The Sirens - 02 Read online

  He bummed another cigarette...at least he had something in common with his mother. He smoked greedily for a while before continuing.

  * * *

  The next thing I remember is waking up in a strange bed, staring at the ceiling and wondering where the biggest pain was coming from. I pushed myself out of bed, and screamed. My lower torso, from nipples to thighs, was a mass of bandages, soaked red and getting wetter by the second. I believe I must have fainted, for when I next looked up Irene was standing over me, dabbing at my head with a cold compress.

  "Lie still John. You're with family. We'll look after you."

  I tried to formulate questions, but my head felt light and empty, and I couldn't concentrate on anything more than her face.

  "Family?" I managed to croak.

  She nodded.

  "Welcome to the Mason family home," she said. "You're in the upstairs guest room in the Auld Kelpie in Portree. No doubt your mother has told you about the place?"

  I shook my head. I was incapable of much else.

  "Don't worry," she said, and mopped my brow again. "There's plenty of time for you to catch up."

  And that was it for what seemed like months. I was as weak as a baby, unable to get out of bed. Irene bathed me and cleaned me, as embarrassing as that was. And I got slowly better.

  Eventually the bandages came off, and I saw what had been done...I damned near lost my manhood altogether, and I still don't know how I avoided bleeding to death. But the day eventually came when I was well enough to get out of bed.

  Irene held my arm as she led me down from my sick flat, and into the bar below. And that's where I met the Mason brothers...my cousins, my rescuers...my captors.

  * * *

  He stopped and stared into the distance. The seal incident apart it seemed obvious to me that he'd been kidnapped, tortured and drugged...and that might even explain the seal part.

  "So how much did they ask for you?" I said.

  "Nothing," he said, matter-of-factly. "They didn't seem interested in money, even although they knew all along that my father had plenty."

  That was one of Jim Morton's theories gone down the pan.

  "So what did they want with you?"

  "To protect me," he said. "Here, take the wheel. That coffee has gone right through me."

  "Protect you from what?" I asked, as he climbed down into the lower area.

  "Myself," his voice came, muffled from below. Then there was silence in which I was left to mull over the implications, and try not to steer towards the shore.

  "Can I have another cigarette?" he said when he returned. "They wouldn't let me have any, apart from those that Irene smuggled in for me."

  "So let me get this straight," I said, "They kept you captive for months, didn't ask for any money, and said it was for your own protection?"

  He lit his cigarette like an addict returning after an enforced absence, and had three long puffs before replying.

  "You're right. It sounds strange. But they had their reasons. And I soon had reason myself to believe them."

  The rain had stopped, and a rainbow hung like a bridge over the Red Cullins. We were sailing through some of the most spectacular scenery a man could wish to see, but I only looked at him as his story unfolded. He had taken the wheel, and he stared forward, but his gaze was far away.

  "That first day out of bed, I thought I was going mad. They sat me down, me on one side of the table the three of them on the other, and they told me a story. I'll tell it to you like they told it to me, and see if you can make sense of it. Then I'll show you something, and then I'll have a favor to ask you."

  * * *

  Long ago, and far to the north where the ice meets the sea and the great white bears prowl for unwary travelers, there was an island of sea-faring folk who were renowned for their prowess in fishing. It is said that every time they took to sea their nets bulged heavy...so heavy that they had to throw back more than twice what they were able to carry. Nothing that swam in the seas was safe, for the men were so gifted that no shoal could hide from them. Across the seas of Midgard their sails blew tight in the spray, and their songs swelled with the wind as they hunted.

  So big were their catches, so bountiful were their tables, that their fame at last reached as far as Valhalla, to the halls of Odin himself. And even Odin, the master hunter, was in awe of the exploits that were related at his table. But the tales were so tall, seemingly so exaggerated, that the old God would not swallow them, for he had heard many tales over his long years, and was wise enough to know that the teller was just as important as the tale itself.

