Caledonia Page 9

  “Only in Glasgow,” she said, and shook her head.

  “Aonghas,” said Dorian. “If Dylan has been called, then that means –”

  “Yes,” agreed Aonghas. “One of the Guardians is dead. And Dylan has been called to replace him.”

  “This must be the reason that Tearlach ended up on Sauchiehall Street,” said Dorian. “Dylan wouldn’t realise it, of course, but Trooping Faeries control time. Even dreaming, for them, is dangerous – being drunk, even more.”

  Dylan pushed some of the huge feathers aside to peer with violence at Dorian.

  “You tellin’ me I cannae drink anymair?” said Dylan.

  “It wouldn’t be advisable,” said Dorian primly, arranging his gloves.

  “How dae we get Tearlach back hame?” asked Dylan. “Someone aroun’ here needs t’be responsible, an’ it seems t’be ma fault he wound up here.”

  “You are the strangest ned I have ever met,” said Leah.

  Dylan just glared. He indicated the food they had provided for Tearlach.

  “Widjae get him su’n mair appropriate, lamb an’ mash, or su’n?” he said.

  Leah and Dorian exchanged glances.

  “I am a grown man, Dylan,” said Tearlach.

  “Aye, we can see tha’, wi’ all yir muscles rippling all over everywhere,” Dylan retorted. “It doesnae mean tha’ you should be eatin’ this.”

  “Hmm,” mused Dorian.

  He looked at Leah, who nodded.

  “Maybe you should go back with him,” suggested Leah.

  Dylan goggled at them.

  “Wit?” he asked. “What guid would tha’ do? An’ can someone help me put these things away already?!”

  Aonghas laughed and touched a wingtip. They vanished.

  “Just takes practice,” he said. “You’ll get used to it. Although I wouldn’t recommend doing that in a small room.”

  “Yes, Dylan, come back with me,” said Tearlach. “You certainly don’t seem to like it in this day and age.”

  “Oh, aye?” he said. “But wha’s in charge a Glesga then? Wha’s in charge o’ my city, my people? This numptie? He abandoned Glesga, he abandoned us.”

  Dorian gave Dylan a warning look.

  “Dylan, Aonghas is a High Faerie,” said Dorian. “He outranks us all –”

  “Aye?” said Dylan, rounding on the selkie, “Wull, he's certainly been high, all right! I may no’ be ancient, but I’m a better man than him.”

  Aonghas opened his mouth. Dylan’s white wings manifested with a snap, like a sail filling with wind.

  “Nae,” said Dylan, shaking his finger in Aonghas's face. “Nae. Don’ you dare. Don’ you dare.”

  Tearlach stood and went to Dylan, whose wings vibrated with emotion.

  “Where was he, when ma mum died of an overdose?!” Dylan shouted. “Where was he, when I had tae take care of ma wee sister? I was alone, an’ he went on holiday!”

  Tearlach took his hand.

  “Ma wee sister is dead,” said Dylan. “Ma mum is dead. I was six. Ma mum died in the street, an’ she told me the government would come an’ separate us. She said they would put us in a horrible place where we’d be tortured an’ abused. I didnae ken how to take care of a wee bairn. I tried t’gie her food, an’ milk, an’ she died in my arms, Aonghas. Ma sister died in ma arms, and I was too afraid to ask for help, so I was. I ran away. I left them both, because how could I explain? I was six.”

  He held Aonghas's gaze.

  “I was a smart bairn,” he went on. “I widnae deal drugs, an’ I wanted tae make something of masel’. I stole books. I begged on street corners. I read. I fought, I made friends, I lost them. I enrolled masel’ in school. They never asked. They never once asked where ma mother was.”

  Dylan turned, his wings spread wide.

  “Wi’ all yir talk of neds, an’ yir superiority – aye, I am a ned. An’ proud of it. I wisnae raised, I was forged.”

  Dylan went up to Aonghas, and put his face very close to the Fae. He looked into his eyes.

  “So I am asking you again, Aonghas Mòr, Guardian of Glesga,” said Dylan. “Where ha’ you been?”

  Everyone in the room was silent. Aonghas stared at the ground. Tearlach's expression was dark and tears brimmed in his eyes.

