I have done a very bad thing. The necklace is open and the shadow things are coming out.
The screaming wakes me up. Someone’s in pain. It’s a distant cry, from the other side of the enclave, accompanied by more distressed shouts and muffled clamor. Other people are already getting out of their beds and hurrying toward the door. I leap up and join them, slipping on my boots and throwing a cloak around me as I do so. It’s still dark outside, the sky so sharp it might shatter.
The yells intensify, hiding a different noise that I can’t quite place. My mind is dragged back to when the deamhain stormed our enclave, to when I stood looking over the wall, watching it all happen, unable to move or do anything about it. I shake my head as my heart starts to race. No, no, no, no, no.
“We’re under attack. Seize your weapons!” someone shouts.
There is an outbreak of movement and chaos.
How is this happening? We’re supposed to be safe here. Is it the deamhain? It can’t be. Or the traitors from Raasay? I can’t go through this again. It’s supposed to be over.
I’m breathing too fast, but it’s out of my control. The ends of my fingers are so numb they hurt. I slump to the floor and pull my legs into my chest. Not again. Not now. I scrunch my eyes closed. Blood rushes to my head, making my eyes pound against my eyelids.
“Jaime!”
Aileen pounces on me with worried hands. She’s shaking me, trying to lift my head. “Jaime, are you hurt?” I don’t open my eyes. My breathing is getting worse.
That’s when I hear it. It’s so clear, it’s hard to believe I didn’t recognize it before. I stop breathing altogether. Beneath all the other commotion is the unmistakable, hideous whispering that can only mean one thing.
Sgàilean.
How can they be here? And why are they attacking? Our blood is supposed to protect us. It’s clear from the cries that for some reason it no longer does.
The realization sucks away my panic and replaces it with pure fear. I’d always been taught that Clann-a-Tuath doesn’t feel fear, but I learned in Scotia that that wasn’t true. Fear is a warning, forcing us to act. I stand up, shaking off Aileen’s hands.
“Fire.” My throat is still tight, my legs shaky. “We need fire.”
“Fire? Why?”
“It’s the shadows. Sgàilean. They’re afraid of light, especially fire.”
I run back to the bothan, Aileen following close behind. There are two lanterns hanging in the doorway. I unhook them both, hand one to Aileen, and hold the second close to my chest. “Don’t let go of it,” I say to her.
“Okay.” Aileen’s eyes are wide and fierce; the reflection of the lantern’s flame shakes within them. “We need to warn everyone else. I’ll head west; you tell the people here. I’ll circle around and meet you at the loch.”
The loch. Yes. “Sgàilean also hate water — they can’t move through it or over it. Tell everyone to go to the loch; they’ll be safe as long as they’re standing in the water.”
Aileen nods and bolts. It’s only after she’s gone that I realize I don’t know how to get to the loch from here. I’ll worry about that later. I go the opposite way from her, shouting at everyone I pass to find lanterns and head for the water, but people aren’t listening to me; they’re too caught up in their own hysteria. The whispers are drawing nearer. My heart is rampaging. Every shadow is a potential threat. I should be trying harder to warn everyone, but the darkness is too much.
I run. I don’t know where, I’m just running, anywhere, away.
I raise the lantern above my head so that its light fully covers me. It bounces around with every stride. The wind slips in, ambushing the flame and almost putting it out. I lower the lantern for as long as I dare, holding it close to my body until the flame regains its strength; it’s all that’s keeping me alive.
I thought I was heading in the direction of the loch, but nothing looks familiar. People are still shouting throughout the enclave, but there’s nobody nearby. I’m lost.
Something snags my ankle, causing me to trip. The lantern falls out of my hands. Don’t go out, don’t go out. I scramble to retrieve it. The light is dim, but it’s still there. I keep running, aware now that there are sgàilean all around me, keeping pace, slinking through the grass just outside the lantern’s glow. Their whispering is even wilder than I remember, like a hungry tide devouring sand.
I’m so distracted that I almost run straight into a tree. It’s the meeting tree which Aileen and I were in yesterday evening. It’s nowhere near the loch, so I’ve come in completely the wrong direction. Can sgàilean climb trees? Of course they can: they’re able to slide across any solid surface. All the same, I start to climb. A few steps up, my foot slips, and I’m back at the bottom. The whispers circle me, the sound unbearable. I scream and shout for help, but I know no one’s coming.
The glow from the lantern is getting smaller. It’s running out of oil. It’s no longer bright enough to cover the whole of my body. I press my back into the trunk of the tree and move the lamp in erratic circles in front of me. The bark digs into my shoulder blades. The smell of burnt metal drifts through the air. The sgàilean are poised on all sides, waiting for the flame to burn itself out. Every now and then, one of them makes a snatch for one of my limbs, deterred at the last moment by a quick flick of the lamp. I bite my lip so hard it bleeds.
Then one of the sgàilean gets me. It grabs hold of my left elbow and digs in with the pain of a thousand needles. I swing the lantern at it, except I can’t tell exactly where it is, so I’m swinging blind. The lantern slams into the tree trunk and shatters the moment it hits. I sense the sgàilean freeze, as if holding a collective breath. But the fire hasn’t gone out. The little oil that was left spreads onto the tree trunk, and the fire leaps across with it, gorging on its newfound fuel. Within moments, the whole tree is ablaze.
The sgàilean disperse at once. I take a couple of steps away from the fire and collapse onto the grass. I’m safe; they’re gone. For now.
The tree is so large that the fire is visible from the whole enclave. People flock to it, attracted by the safety of its flames. The first to arrive praise me for my quick thinking. I nod without smiling; I have no intention of admitting that I started the fire by accident. Others from Clann-na-Bruthaich lament the destruction of the tree in unnecessarily loud voices, discussing what it means for the future of their people. Someone even has the kindness to tell me that Kenrick will almost certainly punish me for my vandalism. I don’t really care; I’m just glad to be alive.
There’s lots of speculation about how the sgàilean could have arrived on Skye and why they’re attacking us now, when they didn’t in Norveg. A couple of people ask my opinion, but I don’t have any answers for them. All I know is that this will have dire consequences for us all.
Despite the heat raging from the tree, we huddle underneath it, waiting out the long night until the sun starts to rise.
Dawn is sticky, like cold oats. I ask if someone will take me to the loch, but there are no volunteers, even though I insist the sgàilean will have retreated now that the sun has risen. In the end, we compromise, and two women agree to take me, under the protection of some flaming branches. In truth, I’m happier that we have fire with us too.