Wild Blood (9 page)

‘Orla?’ she called. ‘Orla? Brian?’

There was no answer. Abruptly Tess’s nerve failed. She turned and, despite the rough going, ran. Uncle Maurice saw her coming and met her halfway across the intervening space. Panting hard, he grabbed her arm so tight that it hurt.

‘What is it? What happened?’ he said.

‘They’re gone. They disappeared,’ said Tess.

‘What do you mean, disappeared?’ said her uncle. ‘Where?’

‘Under the trees,’ said Tess. ‘I got dazzled. I …’

She stopped, aware that her uncle’s attention had shifted. He was looking towards the woods, and Tess followed the direction of his gaze. To her amazement and relief, Kevin was standing on the limestone slabs at the edge of the trees. It made sense of everything. The strange figure in the shadows must have been him all along, and the antlers just a trick of the light.

Tess was about to call out to him when she remembered that she wasn’t supposed to know him. Then she noticed that there was something odd about the way he was behaving. He was waving over at them, a strange little grin on his face, as though he was sneering. As they watched, the businessmen caught up with them, so there were four witnesses to what happened next. In a gesture whose meaning was unmistakable, Kevin snubbed his nose at them and vanished among the trees.

T
HEY SEARCHED FOR HOURS.
Tess stayed close to Uncle Maurice, whom she felt safe with despite his foul temper. The businessmen made up a second party to scour the woods. Backwards and forwards they went, lengthwise and crosswise and every possible way in between, until the place became as familiar to Tess as her own back garden. But there was nothing to be seen or heard. No children, no wolfhounds, nothing. Even the wild creatures and the birds stayed silent, so that it seemed that there could be nowhere on earth more tranquil or more innocent.

By the time they gave up, Uncle Maurice was hoarse from shouting and from describing what he would do to Kevin if he got his hands on him. Tess’s heart was in her boots as she dragged after him and into the pick-up to drive home.

When they broke the news to Aunt Deirdre she lowered herself into a chair.

‘They can’t be far away,’ she said. ‘Sure, where could they be?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Uncle Maurice. ‘But the four of us have already been searching for them for hours. There’s no sight nor sound of them.’ He said nothing for a moment, then burst out with startling vehemence, ‘Oh, God, I hate those woods!’

Tess’s mind was working overtime. She looked at her watch, astonished to find that it was late afternoon. What on earth did Kevin hope to achieve with that kind of stunt? And where could they all be hiding?

Aunt Deirdre looked up, her face suddenly white with terror. ‘He has kidnapped them,’ she said. ‘As sure as I’m sitting here, that’s what has happened. The same way as in the story.’

They all knew which story she was talking about, and the realisation sent a creepy shiver down Tess’s spine. Surely Kevin wouldn’t do something like that. Or would he? He was going through so many changes these days. What was to say that his mind wasn’t changing as rapidly as his body? Maybe he wasn’t who she thought he was? Maybe money mattered too much to him, just as it did to Uncle Maurice.

‘We have to call the police,’ said Aunt Deirdre. ‘Who knows what that terrible boy will do to them?’

Tess’s spirits were so low that she found she didn’t care. Maybe her aunt was right. If Kevin was going to pull stupid stunts like that, then perhaps he deserved what was coming to him. It had already occurred to her that he might take to crime. Maybe it was inevitable with someone like that? Everything Tess trusted was letting her down, and there seemed to be nothing left to believe in. But to her surprise her uncle shook his head.

‘No, Deirdre,’ he said. ‘This isn’t police business.’

‘What do you mean?’ she asked.

‘I can’t explain,’ he said. ‘It’s to do with those woods. There’s something I never told you.’

Tess was watching her uncle as he spoke but now she turned to look at her aunt. The colour was draining from her face and a kind of desperation came over her.

‘But we must call the police,’ she said. ‘We have to get the children back!’

Again Uncle Maurice shook his head. ‘It’s …’ he began, then faltered. Then he tried a different tack. ‘Declan …’ Again he couldn’t, or wouldn’t say what was on his mind, but the effect of the name on Aunt Deirdre was dramatic. As though she had been slapped, she jumped to her feet, her hands gripping the tea-towel that was draped over her shoulder, her knuckles tight and bloodless.