  “He asked you a question,” said Tearlach, and the clear hardness of his voice rang out with the memory of war and loss. The Highland warrior in him was evident in every sinew, flecks of iron in every word.

  Aonghas shrugged. None of this had an effect on him. He had been around too long, and had seen too much. He did not feel responsible, not for the state of the city nor for these young and foolish creatures stupid enough to defy him. He was a powerful Trooping Faerie, from the days when there had been no city here. He was eternal, and he no longer much cared what people thought of him.

  “He's right,” he said. “I am not the Fae for the job. That doesn't matter, it's still mine. I cannot give it up, and it is not my responsibility what happens to individual Glaswegians.”

  Dylan gave him an incredulous look.

  “Oh, aye?” he demanded. “Wull, tha’s no’ how it works, the way I see it. If yir magic, if you hae power, if yir giein su’n t’do, you oughta bloody well do it. If a place needs protection, it’s yir job t’mak’ sure that the place is protected.”

  “Aye,” said Tearlach. “You are an all-powerful Fae. You have no excuse. Even the children of my clan are warriors, and they have nothing but their own bravery to guide them.”

  Both Dorian and Leah were surprised by Dylan’s outburst, but Tearlach was proud, as if he’d always known that Dylan was capable of this sort of selfless loyalty.

  Dylan managed to fold in his wings, throw the doors open, and go outside. Tearlach looked around the room with a gaze like thunder, and then followed him out the door.

  Chapter Ten

  “This certainly explains a great deal,” said Dorian. “Irresponsible isn’t the word, Aonghas. You have much to answer for – to Dylan first of all, and then to the Fae Council.”

  Aonghas blanched.

  “You…you wouldn’t put the Fae Council on me for this?” he asked.

  Dorian ignored him, turning instead to Leah.

  “Aonghas claims he was gone for an evening,” said Dorian witheringly. “But you’re a folklorist, Leah. Tell me how long an evening is.”

  “Well,” said Leah, thinking, “in the Fairy Reel story of the two brothers, one stayed to dance and the other went home. The brother who danced – it was some weeks before he even completed the first reel, months went past, and years even…”

  She turned slowly to look at Aonghas.

  “You were gone…for years?” she asked.

  “There are other Guardians!” Aonghas said defensively, holding his hands up. “They’re responsible too.”

  “And how many of them, do you think, now owe a favour to this Sebastian?” asked Leah.

  Aonghas closed his mouth.

  “Leaving the city means leaving one edge of it open,” explained Dorian. “A tear in the cloth. Even if the other Guardians were vigilant, they face outwards. Once danger is within the city walls, so to speak, it is more difficult to sense. Anything could be out there now, Aonghas. Anything at all.”

  Leah had been silent while they spoke. She looked up.

  “So…” she said. “The shipping industry goes under. Poverty. Drugs. This has been a hard city since the beginning, but it was working-class hard. Are you telling me it’s like this, now – because you wanted to go to a bar?”

  The storm in Dorian’s expression was unmistakable.

  Aonghas did not reply.

  They both looked at him. He shook his head.

  “I don't think –” he began.

  “We are caretakers, Aonghas,” said Dorian severely. “We do not get holidays. If you wanted to drink, Glasgow has pubs. It is not meant to be in our nature to desire a break. Even so, we were here. Why did you not tell us?”

  “Be
cause I am fed up with this!” cried Aonghas, turning to Leah. “Look at what your world, your city, has turned me into! A...A bum.”

  “A Glaswegian,” said Leah. “If that is something you hate so much, have you ever thought that it was the lack of your guiding hand that helped cause it?”

  Aonghas stared at Leah, utterly speechless. The truth of this shone brightly in his mind.

  “Perhaps it is time to take up the mantle again,” said Dorian. “Take this poor young man under your wing, so to speak. It is time. It is too late for many, but there is time enough for those still to come.”

  Aonghas nodded, and his mouth tightened against the first tears to visit him in centuries.

  ***

  Outside, Tearlach caught up with Dylan.

  “Fuck aff,” said Dylan, walking swiftly into the wind and needling rain. Tearlach put a hand on his arm and spun him around with surprising ease and grace.

  “Dylan Stuart,” said Tearlach. “and you are an honour to the name – but will you not listen to me?”

