For those of you who just couldn't wait...here it is ;)
Chapter Eleven
Bay
"Mutt!" I yell as I urge Tempest into the sea. The waves are choppy now, crashing into me with enough force to rock me in the saddle. Thunder growls continuously overhead and lightning gives the world an ugly glare every few seconds. Mutt turns to me with a look of surprise on his face. Whether it's because he suddenly realized how far from shore he is or it's because I turned back to help him, I can't tell, but it quickly turns into a snarl.
"I don't need your help, Fisher!" he shouts.
"Don't be a fool!" I yell back as Tempest draws level with Skata. He's tense beneath me and ready to fight. I rub his neck in comforting circles with my iron bar; whispering would be useless in this downpour. Just keep it together, Tempest, I silently plead him. Give me the strength to keep it together, I pray as I make a grab for Skata's reins. Mutt viciously saws on them, drawing her head away from me. My fingers close over empty air and I nearly overbalance. Sitting back up, I wipe rainwater from my eyes. "Do you want to die?!" I demand. "Give me her reins!"
Mutt yells something negative back at me, but thunder drowns his words. I squeeze my eyes shut in preparation for the lightning I know will follow. I see it as a bright red flash behind my closed eyelids. As soon as the flash fades, I open my eyes and make another lunge for Skata's reins. This time I push Tempest a little closer with my knees as well. Still recovering from the lightning, Mutt doesn't react in time and my fingers solidly snag Skata's reins, close to her mouth. This is where it gets tricky. I don't want Skata to break away from me, but above all else, I don't want her to be able to bite. Gripping my rain-slick saddle between my legs with as much force as I can, I reach into my sweatshirt pocket and pull out my iron wedge.
Tempest shifts under me and I nudge him with my heels, reminding him that I'm still in control even though I'm not holding his reins. Mutt and I lunge forward at the same time. Mutt tries to dislodge my hand from Skata's reins, but I hold on with a death grip and shove the wedge into Skata's mouth, flicking the catch that flips it open. Skata screams as her mouth is forced open, but I give a silent cheer - the bloody mare can't bite Tempest now. Before Mutt can try to rip her reins from me again, I loop them several times over the pommel of my saddle. This draws Skata closer to us, but at the same time it prevents her from lashing out with her hooves as easily.
Now that I've contained the mare, my primary concern is Mutt. I gather Tempest's reins again and kick him into a canter toward the beach, forcing Skata to follow. Mutt leans across her saddle and tries to hit me, but I sway out of his reach. Perhaps Tempest can sense something I can't, but he speeds up, throwing more weight behind his pull, yanking Skata into a reluctant gallop. Seconds later I hear it again. The capail uisce are getting closer and more restless. They haven't come out of the sea yet, but it is only a matter of time. I guide Tempest directly for the path to the cliff top. Mutt yells abuse and threats as Tempest continues to drag Skata away from the sea, but I don't pay him any attention. At least he isn't trying to hit me anymore. My ears are tuned for only one sound over the thunder and rain—the faint pound of hoof beats behind us. But we reach the path without incident and though it's a very tight squeeze with Skata so close to Tempest, we race up the path and burst out on top of the cliffs in a peal of thunder. As soon as we're over the top, Skata draws level with Tempest. Mutt looks murderous, but I'm not going to pick a fight. As quick as I can, I unwrap Skata's reins from my pommel and fling them in Mutt's face, momentarily distracting him. Skata still has my wedge in her mouth, but I'm not about to try and pull it out now. Maybe Sean can get it back for me later.
A bloodcurdling scream cuts across the beach, louder than the rumbling thunder. Mutt and I both look down to see two capaill stallions pull themselves from the waves onto the sand. Skata answers the stallions with a high whinny, drawing their attention to the cliff top. They begin trotting up the beach, teeth bared in anticipation. Tempest knows as much as I do that this situation will quickly turn from bad to worse if we hang around any longer. He springs smoothly into a steady gallop, slowly pulling away from an angry Mutt and Skata. Mutt gives chase, but half-heartedly. He's seen what climbed out of the sea, and much as he values his confidence and abilities, he at least has the sense to recognize that he has no chance against two wild stallions. Mutt kicks Skata into a gallop. Skata, sensing a chase, responds eagerly. Tempest merely puts a little more length in his stride and keeps ahead of the piebald by a horse-length. Mutt only keeps up the pretense of chasing me as far as the Malvern Yards, where he veers off, probably as much to get himself out of the rain as anything else. I keep Tempest in a run until we reach my driveway, just in case any uisce get the idea to follow us, but we arrive home without any unwelcome followers. I ride Tempest into the yard and dismount, wet, cold and tired, but I smile as I untack Tempest and bed him down in his stall. If nothing else, I proved one thing. Tempest is stronger and faster than the piebald mare.
