Tide (8 page)

Mike was determined to stand firm in spite of the pain, ready to help Niall if he needed it. There was no way he could interrupt him again. The Makara went to lower its beak to attack, desperate to put an end to the terrible sound that was ripping it apart – but its movements were slow and jerky now, and its huge body fell sideways, in a splash of foamy water and black blood.

Mike felt Niall swaying. “It’s nearly finished. Niall, do you hear me? You can do this!” he whispered in Niall’s ear. Niall seemed to hear, because his song rose even higher, roaring like the sea and the wind. Mike moaned in agony and fell on his knees, holding his bleeding ears, while the Makara thrashed and flailed and flung itself from side to side, until finally its movements juddered to a halt and the huge body was still.

And just in time, because Niall was spent. He doubled over and fell soaked and trembling onto the deck.

Mike shook his head, trying to get rid of the high-pitched sound that still resounded in his ears. He stood up slowly, slipping once on the wet deck and rising again, head spinning and every bone sore. He looked around him. Niall, drained but alive; Captain Young, standing frozen, leaning against the cargo; one, two …five men lying broken, senseless. The others had disappeared.

Mike forced his shaking limbs towards the parapet, panting in fear. He wasn’t convinced that the Makara was dead, he expected a tentacle to rise from the waters at any second – followed by that bony beak, ready to take his head off as it had Anders’.

Step after step, in the surreal silence, Mike reached the rail and wrapped his shaking hands around it. He looked at the waters, now calm and black, with patches of red. The crewmen’s blood.

And then the eye appeared above the waves, and the mound of its enormous, battered body. Mike let out a gasp and fell backwards, then scrambled to his feet quickly, sliding on the wet deck as he tried to make his way back to Niall as quickly as he could. He had to protect him at all costs.

“It’s dead!” called a voice. It was Captain Young.

Mike stopped for a tenth of a second, but he still made his way to Niall, throwing himself over him, ready to take the coming blow.

“It’s dead!” The captain repeated.

The blow wasn’t coming. Mike let himself rise slowly and crawled to the rail again. His heartbeat was hammering in his ears.

The eye was still there – Mike breathed in sharply as he saw it, but stayed where he was. He noticed the white film over it, and how the grey mass rolled and floated, carried by the ebb and flow of the waves.

Captain Young was right. The Makara was dead.

And so were most of the crew.

Even without a crew, the cargo ship was still afloat, together with the giant squid’s body. The waves, gentler again, cradled them both. Mike would have felt compassion, had he not just seen fourteen men being dragged down to their deaths, cut in two by the Makara’s beak, or strangled by its tentacles. Quickly he and Captain Young checked the men lying on the deck, looking for a pulse. Only one was still alive. Captain Young shook uncontrollably, his teeth chattering and his hands covered in the blood of his men.

He turned to Mike. “Why are you alive?” he whispered in the ghostly silence.

“You’re in shock,” said Mike kindly, but urgently. “You need to get this boat back to harbour. Any harbour. Now.”

“I said, why are you – and your friend – still alive?”

“We have no time for this, understand me? Snap out of it, man! Take us ashore!”

“We need to get out of here,” Niall reiterated. He was slumped against one of the doors, still white and weak, but recovering. Next to him was the only surviving crewman. A pained moan came from him.

“Did you hear that, Captain? Your man needs a doctor. Get your ass back inside. We need to go.” Mike took a step towards the bridge.

“You’re not going anywhere,” the captain answered in a low voice, his face full of despair for his lost men. But there was something else there: fury. He pointed a shaking finger, first at Mike and then at Niall. “It was you who called that thing. With that weird song. I know it. I feel it in my bones.”

“Captain Young,” Niall began. His voice trailed away. The man was right. It had been them who had called the Makara to the cargo ship, in a way. But Niall couldn’t explain that had it not been for people like them, the sea would be full of Makara – and other things – and there would be no ships sailing safely across any of the world’s oceans.

“My men are all dead. Or as good as,” he added, gesturing at the injured crewman. “You shouldn’t be alive,” he said calmly, and without warning picked up his gun and pointed it straight at Niall’s chest. Without hesitation, Mike lunged forward, grappling for the firearm.