  “Why?” he asked. “What on earth could an 18th-century Highlander possibly have tih say tae me? You dinnae ken what heroin is! Ye dinnae ken Glesga! Hell, you dinnae e’en ken what Irn-Bru is! What can you possibly hae t’say tae me, Tearlach of Glengoyne?!”

  Tearlach stared at him, in the dark and forbidding Glasgow greylight. The rain was coming down swiftly now, obscuring the black-accented brown buildings, marks of the days when coal was king, and the city suffocated with it.

  “When I was a wee boy,” said Tearlach, “my clan was attacked in the night. Everyone was slaughtered – my parents, my brothers and sisters. I escaped, over the mountains, to the only other clan who could take me in – the Stuarts. I escaped alone. I am alone, Dylan Stuart, like you. My name is Tearlach of Glengoyne, who follows Iain. You are a Stuart. Your people saved me.”

  Dylan gazed at his friend for a moment.

  Then his great seraph wings unfolded to surround them both, shielding them from the rain and the sky.

  Dylan smiled, and Tearlach, in the shade of his wings, grinned back at him.

  ***

  The door to the station opened. Leah, Dorian, and Aonghas turned to see Dylan enter with Tearlach. The young man's wings unfolded and shook rain everywhere.

  “Pardon me,” said Dorian. “The carpets were cleaned just this morning.”

  Leah shot him a look.

  “What?” he asked.

  “I will work wi’ you,” Dylan said. “But you’ll agree t’dae yir job, an’ t’ be responsible, Aonghas.”

  Aonghas stood up.

  “I cannot stand for this,” he said. “This – young upstart.”

  “Tak’ it or leave it, old man,” Dylan replied.

  Aonghas crossed his arms.

  “I think he's right, Aonghas,” said Leah. “You've let the city down.”

  “Dylan is the hero Glasgow needs,” said Dorian, smiling. “Aonghas is the hero Glasgow deserves.”

  Leah rotated towards him.

  “Did you just make a Batman reference?” she asked.

  Dorian sniffed.

  “I am not entirely devoid of culture, Miss Bishop,” he said.

  Dylan paced the floor.

  “Awright, big man,” said Dylan, crossing his arms. “Anyway how come you can be drunk an’ never accidentally summon a teuchter fae the past, or anythin’?”

  “Practice, my boy,” said Aonghas. “Practice.”

  “Does the package come wi’ anythin’ besides giant wings?” asked Dylan.

  “Yes,” said Aonghas. “The first thing you will need is your pouch – used to carry bread and water, sometimes ale or mead. Nowadays I can’t get anything out of it besides curry and Buckfast.”

  “What, you mean this?” asked Dylan. He lifted Aonghas's satchel.

  He reached in and pulled out a full lamb and mash meal, never breaking Aonghas's gaze. He handed the food to Tearlach, who began eating it with evident enjoyment.

  Aonghas stared at the satchel, then back at Dylan.

  “Clearly you need t’stop drinkin’ yirsel’,” said Dylan. “Practice or no’.”

  He turned to the room at large.

  “I’m Glesga's guardian angel the noo,” he stated. “Anyone or anythin’ tha’ stands against Glesga will hafta answer tae me.”

  ***

  Dylan looked confident, as if he had found a purpose. The new wings dwarfed him, but somehow he looked right. Tearlach stood and went to him.

  “This is a great honour, Dylan,” said Tearlach gently. “There are very few who can claim it.”

  Dylan's wings gave a tentative beat.

  “Aye?” he said. “It was inevitable, wasn’t it?”

  “Not if the Guardian hadn't died,” said Aonghas. “Sebastian is indeed more powerful than we thought. This was his warning to me. It is on my head, Dylan, both the death of the Guardian and your new responsibility. It is a heavy burden and I would not have wished it upon you.”

  Dylan took a deep breath, and looked at Tearlach. His eyes sparkled.

  “Wull,” he said. “There's nae use greetin’ about what coulda been, or what shoulda been. I reckon you'll tell me what I need tae learn.”

  Aonghas lifted his head. His elven features cleared, almost into a smile.

  “There is nothing either of you can do now about the death,” said Tearlach. “The Fae are powerful. In my time, they were still respected and feared. If it is your duty to be eternal guardians of this city, it would be best to work together.”

