Wild Blood (10 page)

‘Oh, Switch, for cripe’s sake,’ said Kevin. ‘There’s no one about.’

She did, just for a moment, slipping easily through in the shape of a stoat before emerging on to the road as a human again.

‘Where are you going?’ she asked. ‘Where are the others?’

‘What others?’ asked Kevin.

Tess was surprised at the anger her reply revealed. ‘You know perfectly well who I’m talking about!’

But Kevin was angry, too. ‘I’m sick of you, Tess!’ he shouted back. ‘First you promise to set up a scheme for me and then you back out and drop me in it on my own. Then, when it backfires in my face, you don’t even come and look for me! You just leave me to try and cope with it and carry on as though nothing had happened!’

‘Oh, right,’ said Tess, discovering that she was shouting as well. ‘So you kidnap my cousins to get your own back!’

‘I what?’

For a moment, Tess believed that Kevin’s astonishment was genuine. Then she remembered what she had seen; his expression as he snubbed his nose at them the last time she saw him.

‘It’s a good act, Kevin,’ she said. ‘But it doesn’t cut any ice with me. I saw you, remember? I was there when you went off with them into the woods.’

Kevin shook his head in bewilderment. ‘I don’t know which one of us is cracked, but I haven’t got a clue what you’re talking about. I haven’t been anywhere near the woods since I left the rats there.’

‘But I saw you!’

‘No, Tess. You didn’t. You couldn’t have done. It must have been someone else.’

Tess shook her head. ‘Where were you, then,’ she said, ‘if you weren’t at the woods?’

‘This is ridiculous,’ said Kevin. ‘Getting the third degree from you, of all people! But if you must know, I was back at my camp site.’

‘All this time?’

‘Yes, all this time. I was wondering if you were ever going to turn up!’ His face coloured with embarrassment, but he went on. ‘I was angry and lonely, Tess. I couldn’t believe that you didn’t come and see if I was all right.’

Tess sat down on a rock. Her spirit kept doing somersaults, then landing flat on its face. She wanted to believe what Kevin was saying; his friendship meant so much to her. And yet she had seen him with her own eyes. He had to be lying.

Kevin sat down beside her. ‘What did you see, Tess?’ he asked. ‘You’d better tell me what’s happening.’

Tess struggled with the idea that he was playing some awful trick on her, then gave in to trust. Feeling slightly foolish, she went through the events of the day from beginning to end. Kevin listened carefully, looking down at the ground between his feet. When she had brought him up to the present, he shook his head in bewilderment.

‘I don’t know what’s going on,’ he said. ‘I can’t even begin to explain it. But I can tell you one thing for certain. Whoever it was that you saw in the woods today, it wasn’t me.’

‘Who was it, then?’ said Tess.

Kevin shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Your guess is as good as mine. Maybe someone who looks very like me. Maybe …’ He stopped.

‘Maybe what?’

‘I don’t know. But do you remember asking me once if I had noticed anything strange about those woods?’

Tess nodded and he went on, ‘Well, what if there is something we haven’t thought of yet? We get complacent so easily, even people like us who have seen so much. Especially us, perhaps. We think we’ve seen all there is to see, or been all there is to be. But maybe we haven’t. Maybe there are things even we haven’t imagined.’

Tess nodded, aware of the tingle of truth in her veins. She knew that he was right. There was something in those woods that she didn’t understand. What was more, she didn’t want to understand it. It made her much too afraid. It was easier to turn away, to keep close to Uncle Maurice, to pretend it wasn’t happening. And when Kevin came even nearer to defining what it was, his words brought increasing fear along with them.

‘Whatever is in those woods,’ he said, ‘made me think of the krools. Not because it’s bad, necessarily. It might be. I don’t know. But it reminded me of them because it’s old. Older than we are, Tess. Older than civilisation, even.’

Tess nodded, remembering the shadows, the strange figure, the ghostly atmosphere.

‘Whatever it is we’re dealing with,’ Kevin went on, ‘it’s ancient.’

T
ESS TOOK TO THE
skies again to have a look around. She flew back towards the farm and spotted Uncle Maurice walking away from the woods and back across the meadows, his eyes downcast. The dogs were at his heels, equally dejected.