‘You’re mad,’ she said. ‘I’m calling the police.’

But Uncle Maurice, despite his obvious distress, was not beyond resorting to his usual method of getting his own way. In a sudden, red-faced rage he stood up and struck the table a massive blow with his fist.

‘I won’t be disobeyed in my own house,’ he roared. ‘If I say we don’t get the police then we don’t get the police! Understand?’

Aunt Deirdre looked away, but the gesture of submission Wasn’t enough for her husband.

‘Understand?’ he repeated.

Aunt Deirdre nodded, and tears of helplessness began to trickle down her nose, Tess wished she was invisible. She felt like an intruder, eavesdropping not just on a family row but on the demolition of a human spirit. She hated them both at that moment; her uncle for his cruelty, her aunt for her passive acquiescence in her own destruction. She wondered how her cousins survived the atmosphere, and was shocked back into the present when she remembered where they were, or rather, where they weren’t.

Uncle Maurice was already going out again.

‘Keating and his friend are leaving,’ he said. ‘They’ve already done a lot more tramping around in the woods than they bargained for.’ He was outside the door and pulling it closed behind them when he paused and turned back. His tone was soft and apologetic as he said, ‘I’ll find them, Deirdre. Don’t you worry now. I’ll find them.’

As soon as he was gone, Tess realised that she had made no offer to help. There seemed no point. But her uncle’s mention of Declan had given her an idea.

‘I’ll make you a nice cup of tea,’ she said to her aunt, who stood leaning against the table as if in shock.

‘You’re a good girl, Tess,’ she answered, straightening up and moving over to the window.

‘Where does Uncle Declan live?’ said Tess.

Her aunt turned slowly to face her. ‘What do you know about Declan?’ she asked.

‘Nothing,’ said Tess. ‘It’s just that Orla told me this morning that she’d bring me to meet him, and then Unc …’

But she didn’t get to finish her sentence. ‘That stupid girl,’ said Aunt Deirdre, her voice carrying an unusual note of anger. ‘She spends half her life with her head in a book and the other half with it in the clouds.’

Tess nodded, expecting more, but it seemed that her aunt had no more to say. She decided to press the matter.

‘But maybe that’s where they’ve gone?’ she said. ‘If he lives around there somewhere, maybe they met up with him?’

‘Whisht, child,’ said Aunt Deirdre. ‘That’s enough of that talk. Orla was wrong to be misleading you like that.’

‘Why? What do you mean, misleading?’

Aunt Deirdre realised that she couldn’t evade the question any longer. She sighed deeply. ‘Your uncle Maurice had a brother,’ she said. ‘A twin brother. That’s who Declan is. But the children haven’t gone to see him, I promise you that.’

‘Why?’ said Tess.

‘Because,’ said Aunt Deirdre, ‘he doesn’t exist. Your uncle needs his head examining, and so does Orla. Maurice’s brother Declan has been dead for twenty years.’

Tess went upstairs and stood at the window of Orla’s room. As she looked across at the mountain, there was a horrible, empty feeling beneath her ribcage, and it had nothing to do with hunger.

Tomorrow was her birthday. Tonight she would have to decide on the form that she would take on for the rest of her life. But the world didn’t seem to make sense any more. She couldn’t get a proper grip on what was happening; still less on what was going to happen. It was like trying to put a jigsaw puzzle together; it ought to have been simple, but the pieces kept changing their shape whenever she looked at them. She felt sorry for herself, that all these things should get in the way of the momentous decision that was facing her. But no sooner did she feel the self-pity beginning to get a grip than she became disgusted with it. She could waste what remained to her of her powers or she could use them. At that moment, it was the only choice that she had to make. Other bridges would have to be crossed when she got to them, but for the moment she could only take one step at a time. And once she realised that, the next step became clear. There was only one way to make a proper search of the area. And there was only one person who could do it.

T
ESS DROPPED DOWN FROM
the window and caught herself on jackdaw wings to fly clear of the house unnoticed. The bright little bird was fun to be, full of cocky courage; both wild and people-wise, the way the rats were. As she flew, Tess considered the jackdaw as a possible future. It would allow her to stay close to human life and to observe it from the chimneys and ruins which jackdaws chose for their nesting sites.