  So he sent his son Loki to find out if the stories were true, for Loki was a teller of tall tales himself, and would know a lie if one faced him.

  "Bring me the truth of it," Odin said, and Loki smiled sweetly, though the truth was little more than a passing stranger to the Trickster.

  For long months he searched the circling sea, and many great and mighty things did he learn. And everywhere he went he heard tales of the great fishermen of the North, who had risen in greatness so far among the other seafaring folks that they might even be gods themselves.

  And Loki saw this, and was enraged that mere fisherfolk might usurp the place of the mighty in the hearts of common men.

  After long journeys he came to the land of the fishermen on a sunny day in summer and saw the nets bulging with the herring, the silver mounds filling the harbors and inlets for many leagues around.

  And the townsfolk saw him, and took him in, and there was a great feast. Ragna, the King of the Fisherfolk, took Loki to his side at the high table, and there was much talk of fish and fishermen. The ale flowed freely, and talk grew loose.

  "King Ragna," Loki said, rising from his seat at the table. "You are truly a great hunter. Surely Odin himself would not take so much in his nets."

  Now Ragna, who cared little for the ways of the gods, grew boastful,

  "No disrespect to your father, lad, but he is a land hunter. No one is better on the water than I. I can catch anything that swims," he said.

  Now Ragna's daughter, Myrna, was a great beauty and Loki had his eye on her throughout the feast. So when Ragna made his boast, Loki laid his trap, for he had seen a way to take the girl, yet still explain himself back in Valhalla.

  "I have a wager for you, King Ragna," the god said. "On the morrow we will take to the boats, and I will show you what I wish you to catch. If you succeed, I will promise to tell Odin himself that Ragna is the King of all Fisherfolk."

  "And if I fail?"

  "If you fail, I take the hand of your daughter Myrna, in marriage," the god said.

  Now Ragna saw this as a wager where he could not lose, and the King and the god shook hands on the deal.

  On the morrow they took to the water in the boats, and all the menfolk of the people went with them.

  Loki took them to the south, to land's they had never before fished, in seas they had never before sailed. And great was the bounty in the waters, where the shoals of herring stretched for miles and the whales dived in their hundreds.

  "And what is it you wish us to catch, my lord," Ragna said to Loki. And Loki smiled, for he had a secret.

  "I have a special catch for you this day, King Ragna." And suddenly, all around their boats, the heads of seals bobbed in the water, their plaintive cries echoing across the water.

  "But these are no sport," the King said.

  "Nevertheless, these are your wager," Loki replied.

  So the fisherfolk went to it with gusto. They sang as they hauled the catches in, and soon their nets were full to the busting with the screaming seals. But their songs soon turned to wails, for as their catch left the water the seals began to change, into wives, and daughters, into mother and sister, the womenfolk of the fishermen, now all gasping for air.

  "Like fish out of water," Loki said and laughed.

  King Ragna ordered the catch put back, but he was too late, and the bodies of the dead floated around them.
All save one, a single seal that sang a plaintive song of loss and sorrow as the men in the boats wept.

  "It seems you have lost the wager, King Ragna. It seems I have to tell Odin I am a better fisherman than you, for look...I have got myself a sea wife, your daughter, Myrna."

  And Ragna, in his rage, lifted Loki from the deck, but the god merely laughed and changed his form to a huge black crow, whose cawing laugh echoed long after it had flown to the north.

  And Loki returned to Odin, and told a tale of how the fisherfolk had thought themselves above even Odin himself, and how he, Loki, had tricked them. But he did not tell of the deaths of the womenfolk, and although Odin knew there was a lie in the tale, he could not separate the big lie from the smaller one, and in time the affairs of Asgard took precedence over the affairs of men.

  "Far away in Midgard, Ragna made a new home, there where his daughter swam and sang. And great was the sorrow of the people, for without the womenfolk they grew old and died, and none followed them.

