling and snarling, as if they are waiting for an order.

  Then it comes: “Kill.”

  The master catches up with them, and it’s Fergus with the eye. He checks for a second. Maybe he’s surprised to see three kids instead of just one. But he repeats the order: “Kill.”

  “The dirk,” says Fiona quietly.

  I know what iron can do, so I’m pure dead gallus. I charge at the dogs, slashing and stabbing left and right and shouting a lot of nonsense. I don’t think I hit any of them but they take off in every direction, howling.

  Behind me Fergus is cursing his dogs and shouting at them to turn and kill us. I’m not thinking about him, though, until I hear Fiona scream, “Steve.”

  I spin round and he’s coming at me. Aidan slashes at him with his knife and that slows him up just enough for me to show him the dirk.

  As soon as he sees it he stops dead, just like Gawawl.

  Fergus and me are face to face. Aidan comes up beside me: shoulder to shoulder, his bronze knife and my iron dirk.

  For a second Fergus thinks about tackling us. Then I brandish the dirk and he turns and runs.

  He doesn’t get far. He trips and goes sprawling in the heather. An idea zips across my mind – jump on his back and bury the dirk between his shoulders. Only I don’t.

  Aidan does! He’s on him like a cat, but before he has time to stick him with the blade, Fergus lets out a scream and Aidan bounces off him like he’s red hot.

  Fergus scrambles to his feet. He’s clawing at his throat and I see there’s a snake writhing round his neck. It’s greenish white with a black zigzag mark down its back, and its teeth are fastened in his throat.

  For a moment Fergus staggers about, waving his hands as if he’s afraid to touch the thing. Then he pitches forward on to his knees. He’s making like he’s choking and gurgling now. Then he slumps on to his face and goes quiet.