It was all so quick, as the sound of shots filled the air. There was blood on the deck and on Niall’s hands as he crouched beside the captain, who lay with his eyes closed.

“Captain Young! No! Mike, what did you do!”

“What do you think I did? Look, it’s just a graze.” Mike pulled back the Captain’s jacket to reveal a small wound.

“He’s unconscious!”

“He knocked himself out. He’ll be fine. Now, let’s get these men downstairs. Shit, how do you steer a big-ass cargo ship?” Mike ran his hands through his cropped hair.

“I’ve steered motorboats before, but nothing as big as this. I can try.”

“Take us ashore. Before another of those big-ass squids comes calling.”

How can we speak

How can we listen

If there is no time and place

For us?

Sean and Elodie ran all the way to Sarah’s house. They were covered in soil and still reeling from the terrible encounter. Sean kept taking deep breaths, relishing the feeling of air entering his lungs. He opened the wrought-iron gate with his
sgian-dubh
, and they stepped inside. No locks could keep Sean out. He had ways to get wherever he wanted, leaving no trace of himself.

Sarah’s bare oak trees whispered a swaying welcome.

“Come inside,” whispered Sean to Elodie. “I can’t have you out here on your own.”

“Defenceless?” Elodie finished for him, grinning.

Sean brushed a smudge of soil off her cheek. “Hardly!” he said, smirking at the thought of how black her lips had been, how painful the Surari’s agony had looked as it died slowly. “But I still don’t want you to be alone.”

Elodie nodded and followed Sean onto the gravelly path and up the stone steps. Shadow was sitting in front of the door, a still and silent sentry – it was as if she’d known someone was coming. Sean admired the way Shadow came up to him, circling him with her tail tapping the ground, as if she had to defend Sarah – she was infinitely loyal. Shame she wasn’t able to tell friends and enemies apart.

She looked up at Sean with sheer hatred, refusing to let him by. Sean did what he had so often done before, quickly touching her between her eyes so fast that she couldn’t run away – she was asleep on the stone steps at once. One of the skills he had learnt in Japan, sending any creature to sleep with one touch. Like invisibility, like his runes, one that seemed to come easily to him, almost as natural as breathing.

Sean and Elodie made their way past Shadow’s still form and into the house. With a brief nod Sean went up the stairs, leaving Elodie standing sentinel against the front door in the darkness, silent and alert.

Sean stood in the doorway of Sarah’s room, and for a moment the desire to see her was so strong he had to stop himself from barging in, picking her up and holding her in his arms as he used to do. He made himself stop and draw a breath before opening the door slowly.

Sarah was in a deep sleep. The air was full of her perfume – something between peaches and a darker note, richer. Sarah’s own scent, the unique chemistry of her skin and her breath. Sean knew that scent from the many times she’d been close to him, from the many times he’d been in her room. He breathed it in – it was oxygen to him, the chance to fill his lungs with life again, to fill his heart with her presence.

He desperately wanted to hold her hands and keep her close to him. He wanted to see her eyes fill with relief when she saw him, as they had when he used to go to her after one of her terrible dreams. But he knew that when she woke up and saw him standing in her room, it’d be fear, not relief she’d feel – and he braced himself for it.

He also knew that her eyes, and her hands too, could hurt him badly – which was why he couldn’t wait a second longer, as much as he would have loved to have kept looking at Sarah’s black hair spread on the pillow, a white hand uncurled beside her lovely face, the rhythm of her back rising and falling under the sheet as she breathed in and out, slowly. He couldn’t risk for her to wake up, panic and use the Midnight gaze on him, or touch him with the Blackwater. He did what he had to do.

Sarah screamed as she felt someone grab both her wrists – she barely had an instant to see Sean’s face over hers, before he covered her eyes. She was blind, and his knee was on her chest, stopping her from filling her lungs – she instinctively started thrashing, trying to free herself, but it was no use. Sean was reeling with the absurdity of it. He was scaring Sarah, he was hurting Sarah. It made no sense. It couldn’t be happening.

It needs to be done. It needs to be done to save her life. But God, I wish there was another way.

