Ephemeral Boundary (T'Quel Magic 1) Page 5

  Boudica shook herself, and scratched her shoulder with a back leg, all the while looking at Kirsty in what Kirsty later described as a contemplative, all-knowing manner.

  What happened next, as she also described later, made Kirsty doubt her sanity.

  Boudica opened her mouth.

  “I’m sorry,” the words emerged from her lips.

  Kirsty emitted a muffled scream.

  Bob’s lips twitched in amusement. She had wanted proof. He rather thought this had done it.

  “The torc is what you might call a communications implement, a translator.”

  Boudica continued. “I was sent to guard. I have failed. I am sorry Kirsty.”

  “Don’t belabour it,” Bob instructed. “Just tell us what happened. Try to keep your natural verbosity to a minimum.”

  Kirsty realised from this that Boudica and Bob had spoken before and that her dog … her dog … liked to hear the sound of her own voice.

  Boudica bestowed on Bob a disgusted look.

  “I’m glad the gheas has been removed,” she spoke directly to Kirsty. “There has been much I have wanted to tell you over the years.”

  “That’s why the gheas was put in place by Lord Arovan and I agreed with him. We knew you wouldn’t be able to resist talking to Marian and so the inhibition was put in place. You agreed to it at the time. Just tell us what happened.”

  Boudica settled herself into a sitting position in front of her two listeners.

  “Marian let me outside into the garden. I had a need. They must have been waiting for me to go out of the back door, watching, but I sensed nothing. They came. I could see dark shapes through the windows but could hear nothing.”

  “They?” queried Kirsty but Bob did not answer.

  “Which is strange in itself,” he said. “Magic?”

  Kirsty jumped. First elves, dragons, gryphons and talking dogs. Now magic! Where would all this end?

  “Grt’dan,” Boudica agreed.

  “A sort of shield of concealment,” Bob said by way of explanation, reminding himself to fine-tune Kirsty’s torc as soon as he could. If there wasn’t a direct translation between languages, some torcs were unable to translate and these were old devices, all of them, old magic, ancient magic.

  “I am sorry Kirsty,” said Boudica, shamefaced. “I could do nothing. I think the shapes searched in every room of the house, but I could see little and there was magic about, of that I am positive. Then nothing, it was as if, as if they had never been, but I was trapped in the garden, and I could do nothing. I knew that you, Kirsty, would be arriving this day and was hoping you would be late, not early. I think you missed them by some hours but it is difficult to tell. Dogs don’t wear watches. I know it was some time before you opened the back door and let me in. I was hoping that you Bob, would hear me barking and come.”

  “I was listening to the radio,” he admitted, “but I was planning on coming over later.” He looked at his watch. “About now actually.”

  “But what were these people?” asked Kirsty. “Why were they searching the house and where is Mum? That’s the important thing. She must be somewhere!”

  “These people, as you call them, were looking for you Kirsty,” answered Bob, “your mother too.”

  “Me? Us? Why?”

  Bob continued as if she hadn’t spoken.

  “They’ve made the connection. Arovan said they might. He thought they were on his trail. They’ll have gone to St. Andrews, to fetch you.”

  “But I’m not there.”

  “And so, when they realise you have gone …”

  “They’ll come back,” Kirsty finished his sentence.

  Bob took a deep breath. “We have to leave immediately. I can’t fight them on my own, even with Boudica’s help. We have to assume they have your mother with them. Boudica, did you hear a car in the drive when you were in the garden?”

  Boudica tried to remember. Her face was almost comical in its intensity and Kirsty would have laughed if the situation hadn’t been so serious. She believed in the danger now although she still wasn’t certain about the elves. “I think that is entirely probable. The noise from its engine was loud so it must have been a large vehicle. Perhaps a van or one of these things they call off-roads,” Boudica answered in her growly voice.

  “It’ll take them at least four hours to get to St. Andrews and back, more if they take the back roads and we’ll need to include the time they will spend in the town, looking. When I think of it, there was a large black Range Rover parked up the road a way early this morning. I didn’t pay it much attention.” He looked angry with himself.

