When I was a boy, eight or nine, my father brought me climbing on Sliabh Cohnda. I say climbing, but it wasn’t quite that – there were no crampons or ropes, and we didn’t climb so much as half-crawl, half-stagger up the mountain’s gentlest slope, which faced the town. But we made it to somewhere near the top and rested there, gazing on the panorama unfolding below: roiling green-blue sea, other mountains curving around at either side of us, streets and houses we knew from daily life as intimately as our own faces, and of course Shook Woods, on the far side of town. A balmy summer day, pleasant wind, the sun gently toasting our faces. He had brought snacks, coffee in a flask, Coke for me; he’d even rolled up a towel to use as a picnic spread. We laid our food out and smiled at each other and enjoyed the view. Then he lit a cigarette, and I still recall the aroma of the smoke as it wafted across on the breeze. The smell of warmth and affection.
That day forms one of the absolute best memories from my entire life. My father was – is – a very decent man and was perfectly nice to me growing up, but we never did a whole lot together. I don’t have any lingering resentment over this. I’m not some petulant kid in a movie whining about how ‘Daddy missed my big softball game’; there simply aren’t that many memories of him in there. The day on the mountain, though: I’ll never forget that. It was just lovely, a few hours of pleasurable exertion followed by well-earned rest. The two of us together, a simple day, a happy day.
A blast of wind came careening down out of the north, almost knocking me off my feet, and I put away that treasured memory and returned to the present. I was back on Sliabh Cohnda again, near the top of this highest peak in the range, but the similarities ended there. This time I was with Sláine, the sky was black and the weather was pitilessly cold – up here the wind never stilled, like it had done below at sea level for months. The view, which I couldn’t see anyway, had been changed utterly because everything I remembered from that childhood climb was covered in snow. And unlike then, I wasn’t happy and relaxed in the cocoon of childhood; now I was afraid for my life, and everyone else’s too. I was no longer a child. Now I was on the cusp of adulthood, with all the heavy responsibilities and frightening possibilities that promised.
‘Are we safe?’ I asked, not for the first time since Sláine had whisked us here from the graveyard.
‘I think so. For the time being.’
We’d sheltered on the far side of the mountain, away from sea and town and forest, facing the yawning valley that headed north. The same stretch of land crossed by Sláine’s ancestors when they made their famous flight to freedom during the Famine. Sliabh Cohnda roughly translated as Brutal or Savage Mountain, which gives some idea of the conditions to be found there. Endured, rather. The entire top half of the mountain was bare rock, scrubbed clean of vegetation by millennia of relentless winds.
Now it was snow-covered, sealed in frost, encased within a glacial cocoon. Sláine had landed us, or whatever the term was, in a kind of cave at its rear side, just in from a cliff edge, close to the peak.
A ‘cave’ – that doesn’t do it justice at all, that flat, one-syllable word. The place was magical, accentuated by shimmering moonlight, literally taking my breath away in a delighted gasp when we arrived. It made me forget everything, for a moment. The full space inside was covered in ice: ceiling, walls and floor. The sides of the cave were thick with long, fat tubes and globs of ice that resembled melted candlewax. Spiky white stalactites hung from above, looking like some modern art installation, or the decor of a painfully hip club in Tokyo or Osaka, somewhere you might see on a Channel 4 travel show. The floor was glassy, clear and smooth, though for some reason, I didn’t seem to be having trouble keeping my balance. Underneath, I could see large shards of crystals, pointing upwards. And oddly, they appeared to be glowing faintly, as if lit from within.
I wondered if Sláine was responsible for it, creating this masterpiece by rearranging the molecules of frozen water. I’d half-asked her when we got here; she’d ignored the question so I let it lie.
‘There was no blood,’ I said, out of nowhere. Sláine raised an enquiring eyebrow. I went on, ‘The thing you destroyed. You said it – she, sorry – a woman called … O’Leary? There was no blood, or guts or anything. Like she was made out of stone.’
‘She was, in a way.’ Sláine leaned against the side of the cave and wrapped her arms around herself. If I didn’t know better, I’d have sworn she was both tired and colder than usual. Maybe stepping away from the wall of this ice installation would help.
