An Immortal Descent (18 page)

Neat or not, that trick only came about as a means to save my life, and I was quickly growing weary of having to use it. Even so, fire danced on my fingertips by the time we arrived at the road’s edge.

Chapter Eleven

Jane and Sally Duggan

The bulky shape of a horse and cart soon emerged from the fog. The driver appeared to be alone and in no hurry, judging by the slow gait of the horse. With shoulders hunched against the cold, he held the reins in one gloved hand, while the other stayed buried in the folds of his thick brown overcoat.

Ailish didn’t move right away. For that matter, she didn’t move at all, remaining still as a statue, I assumed to better gauge the man before we were noticed. Given the poor visibility and our being dressed in matching brown cloaks at the wood’s edge, the man could well be upon us before that happened. He could even pass us by altogether if we remained silent, without the slightest twitch of a muscle. Perhaps a closer look at him would prompt Ailish to reconsider the absolute necessity of our getting into the cart. Not that I was opposed to a ride. I’d just grown wary of strangers and had no desire to jump from the frying pan and into the fire.

While I wondered at our next move, or lack thereof, Ailish inhaled a slow breath. I mimicked the action, catching little more than the scent of damp earth and leaf mold.

A wide-brimmed hat sat low on the man’s head, obscuring the upper half of his face. Reddish brown hair fell loose to the collar of his coat. Slightly darker whiskers smattered his cheeks in what appeared to be a few days’ growth. A long pipe jutted from the corner of his mouth, a trail of smoke lifting skyward.

A hint of burning tobacco drifted in our direction. Ailish’s nose twitched over the sweet scent, reminding me of a rabbit. Though I found nothing special in the smoke, it must have been to her liking, for she stepped forward into the horse’s path.

The driver jerked upright, and no wonder with her emerging from the woods like one of the mythical fae. I moved to join her, power still warming my palms around the cumbersome bulk of the saddlebags.

He tugged at the reins. “Whoa, there!” The horse responded without complaint, coming to an abrupt stop. No one spoke at first, and I held my breath as light brown eyes roved us from head to toe, taking in our every detail.

The man removed the pipe from his mouth. “You’re real enough, I suppose, though in this fog you could be mistaken for specters. Might I ask what two young ladies are doing out here alone?”

Ailish curtsied a greeting. “Beg your pardon, sir. We be traveling to meet our da. If’n you have room in the cart, we could use a lift to Passage East.”

He looked between the two of us, his expression dubious as he no doubt searched for the slightest family resemblance. “Are you for the ferry?”

“We are, sir. With a bit o’ luck, we’ll cross to Ballyhack afore dark.”

“Then where you be to?”

Ailish answered at once. “To Wexford, sir.”

I groaned inwardly.
Why not just tell him everything and have it done with?
I would have kicked her if the man hadn’t been watching us so closely, regardless of the inevitable bruise to my own shin.

He tapped the pipe bowl on one knee. “What’s your names?”

“Se—” Ailish started.

“Jane and Sally Duggan,” I interrupted, the names spilling readily from my tongue.

Ailish nudged her weight to one hip, but offered no protest.

“Which be Jane?” he asked.

“I am—”

“That be me—”

We answered in unison.

The man raised a questioning brow.

I clamped my teeth together and waited. After a long second, Ailish tipped her head at me. “She be Jane.”

A hearty laugh came from deep in his chest. “That’ll do for me, Jane and Sally Duggan.” He removed his hat and bowed at the waist. “Seamus MacCabe at your service. Farmer, weaver, and friend o’ drifters and runaways.”

I frowned at his description. “We’re not vagabonds.”

Seamus grinned at me. “Don’t fret, me lass. These be trying times in Ireland, and you’re not the first to leave a bad situation behind.” Replacing his hat, he jabbed the pipe toward the back of the cart. “Hop in, and I’ll get you as far as Balliniry. I’ve a farm just east, though it’ll be nightfall when we arrive.”

“Thank you, sir,” Ailish said, clearly pleased by the offer. “That be more than I’d hoped.” She bobbed another curtsey and started at once for the back of the cart.

Indecision tugged at me. The man was a complete stranger. How could Ailish trust him so readily? He didn’t look dangerous, but neither had Calhoun at first sight.