  "And it came to pass that when King Ragna was an old, bent man, that he was the last of his people. And with his dying breath he called down a curse on the sons of Loki...that they would come when one of Myrna's blood called, that they would be father and protector of Myrna's children, that they would be cursed to serve the very line that Loki had tried to erase.

  "And high in his halls, great Odin heard, and now he knew of Loki's perfidy. So he sent to Myrna a song, a lay that would entice the sons of Loki. And even as King Ragna's eyes were closing for the last time, he heard the song, and saw on the beach, a man called to be the first, first of the sea-husbands."

  * * *

  John Mason stopped, and stared out to sea.

  "And?" I said.

  "And what? That's the story, just as they told it to me. Then they told me what had actually happened to me on the beach. I am a 'Son of Loki' and I'd just met a 'Daughter of Myrna'...and more than just met...it seems I had probably made her pregnant."

  I'm afraid I laughed, a bit too loudly. "I don't know what they've been giving you to keep you quiet, but I wish I had some of it," I said.

  He smiled grimly.

  "I know. I laughed at them as well. But there was more to come." He turned towards me. "There's a half-bottle of whisky next to the sink. Get us both a glass. We're getting to the good bit."

  I climbed down into the galley and found both the whisky and the glasses. I checked my watch. It was just after ten o'clock...a little early for strong drink. But the chill that had threatened to settle in my bones had little to do with the wind or the sea, and I was glad to join him as we had a large measure each.

  * * *

  Things came to a head the first time I looked in the mirror," he continued. "You expect to see yourself...it's something you do everyday, and something you take for granted. You can't imagine what it's like when someone else looks out of the mirror at you. The man that looked at me was fitter than I have ever been...and ten years younger than I knew myself to be.

  I handled it as well as you'd think...I headed for the bar, intending to drink so much I wouldn't be able to see the mirror, never mind my reflection. But the Mason boys had other ideas."

  "We cannae have you drinking," they said. "You need to keep yourself ready for when 'she' needs you."

  They tried to stop me, and that's when it happened. A rage took me...a mindless, uncontrollable temper. Before they could lay hands on me I was past them and out of the door. I must have made quite a sight, running full pelt through the streets of Portree.

  I had no idea where I was going...I was running for the pure mad joy of it. A young boy was delivering papers on his bike, and I screamed so loudly in his face that I left him a quivering wreck on the pavement beside the cycle, its wheels still spinning as I sped past.

  Through moor and forest I ran, leaping gorges and scaling cliff faces like a gibbon on speed. I ran through fields of sheep, which scattered in fright before me. A farmer's dog leapt in my face, and I had it disemboweled and dead before its heart had time to stop beating. I looked at the ruined rib cage...and started salivating.

  And that's when the rage left me, as quickly as it had come. I fell to my knees and threw up until there was nothing left to heave and only my tears fell on the dog's dead eyes.

  * * *

  He stopped again, eyes watery, his grip on the whisky glass so tight that I feared it might shatter. He finished his drink in one gulp and looked around for more. I handed him mine...he looked like he needed it. I also passed him another cigarette. What with the booze and the cigarettes, the family was doing their best to get their money's worth on this case.

  * * *

  "The thing is..." he finally continued, "...the thing is, it could just have easily been the boy on the bike. I went from rage to abject misery in a heartbeat. Something inside me was capable of tearing a dog apart...was capable of considering eating the dog...eating it raw!

  "At some point I wandered away into the night. It was raining, and there was a howling, driving wind. I was wearing only a T-shirt and a pair of jogging pants, but I felt no cold...I felt nothing.

  "I have no idea where I was...somewhere in the north of the island high up on the Uig peninsula, I think. But somehow the Mason boys knew. They found me in the early morning and took me home...to the room above the bar, to the place where there are no mirrors, the place where I've spent every night since trying to forget about the horrifying, seductive, smell of the ruined body of the dog."

  * * *

  He drowned the rest of the whisky quickly. There were many unanswered questions...not least how a sick man could do what he said he'd done, but I let them lie. He wasn't yet finished.