There were other possibilities among the bird world, as well. Swallows, perhaps, or swifts, both species forever on the wing, making great journeys across the world, following the sun. Their grace and speed, and the perfection of their aeronautic design had always appealed to Tess’s aesthetic sense. She Switched now, choosing the swift for its greater size and speed, and its tendency to fly higher.

Soon she was above the woods, darting and wheeling, peering down through the trees. There was movement down there all right, but there was nothing unusual about any of it. There were bluetits and chaffinches flitting between the branches, and rats scuttling over the mossy floor. Tess needed to get closer. A moment later she was gliding on sparrow-hawk wings to break her fall. If the swift represented nature’s finest long-distance design, the sparrowhawk was her prototype for the low-flying jet plane. Barely clearing the highest branches, she skimmed above the trees, missing nothing that moved beneath them. The birds clucked and rattled and scolded, warning each other of her presence, but her hard hawk-heart despised them. Let them natter away all they liked. She had more important things on her mind.

She was close to the face of the rock when she spotted Uncle Maurice. Rising, tilting her wings at right angles to the ground, she wheeled across the sheer surface and swept in for a better look. What she saw as she overflew him for a second time puzzled her and she decided to gear down and get closer. As a wood-pigeon she dropped down among the branches and made a clattery, feather-ruffling landing, making a mental note to remove that particular bird from her ‘possibles’ list. At least there was no harm done. The other woodland birds were well accustomed to clumsy pigeon landings, and if Uncle Maurice noticed at all, he gave no sign.

Tess cocked her head and looked down with one eye. Her uncle was standing at the foot of the crag, so close that he could have reached out and touched the bare rock where it rose from a jumble of large boulders, fallen from above. Now that she was close, she could hear that he was speaking but, as always when she was in animal form, Tess could not understand the words. She could, however, often get a sense of the mood of the speaker, and it seemed to her now that Uncle Maurice was pleading, or begging, or even praying.

But why at the rock-face? She Switched again, to a robin this time. It was the only bird that would, under normal circumstances, get as close to a human being as she now wanted to be. As she dropped down to the ground, she recognised where she was. It was where the wolfhound had appeared when she had been driven into the woods by Bran and Sceolan. She had passed it several times already that day, during her searches with Uncle Maurice, and each time he had hesitated, and called extra loud and extra long. It had given Tess the creeps then and it gave her the creeps now. She puffed out her feathers and ruffled them all, then hugged them, tight around herself again.

She was just about to hop closer, on to a nearby branch, when Uncle Maurice suddenly thumped the rock with his fist. It must have hurt, but he did it again anyway, and then again. The pleading tone in his voice had changed to one of anger. He kicked the rock with one foot, then the other, shouting at it, working himself into a frenzy of flailing boots and fists like a child having a tantrum.

The power of his anger was too much for the sensitive little bird. Tess hopped up through the branches and reverted to the sparrowhawk shape again to complete her aerial search of the woods.

It didn’t take long. Nothing worth seeing could escape the keen eyes of the hawk. On the assumption that if Kevin and the children were not in the woods then they must have left them, Tess flew high again and began to survey the surrounding countryside in slowly widening circles.

Still there was no sign. A pair of tourists were climbing up the other side of the mountain. A few more were on bicycles pedalling slowly along a meandering back lane. The usual sparse traffic of muddy cars and tractors crawled along the narrow roads.

Tess flew higher and widened the area of search. She flew over a farmer and her dog checking cattle, and a bird-watcher who watched Tess through binoculars, tempting her to give him a display of aerobatics that he would never forget. She flew over a boy on a bicycle, heading away from the area. There was something familiar about him, and she wheeled about and flew back. She lost height to get a closer look and then, unable to believe her eyes, she dropped on to a telegraph pole and watched as the boy on the bike approached. There was no doubt about it now. It was Kevin.

Tess dropped down behind the thick hedge and Switched back to her human self.

‘Kevin!’

He nearly fell off the bike with surprise, then came to a wobbly halt.

‘Here!’ Tess called, trying to find a break in the hazel wide enough to climb through.