Chapter 3 #2
She rooted around in her pockets for her phone, only to remember she’d left it on the counter in the community center. Damn it!
Wiping a shaky hand across her forehead, she turned around slowly, forcing herself to take in her surroundings.
She didn’t know where she was or how she’d gotten here, but there must be someone nearby that she could ask for help.
But as she scanned the terrain, she saw not another soul.
There were no farmhouses, no roads with cars crisscrossing the landscape, no walkers in brightly colored jackets or farmers in tractors.
Nothing. Just herself, the empty landscape, and a V shaped formation of honking geese crossing the sky.
“Okay,” she said aloud, just to hear the sound of her voice. “Don’t panic, Ellie. Don’t panic.”
Her words didn’t reassure her any. What on earth could be a rational explanation for this? One second she was standing by that willow tree, the next...
“Help!” she yelled at the top of her voice as the panic burst through her attempt at self-control. “Help! Can anyone hear me?”
Her voice sounded pitifully small in the vast landscape and was soon swallowed by the wind. Oh God. She needed to find a road. Or someone with a phone so she could call for help.
She scanned the landscape again and spotted a fold in the ground at the bottom of the hill. She couldn’t see what lay beyond it but it looked a likely place for a road to be. She swallowed thickly, pushed away the clamor of frightened thoughts, and began walking downhill.
As she descended the wind lessened a little, but as if to make up for this, the rain became heavier.
It had been light at first, hardly enough to wet her hair, but now it increased in intensity until it was hammering hard enough to make mud splash up from the ground and all but erase everything beyond a few meters away.
Elodie threw up her hands and glared up at the sky. “Aargh! Really? Thank you so much!”
She hadn’t even got a coat on and her jeans and pullover were soaked through in seconds. The ground beneath her feet became treacherous and Elodie felt herself slipping and stumbling as she picked her careful way down the hill.
Great. Oh, just great. Could anything else go wrong today?
Of course it could.
All of a sudden, her feet went flying out from under her, and she crashed to the ground with a startled yelp.
She slipped and slid down the hill, trying and failing to grab something, anything, to halt her fall.
Then something whacked into her head and white light exploded across her vision.
The last thing she heard as unconsciousness took her was a noise somewhere in the distance.
It sounded like the barking of a dog.
RONAN HUNCHED HIS SHOULDERS, pulling his plaid tighter around himself as the wind picked up. The narrow walls of the ravine amplified the wind’s power, sending it whipping through like a tempest. Bracing himself against the onslaught, he plowed onwards.
Skye and Bran, oblivious to the turn in the weather, ranged to either side of him, noses to the ground as ever. Ronan had long since given up hope of finding anyone today. Even the most desperate of folks would be unlikely to be abroad in this weather.
But Irene MacAskill was, he thought.
Irene MacAskill. His encounter with the strange old woman and her cat had left him profoundly uneasy. Who was she? And what was she doing out here all alone with only a cat for company?
Wrong question, Ronan, a voice whispered in the back of his mind. You shouldn’t be asking who she is, but what she is.
Where had he heard her name before? Had it been when he was a child and his tutors were teaching him the history of his ancestors and the fabled Order of the Osprey?
But that made no sense. The Order of the Osprey had fallen out of all knowledge over a hundred years ago.
So she couldn’t be the same Irene MacAskill associated with stories of the Order.
Could she?
He glanced up. The narrow strip of sky between the walls of the ravine had deepened from gray to an angry black.
The rain became heavier and he stifled a curse.
Time to go home. He whistled for the dogs to come to heel, but they didn’t.
Slewing around, he saw them both heading off in the opposite direction, sniffing the ground and wagging their tails.
“Bran! Skye! To me!”
They ignored him completely. Suddenly, they both began barking excitedly and took off up the ravine. Blasted hounds! If they were chasing that cat again they would both get a piece of his mind!
He trotted after them, cursing the dogs, the weather, Irene MacAskill and the world in general.
As he reached the end of the ravine and stepped out into open country, the storm blasted into him full force.
The wind was so powerful it made him stagger and he had to lean into it and squint to make out what lay ahead.
Before him, the path—such as it was—made its way over an undulating landscape of low, squat hills, covered with heather and straggling brush. Here and there a few gnarly trees grew from between boulders and stone outcroppings, clinging to life in this harsh terrain.
“Bran!” he yelled. “Skye!”
He could just make out the dogs in the distance.
They were clustered around something lying at the bottom of one of the hills and even through the howl of the wind he could hear their whining and excited barks.
With a muttered curse, Ronan marched towards them, trying to make out what had caught their attention.
From this distance he couldn’t see it clearly, just a splotch of yellow at the bottom of the hill. Definitely not Irene’s cat.
The dogs looked up at him as he reached them and whined. He crouched to get a look at the yellow splotch lying prone at the base of the hill and blinked in surprise.
It was a woman.
Her eyes were closed and she had dark hair spread around her head like a halo. Her clothing was odd—tight blue trews that clung to the contours of her legs and a bright yellow tunic. It was this that he’d spotted from a distance.
“Lass?” he said. “Are ye all right?”
There was no response. Ronan pressed his fingers to her neck to feel her pulse as Faye had taught him. It was strong and steady and her chest rose and fell with her breathing. He put a hand to her shoulder and shook her gently.
“Lass?”
She moaned a little and her eyelids flickered but she didn’t wake. He scanned her for injuries. There was nothing obvious but he noticed a slight discoloration on her temple, darkening to a bruise. She’d hit her head then.
He looked around, wondering if she might have companions nearby who would be looking for her.
He saw nobody. A single trail of footprints led from the top of the hill, showing that this was the direction from which she’d come.
He hesitated. Who was she? A refugee who’d been on her way to the waymeet and had fallen and hit her head?
But if so, why was she coming from this direction?
It didn’t matter. Whether she had been looking for him or not, she would die if he left her out here in the storm.
Kneeling in the mud, Ronan got one arm under her back and the other under her knees, and lifted her easily into his arms. Climbing to his feet, he adjusted his grip on her, then turned to face north, into the bite of the wind and rain.
She stirred as he lifted her, her eyes flickering briefly open. “Got to...” she mumbled. “Get back...where...”
“Easy lass,” he rumbled. “I’ve got ye. Ye are safe now.”
“Safe,” she muttered, her words slurring. “That’s nice.”
Her eyes fluttered closed and her head flopped against his shoulder.
He took the quickest way home. Normally, he would have chosen a roundabout route, doubling back and cutting through streams, erasing his footprints as he went.
It made things trickier but he’d learned from bitter experience that it was a necessary precaution if he wanted to keep his people safe.
But today he threw such caution to the wind.
The lass needed warmth and help as quickly as he could provide it, and besides, he was all but invisible in this storm anyway.
He was descending a muddy, slippery bank through a tree-covered dell when a voice ahead suddenly cried.
“Who goes there?”
The voice came disembodied from the woods but Ronan saw not a soul. Good. The guards were using the training he’d given them.
“It’s me, Eamon,” he called.