Neither Dead Nor Alive Page 6
“The Morrigan,” whispers Aidan.
“Fergus is dead.” Fiona knows cos it’s all in the book. I half expect Aidan to make sure, cut Fergus’s throat or something, but he won’t even look at the corpse.
So here we are in the middle of the Bronze Age, a dead chief beside us, that wild bull a hundred yards away and all around the invisible presence of The Morrigan.
Fiona’s the first to come to her senses.
“Aidan, do you know how to sacrifice the bull?”
He’s like he’s in a dream.
“My bull,” he says. “Born on the same day as I was.”
“You must sacrifice it to The Morrigan. You know that.”
He shakes his head. “The bull is my brother.”
She gets angry with him. “Your father’s dead. The dogs would have killed you too. They’ve killed you before. Aidan, you must.”
He sticks his knife in his belt and takes her hand.
“Together we will do the will of The Morrigan.”
They’re walking towards the bull. I just follow. I’m angry. Fiona said I was the one of the race of Finn who would be the megastar, but then I’m glad I don’t have to. Anyway I’ve got the dirk, so I follow up close just in case things go wrong.
The bull sees us coming and starts bellowing and pawing the ground. Then, I swear, Aidan begins to sing to it.
“Listen summer twilight long
Hearken winter skies afire
Spring and autumn hear my song
Calling all the herds to byre.”
He turns to Fiona. “Do you know ‘the Great Herdsman of Etive`?”
She nods.
“That’s his song.”
She joins in. It’s like they’re charming the animal. It stops snorting and stamping and comes to them like a pet pony.
Aidan scratches its forehead and ruffles its ears as if it’s a dog. It nuzzles his hand. He turns to Fiona, “We need the cauldron.”
“Steve; the cauldron,” she commands.
I’d forgotten all about it, but now I’ve got to go back for it as if she’s The Morrigan herself.
I suppose it’s real gold but I’m dragging it behind me, bouncing it off stones, cos it’s too heavy to carry. I’m out of breath when I get back to them. “What now?”
“Aidan says we must take the bull and the cauldron across the ford to Eriska, the Holy Island, and he’ll show us how to make the sacrifice.”
Eriska. It’s a long way. I’ve not been there but Fiona’s dad says there’s a posh hotel on it in today time and there’s a decent road and a bridge today too. But now I’ve got to drag the cauldron all the way along a bumpy track while they swan along ahead with their pet bull.
“Hey, Fiona. How about taking a shot with the cauldron?”
She half turns and puts her finger to her lips, “Aidan and I are the priest and priestess.”
****
The ford’s not deep. Tide’s well out. The bull ploughs through with the water round its knees. It’s quite sloppy underfoot, though, and I’ve a bit of a struggle with the cauldron till I realise I can float it across.
In the old time Eriska’s a bare moor. Aidan leads the bull to the highest point. There’s a big flat stone there and he tells me to put the cauldron on it. I have to wedge it with wee stones to stop it rolling off.
Then he takes his knife and makes Fiona hold it with him, her hand inside his. They’re chanting together softly, “The Morrigan. The Morrigan.” The bull’s licking Aidan’s fingers. Suddenly he makes a quick flick and a jerk and there’s blood spurting from a gash in its neck. It lifts its head and moans softly, not that terrible bellowing I heard from the dead dinosaur. More like a sort of sad sigh. Then Aidan and Fiona put in the knife and open up the wound.
The bull’s on its knees now, its blood gushing into the cauldron. Aidan’s in tears. “My brother,” he blubbers. The beast collapses. Aidan’s got his arms round its neck and its blood’s washing all over him. It gives an enormous shudder. Then it is quite still.
Overhead I hear the raw ‘kark` of a raven. For a split second, behind Aidan and Fiona, there flickers the figure of a one eyed hag. Then it’s gone. Aidan must have seen it too for he’s on his hands and knees, eyes wide and staring.
Fiona crouches beside him and they clasp hands. Then he doubles up like he’s been kicked in the stomach. He’s trying to hold on to her but, right in front of my eyes, he shrivels and slips like sand through her fingers until there’s nothing left but a little pile of dust on the flat stone.
Fiona unclenches her fist. Some fine dust in the lines of her palm blows away in the wind.
The bull’s gone, too, and the cauldron that was half full of hot blood is empty with just a rusty stain on the inside.
Fiona’s on her knees. Her forehead’s on Aidan’s dust. She’s screaming hysterically, “Aidan. AIDAN. AAAAAI-DAAAAN.”
Chapter 12
GAWAWL AGAIN
After a while – quite a long while – Fiona calms down. Then I ask her the big question, “How do we get back?”
“Get back?” She’s not with it.
“Yip. Job’s done. Bull’s sacrificed. Curse is lifted. So how d`we get back to today time?”
