Wildest Hunger, page 23
‘What about this?’ Karrion asks, and offers me a sheet of paper. A body was found washed up in Calder Valley near Halifax. I scan through the details and shake my head.
‘No, the victim drowned. Any animal activity on the body was minimal. It’s not just the deaths that are important, but also the eating that follows.’
‘I figured this sounded like a natural setting.’
‘Plenty of people die in the woods and fields of this country without Wild Folk having anything to do with it. But if we stalk a human, they’re not going to die by drowning.’
‘Point taken. I think this one is a better match.’
Amy Fields was jogging late at night near Chesterfield when she became concerned that she was being followed. She made her way to a nearby pub and escaped without a scratch on her. The incident may have gone unrecorded, were it not that Amy is a police sergeant. When she retraced her steps the following morning, she found huge paw prints criss-crossing her tracks. The incident was recorded as a wild animal sighting, though it was the only one of its kind in the area.
Our final candidate is the oldest of the cases, and I only include it after hesitating. Gary Hickson, a fifty-year-old actuary, was found dead near Windermere in the Lake District. The coroner ruled the cause of death to be a heart attack and thereby natural causes, but animals had eaten large parts of him.
‘What was an actuary doing deep in the Wild Folk territory?’ Karrion asks.
‘There are roads through our lands and humans have the right to use them. Over the years, we’ve had to concede parts of our wilderness as national parks, though we’re the ones who manage them. But those areas are far from the hearts of the conclaves, to keep curious humans away from us.’
‘Based on this, it looks like the Wild Folk is attacking people all over the place,’ Karrion says.
‘Maybe. But maybe not. Can you find a map of the country that we can print?’
It takes a few attempts, but we manage to print a map across several pieces of paper. I tape them together and arrange the cases we’ve picked out in date order. Starting with the oldest, I mark the locations on the map, moving further and further down. When I have finished, understanding dawns on Karrion’s face.
‘It’s not random at all,’ he says.
‘No. Over the past couple of months, the Wild Folk has been travelling down the country, and she’s been stalking and killing people along the way.’
Karrion traces his finger along the route I have marked on the map. He stops next to St Albans and looks at me.
‘All this time, she’s been heading towards Old London.’
That is the conclusion I, too, have reached. Is it because of me, or is the Wild Folk simply drawn here by the same mysterious pull that entices all magic users to gather in the heart of a human metropolis?
‘We pretty much knew that already, given Sinta’s reaction this morning and Wishearth’s warning. But her journey tells us something far more important than her destination.’
‘How so?’ Karrion asks, turning to scrutinise the map.
‘These cases establish behaviour. If we look at them in chronological order, we’ll see that this all began in the Lake District two months ago. Gary died and a scavenger fed on his body. Three weeks later, the Wild Folk had made her way to the outskirts of Bradford, where she attacked the homeless man, Pete. He wasn’t an easy target, but slowed by alcohol, cold, and living rough, he posed less of a risk than most people. Three days later, Amy Fields was stalked just outside Chesterfield.’
‘Do you think the Wild Folk felt she was an easier target than a man?’
‘That’s not really what I was thinking. In less than a month, the Wild Folk went from scavenging to hunting a healthy human. That she didn’t make a kill is no surprise, given that all big predators are successful only some of the time. The larger the game, the greater the likelihood of failure, but the pay-off is also better. I’m willing to bet she stalked plenty of others who escaped and either never noticed anything was amiss or didn’t report it to the police.’
‘What about successful kills? Are there likely to be more of those out there?’
I consider this for a moment. ‘I doubt it. When someone goes missing, people notice. You’d have to be very lucky to target a victim who has no one in their life. Also, the Midlands is pretty built up. Outside of the Wild Folk lands, there isn’t much wilderness and hiding a body wouldn’t be easy, especially if you bear in mind that our Wild Folk made little attempt to hide her kills until Cúan.’
‘Why do you think she did that?’
I trace my finger along the dots on the map, from the Lake District down to Old London. ‘With Cúan, her behaviour changed. I wish I knew why.’
‘He’s the first child she’s killed,’ says Karrion. ‘Josh Bridges may have been only sixteen, but at six foot, he could have been mistaken for an adult. Cúan definitely couldn’t have been.’
Something about that does not seem right. I return to the cases we separated from the rest and read through them again. The nagging sensation at the back of my mind resolves into a clear thought.
‘Everyone aside from Cúan is human.’
‘A coincidence?’ Karrion asks.
‘I doubt it. Until Cúan, she was an opportunistic hunter, eating Josh and Holly where she killed them. But she took Cúan alive, covered her tracks well, and went to a great deal of trouble to hide the body. It’s as though Cúan was more valuable somehow. Why?’
‘Maybe he tasted better?’
The question could be considered flippant, were it not for Karrion’s teeth worrying his lip piercing. He may be closer to the truth than I have been, and yet I cannot put my finger on it. I should know, but I understand my kin no more than I understand humans.