  “No point crying over spilt milk. What’s done is done. We must make plans,” said Boudica in her barky voice.

  “But Uncle Bob.” In her distress about the disappearance of her mother and in reaction to the numerous shocks she had received over the last thirty or so minutes, Kirsty again reverted to her childhood term for him. “Why did these people take Mum? I mean, it doesn’t make any sense. Why me? I mean, magic, elves, talking dogs.”

  Boudica snorted with disgust.

  “Me, I am only one.”

  “It’s like something out of a fantasy novel.”

  “All will become clear in time. I’ll fill you in on the way,” he replied, “but first we have to get you out of here. Luckily my car was serviced the other day and the petrol tank is full.”

  “Go where?”

  “To one of the gates,” he replied in a terse voice. The answer didn’t leave Kirsty any the wiser. She let it go however, and watched Bob as he paced three steps up and down, all the while muttering to himself. She deduced from his words that he was surprised he hadn’t received any warning and gathered that he should have. She also realised that plans had been laid for just this occurrence (what exactly the occurrence was, Kirsty was still not entirely sure), but that those who had laid the plans hadn’t envisaged either the kidnapping of her mother or these nebulous dark-shaped individuals arriving to perform the kidnap.

  “Don’t you think we should tell the police that Mum’s been kidnapped?” she interrupted.

  “They wouldn’t believe a word you said,” he answered. “As you yourself observed, magic, elves and talking dogs, it’s like a fantastic story.”

  “I wasn’t intending to tell them that,” said Kirsty, “just about Mum disappearing.”

  Bob shook his head.

  “Even if you did, it would be twenty-four hours before they’d agree that she might, and I say just might, be a missing person. By then it would be too late and you would be here in the place they will come back to when they don’t find you in St. Andrews. Our only chance is the gate.”

  “I’ll go back to the house and pack,” announced Kirsty, rising to her feet.

  “No!” Bob was emphatic. “You mustn’t go back to the house. They might have set wards. You might, perish the thought, have already triggered one and they might be on their way back already.”

  “I saw nothing. I touched nothing.” Kirsty was emphatic in her denial.

  “You don’t need to touch them to trigger them, and they are small, tiny. Some of them emit a faint red glow.“

  “I didn’t notice anything like that.”

  “Unluckily it’s summer,” he said then, much to Kirsty’s surprise.

  “What’s summer got to do with it?” she asked.

  “When the Morityaro, and that’s what I believe the dark shapes that Boudica saw and heard are, get back here, it will still be light. We need to be gone from here before they return and catch us. Dusk comes late, that’s what’s worrying me.”

  “They won’t be able to chase after us when it gets dark?”

  “Not as easily, no. If we go now, perhaps they’ll wait until morning before they start hunting.” He didn’t sound too sure.

  Kirsty didn’t like the sound of the word ‘hunting’ but she let it pass.

  “What are these Morityaro?”

  “Assassins, mercenaries,” he
answered.

  “Are they elves?”

  “Yes, they are elves. Not much is known about them. Once they start hunting they never give up. When they come back here they’ll pick up your scent at your home and track it to over here but I think they’ll find it difficult to trace us in the car. I wish there was time to lay some false trails but there isn’t, so we’ll just have to cope.”

  “You think?”

  “I hope. Now. You stay here with Boudica. She’ll protect you. I’ll go pack some things we might need, traps and some food.”

  “Remember my meat and biscuits,” ordered Boudica, “water too.”

  “I will,” Bob answered as he turned to face the door, adding for Kirsty’s benefit, “you are taking all this much better than I expected.”

  “I’m in shock,” Kirsty answered in a dry voice, “and Uncle Bob, it’s not that I’m disbelieving you, but it all seems so impossible somehow. You don’t look like what I’d have expected an elf to look like, except for your ears I suppose, but my sensible self is telling me that that is just a genetic thing and you’re as human as I am. I shouldn’t believe all this but at the same time, I do. Of course, Boudica talking lends credence to it all, and the torc. That’s telling me it is true, however incredible it seems. Fact is, I’m frightened. Mum is missing and I’m so scared and confused I could cry.”