“Sarah. Sarah, it’s me. You’re safe. It’s Sean …”

“Let me go!” Sarah struggled, trying to free her hands – she growled, and Sean knew that given half a chance, she’d strike, she’d hurt him. No sign of the vagueness that gripped her when Nicholas was around.

“Please, Sarah. Please. I need to speak to you,” he whispered.

“Let me go!”

“Just listen. Just give me the chance to explain.”

“Go away!”

“Sarah, please.” Sean begged again and again, but she wouldn’t stop writhing. He saw no other way but to lean on her with all his weight, waiting for her to exhaust herself and stop. He heard something snapping, a thin, small ripping somewhere – was she hurt? Sarah’s fingers felt hot already.
She’s so much quicker in calling her power than she used to be
, thought Sean, and for a second he felt proud of her, in spite of the circumstances.

A new wave of self-hatred washed over him as she struggled against him. Finally, she lay still. She was blinded by Sean’s hand, panting with the effort and with the weight on her chest.

“Sarah. Let me speak. Just for a moment.” Sean tried again.

“What do you want from me?” she whispered, her voice dripping with fear and fury.

“Tell me I can let go of your hands.”

“You can.”

“Will you use the Blackwater against me?”

“No.”

“Give me your word.”

“You have my word.”

Sean didn’t really know whether to believe her, of course. But he needed to give her a chance. He needed to give them both a chance to change that terrible scenario – it was too awful, too painful, to be laying into her the way he was.

“What have I done to you? What did Harry ever do to you? Why are you doing this?” she whispered.

“To save your life—” He was desperate for her to understand. “I couldn’t save Harry, but I can protect you.”

“Let me look at you. Take your hands away.”

“You’ll use the Midnight gaze on me.”

“No. No I won’t.”

“I don’t believe you, Sarah.”

Sarah tried to lift her knees in an attempt to kick him off her, but she couldn’t. He was a lot stronger. Sean leaned even more heavily on her chest, his fingers burrowing into her wrists. She tried to inhale, panicked and whimpered in pain. Sean closed his eyes. How had it come to this? He couldn’t believe it, he couldn’t believe he was doing this to her.
I’m actually hurting her. Hurting my Sarah. In what crazy twist of my mind has this ever happened? None of them. Ever
.

He felt a teardrop rolling between his fingers. Her breathing was heavy and fast, but her body was growing weary. She knew there was no way out.

I can’t do this
, thought Sean.
I can’t take it anymore. I can’t hurt her anymore.

In one swift, unexpected move, he lifted his hand from her eyes, freed her wrists and climbed off her to stand beside her bed. “There. You’re free. You can do whatever you want now.”

Sean waited for her to strike, praying she wouldn’t. His own survival wasn’t his first concern, though he certainly didn’t want to die.
How many of us are left to fight? How many more can we afford to lose, before there are no Secret heirs, no Gamekeepers left?

Sarah leapt to face him, and narrowed her eyes. The Midnight gaze. He folded into himself, beaten. It was over.

And when he was gone, who would she have beside her? Who would be loyal to her until the end? What an idiot he had been. He should have kept going. He should have held her down, and now it was too late. Her survival instinct had taken over – the Midnight instinct for the hunt, just like when she had slaughtered the demon-slave that had killed Leigh. She wasn’t Sarah anymore. She was a Midnight huntress, and he didn’t stand a chance.

But as he watched, Sarah blinked over and over again, until the deadly green light from her eyes finally dimmed, and she didn’t strike, she didn’t try to touch Sean with the Blackwater. She was standing in a pool of moonlight that seeped from the silvery curtains.
She’s like the moon,
he thought,
white and pure and never quite within my reach.

“Sarah. Sarah. Please listen to me. I didn’t kill Harry. I’m sorry I lied to you,” he said, the words tumbling over themselves as he tried to make her believe him.

I love you.

“I had no choice.”

I love you.

“I wanted to tell you the truth, but there was never a right time.”

I love you.

His voice trailed away. He sounded feeble and somehow weak, even to his own ears. It was as if the truth was too complicated to convey. As if the breach of trust could never be repaired.