The grin all but vanished from his mouth. “You can leg it if you want,” he said softly. “But me hag will buy more distance from whoever’s chasing you.”

My chin edged upward. “You presume to know a lot about our situation.”

He shrugged. “No more than what’s obvious. You’re a lady, by the looks and sound of it, and a rare beauty, if you don’t mind plain speaking.”

Blood warmed my cheeks from the rather forward compliment. Even so, I refused to look away.

“Me guess is that you was being forced into a bad marriage, and made a run for it afore your da could drag you to the altar.” He tilted his head toward Ailish, who was busy climbing into the cart. “And that one be your maid, because you’re sure as not sisters.” With a satisfied look, he returned the pipe to his mouth.

This version of events sounded infinitely better than the truth. So much in fact that I opted to let the story stand and remained silent as he drew air through the pipe’s bowl.

“Take it or leave it, Jane Duggan. There’s eight miles yet to go, and I’ve a wife and children anxious for me return.”

Ailish peered over the cart rail. “What you waiting for, Jane? Wexford won’t be coming to us, you know.”

I sighed.
So be it.
Seamus appeared trustworthy, and measures could always be taken if he proved otherwise. Besides, my feet hurt from the too-tight boots. Trudging around the cart, I hoisted the bags over the low rail, where they landed on the floorboards with a loud thump. My arms ached as I scrambled over the side and sat opposite Ailish. The cart was empty except for two wooden barrels in either corner behind the driver’s seat, and what looked to be a pile of gunnysacks.

Seamus emitted a loud whistle. The horse responded, and we were soon moving at a respectable trot.

I leaned against the rail and eyed the saddlebags with loathing. “Why am I carrying those?”

Bemusement shadowed Ailish’s face. “Because they belong to you, that’s why.”

The bags I’d brought from London had been borrowed from Cate’s stables. I couldn’t recall anything special about the design, only that they weighed significantly less than these. “Did you take them from the
Sea Witch
?” If so, she’d probably grabbed those belonging to one of the others.

Ailish nodded. “When you supped with the captain. While I was poking around, I found a rock chock-full o’ Brigid’s fire. Thought it be useful, so I put it in with your other stuff.”

My heart skipped a beat... Cate’s altar. Posing as Saint Brigid’s finger this morning had sorely taxed my gift, but the subsequent stunt in the woods had taken more power than all the folks in Dunmore combined.

“How did you know which bags were mine?”

“They had shifts and gowns for starters.”

I grimaced at her reasoning. The stolen altar would already have Justine in a rage, the last thing I wanted was to be inadvertently responsible for the theft of her clothing and other personal effects. Then again, she might well be too busy subduing Captain Lynch to worry about anything more.

Pulling the saddlebags closer, I unbuckled the flap and rummaged through the contents. “For both of our sakes, I hope you took the right ones.”

“Course I did.”

Sure enough, the clothing was mine. “How could you be so sure?”

“Because everything smelled like you.”

In the other side, my knuckles grazed against the altar stone. Digging deeper, my stomach sank when I reached the leather bottom. “My knife’s gone.”

“Weren’t in there. I searched through all your stuff,” she admitted unabashedly. “Found a lovely hairbrush and a pouch o’ pins, but no knife.”

Damnation.
Cate was going to kill me. Which I wholeheartedly deserved for losing the one way any of Brigid’s descendants could kill the wretch without equal reprisal.

Ailish dropped her gaze to the burlap sack in her lap. “Probably stolen by one o’ the sailors afore I got to it. The whole lot be suffering from sticky fingers.”

And sheer brazenness, as someone must have entered the cabin while Justine and I napped before supper.
How could I have been so careless?
Now either James or Henry would have to kill the wretch, unless I was prepared to die on the spot. But what if I found Deri first? How far was I willing to go? The answer came quick and clear.

Anything to save Nora...

Ailish pulled a withered apple from the sack and tossed it into my lap. Another landed next to the first. I snatched one up, my mouth watering despite the obvious wormhole.

Holding two back, Ailish sank her teeth through the leathery peel. “Might have sniffed around the cabin for scents,” she said around the large bite, “if’n I knew the knife be missing.”

This was the second time she’d mentioned smelling things. The apple dangled in my hand, temporarily forgotten as I darted a glance at Seamus. From the driver’s bench, he was too far away to catch our conversation over the noise from the cart and horse. “Is that part of your gift?” I asked just loud enough for her to hear.