While Tess patrolled above, Kevin cycled back along the narrow, meandering roads and down the stony track which led to the crag. At the edge of the woods he hid his bicycle among thick stalks of hazel and, satisfied that they hadn’t been spotted, Tess dropped down and joined him in human form.

Together they stood looking in among the trees. Evening was approaching and shadows were beginning to creep out from beneath the rocks and bushes. The raven flew over, looking down at them, making Tess feel exposed, and vulnerable. She stepped forward and Kevin followed.

Among the branches a bird fluttered and a leaf fell. Everything else was silent. Even though she felt much safer with Kevin beside her, Tess found that she was holding her breath. Despite the fresh, vibrant greens of the mosses and leaves, the woods were eerie. Like a stone circle or an earthwork, they had the atmosphere of a place which belonged to another age, a place where the living were somehow as insubstantial as the dead.

The two friends stayed close together as they made their way through the trees, keeping roughly parallel to the crag, calling occasionally as they went. Gradually the birds became accustomed to their presence and began to sing again, making the woods seem less forbidding. When they reached the opposite end and came out of the trees and on to the limestone pavement, Kevin sat down and shook his head.

‘It doesn’t make sense,’ he said.

‘I know,’ said Tess.

‘No. I mean, it doesn’t make sense to search like this.’

‘Why?’ asked Tess.

‘Because humans are the worst thing to be. You should do it, Tess. As a dog or a hawk or something.’

But Tess shook her head. ‘I’ve already covered the place from the air. And I’m not going in there on foot. Not on my own, whatever form I’m in.’ She told him about the wolfhound she had met, but found that she couldn’t bring herself to mention the antlered figure, even to him. ‘And in any case,’ she finished, ‘Uncle Maurice has just been here with Bran and Sceolan. Surely they would have found the kids if anyone could.’

Kevin sighed. ‘I suppose there’s no alternative, then,’ he said, standing up and moving towards the woods again. ‘But there doesn’t seem to be much point, really, does there? I mean, if they were in there, surely they would have been found by now?’

Tess had to agree. ‘But what can we do? We can’t just give up on them.’

They had just entered the woods again when the sudden scuttle of a startled rat made them both stop. For a long moment Kevin stared at the spot where the worm-like tail had disappeared, and then he said, ‘I can’t believe we’re being so stupid. Why are we wasting our time searching for the kids when there’s bound to be someone here who saw where they went.’

‘Of course!’ said Tess. ‘The rats!’

Kevin nodded. ‘But I’d better leave it to you to talk to them this time. I don’t think I’m in their good books.’

They moved on towards the centre of the woods, where they would have the best chance of gathering all the rats. Then, while Kevin settled himself among the trees, Tess walked a short distance away and Switched. To a human the woods appeared quiet and empty, but to a rat they were anything but. The surroundings were alive with rustlings and squabblings and a profusion of irritable images as the farm rats continued their unwilling resettlement. For a few moments the altered perceptions were disorientating, but it didn’t last long. By now Tess’s rat form was nearly as familiar as her human one and, since her rat mind was scarcely concerned at all with the worries that beset her as a human, Tess found it oddly comforting. She had a sudden insight into the way Kevin felt and his reasons for wishing that he had remained in rat form, but before she could dwell on it, he flashed her a reminder of her business. ‘Tail Short Seven Toes having a snooze, huh?’ In his thought projection he used the name that had been given to her by the Dublin rats more than a year ago. To have a name she needed some kind of distinguishing mark, and one of the city rats had obliged her by biting off the end of her tail. Kevin sent another image; of Tess in rat form sitting in the lotus position, eyes closed.

‘Tail Short Seven Toes meditating, huh?’

In return, Tess sent an image of Kevin in a huge glass of lemonade, floating around among berg-sized ice-cubes. ‘Boy chill out, huh?’

But she got the message. She listened until she could hear nothing that sounded threatening, then sent out a gentle Rat invitation.

‘Usguys gathering, huh? Usguys telling stories huh, huh?’