‘It could be a coincidence that her behaviour changed the first time she killed someone with magical blood,’ I say, but cannot conceal the hesitation in my voice. ‘After all, how likely would you be to encounter one of us anywhere other than Old London? Humans outnumber us a thousand to one, maybe more. Perhaps the answer eludes us because nothing she has done makes sense. A Wild Folk living in a conclave should never resort to eating a dead human, let alone hunt a live one.’
‘Could that be where our logic fails us?’ Karrion asks. ‘Maybe she’s not from a conclave.’
‘No.’ I shake my head. ‘Remember how she shape-shifted at the abandoned cottage? While her use of the wild power was unusual, she’s received training to be able to do that. Regardless of why she’s now in Old London, she’s originally from a conclave.’
‘Then how do we find her?’
‘By understanding her better.’ I stand and switch off the radiator. ‘It’s time Dearon did his part.’
28. Reaching Out
Dearon is slow to wake up when I call his name, and he stares at us, uncomprehending, until I help him to sit up. I have prepared him a mug of pain-relieving tea from my jar to avoid the added sedatives, with the taste of antibiotics again hidden by honey, and he drinks it without a question. While I see to his injuries, he keeps his eyes fixed on the hearth stones and his torso partly twisted away from Karrion, who is sitting in his usual armchair. An awkward silence fills the room, broken only by my murmured instructions.
When Dearon has finished his tea, he sets the empty cup next to the mattress and uses his good hand to rub his face. His fingers against his stubble make a scratching sound, and I wonder if he would like to shave. There is several days’ worth of growth along his jaw, but I did not think to ask Karrion to also buy a razor.
Dearon lets his hand drop and looks at me.
‘You’ve been putting something in the tea you keep giving me. Am I going to fall asleep again?’
‘It’s for your own good.’ I cross my arms. ‘Besides, it’s only natural ingredients to help with the pain and healing.’
The statement stretches the truth as far as the antibiotics are concerned, but Dearon need not know that.
‘You didn’t answer my question.’
‘No, you’re not going to fall asleep straight away, unless you’re tired. We need your help.’
Dearon glances at Karrion, but says nothing. Instead, he pulls himself to sit cross-legged on the bed and winces when the stitches pull.
I spread our makeshift map on the blankets. Keeping the explanation as brief as I can, I recount what we have discovered while Dearon was in the hospital or asleep. As much as I am tempted to leave out the part about the Wild Folk being in Old London, Dearon deserves to know everything. The further I get, the graver his expression becomes.
‘Where’s my knife?’ he asks when I have finished.
The hospital gave me what few personal effects he had on him when he was admitted, and I now retrieve his knife. He tests the reach of his injured arm, a frown firmly in place.
‘Where’s your knife?’ he asks, setting his down next to the pillows.
‘In the wardrobe.’
‘Fetch it.’
My first instinct is to argue about the order, but it feels counter-intuitive. I retrieve the knife and, when Dearon holds out his hand, pass it to him. He pulls it from the leather scabbard, checks the blade from every angle, and tests the edge with his thumb. Seemingly satisfied, he hands it back to me.
‘Keep it with you at all times,’ he says.
‘It’s a risk, carrying a knife like this in the city. If the Paladins stop me, I’ll be in trouble.’
‘So don’t let them stop you.’
Doing my best to curb the growing irritation, I roll my eyes and leave the knife next to my car keys. On the map, I point to the Lake District.
‘We think this is where she’s from. Now we need to find out who she is.’
‘More than one conclave has a territory border near Windermere. I will need to speak to several Eldermen to see if anyone is missing a conclave member. But she may not be from any of them.’
‘What makes you say that?’ Karrion asks, finally joining the conversation.
‘If she’d turned into a man-eater, why would she do so on her doorstep?’ Dearon says.
‘But won’t someone have noticed a stranger tramping through your lands?’
‘I’ve no doubt about it, but we are far more tolerant of our own kind within the conclave borders than we are of Shamans or humans.’
Karrion aims his next words at me. ‘Should we have looked for more cases further north? Maybe we need to ask Jamie to forward us everything from Scotland as well?’
‘I’m not sure that fits with the patterns of behaviour,’ I reply. ‘Let’s go with our first conclusion and revise it if it leads nowhere. Jamie’s not going to thank us if we cause unnecessary work for the constabularies.’
Pulling my phone from my back pocket, I show Dearon how to unlock it. ‘Find out what you can from the Eldermen of the Lake District conclaves. Someone up there must know something, even if it’s just rumours.’
It takes three clumsy attempts before Dearon has opened the phone app. He dials a number from memory, listens for a while, then leaves a short message identifying himself and requests that the Shaman asks the Elderman to call him back as soon as possible. I am surprised to find that he remembers my number by heart, no doubt because of the tentative communication we have established in the past month. Heat rises to my cheeks, and I take Dearon’s empty mug to the kitchen to hide the reaction.
Dearon leaves several more messages, all identical, and then offers the phone back to me.
‘It will likely take some time before anyone responds, even if the Shamans listen to the messages straight away.’
‘Keep the phone, just in case. Just swipe right when a call comes in. I’ll make a quick trip to the shops to get us something for lunch.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ Karrion says, and jumps up, catching the side of his head on my lamp in the process. He winces and heads for the door.
