Corrag (32 page)

I went in, panting, and I saw a bright, orange flash in the west, and burst of grey smoke. There was a second flash, and a third, and I heard the
bang
of the muskets echo back to me, from the heights. I thought of the legends—of these ancient warriors who slept beneath the hills, who may rise up with their swords to protect the glen, and I thought
rise up now. Now is your time, to rise up and fight. Your people are in danger. Your glen is being plundered and set alight, and inked with blood. Rise up!
And yet they slept. So I shouted
rise up
as I ran. I said
rise up now!
For I could not save the MacDonalds of Glencoe on my own. I knew I was too small and too slow, too human to save them on my own, and I was praying to all things, now—the sky, the snow, the eyes in trees, the eagles, the rocks, the shadows which moved as I passed them, and the ones that did not move—to be with me as I ran, to quicken my feet and strengthen my hands.
Rise up
I asked them. I had never been so afraid.

I came to Achtriochtan and they were already dead.

It was an awful sight. Their chimney still smoked, but they were not beside it, sleeping—not now. Old Man Achtriochtan was face in the snow, hands outstretched, and his skull was blown away. The back of his head was not there anymore—instead, there was redness, and a thin line of snow settled on his hair. I thought I saw two of his fingers move, briefly, as if had only just been shot—but when I crouched down beside him there was no breath, or heartbeat in his wrist. His eyes were shut. His mouth was partly open. Beside him, was his brother who was half-lost in the snow. I gasped, and looked up. Behind the house, I heard another shot. I thought
that is his wife. She is also gone.
And as I thought this, I saw three redcoats dragging her body out. Her apron grew redder as she was dragged.

She had kissed me twelve hours before. Said
eat
to me.

Run.
I left Achtriochtan—for what could I do? What could be done? He could not tell his poems, now. He could not nod, as I passed him by, and she could not sing, and I wiped my eyes, said
do not mourn them yet—run west, run west
and I ran to where the sky was flashing, and dark with smoke. Here, there was screaming. There had been silence, before. As I’d knelt by the dead old man, I’d heard no sound till the
bang
of his wife. But now, it was noise—screaming, and crying, and the muskets were so loud their sound was breaking the snow on the highest peaks so that it came down with a roar, and bringing rocks with it. I saw a person fleeing up into the heights, who was buried in it. Lost in the snow.

I shielded my eyes. I had to peer through the smoke which stung, and look for faces—and I saw some. Amongst the snow and smoke, I saw the red-headed family from Achnacon were hurrying through trees with their cloaks tied up, and bundles pressed to them which were maybe food, or bairns. I watched them flee, and thought
yes, go!
And I saw a grey-haired couple making their way up the slopes, hand in hand, and I thought
hurry—do not stop till Appin
. As I moved on, a redcoat came out to me. I wailed—but he had no sword or musket. He was weeping. He was a boy—so young, and pale—and he knelt down upon the snow and wrapped his arms about himself. Just a small boy.

I rushed to him. I grabbed him by his arms and said
why are you killing us? What is this? Talk!

He shook his head. He mumbled
there is a dead man over there…His face…

I shouted
tell me!

There was mucus running from his nose, and he sobbed, said
they were the orders.

To kill?

He nodded.

To kill who?

The Chief.
His eyes closed up.
All of them—but mostly the Chief. His sons…

I let go of him. I stepped back, said very quietly
why?

He wailed. He opened his small, pink mouth and said
the oath was late. It didn’t count…
And he pressed his face down to his knees like a child, and I left him—for he was not killing. He was as scared as me.

I hated this. I hated how the snow was melting in the heat of houses on fire, so the grass was showing itself, and old ferns. I hated that Achnacon was blazing, as I came to it, and its flames were so fierce that I could not be near it, and had to run by with one arm up, shielding me. Its sparks fell down with the snow. Its ash came down upon me, and I heard men’s voices. I heard one say
there! That woman!
And some tried to grasp me as I ran. One fired a musket. I heard the
bang,
felt the rush of air as it passed me, and a bite, and the smell of powder, and later I would find a blackened streak upon my bodice where the shot grazed me, and some blood.

I yelped, at this. I felt a pain.

But I did not stop. I wanted to make it to Carnoch—to save who I could, to warn who was left. Alasdair would have warned most of them, but all? Perhaps not all.
Perhaps Carnoch does not burn yet.
So I left burning Achnacon—but as I did, I glanced to my right where the midden was. A shape was on it. It was a star-shape, so I cried
no…
I tumbled over to it and grabbed the body and hauled the man over. It was Ranald the piper who had once picked blackberries with me. Very dead. Run through the neck with a blade, so his head was almost a hat for his neck—half-raised in
hello
.

I retched then. I vomited up on the midden.

I vomited again as I pulled what I could of Ranald from that place, for he deserved better. A midden is no dying place.

I closed his eyes, and re-settled his head. I tried to make him look like it was a gentle death.

Keep him safe, in the realm. Give him a peace that he deserves.

There! There!
It was an English voice. And I turned to see soldiers pointing at me, saying
there! Her!
And one of them I recognised. One of them was the cloud-haired man with the button eyes—the one who had wept in a ditch, talked of ghosts, and I had felt so sorry for him, as I had passed that ditch. Now? I did not feel sorry. I felt so black for him, so desperate, so that I screamed out
how can you do this? They were your hosts! How could you?
He heard me. I could tell from his face, and he lowered the hand that had pointed at me. Others said
there! Get that one!
And I had to run on after that.

I ran over the body of a woman, musket-done.

There was a hand, in the snow. A hand, on its own.

