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“Aye, good thinking, not bringing the magic into you.”
“Yeah, but now what?”
“Now we escape,” he says.
“How?”
He grins widely and holds out his hand. I take it, and as he clenches my hand in his he sidesteps, pulling me along with him.
We stumble as we touch down behind the fleeing humans. The monsters remain busy attempting to tear down the magical barrier which allows us to make our escape. The trick seems to work but I don’t think it will again.
We join the retreating forces and march away. The lapping waters of Loch Ness grow louder as we move. As the immediate threat eases the mob slows down and the soft murmur of conversations rise. Dugald and I remain at the back of the group, watching for threats and aiding stragglers as we can. Neither of us talk, lost in our own thoughts.
“Damn your English ass,” someone ahead yells and then there is the sound of a scuffle.
Dugald and I exchange a glance as we push ahead. There must be over a hundred, possibly two hundred, people in our retreating group and it’s an even mix of Scots and Brits. The MacGregors are keeping to themselves, making a third division in the group, but not enough to themselves it seems.
One of the MacGregor men, Drever, is locked into a tussle with a British soldier. The Scots and the Brits are taking sides against each other and there is no doubt in my mind that in moments this will be a full-on brawl.
“Stop!” I yell, pushing through the crowd.
The two men have their hands on each other’s shoulders, trying to push one another or take the other to the ground. I’m not sure which. Their faces are red and angry as they spit and splutter, straining to get the upper hand.
“Get him, Drever.”
“Come on, Tomas, don’t let a bloody Scot beat you.”
“Enough!” I say, breaking into the circle around them at last. “Drever, please.”
Drever glances over, taking his attention off the soldier for long enough that the Brit punches him in the face. Drever’s nose breaks and blood sprays across the onlookers. He yelps in pain and, as if on cue, the Scotsmen rush the British.
I throw my arms wide and hold my hands out to either side, willing them both to stop, and magic somehow responds again. Both sides slam into invisible walls, shouting in pain and surprise.
“I said, enough,” I repeat myself. “Drever come here, let me see.”
I grab Drever and pull him towards me, but as I do the British soldier, Tomas, tries to get in another punch. I see it coming. I hold my fingers stiff and jab them into the cluster of nerves that connect at the shoulder, knowing from both my limited pre-med training and my long-ago Tae Kwon Do that it will make his arm go numb almost instantly. He yelps as his arm drops and I glare.
“What did you do to my arm?” he asks.
“You won’t lose it,” I say. “Yet. Try that again and I’ll make sure you do.”
He can’t meet my eyes as he mutters an apology.
“He broke mah nose,” Drever says, keeping his head tilted back as blood pours.
“I know, let me help,” I say.
I put my hands on his face, close my eyes, and dig deep for whatever magic I have inside, not allowing myself to pull on the energy that roars so loudly in my ears. What I have is enough, though, and the blood slows then stops as the bones knit back together in his nose.
“Ach, that’s better,” he says, his eyes wide.
“Good,” I say, then put my attention on the onlookers. Dugald is a few steps away, watching and waiting to see what I’ll do. When I look at him, he smiles and nods encouragingly. “All of you, listen.” I pitch my voice to be heard. “We can’t fight each other. That’s over, right now. You got it?”
“What was that?” someone asks. “What happened back there?”
“Dark magic,” I answer. “The darkest. And now we must work together if we’re going to survive. You saw what those things are doing. They don’t care if you’re a Scot or a Brit; they only want to kill and destroy. It’s going to take all of us if we’re going live through this. Do all of you understand?”
The murmurs of assent are a heck of a lot less than I’d hoped for, but they are there. At least no one is arguing against me.
