Darren Shan - Bec

“Should we avoid it?” Goll asks.

Drust thinks a while, then shakes his head. “We need to rest. We’ve had little sleep recently. We must seek shelter.”

“But if there are demons…” Goll mutters.

Drust glances up at the sky. “It’s a long time until sunset. We should be safe. And I’m curious. I want to know what these people are doing here—and how they’ve avoided being butchered by the Demonata.”

There’s a narrow gateway into the village but we climb over the wall in case the entrance is set with traps. There are animals within, scraggly sheep and goats. They scatter when they see us, bleating loudly.

A boy sticks his head out of a hut, a sling in one hand. He starts to shout—he thinks some animal has entered the village and scared the sheep and goats. Then he sees us and his shout changes from one of anger to one of alarm. “Strangers!”

Within seconds two men, three women and three children—two girls and the boy—are in front of the huts, spears and crude swords to hand, facing us. We hold our ground, weapons raised defensively. Then Goll gives the order for us to lower our arms. He steps forward, right hand held palm up, and shouts a greeting.

One of the men meets Goll halfway, face creased with suspicion, eyeing us beadily. The pair have a quick, hushed conversation. At the end, Goll turns and nods us forward, while the man returns to his place among the others.

When we’re all together, Goll makes our introductions. The man who met him then tells us they’re the MacGrigor. His name is Torin. The other man’s Ert. The women are Aideen, Dara and Fand. We aren’t told the names of the children.

“They’re on a quest,” Torin says. He’s a short, muscular man, dark skinned. “They want to stop the demons.”

One of the women—Fand—laughs. “Just the eight of them?”

“One is all it takes,” Drust responds.

“We don’t have much respect for druids here,” Ert says, spitting into the dirt at Drust’s feet. “Your kind aren’t as powerful as you pretend to be. We had dealings with your lot before and they failed us.”

“Failed you in what way?” Drust asks with cold politeness.

“We’ll talk of that later,” Torin says, frowning at Ert. “For now you’re welcome. We won’t turn you away. However, we can’t feed you, so if you want to eat, you’ll have to hunt.” He squints at the sun. “I wouldn’t wait too long.”

The woman called Aideen points to a pair of huts near the wall, both in poor condition. “You can stay there,” she says. “You’ll be safe if you don’t wander.”

“We’ll call for you later,” the third woman—Dara—adds.

“Thank you,” I mutter when the men don’t respond.

“Our pleasure,” Aideen replies. She starts to turn away, then stops and stares at me. “Girl,” she commands, “come here.”

I step forward cautiously. Aideen reaches for me sharply and I draw back from her cracked nails, readying myself to bark a spell. She spreads her fingers to show she means no harm, then smiles crookedly. I stand still while she cups my chin and tilts my head back.

“What is it?” Torin asks.

“Her face…” Aideen murmurs, turning my chin towards Torin.

The man frowns. “She looks like… but she can’t… Girl! What’s your name? Where are you from?”

“Bec,” I tell him. “I’m from the rath of the MacConn.”

“Are you of them?” Torin asks. “Is your mother of the clan?”

“My mother’s dead,” I answer softly. “Nobody knows who she was or where she came from. She died not long after I was born.”

“Aednat’s child!” Aideen gasps, her fingers tightening on my chin. “She must be!” I tingle with shock when she says that. The face of my mother forms quickly in my mind and for the first time ever I have a name to go with it.

“You knew my mother!” I cry.

“She was my sister,” Aideen croaks.

“Then this is where I’m from? This was where my mother lived?” When Aideen nods wonderingly my head spins and my heart leaps. “Why did she leave?” I yell. “What happened? Who was my father? Is he still alive? Do you—”

“Enough!” Torin interrupts. He’s glaring at me—the news that I’m of his people hasn’t pleased him. “We must think on this. We’ll talk about it tonight.”

Then he heads back inside the large stone hut, waving at the others to follow, leaving us to stare at one another uncertainly and make our way to the smaller huts to set up camp for the night.

My head’s still spinning. I’d almost forgotten about the spirit of my mother beckoning me west, and the notion that maybe she wanted to help me unlock the secrets of my past. Inside I never really believed I’d discover the truth about my family—it was a childish dream. Yet here I am, in the most unlikely of places, suddenly confronted with her name and the promise of my history.

Aednat. As soon as Aideen said it I knew it was my mother. Maybe it’s the magic that makes me sure, but I think I would have known even if it had happened before my new power blossomed. But her name is all I know. Who was she? Why did she live in this wilderness with the others? And why leave her family to bear me in loneliness and die so far from home?

I want to ask the questions now, find out the answers immediately. I want to rush to the large hut and demand the truth from Aideen and Torin. But this is their home, meagre as it is, and it would be disrespectful to speak out of turn. If their wish is for me to wait, then wait I must—no matter how frustrating that is.

Ronan and Lorcan hunt for food in the hours before sunset. Game is scarce in this rocky wilderness but the twins return with two hares, a crow and a cub fox. Fiachna, Bran and I pick berries and wild roots while they’re gone. It makes for a fine meal. There’s even some left over, which we offer to Fand when she comes to fetch us shortly after sunset.

“We have our own food,” she says curtly.

As we’re walking to the largest building, there’s a ferocious howl from one of the huts in poor repair. The warriors in our group draw their weapons immediately but Fand waves away their concerns. “It’s nothing,” she says.

“That was a demon,” Goll growls, not lowering his sword.

“No,” Fand says. “It was my brother.”

We stare at her with disbelief. She sighs, then strides towards the hut where the howl came from. We follow cautiously. At the entrance, Fand crouches and points within. We bend down beside her. Dim evening light shines through holes in the roof. In the weak glow we see an animal tied by a short length of rope to a rock in the middle of the hut. It’s human-shaped but covered in long thick hair, with claws and dark yellow eyes. It snarls when it sees us and tries to attack, but is held back by the rope.

“ That’s your brother?” Goll asks suspiciously.

“His name is—was—Fintan,” Fand says.

“What happened to him?” I ask, staring uncomfortably at the yellow eyes. Disfigured as they are, they look disturbingly similar to mine. “Is he undead?”

“No.” Fand stands. “We’ll tell you in the main hut. Come.” When we hesitate, she manages a thin smile. “Don’t worry. You’re safe here. Fintan and the others are tied up tight.”

“There are more like this?” Ronan says.

“Four.” Fand pauses and her expression darkens. “For now.” She goes to the largest hut and ducks inside. One last glance at the creature chained to the rock—it looks like a cross between a wolf and a man—then we follow, gripping our weapons tight, watching the shadows for any sign of other, unchained beasts.

It’s crowded inside the hut, with all five adults, the three children we saw earlier, two younger kids—one just a babe—and us. The MacGrigor are poorly dressed—most of the children are naked—and scrawny. Dirty hair, rough tattoos, cracked nails, bloodshot eyes.