She said, ‘That’s what happens when they – die. When they’re taken by the cold. They turn, more or less, to ice. Their flesh is petrified, it becomes breakable. Not soft and flexible like yours. They’re turned almost to stone. Frozen stone.’
‘But that didn’t happen to you.’
She shook her head. The obvious question was why? What makes you so special? That could wait, though. I had more urgent matters on my mind.
I said, ‘They can’t come after us here, right? These others.’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘So we have time,’ I said. ‘To talk.’
‘Some.’
Sláine seemed out of sorts, almost regretful in some obscure way, and I couldn’t tell why. I could always ask straight out, of course – she never refused to answer a question or took offence at any of them, even my dumbest ones – but something was stopping me. I had the strongest feeling she was reading my mind, even though she swore she was unable – that she’d guessed my intentions, what I wanted to know.
Suddenly a giant raven landed a few metres away, coming in on down drafts like a helicopter. It skittered along the icy floor and turned its baleful eye on the two of us. Sinister and black in ancient grace; inscrutable, an ancient face.
‘Look at this guy,’ she said airily. ‘Size of him.’
Okay, so she was trying to change the subject, apparently? The bird shrieked, a surprisingly low tone to it. I shuddered and rolled a cigarette with cold-bitten hands.
‘Ravens,’ I said, indulging Sláine’s reticence. ‘Don’t know what to make of ’em. Sometimes think they’re kind of cool, you know? Like, they’re very intelligent. Only animals besides us to use tools.’ I lit my fag. ‘Then other times, ech … Other times I imagine someone like that fella eating the eyeballs out of my head.’
Sláine laughed softly. ‘Ah, he’s all right. He won’t harm us. Will you, little man?’ She held out a hand and the raven flew across to land on it.
I gasped in shock. ‘Wha—? Are you able to control animals now?’
‘I don’t think so. I didn’t make this raven fly to me. He just wanted to, didn’t you? My handsome little man.’
‘Not going to start tickling that thing under the neck and saying “coochie-coochie-coo”, are you?’
Sláine flung the crow out the cave’s mouth, sighing heavily.
I muttered, ‘Guess not.’
‘Go on,’ she said quietly, looking at the ground. ‘Say what you have to. I know you’re biting back on it. You needn’t do that.’
‘Okay, then tell me where you were. I know everyone’s in danger and all that, but sorry, I’m a typical self-centred adolescent and I’m putting myself first. Everyone else can wait. I need to know: where the hell did you go? And why?’
Sláine didn’t reply. I wondered why she was hesitating. Vague feelings of impending rejection squirmed in my tummy like insects. Please don’t say it’s over, I silently implored her. Don’t return to me only to leave again. Don’t don’t just don’t …
Something clicked in my head. Aidan, dude, you’re asking the wrong question. Find out what you really want to know. Hear her say the only words that count – or not say them.
‘No, forget that,’ I said. ‘I’ve a better question: do you love me?’
Sláine looked at me, her head going back on that elegant neck like a wary swan. She seemed surprised.
‘Do you love me, Sláine? Yes or no, straight answer.’
‘Why are you asking me that?’
‘Because I love you,’ I said urgently, words spilling out of my mouth as though I’d drunk too much water and there wasn’t enough room in there for all of it. Or maybe it wasn’t water but wine, wine that had made me loose-tongued and reckless. ‘I don’t know if I’ve ever said it to you – you know anyway I’m sure, you must, but I mightn’t have said it out loud. Sláine McAuley, I love you. I’m in love with you. You’re the most fantastic person I’ve ever met. I can’t imagine life without you – it’d feel so empty. It did, these last few days.’ I took a step closer, gliding along the ice. ‘I love you. Do you love me back?’
She held my gaze, held it, held it, a wistful look in her eyes. Finally, after about a thousand years of nervous agony, she broke the stare and answered quietly: ‘Yes. Happy now?’
Relief flooded my system like a wash of chemicals, precise, targeted. I was giddy, almost euphoric. I think I knew then what heroin must feel like. ‘You mean that? Truly and honestly?’
‘Yes.’
I smiled widely. ‘Well, shit, yeah. Then I’m happy. Course I am.’
She smiled wryly. ‘Me too.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes. Jesus, Aidan, yes.’