  She was gazing at her hands as she was speaking and as she did, the ring on her finger sparkled briefly and gave what could only be called a tug.

  “What’s happening?” she cried in a panic.

  “You are being called home,” he answered, and after that cryptic remark he opened the door and she heard his feet hurrying along the hall.

  Kirsty looked at Boudica.

  “So what did he mean by that?”

  Boudica said exactly nothing.

  Bob decided that there was time for him to take a quick look around Kirsty’s house before they left. He needed to find out if the Morityaro had hidden any wards. With rapid strides (like most elves he had very long legs) he crossed the road, took a quick look round and opened the door to the empty house. He was immediately struck by how cold it was, unnaturally cold for an early summer afternoon.

  Bob made a rapid investigation of the house.

  The house was neat and tidy, far too much so. Spotlessly neat. Strangely neat. Not like Marian Douglas at all. This was not to say that Kirsty’s mother was a messy, dirty individual. She wasn’t, but she liked her home to look lived in. The knitting wasn’t only in its bag – the bag itself was on one of the bookshelves and not laid on top of the books either, but actually filed away as if it was a book. And the coffee table was polished and empty of the usual things like the TV remote, not even a coaster was lying on it.

  Bob’s uneasiness grew heavier and more potent. Confusion, uneasiness, the feelings hit him like storm winds. He went into the kitchen. It too was spotlessly neat, there wasn’t a mug or utensil in sight and on the work-surfaces, nary a crumb. Even the dog dishes on the floor were empty and clean. Now, Bob knew that Boudica wasn’t the tidiest eater in the world and the dishes weren’t just licked clean – they were clean, just as if they’d emerged from the dishwasher.

  The upstairs’ rooms were the same as the downstairs’, not even a single crease in the bedcovers and the pillows were set at regimental right angles. He checked the drawers and cupboards. Marian’s coats, dresses and blouses stood like soldiers on parade.

  Definitely not Marian’s doing.

  On the top landing he stopped and sniffed.

  Such a faint smell and only he might have noticed it. Balfaras, the odour was distinct, akin to the smell of the chloroform humans used. He had been right. Marian had been drugged and spirited away. She was alive though, he was sure of it; they needed her for something, needed her enough to use the rare and expensive balfaras. They wouldn’t have wasted it on anyone they intended to kill.

  He sensed no wards however and he was thankful for it. He was not a strong wielder of magic but he possessed just enough in his blood to know if they were present or not. Hopefully he would be able to get Kirsty to the gate before they even knew she was gone.

  He grabbed a small bundle of Kirsty’s clothing from her wardrobe and drawers, not really caring if the items matched or not, ran down the stairs two at a time and exited the house, locking the door behind him.

  * * * * *

  Alone in the back room in Bob’s house (except for Boudica who had lain herself down and closed her eyes), Kirsty was trying to come to terms with the last hour.

  It is a dream. Don’t be a ninny. Boudica talks and I understand her. Bob has pointy ears. I have pointy ears. Bob is an elf. I am a half-elf. I am dreaming. No I’m not. This is really happening. Mum has been kidnapped by some bad elves. The bad elves are hunting for me.

  She decided not to think about what they might want her for or why, nor what the round ruby set in her ring had to do with it but she couldn’t help it.

  Why did the ring tug at me? What did he mean about being called home? This is home, no matter who or what my father was, is.

  Bob wasn’t long. When he entered the room his face looked strained and his eyes were large and dark, with oddly-shaped pupils, (never before had Kirsty realised how alien they looked).

  Because I was never looking for it. Who would be? Elves didn’t exist. But they do now. He was just Uncle Bob before.

  “Is Bob your real name?” she asked.

  He paused.

  “No. It’s Oropher.”

  ”Oropher! That’s a bit peculiar, isn’t it? Difficult to remember. I hope you’ll not mind if I continue to call you Bob.”

  “It’s a common name at home,” he answered, “but call me Bob if it makes it easier.”

  “Do I have another? Another name? An elfish name?”

  “If you do your father never told it to me. It was safer so. Names have power.”