I took myself to Inverrigan. The house in the woods, by the bend in the Coe. Where once I had mended a toothache. Where there had been a dog who’d lie on her back when she saw me, to have her belly stroked, and I ran to it. I moved in amongst the trees. There were many soldiers there, packing their muskets with powder or cleaning their blades, and I felt arms try to catch me as I ran through, smelt their breath and sweat, and blood, and when one hand caught my hair, and grasped it, I spun to face the man. I screamed with all my power. I flashed my eyes and bore my teeth, and I think Cora was with me at that moment—she was in me, roaring. She was stormy-eyed and bloodied. She made the soldier let go of me, back away, say
witch…

When I came to Inverrigan, it was too late to help.

The house was not burning. It stood as it always stood—but behind it, in the snow, were all the Inverrigan men. They were tied up, and lying down in a line. They were shoulder to shoulder, all on their back. All were dead. The last of them was a child—the jug-eared boy who’d shared honeycomb with me.

I sobbed. I stamped a foot weakly, and wiped my nose on my arm. Why did they not go south? And flee? Why did they not heed Alasdair, for he would have told these men. He would have knocked on their door, said
run…
I made a sound like a dog—a howl—and I could not see well for the tears which pricked. Alasdair had said
I will warn them
. But they were tied up and lying down, and dead—even a boy. I saw his dead face, and remembered it when it was living—laughing, with honey on its chin.

You cannot help them now,
I thought.
Carnoch. Go there now. Save them.

I turned. But a man grabbed my arm. I scratched, and fought the man. But he was saying
Corrag! Corrag! It is me.

It was Iain. He was wild-eyed, and his hair was grey with ash. He had a rash of blood upon his cheek, as if someone had died near him, and he took me by the shoulders and said
run. Don’t stay here. They are killing everyone—women and children are dying
.

I tried to speak.

Go,
he said. And then he glanced behind me, to where the nine lives were gone. I saw his eyes widen. I saw how sad he looked, and as he looked upon the bodies he whispered to me,
get yourself away, Sassenach.

Why are you all still here?
I asked.
Why? I told Alasdair! He said he would warn you all!

And he did. He warned us. But some did not heed him.

I kicked the side of the house, sobbed.
Why did they not heed him? Why not?
I said,
you must run, too. They are after you, and your father—a soldier said so. Make for the coast. For Appin.

We go there now. Come with us.

No.

They will kill you, Corrag. They are killing every living soul…

I must save who I can save, Iain. There must be some who are still hiding, or who are hurt. I must save them…

Corrag! There are three-score of them! With muskets and blades and what do you have? Your heart? Eyes?

I shook my head.
Iain,
I said,
will you tell Alasdair? That I have stayed? Tell him why I have stayed, and that he must keep his family safe, and himself safe—for always? In case I don’t survive the night? Tell him?

Then he stepped back from me, let go. He gave one hard breath. He glanced about the trees, said
I cannot. He is not with us. He will not come.

I stood. I stared for a moment. Then I bent at the waist, like it hurt.
He has not made for Appin?

No. He’s still in the glen. Somewhere…

I vomited again. I did it in the snow, by his feet, crouching. I wiped my mouth, and whimpered, and when I straightened, I said
why? Why did he stay? He said he would flee! He told me he would flee…

Briefly, Iain put his hand on my shoulder. He opened his mouth, but had no words.

I ran from him. I pressed my teeth together, and charged through the trees, and felt so cross at his wet-earth hair and wide smile and his stubborn ways for he was meant to be safe, and yet he was still here? In the glen? It was the fighter in him. His nature, his ways—and I charged past some soldiers. I ran through a herd of goats which had broken free, and were bleating with fear, shifting their eyes. I fell out into the fields where once there had been fire to celebrate a birth, and dancing, but the fire was houses blazing now. I slid on melting ice. I slid straight into two soldiers and feared they would draw out their dirks and finish me, so I grappled with them, said
let me go,
but they backed away and did not hurt me. They said to me
don’t stay here
. And they looked more afraid than anyone I’d seen—more hopeless.

Not all soldiers murdered that night. Note that down.

But I did not note it. I noted nothing, for all I had was
let him still be living
in my head. I said it loudly, into the air. I hoped Carnoch might not be ablaze.

But it was. Of course it was.

All its houses were burning. There were cows roaring, rolling their eyes, and I called out his name above all the noise. I screamed it. I heard a dog barking, and Bran came to me. He licked my face as I knelt to him and I asked him where Alasdair was—
where is he Bran? Good dog. Where is he?
—but he did not know. He left me, and galloped west, to the loch.

Their house had fallen in on itself. There was nothing left to it. I prayed that Sarah and her baby had made their way south-and-west, and was sure they had. Surely they had. He would have warned them, and they would have fled. Then I went to the edge of the Coe where the great house stood, and its stone and glass was not fully burning yet, but inside I could hear a clattering and a breaking of things, and I saw there were redcoats inside. Looting. Taking his silver and cow-horn drinking cup. His books. His antlers from the wall.

I saw him, too. The MacIain.

I took myself about the side of the house. I stumbled, anxious, and I came upon a window which was broken, and its wall torn down. There he was. There was the MacIain—and I am minded not to tell you how I saw him. He was a man of dignity in life, of grandeur. But he was not so in death. He was shot as he climbed out of bed to meet his guests, who must have walked into his chamber with false, dark smiles and their muskets hid behind their backs, and what might he have said?
Gentlemen! Welcome! What troubles you, at such an hour?
Maybe. But I know he was lying on his belly, a hole in his back, and his trousers only halfway up. An ignoble death. A wrong death. It makes me doubly sorry and sick, in my heart, to think of it.