She laughed heartily. There was my old Sláine, returned to me. I gulped and glanced away to hide the strength of my emotions.
I said, ‘Uh, okay. So back to the “where you went” bit. Where, why, the whole deal. I thought you were dead. Like, dead dead.’
Sláine stepped in the cone of moonlight shining into the cave. ‘“Why” is easy: I had to. So you can put those fears to rest, Aidan.’ She smiled warmly. ‘I didn’t abandon you, or reject you. I wouldn’t do that. I couldn’t. You’re … ’ She paused, then gently thumped her chest. ‘You’re in here now. For good.’
That wash of placid euphoria again. Sláine was still mine. And she’d said she always would be.
‘Cool,’ I said dumbly. ‘I mean great. I feel like that too.’
‘I left … because something happened, and it made me afraid. Not for me – afraid of me.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I did something and … I was frightened where it might lead. What I might do next.’ Sláine broke off, stared hard at the ground. I was itching to know what that was but didn’t want to force it.
‘I had to leave you,’ she said. ‘Go away for a while. Be on my own. I’m sorry. This is hard.’
I shushed her, saying gently, ‘It’s all right. When you’re ready. Do you want to tell me at least where you got to?’
‘Somewhere around,’ she answered vaguely. ‘I basically hid out. Walked into the desert like some wild-eyed mystic, looking for the face of God … I found an isolated space not far from here and sat on the ground, arms around my knees, eyes closed, breathing as slowly as I could. Trying to calm myself. To get beyond myself, like the Buddhist thing? Subdue the ego, destroy all desire … I hunkered down into myself and – waited. For the feeling to pass. The desire. The danger.’
‘So,’ I said cagily, ‘you don’t think you’re … dangerous now?’
She shook her head. ‘No. But he is. Aidan, listen. It’s not just you – everyone is in danger now. A great menace is coming. That’s the second part of where I was. After four days of isolation, regaining control of myself, I came back. I returned to the forest last night, our lodge. I thought maybe you’d be there.’ She smiled. ‘Silly, I know. To expect you’d wait for my return.’
‘I did wait.’
‘I know.’
We smiled at each other. She said, ‘Someone had been in the lodge. I recognised it, that presence again. But different to before. More … concrete now. It had shape and personality. I could feel it reverberating off the walls. I said to myself, this is it. This is what killed you, Sláine. I knew it in the deepest part of me.’
‘“It” being a demon.’ I winced, it sounded so absurd. ‘God, I can’t believe I’m saying this. Devil, demigod, whatever. I’m right, aren’t I?’
Sláine nodded. ‘The demon – and man. Both had been in our lodge.’
I went on, ‘And you say it’s not William John McAuley who’s behind it. The one who’s raised this thing.’
‘No. You’re not totally off the mark, though. My ancestor has a part to play.’
‘How do you know who it really is?’
‘He wanted me to know. He gave me this.’ Sláine lifted her hand and showed me her ring, the one with the strange design. She pulled it off. ‘That man placed this on my finger after I died. I never took it off until last night. I knew it wasn’t mine – someone had put it there. I wanted to remove it, examine it – I simply couldn’t. It wouldn’t budge.’
‘Why didn’t you say something before?’
‘What would’ve been the point? If I couldn’t get it off, no disrespect but you wouldn’t have been able, either.’
‘Eh … yeah. Fair enough.’
‘And I didn’t want to worry you,’ Sláine said. ‘I guess I assumed it’d be explained eventually. You know, take the philosophical view, accept the way things were. And it was explained: last night I looked down and for some reason knew it would move now. It came off my finger smoothly. Want to know what the inscription inside the band reads?’
I groaned. ‘Not … really?’
‘“To my beloved Eleanor. Bound forever, beyond the cold shores of death. From your devoted husband, William John. Winter 1851.” I think he inscribed this ring after she left him, and kept it somewhere. As a sort of pledge to her, that they’d be together again.’
‘Why didn’t he just go with her? Instead of all this eejiting around with rings and pledges, crappy poetry.’
‘Maybe he thought the trek over the mountains was doomed, so it was better at least one of them survived, stayed behind to … ’
‘To do what he did. Conjure up a demon.’