Dad is in the living room with a newspaper when I let myself into the house. I don't know if he's actually reading or if he's just fiddling with it to occupy his hands. Something is on his mind. I can tell from the way he constantly shifts in his chair, folding the paper, unfolding it, crossing his legs, uncrossing them. I pause for a moment in the doorway, dripping pools of water onto the worn wooden floor. Dad looks up and his eyes soften with relief when he sees me.
"Bay," he says quietly. "I thought you might have been—Never mind, you're home," he says hurriedly, returning to his usual gruff manner. For a second, I cherish the concern in his voice, but his next words steal the warmth right out of my chest.
"Malvern made me a deal, Bay. We need to talk."
I don't know how to answer, so I just stand in the doorway shivering in my soaked sweatshirt and jeans. My thoughts are jumbled. I already know what deal Dad is referring to, but I can't let on that I eavesdropped last night. I open my mouth to speak and close it several times; I can't think of anything to say.
Dad sighs. "Stop standing there like a fish out of water and go get some dry clothes on. I'll explain why I listened to him when you get back."
Dad misinterpreted my shock. He thinks I'm stunned at the fact that he actually talked to Malvern in the first place. I swallow and nod and step quickly down the hallway to my room to avoid giving myself away. Peeling myself out of my wet clothes is unpleasant so I change quickly into a pair of sweatpants and a baggy, long-sleeved t-shirt. I towel my hair dry as best I can and shuffle reluctantly back to the living room.
Dad is perched on the arm of his chair when I get back and he gestures toward the second chair in front of the fireplace. Thankfully, there is a fire blazing in the grate and I gratefully sink into the chair, facing Dad. "So, you talked to Malvern?" I ask.
"Look, Bay," Dad begins one of his speeches. He's obviously been thinking about this conversation for a long time. "Money is tight—" he holds up his hand to stop me from interrupting, "—as you well know. Malvern came to me with a deal that could put us back on our feet and give us new opportunities. This deal will also take you out of the races. I know you think you have to compete in this contest, but it's a devil's game. I…I don't want to lose my only daughter like I did your mother—"
"You won't lose me!" I say angrily, standing up. "These races aren't a devil's game. They're—they're a...race," I finish lamely under his stern gaze.
"And a death trap," Dad points out heatedly. Outside rain lashes the windows with single-minded fury.
"Sean Kendrick has survived them for four years," I say. "And several men on Thisby have survived long enough to retire out of them."
"Several men," Dad emphasizes in a low voice. "Sean Kendrick is a man, Bay Fisher. You are not." When Dad calls me by my first and last name, his patience is wearing thin. "The races were never designed for women to ride in them."
"Puck Connolly is riding."
"Puck Connolly isn't my daughter."
I struggle to come up with an argument to that, but Dad speaks first. "Sit down and listen to me. Let me finish."
I sink back into my chair, hardly placated.
"Malvern will buy that stallion of yours out there for eight-hundred. Just think about it, Bay. I can get a better job, we can fix up the house. And you won't have to spend so much time skulking about with Sean Kendrick."
"Skulking? Is that what you think I do?" I ask, eyes narrowed.
"I don't really know what you do, Bay, but I'll tell you what it looks like."
"And what does it look like?"
"It looks like you're giving favors to that Kendrick boy."
"Favors," I say, the word tasting sour in my mouth. If that's what Dad thinks of me, then he doesn't know me at all. But I get the feeling he's just saying this because he wants to anger me. Throw me off balance so he can convince me to agree with him.
"Now, Bay, just consider Malvern's offer," Dad says.
"No." I sit up straighter and look Dad in the eye.
"Come again?" Dad asks, even though I know he heard me.
"I won't consider Malvern's offer. I already told him I'm not selling my horse and I won't let you change that decision for me."
"Young lady, you have no control over that."
"Tempest is my property, Dad. I caught him. I own him. You can't sell him without my consent."
"But you're going to ride in these races without mine. You put a damn capaill uisce in my barn without my consent. I am your father!" Dad shouts. "I should have some authority around here." Thunder rattles the windowpanes as if emphasizing his words.
"You never cared enough to give your consent to anything I ever wanted anyway!" I yell back, standing again. "Ever since Mom died, all you cared about is yourself and your memories of her. You never paid a scrap of attention to the real live daughter who shared your house for the past eighteen years." I'm angry and frustrated and at my breaking point, so I forge on, "If you're so curious why I spend so much time with Sean, it's because he loves me more than you do!"
My words tumble from my mouth in a rush, my brain hardly registering what I'm saying. Sean loves me? Does he really though? We're friends, but that's all we've ever been. Probably all we ever will be. But my mouth charges on, regardless of the questions my mind throws at me. "When I was afraid, it wasn't your arms I ran to, it was his. It wasn't you I went to for advice, it was Sean! And now you want to tell me that I can't race because I don't have your consent? Well, I have Sean's consent, and that's all that matters."
"Bay," Dad seethes, stepping closer to me. I step back and my knees hit the chair behind me. With a gasp I fall into it. I don't think I've ever seen my father this angry. There is a foreign light in his eyes that frightens me and I don't know whether to hold still or attempt to run. Dad leans over me, putting his hands on the arms of my chair. We're very close; I can smell a hint of alcohol on his breath.
