The Black North (7 page)

‘You'll be fine now,' said Merrigutt. ‘You'll be safe with so many.'

Sounds like she's trying to convince herself
, thought Oona.

‘And looks like you're not the only child either,' said Merrigutt.

And Oona could've counted the number of children without needing both hands – all of them were seated high, as much distance between them and the White Road as could be managed.

The jackdaw swapped Oona's shoulder for a branch, the first hint that she was about to leave. ‘Don't stop,' Merrigutt told her, ‘not for anything.' The jackdaw's eyes went to Oona's cloak – the bird had ordered Oona to hide Granny Kavanagh's gift there, alongside the kitchen knife. ‘And if anyone tries to take anything from you – fight like you've never fought yet and run and don't slow till you the see the sea!'

‘Where will you be?' asked Oona.

‘I'll need to round up the other women,' said Merrigutt. ‘We've things of our own to do, plenty of watching that needs to be done. But we'll be checking on you all, when we can find any time.' The jackdaw's head was flick-flick-twitching all the time, its gaze going everywhere, watching, appraising. Then its look rested once more on Oona's cloak. ‘Take care of yourself now,' said Merrigutt.

Off, away high, the jackdaw's wing-beats left only the faintest ruffle on such stillness, and Oona was left alone on the edge of the White Road.

Oona allowed herself a few moments, and then was down the slope and accepted into the exodus without welcome or question or hello. There was nothing to do but walk. Oona would've liked to scream just to see what it did. She didn't – she behaved, and walked on without words, just like the rest. But she watched.

Oona saw a pair of boys a bit younger than herself go by. Both were pale-haired, pale-skinned, noses scattered with a trowelful of freckles. Their appearance said to Oona –
twins
. They were standing at the top of a cart, arms out stiff to keep balance. Oona knew that if one went to fall the other would grab and she recognised the game she and Morris had played in the high reaches of the forest around the Kavanagh cottage: private, quiet, something just for them two. An ancient mare was dragging their cart, pulling their world along on big, wheezing wheels with their mother walking alongside, head lowered.

Oona let her gaze fall to her feet: her toes were already white. She knew each step was taking her South, was taking her from everything. Maybe to safety, but most important of all to her, the thought of which she couldn't let go: each step was taking her further from her brother.
I would know if Morris was dead
, Oona told herself.
Somehow, don't know how, but I'd know it if he were gone. I'd know if I was alone.

Then things changed –

No screams, but things shifting. Was there a tremble against Oona's soles? In her bones? Oona stopped and turned to see.

Carts were being tossed high, toppling, everything tumbling –

The pair of pale-haired, pale-skinned boys began to cry with a mewling like newborn kittens, ‘Mammy, what's happening? Mammy?'

But Oona knew what would happen.

A ripple that raced, things underground rushing to tip – the twins were falling, the mother thrown aside. The boys struck ground and cried out and their looks went anywhere, to everywhere, to anybody that might help or explain or save. Last of all, to Oona. But she couldn't have helped – not even time for a final word and the twins were gone. Tugged down into the earth.

And everywhere the same. All along the road was the crying, the pleading, the vanishing –

There was nothing Oona could do but save herself. She ran, leaping places where the ground had sunken and was being shifted as she heard voices shouting –

‘No one move! You're all under arrest in the name of the King!'

A quick glance back – rifles appearing, then Invaders, their uniforms a perfect blending-in of what surrounded. Mostly, Oona saw mouths emptying words –

‘Get down!'

‘Hands in the air!'

‘Stop crying!'

‘Get away from that hole, you can't help him now!'

Oona reached the same slope she'd descended minutes before and fought her way up, eyes on the forest. It might be a corruption of its former self but still she saw the trees of Drumbroken as sanctuary. She hoped herself unnoticed. But always, there was one –

‘There, someone's escaping! Stop her!'

Oona dragged herself on hands and knees and fingers, soon scrambling, but the earth was too loose beneath and too keen to send her sliding back to waiting rifles and waiting White Road seething with waiting Briar-Witches. And when Oona next looked up it was a rifle that met her. A mouth behind it promised, ‘Move an inch and I'll blow your barbaric little brains out!'

Oona half-stood, half-raised her hands, some instinct making her. She thought of her knife in her cloak but knew she couldn't be quick enough to retrieve it.

‘That's a good girl,' said the Invader. Oona still didn't see all of him, his uniform coloured the same kind of decay as the forest behind. But she saw his grin, his mouth shivering a little with laughter.

Then another stronger instinct crept over Oona – defiance. She let her hands fall.

‘I said keep them up!' the Invader told her.

‘No,' said Oona. ‘Shoot me if you want.'

‘I'll do worse,' said the Invader. ‘We'll take you North with all the other children and then you'll wish you'd done as I said!' His eyes wandered, going to the White Road behind Oona. ‘But he's not too keen on the girls, the King of the North, so I'll just let those creatures underneath have you, eh?'

The Invader jammed his rifle into Oona's belly. She slipped, then slid all the way down and stopped herself just on the edge of the White Road.

The Invader was at her back with his rifle saying, ‘Walk! Go!'

Oona could only be forced on, no choice. Her toes touched white and claws exploded from the ground –

Instinct: Oona turned and swung a fist and caught the Invader's cheek. He swore, spat, aimed at her and –

A flash of feather-claw-beak –

Jackdaws fell like they'd had forgotten flight and attacked – the birds took to the Invader's hands and legs, covered him, pinning him to the ground. One jackdaw took his tongue in its beak to keep him quiet. A familiar weight fell on Oona's shoulder with a familiar voice of disapproval: ‘I left you not five minutes ago and already look at the trouble you're in!'