‘No. That’s the part you got wrong. William John tried to do that – but failed. Too weak, probably. Starvation, exhaustion, the man would’ve been half-dead by the time he went to Shook Woods. He left it too late. Should have done it weeks before – probably wanted Eleanor out of the way first.’ She smiled wanly. ‘Trying to protect her, I suppose. That’s something.’
‘Yeah,’ I rasped. ‘A pretty small goddamn something. Go on. McAuley failed. Whereas … ’
‘Whereas this guy – our villain, let’s call him – did a little better. For him, the ceremony worked.’
It was all becoming too real. Mad imaginings and theories were one thing. Even though I knew deep in my gut that they were essentially true, I didn’t know. I had no hard evidence. Now, though, Sláine was handing me that evidence on a platter. I felt dizzy. I was afraid I’d fall off that bloody cliff edge.
Block out reality. You’re still a kid. None of this is happening.
‘He wanted me to know all this,’ Sláine said. ‘Not at the beginning, not until now. That’s why the ring wouldn’t shift before. He’s happy for me to know now, which suggests one thing: whatever his plan is, we’re coming near to the end.’
A hellish blast of wind whipped up around us. I separated from her and stepped further back into the cave, as far as I could go, which wasn’t far. I could still see the cliff, and imagined the terrifying drop off that edge. Definitely not a jump you want to make, Aidan. They’d be scraping you off the rocks with a trowel. I sat, my bum bumping hard on the glassy floor with the groovy subterranean crystal lights.
I said quietly, ‘But how d’you know this stuff? That McAuley messed up, and now someone else is driving the bus.’
‘He came to me.’
I snapped to attention.
‘Last night, after I left the lodge. I went to our other place – the Greek amphitheatre, as you call it. Waiting, not waiting, I don’t know. I might have had a sixth sense he would show up … ’
‘So who is he?’
‘That’s the problem,’ Sláine said regretfully. ‘I don’t know. I’m certain it wasn’t William John, but who this guy is … ? He didn’t tell me. I mean, he didn’t exactly walk in there either. More … drifted over to me. His spirit, his thoughts, something.’
‘You felt a presence.’
‘Yes, but different to when I died. I told you I felt this great wash of coldness that night, joining me to it. But something organic, as if it possessed a mind. That time, the thing – the demon – was more to the forefront, if you know what I mean? It accosted me, with someone, a living man, directing it from the distance. Whereas last night … ’
‘Our boy was riding the horse.’
She nodded. ‘Pretty much. The demon’s spirit was there too, somewhere. Hanging in the air like a bad smell. But the man felt much more obvious to me. As though he was out front, and the demon tailing behind him.’
I tutted in fear and disgust. ‘Like a goddamn dog on a lead. Lovely image. So what’d this asshole say? Say, communicate, beam out brainwaves, whatever.’
‘He told me everything except who he was. He’s using this supernatural being to kill people, you got that right.’
Realising my ass was in danger of sticking to the ground, I stood. ‘I knew it. Didn’t I say I knew it?’
‘Our villain came across William John’s writings,’ Sláine said. ‘I’m not sure where – it doesn’t really matter. My ancestor had kept extensive diaries all his life, written hundreds of letters, even several books although they were never published. Wrote them for himself, I’d imagine. A lot is harmless nonsense, the ravings of a borderline lunatic really. But in the midst of all this ráiméis … ’
‘Granddad left instructions.’
‘He did. Precise directions on how to conjure up demonic forces. This other man found McAuley’s work, studied him … followed the path until it led to Shook Woods. The forest is the key. It’s beautiful – but there’s something menacing about it at the same time. Something truly dangerous. Its heart is dark in more ways than one.’
I didn’t want to believe that; I’d got quite used to hanging out in Shook, my eerie home from home. I said, ‘So now this creep controls the demon’s power.’
‘Or maybe it controls him to some extent. Or they’re in some symbiotic relationship, where each needs the other equally. I’m not clear on the specifics.’ Sláine frowned. ‘I guess, in a way, he has become this devil. It’s become him. They’re bound together in cold and death. Whichever – that’s what he’s done.’
Something clicked on in my mind, some dread I didn’t want to recognise. ‘Oh my God. Uh … Are you … one too? Now. Are you … ?’ My voice had receded to a hoarse croak: ‘A demon.’
‘No.’
