Read Online The Daughters of Eden Trilogy: The Shadow Catcher, Fever Hill & the Serpent's Tooth by Michelle Paver - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Michelle Paver
Tags: Romance
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with quiet ferocity, ‘has delivered you to me. It will be my duty to teach you the life of penitence and obscurity for which you are destined. For God is just .’ She paused for breath. The fleck of spittle was still there. Madeleine wondered if it was a permanent fixture. ‘Henceforth,’ declared Cousin Lettice, ‘you will live with us. You will take the name of Fynn.’
Madeleine was confused. ‘But my name is Falkirk. Madeleine Falkirk.’
‘No. Falkirk is a false name.’
‘But—’
‘Do not interrupt. Your parents were never married. We will never speak of that again. And particularly not when we are in public or in company. Do you understand?’
Madeleine shook her head.
‘Falkirk’, said Cousin Lettice with distaste, ‘is merely the name which your father in his wickedness assumed in order to deceive decent, honourable people. You have no name. Henceforth, for the sake of decency, you will be Fynn.’
Madeleine looked from Cousin Lettice to the baby, and back again. She said, ‘Miss Lettice, I don’t believe Papa will like it if I change my name.’
That brought Cousin Lettice to a halt. She studied Madeleine as if she were a wild animal who might prove difficult to subdue. ‘Of course,’ she muttered. ‘She has not been told.’
Madeleine put her hand on the cot. The baby turned its head and stared at her severely.
‘Your father has been killed in battle,’ said Cousin Lettice. ‘It is a visitation on him. We will never speak of him again.’
Madeleine let go of the cot and sat down heavily on the floor.
Chapter Six
Cameron is riding slowly over the battlefield, picking off the stragglers.
He feels the heat of the sun on his shoulders and smells the bitterness of smoke. He tastes the clinging sweetness of death at the back of his throat. He sees the gutted horses and the sodden scarlet tunics, the fluttering Arab robes and the dead children clutching their bone-crushing sticks.
He doesn’t experience any of it. It’s happening to someone else. All he really feels, deep inside, is the fierce sick joy of having killed and come through alive.
It’s nearly noon, and soon it will be too hot to carry on. His horse picks its way across the bodies and between the jagged black rocks that jut from the sand like dragons’ teeth. Around him, the red men move slowly in the blistering sun. Black vultures patiently wait. Greasy black smoke rises from burning flesh.
Some distance ahead, he sees Ainsley leading a small recovery detail. Thank God, he thinks, with a great surge of relief. He’s come through it too. Thank God.
Behind him a shout, and he turns to see one of the men bayoneting a wounded tribesman. These Arabs like to fox dead, then rise up and make a last-ditch stand. They like to have company on the way down to Paradise.
When he turns to go on, Ainsley is in trouble. A trio of Dervishes has risen from the dead and butchered his detail to a man, and Ainsley is surrounded. His horse is on its haunches, screaming, its hind leg shattered, but his spur is caught in the stirrup and he can’t jump free. He has lost his helmet, and his bright hair is vivid against the smoke as he struggles to right himself, and draws his revolver and drops one of the Arabs. The other two circle behind him to make the kill.
Cameron sees it happening as if through water. He hauls his horse to a halt and levels his revolver, and takes aim into the glare of the sun. He shoots one of the Arabs through the head, and fires again and drops the other with a shot in the throat. ‘All right now,’ he mutters, ‘it’s all right now.’ His revolver is shaking in his hand, and as he spurs his horse on, he at last understands that the anger of the night before has no meaning; that he would rather be killed himself than watch Ainsley die.
But as he closes the distance between them he sees Ainsley’s horse stumble on its shattered leg and struggle to right itself. Ainsley is still fighting to untangle his spur
Madeleine was confused. ‘But my name is Falkirk. Madeleine Falkirk.’
‘No. Falkirk is a false name.’
‘But—’
‘Do not interrupt. Your parents were never married. We will never speak of that again. And particularly not when we are in public or in company. Do you understand?’
Madeleine shook her head.
‘Falkirk’, said Cousin Lettice with distaste, ‘is merely the name which your father in his wickedness assumed in order to deceive decent, honourable people. You have no name. Henceforth, for the sake of decency, you will be Fynn.’
Madeleine looked from Cousin Lettice to the baby, and back again. She said, ‘Miss Lettice, I don’t believe Papa will like it if I change my name.’
That brought Cousin Lettice to a halt. She studied Madeleine as if she were a wild animal who might prove difficult to subdue. ‘Of course,’ she muttered. ‘She has not been told.’
Madeleine put her hand on the cot. The baby turned its head and stared at her severely.
‘Your father has been killed in battle,’ said Cousin Lettice. ‘It is a visitation on him. We will never speak of him again.’
Madeleine let go of the cot and sat down heavily on the floor.
Chapter Six
Cameron is riding slowly over the battlefield, picking off the stragglers.
He feels the heat of the sun on his shoulders and smells the bitterness of smoke. He tastes the clinging sweetness of death at the back of his throat. He sees the gutted horses and the sodden scarlet tunics, the fluttering Arab robes and the dead children clutching their bone-crushing sticks.
He doesn’t experience any of it. It’s happening to someone else. All he really feels, deep inside, is the fierce sick joy of having killed and come through alive.
It’s nearly noon, and soon it will be too hot to carry on. His horse picks its way across the bodies and between the jagged black rocks that jut from the sand like dragons’ teeth. Around him, the red men move slowly in the blistering sun. Black vultures patiently wait. Greasy black smoke rises from burning flesh.
Some distance ahead, he sees Ainsley leading a small recovery detail. Thank God, he thinks, with a great surge of relief. He’s come through it too. Thank God.
Behind him a shout, and he turns to see one of the men bayoneting a wounded tribesman. These Arabs like to fox dead, then rise up and make a last-ditch stand. They like to have company on the way down to Paradise.
When he turns to go on, Ainsley is in trouble. A trio of Dervishes has risen from the dead and butchered his detail to a man, and Ainsley is surrounded. His horse is on its haunches, screaming, its hind leg shattered, but his spur is caught in the stirrup and he can’t jump free. He has lost his helmet, and his bright hair is vivid against the smoke as he struggles to right himself, and draws his revolver and drops one of the Arabs. The other two circle behind him to make the kill.
Cameron sees it happening as if through water. He hauls his horse to a halt and levels his revolver, and takes aim into the glare of the sun. He shoots one of the Arabs through the head, and fires again and drops the other with a shot in the throat. ‘All right now,’ he mutters, ‘it’s all right now.’ His revolver is shaking in his hand, and as he spurs his horse on, he at last understands that the anger of the night before has no meaning; that he would rather be killed himself than watch Ainsley die.
But as he closes the distance between them he sees Ainsley’s horse stumble on its shattered leg and struggle to right itself. Ainsley is still fighting to untangle his spur
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