‘Not my fault,' said Oona. ‘I was walking like you said and –'

But the Invader smothered in jackdaws managed to shout, ‘Help! Help me!'

‘Go!' Merrigutt told Oona. ‘Keep to the trees and we'll draw them off!' Merrigutt took to the air and Oona to the slope.

Then Oona stopped, turned. And made her decision. She went back into the valley of Drumbroken – only moments alone before Merrigutt returned to chide, ‘What in blazes are you doing? You're going the wrong way! I said to follow the Road South!'

‘Nowhere's safe now,' said Oona, running.

‘What?' said Merrigutt. ‘South is the only way and –'

‘– North is the way they've taken Bridget and my brother and everyone else!' said Oona. She ran faster – the fire of an idea made her fleet. ‘Morris is still alive, I know it. And King or no King and Black North or not, I'm going to follow, and I'm going to find him!'

‘– and I hope you know what you're getting yourself into, my girl! But I'd place a farmer's bet that you don't!' Merrigutt, badgering and flapping. Oona didn't know where the jackdaw found the energy to keep on at her. ‘And just off on a whim! Just like a Kavanagh: no stopping nor thinking it out first!'

Oona had no breath left to tell the jackdaw to give it a rest. And if she'd discovered a breath it wouldn't have been wasted on words: there was too much climbing to be done, too much stepping over and slipping and squeezing through the tangle and disintegration of the dispell. But Merrigutt with plenty of breath said: ‘Where in blazes are we going anyway? Top of this slope and then where? Tell me that!'

Oona thought but didn't bother saying – top of the Western slope, then up and along the ridge, then on down. Then where, though? Follow the River Torrid? The next county North was Ballyboglin, but how safe was it there? Not safe at all, if Bridget's words were to be relied on –
Crawling in like lice, trying to destroy Ballyboglin, make it Black as the North
! And like her own nagging doubt flying beside, Merrigutt still kept on with, ‘You're just going to dander on into the Black North to find this twin brother of yours? A brother that even if he's somehow still living is probably on his way to see the King of the North! And what then? If we're planning on coming face to face with the King then what –'

‘Oh hell's bells, would you ever shut up, woman!' shouted Oona. She had to slow – she hardly had energy left to stand, exhaustion making a mess of her as she staggered and sniffed and gasped.

Merrigutt said, ‘The cheek of you to talk to me like that! And after I helped you!'

‘Quiet,' said Oona. ‘I'm thinking of things.'

‘What things?' asked Merrigutt. The jackdaw flew on ahead, stopping on a branch so she could perch and preach without interruption. ‘I hope these thoughts are for how you're going to survive in the Black North, how to not get yourself captured. Or is it how to find food not befouled or water not polluted, or air not feeling like glass when you breathe it in? And keep this in your mind – that's even if we manage to cross the Divide itself!'

‘Oh, give it a bloody rest,' said Oona. She didn't shout: couldn't. She slowed, and then stopped: the slope too sheer. ‘A wee minute,' said Oona, sinking. ‘Rest a minute here.'

‘Why?' asked Merrigutt. ‘Oh, I see – planning on some prayer for your answers, are we?'

Oona half-turned, looked – the jackdaw was perched on a tree relieved of its limbs, the trunk cut short and worked into a shape. Oona blinked: it was the shape of a woman, the shape of the Sorrowful Lady. But it was such a rough likeness, as though someone had just hacked and hacked at the oak and discovered something like the image of the Lady cowering inside. Always she was cowering – Oona had never seen the Lady any way else. Even so, the sight gave Oona some pause, and stirred something in her. Though she didn't often bother with believing, she felt something close enough to hope.

The Sorrowful Lady's heart glowed: a rough cavity had been cut to contain candles, some looking new and others with hardly any height left, but all scarlet, wax bleeding free and solidifying around offerings of winter flowers, woodcarvings the size of children's noses, and some things that looked to Oona edible.

‘I wouldn't take anything from there,' said Merrigutt. ‘Looks and smells rotten to me.'

Oona ignored the jackdaw.

She did her duty before she took, kneeling at the Lady's roots, closing her eyes and recalling whatever pieces of prayer she could. It took some forcing herself, but Oona begged help, guidance, strength, sustenance …
Oh Sorrowful Lady, please aid me in my humble need! Please watch over and protect me with your warmth and light! Please provide for me!

That should be enough, thought Oona.

She opened her eyes and stood and took: from the Sorrowful Lady's chest she plucked blackberries and hearth-bread, a shrunken yellow apple with a faint red blush and a vial of what Oona knew was whiskey. She ate and drank all, and knew that Merrigutt was watching everything.

‘I didn't think the people of the South put faith in Sorrowful Ladies or Good Women or Merciful Maids,' said the jackdaw. ‘You got rid of all your Worshipping Houses, did you not? Invaders have been doing the same up North – dragging all into the marsh and dumping them there, leaving them to sink.'

‘Well,' said Oona, pressing fingertips to lips, licking up every drip and crumb, ‘the way you talk about the Black North, I'd say we'll be needing any and all the help we can get. Doesn't matter to me as long as it keeps me fed and watered for another while. Not agree?'

Merrigutt said nothing, which to Oona meant the jackdaw agreed but didn't want to say.

‘We need to keep on going,' said Merrigutt then.

‘Not far to the ridge,' said Oona.

‘I'd say a few hours of climbing, at least. And we'd need to think about disguising you before we go on. Maybe cut your hair or something.'

‘You're not cutting my hair!' said Oona. ‘I'll look like some boy!'

‘You'll have to learn how to change,' said Merrigutt. ‘You'll not stay out of the hands of the Invaders if you can't be quick to adapt.'

‘Is that why you switch between bird and old woman?' said Oona. Merrigutt said nothing.

‘Why not just stay one or the other?' asked Oona.