“We just do.”
“How?”
“You tell me. You’ve done it twice already.”
“That was an accident. I just came out. Like I went in. Don’t know how. You PLANNED this one. So how d` we get back?”
“We just wait till the effect wears off.”
Then I remember we ate extra berries. “What if it takes days `n’ days?”
“What if?”
I’ve another idea and my heart drops into my stomach at the thought. “Maybe we overdosed. What if we never get back? That book you had said some people never got back.”
“I don’t know that I want to get back.”
I go ballistic. “Not get back! We can’t stay here. There’s nothing here but monsters. No decent houses... no TV… no football... no…”
She cuts me short. “Don’t you care?”
“Care? Course I care. Job’s done. Now let’s get back.”
“Don’t you care about Aidan?”
“Aidan? Yes. We saved him from the dogs, like you said. Now he’s sorted out, like the bull and Fergus.”
“You nerd. You don’t care about him. You just think he’s a… a…”
“Dead kid from long ago. He’s lucky he’s dead now. You said he’d be at peace, remember?”
“He was real a moment ago. Now he’s dead.”
For a moment I think she’s going to cry again, but she stays cool.
“Look,” she says, “we’ve got to get it together. Gawawl might be around somewhere.”
“And we can’t get back to today time.”
“Well, that’s not my fault.”
“You might’ve thought of a way to do it.”
“Why don’t you think for yourself sometimes?”
“You’ve got all the books. Besides, it was you who said to eat extra berries. Never thought it might make us stay here for good, did you?”
I’m really angry with her now. But she just goes quiet.
“I don’t care any more.”
“No. You just want to curl up and blubber over a dead guy from the Bronze Age.”
“You rat. You rotten rat.”
I’m sorry I said that, but I don’t know how to say I’m sorry. So I change the subject.
“What’re we gonna do with this?” I kick the cauldron.
“Doesn’t matter.”
“Can we take it into today time with us?”
“Why not?” Then she has another thought. “No. We musn’t. It’s Gawawl’s now. We’ve sacrificed the bull. Gawawl can have the cauldron. It’s better that way.”
“How?”
“Because if he doesn’t get it he’ll come looking for it.”
/>
“So what? I can handle him.” I’m feeling cool again. Besides, I need a bit of a boost. I’m still sorry at what I said about Aidan. “Come on, Gawawl,” I challenge. “I’m waiting.”
I’m certain he won’t come. It’s all over. He’s toast, like Aidan and Fergus.
But he’s not.
And he does come.
Fiona screams. She can’t speak. She’s pointing at the ford. The tide’s just started to come in. You can see the edge of the water nibbling at the mud on the bank.
There’s four or five Firbogs wading across the water up to their knees. Gawawl’s in front. I recognise him by that gross tooth. Then the others, red-haired, shaggy, with long arms and enormous chests. Some of them are carrying sticks or stone clubs. I can smell their stink from here.
Fiona finds her voice. “The dirk, Steve.”
I reach for it, and my heart drops into my guts. It’s gone.
“Quick, Steve.” Fiona’s still calm.
“It’s not there.”
“What d’you mean ‘not there’?”
“Must’ve dropped it when we crossed the ford. I’d a job with that cauldron.”
“You idiot. You stupid idiot.”
“Well you just left me with the cauldron.”
“Make it with your watch stra…“ her voice tails off. “I’d forgotten you had to lose that, too.”
She’s clenching and unclenching her fists. “Give them the cauldron. That’s what they’ve come for.”
I just stand there.
“Look.” She grabs the cauldron and tries to lift it on to its side, but it’s too heavy for her. “Help me.”
Between us we tip it over on its side.
“Now push,” she says.
It rolls off down the hill and picks up speed. It leaps from rock to rock till it hits the water in an explosion of spray. Gawawl tries to grab it, but it’s just wide of his reach. At first it floats but it has hit the water side on and starts to fill up. For a moment it swirls round and round. Then it sinks.
The Firbogs flounder over to where it went down. They grope with their long arms and stick their heads under water. Gawawl gets a hold on it and hauls it to the surface. He empties it out and drags it back to the bank, though he doesn’t seem to have the sense to float it like I did. He puts it on a rock above high tide and wedges it with a stone so it won’t roll off.
Then he turns and stares across the water at us. He waves an arm about and calls his mates round him. Then they start to wade across again.
The tide race is getting faster now, flowing like a river from the sea into the loch. They’re still only about knee deep, but suddenly Gawawl stops. He seems to panic. He’s floundering about and trying to get out of the water as if it’s boiling. They all scramble back to dry land as fast as they can.
I’m wondering – were there crocodiles in Scotland in the Bronze Age?