"Is that what you think?!" he shouts even though we're mere inches apart. "Is it?" he demands when I don't answer.
"Yes," I whisper, tears stinging my eyes.
"Everything I've ever done was to protect you from your mother's fate, Bay Fisher," he whispers so low and harshly that the words barely register on my ears. "All those times I refused your wishes, all those times I wouldn't let you go somewhere or do something. Everything," he emphasizes.
"What about all those nights you came home drunk?" I dare to ask. "Or those times you didn't come home at all?"
Dad makes a frustrated noise in the back of his throat and suddenly stands up, turning his back on me and crossing his arms. "That is beside the point—"
"Is it?" It's my turn to challenge.
Dad turns back to me, his brow drawn with anger. "Yes. It is."
But I'm not done with the subject.
"Or is it just because you're too proud to admit that you're wrong sometimes?" I'm crying freely now, but I don't know whether the tears are from anger, frustration, or sadness. I don't want to argue with my dad and I know it's wrong but I feel so helpless to stop it. A voice in my head keeps telling me to shut up and quit digging myself in deeper, but another one tells me I'm already in over my head so why not keep going?
"Is it right for you to deliberately disobey your father? Is it right for you to own a bloody man-slaying beast?" Dad returns.
"Tempest isn't a man-slayer!"
"What if he tries, Bay? Can you stop him?"
I open my mouth to speak, but no words come out. Could I stop Tempest? I'd like to think that I can. That I have all his instincts under my control. But the stark, honest truth is if Tempest ever really goes for the kill, I can't hold him back.
"Malvern can't stop him, either," I say instead. "He'd still be as much of a danger in his hands as in mine."
"When Malvern owns the beast, then it isn't my problem."
"Malvern will never own Tempest!" I yell, returning to our original argument. "Haven't you listened to a word I've said?"
"You haven't heard anything I've said this whole night, Bay! Do you expect me to listen to you?"
"It might be nice for once!"
Dad opens his mouth to say something, but I don't wait for his reply. Exploding from my chair, I spin on my heel and run—away from the living room, away from dad, away from myself. Behind me, Dad shouts my name, but I don't look back and dash recklessly through the kitchen to the door. Yanking it open I run out onto the porch, pausing only for a moment as the torrential rain and wind tear at my clothes. Lightning races in jagged streaks across the sky and thunder rumbles, but I don't care. I have to get away. To find someone who understands. I know I can't make it to Sean's house in this weather, so Tempest will suffice. Running blind, I throw myself from the porch and am immediately hit with a wall of rain.
"Bay!" Dad follows me to the doorway. Whatever he says next is drowned by a high, blood-curdling scream—the call of a hunting capall uisce. My heart pounds a broken rhythm against my chest as my eyes desperately search the darkened yard for any sign of the uisce, but they find nothing in the shadows. I know it's foolish, but I keep running. The barn is only a few feet away, though I can barely see it through the dark and the rain. What I do see next makes my heart stop.
Lightning strikes in a ragged flash somewhere close by and for a moment, the night is as bright as day, lit with an ugly, harsh glare. And towering over me, face to face, is a giant black uisce stallion, fangs bared in a hungry snarl. I do the only thing that comes to mind. I scream. I've never screamed more loudly in my life. It's a primal, panicked sound - the sound of sheer terror. I have no idea how to react; my entire body is numb. Dumbly, I stagger back a step as the stallion arches his neck, preparing to lunge.
Just as he lunges, I hear a sharp crack and something flies past my face so close, I feel it. The stallion lurches, as if hit, and throws his head back, screaming in pain. With a shrill shriek, he crashes to the ground at my feet, already writhing in a rapidly spreading pool of his own blood. I glance back to the doorway where my dad stands, feet braced apart, rifle still to his shoulder. I look back at the capail uisce. My breath comes in hard, heaving gasps and I feel as if I will be sick. The sleek animal now stiffening in its own blood could just as easily have been Tempest. Or Corr, or Penda. Or the piebald or Tommy Falk's black mare. It makes me wonder if it's all worth it. Can we really trust these beasts or are we just fooling ourselves so that we can indulge in our fantasies? I can't tear my eyes away from the horse. I don't know exactly where Dad shot it—it's too dark and there's so much blood and water—but death came almost instantly. Any one of those beasts could do the same to me. To Sean. To any of us. Trembling uncontrollably I turn and run as fast as my shaking legs will carry me. Back to the porch and into Dad's arms. He wraps me in a strong embrace, stroking my hair, like he used to a long time ago, when I was little and Mom was still alive.
"Hold me," I whisper, my tears soaking his shirt.
His arms tighten around me, but he doesn't say anything. And for a few precious seconds, I can forget our argument, I can forget Malvern…I can forgive.
For one perfect moment, I am safe.