I gather together a hemp shopping bag, my wallet, and keys, before following him. Dearon clears his throat. When I turn back, he is pointing at the knife. I sigh, having no energy for another argument, and shove the knife in the bottom of the bag.
‘Were you two always like this?’ Karrion asks when we have ascended the steps to the street.
‘Like what?’
‘Constantly arguing about everything.’
My first reaction is to disclaim the statement, but neither of us would believe it. ‘No. Once upon a time, we were as close as you and I are; closer, because we grew up together. We bickered a lot, but it was just teasing and joking and a bit of fun. I didn’t know about my father’s plans for us or that Dearon knew, while Dearon thought I knew. So in hindsight, I guess there was always a subtext we were missing.’
Jogging between cars to cross the road, I glance back towards my flat. Upstairs, new curtains have appeared in some of the windows. I force my attention to the pavement.
‘When I found out, I was so angry I thought the force of it would cause me to implode. It’s as if my insides were rearranged and that anger never went away, not completely. Every time I speak to Dearon, a spark of it returns and turns me into someone I don’t quite recognise.’
Karrion gives my hand a quick squeeze. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘It’s not your fault. It’s no one’s fault, except my father’s for keeping it a secret for so long.’ I hesitate before voicing a thought I have never spoken out loud. ‘My mother’s too, I suppose. She knew and that made her complicit. Even when she was dying, she didn’t tell me.’
‘Maybe she didn’t want to spoil what little time she had left with you.’
‘Whatever, it was the wrong choice.’ I have to swallow around the traitorous words. ‘I’ve never thought of her in this light. It’s been easier to cast my father and Dearon as the bad guys, while mourning her.’
‘You’re allowed to only remember the good stuff,’ Karrion says.
‘Am I? You’ve talked about your father and the circumstances of his death, telling it the way it was, both the good and the bad. Shouldn’t I do the same?’
‘Only if you’re ready.’
‘How do you manage it so well?’
Karrion brushes locks of hair off his forehead. ‘I like talking about Dad. It keeps the memories clear and it’s like a part of him shares my life when I remember him. Besides, I want the brood to know the sort of man he was, even though he’s not their father. Better to have him as a role model than the swallow who abandoned Mum and migrated south.’
‘As far as good role models go, I’m pretty sure you’re all the youngsters need.’
I laugh when he blushes, and we walk the rest of the way to the shops in comfortable silence.
Dearon is on the phone when we return and offers us no greeting. Karrion pulls a face, but follows me into the kitchen without a word. While the salmon we bought roasts in the oven, I make a root vegetable mash and a salad. The shop we went to bakes its own bread, and we found a sourdough loaf that was still warm. Karrion cuts thick slices and slathers them in butter. It helps to dull the edge of hunger. I grin when melted butter runs down my chin.
By the time lunch is ready, Dearon has finished the call. Since I only have two armchairs and no proper table, we fill our plates in the kitchen and Karrion perches on a stool. For a few minutes, we eat in silence, but eventually, my curiosity gets the better of me.
‘Did you find out anything yet?’
‘Only rumours of unrest within one of the conclaves I contacted, but nothing that will help us.’
‘So how come you were on the phone for at least an hour?’ Karrion asks, a laden fork halfway between the plate and his mouth.
‘A phone call between the Elders of two conclaves is the exception rather than the rule. There were plenty of formalities to observe before I could ask for information. It has been some time since the Eldermen last convened, and we also had other matters to discuss.’
‘Let’s hope the other conclaves have something more definitive for us,’ I say before Karrion replies to Dearon.
Dearon receives three more phone calls while Karrion and I clear the kitchen, do the washing-up, and walk Sinta. When we return and Dearon is still not done, we retreat to the office to review the emails from the constabularies to make sure we have not missed anything. I am tempted to ring Jamie to find out whether he has made progress on the Lloid case, but I resist the urge. If he has something to share with us, Jamie will call.
The light coming through the high windows of the office is fading when the need for caffeine tempts us upstairs. Dearon is standing by the window, staring out and cradling his chest with his free hand. Without acknowledging us in any way, he says a respectful goodbye and ends the call. Turning, he offers me the phone.
‘Her name is Cathwulf Bleake and she is a half-breed.’
29. Outcast
We sit in the lounge, cradling mugs of coffee or, in Dearon’s case, tea. A fire is blazing in the hearth, and I sense a hint of a smoky presence among the flames. Perhaps Wishearth is as keen to find out the latest developments in our case as we are.
‘For many years, no one at the conclave knew of Cathwulf’s existence. Her mother is human and she was raised in a village not far from the conclave’s Lake District lands. The Shamans were the first to relay stories of a girl with an unusual fascination for the wilderness. After the Elderman ordered an investigation, it came to light that the girl carried Wild Folk blood, though she had not yet come to her powers. It was only then that one of the conclave members confessed to having had a brief affair with a human many years previously.’
‘Didn’t you tell me a while back that such affairs are strongly discouraged?’ Karrion asks me.