  Dylan and Aonghas nodded.

  “Shall we?” asked Aonghas.

  “Are we free tae go?” asked Dylan.

  They looked over to where Dorian and Leah were talking, and Magnus was on the computer.

  “I believe so,” said Tearlach. He went over to Magnus.

  “Excuse me, my lord,” he said, bowing deeply. “May we go?”

  Magnus smiled a brilliant smile.

  “Oh yes, of course,” he said. “My apologies. We are so distracted by the case. I wish you luck, Tearlach.”

  He looked over at Aonghas and Dylan.

  “And I am sure I will be seeing the two of you again,” he said, with a knowing grin.

  “All right, that's our cue,” said Aonghas. “Let's go.”

  The three men left Caledonia Interpol, not quite friends, but not quite enemies either.

  ***

  Dylan's favourite pub was crowded. He had thought it would be fitting to take his friend out for a drink at the same place they had met. He wasn't sure whether becoming Fae, or realising he was Fae, was worthy of celebration, but he felt some kind of drinking session was in order.

  Tearlach smiled at Dylan. He raised his beer.

  “To you, my friend,” Tearlach said, and took a deep draught. He then stared at the glass with extreme distrust.

  “Wit’s wrang?” asked Dylan through a mouthful of foam.

  “What is this?” demanded Tearlach.

  “It’s beer,” Dylan said.

  Tearlach stared at his friend as though he was playing a dangerous and not particularly funny practical joke.

  “I don’t know who's been telling you that, son,” said Tearlach, “but this isn’t beer.”

  “Wit d’you mean?”

  “Is there a way you can reach back into the past and bring something forward?” asked Tearlach.

  “I dinnae ken. I could try.”

  “See if you can imagine my village, and bring some real beer into this day and age,” Tearlach said.

  Dylan concentrated, imagining a pristine Highland village and a glassy loch, the sun shining down on green hills and mountains, and then, nestled in the town, the sort of alehouse he'd once seen at a Renaissance festival.

  There was a loud pop, and an explosive rustle of feathers. Two tall mugs of foaming beer sat in front of the men, but unfortunately the effort had caused Dylan’s wings to appear and knock over a few of their fellow patrons. Tearlach and Dylan looked a
round, terrified at what might transpire due to this foolish display of power. There was no telling how Glaswegians might react to a ned angel.

  The entire pub erupted in applause, even the people who had been knocked down. They touched the long flight feathers of the wings and complimented them on such amazing costumes, what with Dylan’s ned angel outfit and Tearlach looking as if he had dressed as the cover of a romance novel for an early Hallowe’en.

  Dylan breathed a sigh of relief, and proudly waved his wings a bit. He strangely disliked the lack of them. They felt a part of him and a symbol of what he hoped to become. He had always wanted to do something with his life, to be important somehow. Now, he felt responsible for an entire city, a lynchpin holding it together and helping to improve conditions. He knew the work would be slow, and arduous, but he also felt the responsibility, as if he had been born into it – and in a way, he had.

  “You’ll get stuck like that,” said another voice.

  Dylan started, and turned to see Aonghas seated at the table. Tearlach pretended there was something very interesting on the ceiling.

  “Aonghas! I’m sorry, we were jist –”

  “Manifesting your wings for the punters? Trying to order beer from the eighteenth century? Yeah, I got that,” said Aonghas. “While you can indeed do that, that’s not what you’ve done.”

  “Oh?”

  “You’ve created it yourself.”

  “Wit?”

  “You created this beer. You imagined what Scotland was like back then, and you made beer out of it.”

  Tearlach and Dylan stared at the beer. It did not do anything particularly startling.

  “So…this is…distilled imaginary Scotland?” asked Dylan.

  “Pretty much,” said Aonghas, putting a hand to one well-defined cheekbone and leaning against it, amused.

  “That's not the important question here,” said Tearlach decisively. “The important question is: does it taste any good?”

  They looked at the beer again. Aonghas rolled his eyes.

  “Wull,” said Dylan, rubbing his hands in anticipation. “It looks like it’s ma responsibility tae find out. Widnae want the two o’ you t’get poisoned, or anythin’.”