Back on the mainland the Firbogs gather on the bank. They whoop and scream at us. Gawawl beats the cauldron like a drum. But they won’t go anywhere near the water, though it’s still quite shallow.
Fiona’s got the explanation – as usual: “They can’t cross running water. Remember – in MacPhee’s book.”
We stare them out and after a while they slope off, dragging the cauldron with them.
We sit down on the big flat stone at the top of the island. Fiona says it’s holy and we should he safe here. Anyway, Gawawl can’t cross the ford till the next low tide and that’s tomorrow morning. It’s getting dark now, but it’s still very warm. She says it was hotter in the Bronze Age; so we won’t be cold during the night.
I’m shattered. For a long time I’m too excited to go to sleep but at last I drift off, and I dream that Fiona’s on her knees beside me on the big stone and she’s chanting softly, “The Morrigan. The Morrigan.”
Chapter 13
STILL ALIVE
I wake up chittering.
Whatever Fiona says about the weather in the Bronze Age, it’s Baltic now. It must be early morning. There’s dew on the grass round us and my clothes are damp.
Fiona’s still sleeping.
I look straight down the hill to the ford where Gawawl had to turn back. There’s the bridge. Away to the right there’s an avenue of trees and a big house; the swish hotel, I suppose.
Then I notice I’m not lying on the holy stone any more. It’s just moss and heather.
I give Fiona a shake. “We’re back in today.”
“Oh.”
“Sorry what I said about Aidan.”
“That’s OK. Where are we?”
“Eriska island.”
“Oh, yes.”
“So we go home now and I gotta explain to Mum.”
Suddenly we’re on a different planet.
“Yeah. My dad’ll be worried stupid. Steve...”
“Uh-uh.”
“Promise me one thing.”
‘‘Uh-uh.”
“Don’t tell Mark.”
“What about?”
“You know, Aidan. Don’t ever tease me about him, please.”
“Better make up a cover story,” I suggest.
“How you saved me from Gawawl,” she laughs.
“How you sacrificed the bull.”
“Better get home.” She stands up and dusts herself down. “Your mum was dead worried the other day.”
“And your dad.”
We trudge across the bridge. Below us the tide is racing in again, with flurries of foam on the crests of little wavelets. Can evil spirits cross running water by a bridge? I wonder.
Fiona reads my thoughts: “Not in Tam o’ Shanter.”
We’re on the other side now anyway, but we’re in today time; so it doesn’t matter. At least I think so.
Fiona has other ideas.
“Look,” she says, “there’s something we’ve got to talk about.”
“What?”
She twirls her ponytail.
“Member what I told you about Gawawl being immortal? You remember, in Downey’s barn, when I gave you the dirk.”
“You mean he’s in today time too?”
“That’s right.”
I’ve had time to think about this since she mentioned it before.
“Why’s nobody ever seen him then?”
“Sometimes they have. Remember what MacPhee‘s book says. A hundred years ago people must’ve seen him often.”
“But not now?”
“Maybe even now. I don’t know. There’s a lot of local folk, like Mrs. Naysmith, won’t walk past Cnoc an Oir after dark. But I do know this: Gawawl keeps the cauldron hidden in there. So long as he’s got it – and nobody disturbs him – he sleeps under the hill, at least most of the time.”
“So?”
“You musn’t tell anybody it’s there.”
“They’d not believe us anyway.”
“Steve, do you know what archaeology is?”
I know the word. “Yes. When we did that project on the Trojan War an archaeologist found the ruins of Troy; so they knew it was true.”
“Correct,” she says. “Archaeologists dig into tombs and ruins and look for ancient things. What if they thought a golden cauldron from the Bronze Age might be under your dead dinosaur?”
“They’d dig it up.”
“Right first time. And Gawawl, he’d waken up and come out to get it back, wouldn’t he? Do you want him to waken up in today time?”
I decide the last thing I want is Gawawl on the loose in today time, so I’m not going to tell anybody about the cauldron. But what AM I gonna say to Mum … and Mark? Fiona says it doesn’t really matter, so long as we don’t breathe a word about the cauldron.
We’re coming up to our house now and we agree we’ll go in. Then my mum can phone Fiona’s dad and let him know she’s OK. It’s early. There’ll be nobody up yet.
At the garden gate we both stop.
“Remember,” she whispers, “no cauldron.”
I hear myself saying, “Aidan w
as a king.”
She squeezes my elbow.
“By the way,” she says in a different voice, “I think your dad’ll be here.”
Dad! That’ll be great. We can go karting at Ledaig tomorrow – after I’ve had a good sleep.
Mum’s at the window. She’s not dressed, but she looks like she’s been up all night.
She opens the door and rushes out to meet us.
On the ridge of the roof croaks … a raven.
Jack Hastie, Neither Dead Nor Alive
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