‘You’re not … involved in any way? With all this death.’ I laughed nervously. The timeline of these cold killings, it struck me, dovetailed to some degree with Sláine’s disappearance.
‘Of course not. None of those attacks had anything to do with me.’
I didn’t think much of this at that moment, the words just flowing in my ear and out again. In hindsight, though, I should have clocked it, the significance of that word …
Anyway, the thought didn’t have time to lodge itself in my mind because Sláine was still speaking: she said dryly, ‘You know, most people would have asked that question first. About me being a demon?’
‘Yeah, well … ’ I shrugged. ‘I’m not most people.’
‘No. You’re one of a kind, Aidan Flood.’
I bowed. ‘I thank you. So are there others? People who’ve risen from the dead.’
‘You met one tonight.’
‘Nah, you know what I mean. People who’re – the way you are. Thinking, feeling. Powerful. Improved.’
‘Like me? I don’t think so.’
‘You haven’t met any, then? Weren’t tearing around with a big gang of beautiful angels all week?’
This time Sláine bowed. ‘No. I told you – I was alone.’
‘Until last night. When our mystery man shows up, still wearing his mask though cos that makes it more exciting I guess, and gives you the full skinny on his evil doings.’
‘Essentially.’
‘Go on, then. Might as well have the whole of it. Before I run shrieking from this mountain top.’
‘He told me what he does, and why he does it.’
‘Do I want to know why?’
‘Why else? Immortality.’
Sláine ghosted over and placed her arm around me. I fixed my vision on that ring on her finger, its long oval shape, the raised image suggesting some type of crystal.
She said, ‘He extends his life by consuming the lives of others. It’s as simple and horrible as that. This man is deranged, driven crazy by lust for power and an absolute refusal to admit that death is … Natural. Necessary. Life has no meaning without death at the end. Everything must end, that’s how it has to be. But he can’t see that, or won’t. He wants to live forever, and he’s prepared to kill for that.’
‘So he drew people out of their homes and took their lives. Like he did with you.’
‘Yes. Some form of telepathy. Thought transference. He kind of … squirms in there, you know? Into people’s minds. Hypnotises them to leave the sanctuary of their homes. I don’t think he has the power to enter buildings any more than me.’
‘What happens to them? Afterwards.’
‘Most of the victims perish,’ Sláine said. ‘Just gone forever. Whatever was in them, their soul or spirit, it’s devoured by him. The body is left behind, a husk.’
‘What about that yoke who attacked me tonight? She looked pretty full of bloody spirit.’
‘I’m not sure. He seems to be keeping a few … animated. But only partly. They’re like zombies, unthinking, half-dead. His slaves. I guess everyone in power needs someone to hold it over.’
I nodded slowly. ‘Okay, so again: where do you fit in? You’re still here, your soul I mean. And you’re definitely nobody’s slave.’
‘He obviously has other plans for me. Don’t know exactly what yet. Although I’m thinking, why me? Why did I turn out like this, but not the others?’
‘That’s what I was gonna say … ask. What makes you different?’
‘I don’t know. All we can be sure of is that this man, and his demonic ally, will keep killing unless they’re stopped.’
‘Yeah,’ I drawled. ‘Stopping them. That’s the part I don’t like the sound of.’
She stepped to the edge of the cliff. For an instant I feared she was about to leap off it, swan-dive to some romantic and absurd doom. Then I realised that wouldn’t kill her, not in a million years. And Sláine wasn’t the romantic-doom type anyway.
I called over, ‘How’d this conversation end? Your little chat with Demon Boy.’ I checked myself: ‘little chat’? What was that supposed to mean? I was acting like a jealous idiot boyfriend, and I wasn’t even sure if I was her boyfriend. I moaned softly. Oh, Aidan Flood, what a life this is you’ve got.
Sláine grimaced, her teeth bared a fraction, and I could have sworn the ‘lights’ inside those crystals underneath my feet pulsed to a brighter shine. She said with a tight voice, ‘He told me to be ready – he’d be coming back for me soon.’
I squeezed my eyes shut, the old child’s trick: if you can’t see it, it’s not really happening. I squeaked, ‘Great,’ my words the echo of an echo from some distant part of my heart, unknown, it seemed, even to myself.