  "My mother tried to contact me," he said. "But I put her off. I couldn't let her see me like this..."

  He lifted his shirt. From his nipples to his waist was what I first took for scar tissue, but when I looked closer I saw it for what it was...fur. Thick, brownish-red fur, like the coat of a red-setter.

  I sat down, hard, on the rail around the small cabin, so hard that I nearly fell over backwards. Mason moved, so fast I barely noticed, and pulled me back. His grip on my wrist was like a clasp of iron.

  My hand was shaking as I pointed at his midriff. "You should get that seen to," I said.

  He laughed, but there was little humor in it.

  "Today it's fur. Yesterday it was more like crocodile skin...and once it was hard, like turtle-shell. I'm just waiting for feathers and I'll have had a full set."

  "But...what the hell is wrong with you?" I said. My hands shook so much that he had to light my cigarette for me.

  "Don't you get it? Loki was renowned for two things...he was a great trickster...and a great shape-shifter. And I am a Son of Loki."

  4

  I could only sit and stare at him for a long time. It didn't really matter if I believed him...what mattered was that he believed it. I waited until my hands stopped shaking before I spoke again.

  "So, we've had the 'show and tell'. What's the favor?"

  "I just want to do the right thing by my mother, and stand with her at the auld man's funeral. I hated the bastard, but I can't refuse my mother."

  "Aye," I said. "The plan was to get you back to Glasgow anyway. Is that the favor?"

  "No. I want you to keep your wee reporter pal away from the funeral...and away from me."

  "Ah...you see, there's a wee problem...he's sort of been helping me out with the case."

  "Well, he can sort of stop..." John Mason said. "I plan to be back in Portree as soon as possible after the funeral, and I don't want him snooping around."

  "You're going back? Why in God's name would you want to do that?"

  He thought for a long time before replying. "It's something I have to see through to the end. The brothers have finally convinced me of that fact, at least."

  "So why the cloak and dagger stuff back at the harbor?"

  "They want me to stay on the island. They say it's not safe otherwis
e. That's why I turned my mother down...why she sent you. It was Irene who turned me round. She missed her own dad's funeral...and has regretted it ever since."

  "And Irene?" I asked. "There's something between you and her?"

  "No. She's just been a good friend. She's married to Donald, the oldest of the brothers."

  This case was shifting too quickly under my feet. I sat back and watched the scenery for a while, contenting myself with the thought of the check waiting for me in old lady Malcolm's handbag.

  And that brought another thought.

  "The three brothers...they're your cousins?" I asked.

  "Aye. Their father and my father were brothers."

  "So...it wouldn't be out of place for them to be seen at the funeral?"

  "Oh, it would be a big surprise...the two sides of the family have not been on speaking terms for nearly forty years...you see..."

  I put up a hand to stop him.

  "Enough. My brain's taken in too much already. You can give me the family history on the way to Glasgow. We'll have plenty of time."

  We sailed on in silence for a while, each of us lost in our own thoughts. I was miles away, thinking of a hot shower and some fresh brewed coffee, when he spoke.

  "My mother...she was okay? When you saw her I mean."

  "Oh, aye. As fit as a butcher's dog. Well, as fit as one that smokes Marlboro and drinks malt whisky anyway."

  "My maw doesn't smoke or drink," he said.

  "She does now," I replied, but he wasn't listening.

  "She told me there was nothing but trouble for me on Skye," he said. "I should have listened to her."

  "Aye, a boy should always listen to his mammy."

  But he wasn't listening. He had that stare again, looking at someplace long ago and far away.

  At some point the rhythmic throb of the engine and the swell of the waves conspired to smooth me down into a fitful sleep where I dreamed of unfriendly pubs and howling on moonlit moors. All I needed was a gratuitous sex scene and I could have been in an old British horror movie. I was brought gratefully awake by a hand on my shoulder.