She nodded and scrunched her nose for emphasis. “Every creature’s got its own scent. I can smell them all, and with Cailleach’s power, I can tell how close they be to death.” Another chunk of apple disappeared behind her teeth.

My mouth popped open. “You can smell death?”

“That I can, and when folks are near to dying, I help gentle them to the other side.”

“You mean that you kill them?”

Ailish rolled her eyes at me. “No, Selah. I help them cross if’n they’re ready.” I made to speak but she held up a hand. “Most folks don’t fight leaving when the time comes. Others be fearful to make the journey, and they hang on even when their bodies are half rotted. It’s me gift to bring some peace and gentle them into the next life.”

Peace was precisely what I’d felt earlier this morning when Ailish sang in the rowboat. The serene notes had sounded unearthly, and for a brief time I’d forgotten the misery of being gagged and bound. “Is that why you sing?”

“It helps to soothe folks and makes the crossing easier.”

“What if you’re wrong? What if you
gentle
someone away who isn’t ready?”

“Me nose is never wrong.” She tapped the tip with her free hand. “And I don’t force anyone who don’t want to go.”

My own experience said otherwise. “You forced me,” I muttered darkly.

“Not so. You wouldn’t have crossed to the Otherworld without some yearning to be there.”

This brought me up short. “I don’t have a death wish, if that’s what you mean.”

Only a stem remained of the first apple. Tossing it aside, she started on the second. “You don’t need one to yearn for what’s gone before.” She took another bite, her molars moving methodically over the fruit. “Every soul alive has a connection o’ some kind or another to the next life. Yours just be particularly strong.”

I looked away, recalling the intense desire to stay in the Otherworld. How only the memory of Henry and Nora had been sufficient to keep me from taking that last step.

“My parents and brother are there,” I admitted.

“Me parents be there, too.”

“Did you see them this time?”

“I did, and a wee sister who took me mam on the birthing bed.” The second stem went the way of the first. Finished with the meager meal, Ailish drew up her knees and pulled the cape close, managing to look even smaller.

“Is that when you fell into Calhoun’s hands?”

She shook her head. “Not until a year later when me da was attacked by cutthroats coming home from the tavern. Calhoun had become acquainted with the two o’ us soon after me mam died, and he took me in once it be known I had nowhere else to go.” The words sounded matter-of-fact, as though all emotion had been separated from the events that had served to shape her life. “I would’ve been for the parish orphanage if’n Calhoun hadn’t known about me gift and decided I’d be useful.”

“How very fortunate,” I said dryly. “Though I can’t see how gentling people away would help his trade.”

A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Calhoun taught me to hold back Cailleach’s power, so to give folks a good tingling in their fingers, or maybe a peek at a loved one who’d died. Other times, he would have me tell fortunes for those who wanted to know when death be near.” She stared down at the tips of her boots poking out from beneath the cape. “We never got along from the start, but he kept me around to cook and clean and for all the silver I could put in his pocket.”

Poor girl.
Since her parents’ deaths, she’d been little more than a slave for the man. “I guess Calhoun isn’t the kind of person to act from kindness and a shared bloodline.”

Ailish spit to the side. “He don’t have the kindness to fill a thimble. And from what I’ve felt, he’s got even less o’ Cailleach to him.”

I frowned at the revelation. “He told me differently.”

“Oh, he’s always claimed it, he has, though I suspect that be to have a stronger hold on me.” She lifted her gaze skyward, not that there was much to see beyond the fog. “One thing’s for certain, Calhoun’s got an abundance o’ Balor’s blood, and an evil eye that can kill a man in his boots. It’s why he wears that patch, to keep from striking people dead in a fit o’ anger.”

I stared at her. “Do you mean the king of the Fomorians?” That ancient race had disappeared from Ireland thousands of years ago.

“How many other Balors do you know?”

“None,” I admitted. “But I thought he was a myth.” Surely my mother had taught me that.

“Balor be real, all right, and with the one giant eye that could level a whole army. Calhoun don’t have that kind o’ power. Mostly he causes dreadful headaches, but I’ve seen him kill men when his blood’s boiling. Paddy’s got it the same, and wears a patch like his da.”