Rats are basically sensuous creatures; they love to eat and sleep and bring up their young as safely as possible. But Tess had learnt that they also love stories and often told them as a way of transmitting information about their surroundings and the world beyond. Tess had spent hour after hour telling her Switching stories to the rats at home in Dublin, and had become known as something of a star performer. But on this occasion she was eager to listen, not to tell.

The rats finished what they were doing before making their way along the network of subtle little pathways which criss-crossed the woods. They came in dribs and drabs and in no particular hurry, so the meeting had a casual air about it. Tess waited patiently, greeting the rats as they arrived, exchanging scents and names. There was an extremely awkward moment when the group of kitchen adolescents arrived, but their mother was far too busy instructing them on the rules of introduction to bother about an old argument with Tess. By the time she had disciplined them into orderly and respectful behaviour, the numbers had swelled surprisingly. Beyond the gathering a few stragglers were still arriving, but Tess decided there was no need to wait any longer. As soon as the introductions were over, she began the story-telling procedure herself by giving the gathered rats the image of the old one-toothed rat, hanging dead by his tail from Uncle Maurice’s hand. A wave of sorrow passed through the assembly and there was a brief, respectful silence. Then the other rats began to tell their stories.

Tess had to work hard to hide her amusement. With minor variations, the accounts of the last two days were the same. The rats had been happy at the farm but they had believed the Big Foot who knew their language and they had followed him with fear and trembling to the woods. Everything was exaggerated, from the surprise at being woken to the promises of an idyllic haven. Tess was particularly amused by their image of Kevin, which was about as unflattering as it was possible to be. She glanced across to where he sat, in beast-learnt silence among the trees. He winked back, clearly glad that the rats didn’t know he was there. They were very angry with him. No sooner had they arrived in the promised land than they had been invaded by dogs and a great many Big Feet tramping everywhere.

A human being is huge to a rat; earth-shakingly heavy and genuinely frightening. But in their telling of the day’s events, the rats were outrageously magnifying the size and numbers of the searchers. Uncle Maurice and the businessmen crashed back and forth, their feet colossal and clumsy, crushing rocks and making craters in the ground. Even her own trainers appeared as killing machines, and the care she always took when walking in the countryside was distorted by the rats into purposeful malevolence. The dogs were monstrous bloodhounds with noses that vacuumed up whole litters of baby rats and blew away the carefully constructed nests of the beleaguered settlers. The images piled upon each other, exaggeration upon exaggeration, giving the impression that there was barely a square foot of the woods that had not been occupied all day by massive, tramping feet. Tess listened patiently, showing her appreciation by joining the occasional chorus of ‘yup, yup,’ and waiting for the excitement to run its course. When everyone had calmed down a bit, it was possible that she might get some more accurate information.

But suddenly an absurd image entered the babble. The pictures of huge, stomping boots were being repeated again and again, almost like a drumbeat or a chant. But thrown in among the big feet, like the tinkling of a little bell, was a tiny pair of red ones.

Tess focused as hard as she could, waiting for the stray image to return and hoping to identify the rat that had produced it. Sure enough it came again, bright and ridiculous among the almost military drabness. The picture was coming from somewhere on the left-hand side of the crowd, and the third time it was sent, Tess zoned in.

The rat who had seen the red wellies was fully grown but very small compared to the rest of the fat, meal-fed rats. There was something odd about her as well; she was sitting on her haunches and nodding fervently, like some religious zealot of the rodent world. With a faint shock, Tess realised that she had seen her before, and at the same time she remembered where. She had met her in the hall-way on her first visit to the rat world beneath the farm, and she had flashed her that strange, poetic welcome. She had forgotten it at the time because of the argument in the kitchen, but now that she thought about it she began to wonder whether the rat who had sent it was the full shilling. If not, the sighting of the red wellies might prove to be unreliable.

The story of the Big Feet was still continuing. While she waited for it to come to an end, Tess glanced over at Kevin again. But this time he was not looking towards her but away, at something deeper in the woods. For a reason that she didn’t understand, the sight gave Tess the creeps.

She turned back to the gathering and joined the chorus of ‘yup, yups’ that greeted the end of the story. The protocol of such occasions required that she, as the visitor, now tell another one, but as politely as she could she declined the honour and, in the general melee that followed, she made her way over to the strange, dissenting rat.