  “Good. I like Kirsty. Did you find anything at the house? Any clues?”

  He shook his head. “It was as you said on a number of counts but I had to be sure. I do not have much talent in magic, few have these days but I did sense something like a ‘not quite rightness’ about the place, especially upstairs. The house as neat as a freshly ironed pair of trousers and I sensed the menace you spoke of.”

  “Like how mum would have imagined the house to look if it was perfect?”

  “Clever girl, got it in one.”

  “And?”

  “Your mother is gone. Her thick winter coat is not there and her lined boots are also missing. Also some clothes I think, though I’m not sure. I didn’t want to hang around for too long.”

  “Winter coat in the middle of summer?” exclaimed Kirsty. “They wouldn’t have let her take some clothes if they were going to kill her, would they?”

  “Clever girl again. No, they are certainly not going to kill her. They must need her. I brought her handbag by the way, I thought there might be a …”

  “Clue inside?”

  “Perhaps yes, perhaps no, but I thought you would like to have it.”

  “Did they take anything else?”

  “I think her jewellery case is gone. It usually sits on her dressing table, doesn’t it? And the photograph albums weren’t on the shelf in the downstairs bookcase.”

  “I thought you would have worked it out by now. They are looking for your ring. They took the jewel case, perhaps thinking it might be there, or more likely, the ring had been in the case once and it might have left resonances of it being there. Photograph albums? I can make a guess. Probably to see what you look like and perhaps even where you’ve been or are likely to go. That’s why they’ve gone to St. Andrews, to find you and it. We can’t fight them off.”

  “There must have been at least six of them,” said Boudica, nodding her head sagely.

  Bob was thinking hard. The fact that the ring was coming alive changed everything. He had first thought of taking Kirsty south, to the secret location, the safe plac
e, in England, for protection, but that choice was fraught with danger now. The Morityaro, he suspected, already knew about that location. It had been in use for a long time after all, centuries. We have grown complacent. “That’s too many. A gate is our best chance. But which one?”

  “There is more than one?” Kirsty enquired. She was finding that it was helping her keep a grip on her sanity to keep asking questions.

  “Two here in Scotland that I know of. One is in Dunfermline; the other is up at a place called Loch Rannoch. I have to get you to one of them.”

  “The one these Morityaro aren’t using,” said a decided Kirsty, wondering (she had spent over the last hour wondering) what exactly a gate was and where they led. “And what exactly are these gates you’re talking about Uncle Bob? Gates to where?”

  “I think they must have used the Dunfermline one,” said Bob, ignoring her questions for the moment. It’s closer to here for one thing and older than the other; they are more likely to know about it. That’ll be where they’ll take your mother through.”

  “You think? You’re not sure? My mother will be taken to a gate and taken through? To where?”

  “I’m sure of it. Whoever is behind all this will want her, perhaps he or she needs her.”

  “As a bargaining counter?”

  “Possibly.”

  “But when they find out I’ve gone, won’t they keep trying to find me? You tell me they have magical abilities. They’ll know I’ve been home.”

  “Perhaps not. We have left no trace and they placed no wards. They probably didn’t think there was a need. Now, I’m going to finish packing the car. When I whistle you slip out the back door, into the back seat and lie down.”

  “Boudica?”

  “She comes with me now. We won’t be long. Wait for my whistle.”

  * * * * *

  CHAPTER 5

  ‘O Scotland, Scotland!’

  (Macbeth – The Scottish Play)

  (William Shakespeare (1564-1616))

  JOURNEY NORTH

  Bob was an excellent, if careful, driver. Kirsty’s mother had always laughed about it. He reversed out of the drive in his normal, cautious way, looking right, left and right again as his instructors had taught him, and drove on after checking his mirrors repeatedly. Along Dundonald Road he went, through the lights, then took a right at the roundabout at the end. He drove well under the speed limit, his gear changes as smooth as anybody’s that Kirsty knew. They were certainly smoother than the gear crunches that always occurred when her mother drove. It was only when the car reached the motorway, the M77, and was journeying towards the city of Glasgow that he put his foot down still keeping the car’s speed under the seventy miles an hour limit.