Page 50 of The Simurgh
‘There’s nothin’ on ’is shoulder but a ’uge chip.’ Tyvain snorted at her own joke, and sneezed.
Silas didn’t bother with further explanation. He did not want to talk about grims. Mostly because other things were more important. Partly because it hurt too much to be reminded of Forneus.
‘Is this suitable, Sybilla?’ he called, though he could see little of those who sat in the carriage.
‘As good a place as any, though I’ve nothing yet.’ The angel’s voice emerged from the darkened interior.
Jane opened the door and alighted, turning to usher out the sirin next. One by one the creatures waddled and jumped their way free to assemble around the carriage. The grim shifted on Silas’s shoulder, one ear flicked forward with interest. The Valkyrie was last to emerge, she clutched the doorframe to drag herself to the edge of the seat, shaking her head at Jane’s offer of assistance. ‘I don’t need to get out. I just need a moment.’
More than a moment. Silas suspected she only closed her eyes so they’d not comment on how bloodshot they were. He could see what effort it took her just to sit upright. Silas rubbed at his ring, as though it might wake the scythe and have it do something, anything at all, that might direct them.
Not so much as a hum came from it.
‘Well a rest won’t hurt anyone right now.’ Jane put on an air of certainty that Silas doubted was real. ‘The sirin are still recovering from the journey here, too. I pushed them hard from London, I hate to say.’ She folded her arms, her face crinkled with concern as she watched the birds huddle against one another, their wings drooping, tips to the ground, and their human faces dark beneath the eyes. Silas recalled them being plump in the cheeks last time he’d seen them, but not so much now, at least for the two who still had their heads raised. The other pair had sunk their chins low, the long drapes of hair covering most of their faces, only the curve of their beaks visible. They cooed softly amongst themselves.
Jane looked up and caught Silas’s eye. ‘But they are strong, they will not fail us, Silas.’
His throat was too tight for a reply. He looked away, lest he come undone.
The Dullahan stood apart, a few graves down at the outer reaches of the carriage lanterns’ glow. He’d dismounted, and now pulled back his hood. Silas’s darkened thoughts were swallowed by surprise. There was nothing ethereal about Byleist now. His face, to Silas’s eye at least, was tangible, with no hint of Chollima, who stood behind, visible through his features. The only thing that would mark the Dullahan as not truly of the living was his eyes, still twin hollows of deepest black.
‘You tryin’ to rub a genie out of that ring, Mercer?’ Tyvain jerked her chin. ‘That’d be real useful right now if they could show us where the feck that little prick is.’
She wasn’t being mean-spirited but still, something inside Silas snapped.
‘Don’t speak of him that way. Why don’tyoube useful right now, Tyvain. Stop with all your inane bloody chatter and find something in your gut…or your cards, to tell us where to go.’ He reached into his pocket, where the tarot cards she’d given him were warm with his body heat. ‘Here, take the bloody things.’
‘Leave ’em where they are, Mercer.’ Tyvain was gentle, which only made his tantrum seem worse. ‘Them cards are yours now. That’s what I know. And I’m sorry for speakin’ of Tobias that way.’ She shrugged her shoulders. ‘Just, I’m worried sick about ‘im and I’m bein’ a bitch in dealin’ with it. I don’t mean nothin’ by what I said. Just want ‘im back with ya, where ‘e belongs. I’ll keep me mouth shut now, promise ya.’
Silas’s anger vanished, but she moved away before he could offer his own apology and tell her the last thing he wanted was for her to shut up, that he needed her ballsy chatter, her guts and silly cards with their whimsical prophecy to keep him sane.
Tyvain parked herself on a grave slab nearby. She sneezed as she crossed her legs, digging her pack of cards from the astoundingly deep pockets on her shift. Wiping her nose against her arm, she looked to him. ‘So what is it we know, then?’
Silas took up his pacing once more, the cat still draped upon his shoulder. ‘The new church has an eye. And it was on a tower…I think.’ He huffed in frustration. ‘Bloody hell, it is nothing to go by, but that’s all I got from the kitsune before he…passed on.’
Tyvain pulled a face. ‘A church with a tower, eh? Jesus Christ, how many of those are scattered across the isles?’
Jane stood by Tyvain. ‘More than we have time to search. Was there nothing else said, Silas? Nowhere the Morrigan is suspected of being?’
‘Only what Silas saw through the teratism,’ Sybilla spoke up from the carriage. ‘I was so certain part of his vision took in Pendle Hill, but it was disjointed, I suppose. And maybe the hill was used intentionally…to misguide us.’ She winced with just mentioning the place where she’d brought down the last of the witches…the presumed last.
Silas frowned. ‘I don’t think that is the case, the teratism sought my help, I’m sure of it. Perhaps my description is at fault.’ The cat purred in his ear. ‘Anyway, the Order has searched there and found nothing of note. It must be wrong.’
The lanterns’ flames surged, bright enough to leave Silas blinking. The shadows danced around Isaac as he sat up, emerging from his layers. ‘If you’re talkin’ Pendle Hill area then that could be Newchurch-in-Pendle you’re speakin’ of.’
Phillipa had seated herself on one of the black horses’ hindquarters. ‘Goodness, I didn’t realise you could string so many words together.’ She chuckled at her own joke, making her shattered belly shake and wobble. ‘Well done, good sir.’
Isaac ignored her, as did everyone else.
‘There’s a village of that name near the hill?’ Silas stalked closer to the carriage.
‘There is.’ Isaac nodded.
‘And the eye?’
‘Well it ain’t a real eye, of course. A carving. In the church tower. The purebreds put it there a century ago, on account of wantin’ to ward off evil.’ He sucked the air through his teeth. ‘Didn’t help them much when it came to witches though, did it, Sybilla? If I recall, there’s even a gravestone for one of your maleficents in the churchyard. Mr Ahari commented on it when we was there.’
‘Mr Ahari?’ Silas stared at the coachman.