And Blue Skies From Pain (28 page)

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Authors: Stina Leicht

BOOK: And Blue Skies From Pain
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“Don’t speak his name here. Don’t use anyone’s name here that you don’t want to come calling. Understand?”
Liam frowned. “He’s already tried his hand at killing me twice today. I thought you said he couldn’t last it?”
Oran said, “That only applies over there. You’re here now. The rules are different.”
Liam swallowed, but his mouth had gone dry, and it hurt. He sat up. “How are the rules different?”
“Wake up, will you?” The anxiety deepened in Oran’s voice. “I don’t know how long they’ll hold him off.”
“Who?”
Oran kicked him in the leg again. “Wake the fuck up, I said! Now!”
Shadows under the trees condensed. The eyes of the crows gathered in the branches glittered like polished jet. A heavy sense of dread stirred in the mist. Liam smelled something like ozone, and he tasted tin. Somewhere in the back of his brain the monster stirred. He had the impression it was muttering a warning but Father Murray had buried the creature too far and deep for even that.
Haddock stepped out from under the oak where Sceolán had been before.
“Well, isn’t this sweet?” Haddock asked. “Two for one.”
“Leave the lad be,” Oran said, turning to face Haddock.
“And why would I do that?” Haddock asked.
The muscles in Oran’s jaw twitched, and he held up his fists. “You know I can make it very uncomfortable for you.”
Haddock grinned and once again Liam was reminded of a shark. “You can try, you Fenian Fuckwit. You can try.”
Liam struggled to his feet. It hurt something fierce—that seemed a strange thing to happen in a dream.
“Now just where do you think you’re going?” Haddock asked. “And here I’ve come all this way for a nice chat.”
Liam felt the monster stir again. There was something important he was forgetting. He’d remember it given enough time, but there wasn’t time. Haddock was there. “I’ve nothing to say to you.”
“That doesn’t matter,” Haddock said. “I’ve plenty to say to you.”
“I told you to go the fuck away,” Liam did his best to sound bored, but his heart hammered against his chest in protest against the lie.
Haddock cracked his knuckles. “Time to play.”
Oran charged at Haddock with a roar, but Haddock sidestepped him. Liam aimed for Haddock’s jaw, but somehow his already bruised knuckles didn’t connect. Haddock shoved. Feeling as though he’d just been hit with a lorry, Liam stumbled and fell backward with a rib-jarring thump. Haddock was on him in a flash and planted a fist in Liam’s wounded ribs. Something snapped inside him, and Liam screamed. Before he knew it, he’d been flipped onto his stomach and his left arm yanked up behind his back. He felt Haddock straddle him. Overwhelming terror surged through Liam’s system.
“Get off me!” The panic became too much. Liam fought with everything he had, but it did no good. He couldn’t reach Haddock, and Haddock was too heavy to buck off even if Liam could manage it past the agonizing sensation of bone grinding against bone. “Don’t you fucking touch me! Fuck off! Get the fuck off me now! I’ll fucking kill you!”
“Too late. I want what’s mine,” Haddock said, slamming his right hand down on Liam’s bare back. The feel of the ghost’s clammy palm against Liam’s skin spiked his fear to new heights. “I’m taking it now, and you can’t stop me.”
Trapped. Can’t get free. Got to get him off or he’ll—
The sense of helplessness made it much worse. The weight of shame, terror and rage became huge—impossible to bear. He was losing his grip on himself and knew it, but there was nothing that could be done.
Get him off me! NOW! Christ! What if he touches—
Liam could almost feel rough iron bars clamped in his clenched fists.
Cuffs! Oh, Jesus! He’ll cuff me next. Fuck!
Instead, Haddock’s hand remained pressed against Liam’s back. The cold, dead thing had an ever so slightly yielding texture that was downright sickening all on its own. Suddenly, Liam had the sensation of something tugging at him, drawing energy from him. The sharp pain was transparent but no less painful for all that. Like the feel of a keen knife edge slicing through skin. Sucking—
No! Oh, God! Christ! No!
—penetration. Sucking. He wanted to be sick. He lost the entire concept of himself. He was only hate, rage and fear. He wanted to—
KILL, Rip. Tear. FUCK YOU! Kill you! Kill you NOW!
Something huge, furry and heavy sprang on Haddock with a snarl. Haddock was knocked off him with a howl of frustration. Liam lifted his head in time to see a great brown wolfhound rip at Haddock’s chest and throat. Haddock struggled to get something free of his coat. The flicker of silver was the only warning as Haddock produced a knife. A high-pitched yelp pierced the air, and Haddock shoved the hound away.
Staggering again to his feet, Liam glanced around for anything that he might use as a weapon. There was only Conor’s leather jacket. Liam snatched it up. The leather was heavy in his hands. The lining seemed to glitter with thin runes. It wasn’t much but might help him defend himself against the blade.
It won’t protect you from the physical.
What the fuck does it shield me against?
“I’m going to make you wish you’d never been born,” Haddock said, holding up the bloody knife. Half of his face was a ruin. White jawbone shone through the torn cheek.
Liam’s chest was filled with agony—enough to flatten him, but he forced himself to stand and tried not to breathe. He’d die before letting Haddock touch him again. Blinking away tears, Liam set his teeth against nausea, dizziness, terror and rage. He gripped the heavy jacket tight by the collar. “Fuck you.” Lacking anything else with which to strike, he swung the coat at Haddock with all his might. Steel-zippered leather slapped Haddock full in the face.
There came a bright flash. Haddock’s expression transformed from amusement to shock and then he simply faded away as if he’d never been.
What? Why?
Sceolán lay on the ground beyond, his chest covered in blood. Bran was kneeling at his side.
“Speak to me,” Bran said to Sceolán.
Sceolán smiled with crimson-stained teeth. “That really hurts.”
Bran opened Sceolán’s shirt. “You could’ve been more careful.”
“Oh, aye?” Sceolán grimaced. “How was I to know he’d carry steel?”
“Liam?” Bran didn’t look away from his brother.
Liam gasped enough air to reply. His whole body started to tremble. “Am I awake?”
“You are,” Bran said.
Two warriors went out into the woods. A third warrior with braided blond hair brought a cloth bag to Bran.
Bran searched its contents. “Domhnall, bring some water.”
“Aye,” Domhnall said.
Bran pulled a cloth from the bag. “You mind telling me what’s going on, Liam?”
“Was only a dream,” Liam whispered.
“It was, was it?” Bran asked, cleaning Sceolán’s wound. “Two spirits violated our perimeter.”
“Don’t know what you mean,” Liam said. The shakes got worse. He couldn’t get the feel of Haddock’s cold dead skin out of his mind. The feeling of being trapped under—
Domhnall returned with a bowl of steaming water. Bran stopped mopping up blood long enough to pour liquid from a vial into the water. “Thank you, Domhnall. Check with Fearghal. Find out what he’s learned, check the wards, and report back.”
Once more Domhnall rushed off.
“You’re going to tell me this had nothing to do with you?” Bran tossed the blood-soaked cloth in the water.
“Don’t be so hard on the lad,” Sceolán said in a pained whisper. “Was him that banished the thing.”
“Did he now?” Bran asked.
Liam didn’t answer. “Was only a dream.”
It’s done now.
“It was more than that,” Bran said. He doused Sceolán’s wound with the steaming liquid.
Sceolán let out a hiss. “Could you be a bit more gentle? It’s mortally wounded, I am.”
“You’ll be fine, I’m thinking. Shut up and hold this,” Bran said, indicating a folded dry cloth.
Sceolán held the cloth while Bran fixed the bandage in place. “Are you ready for that talk yet, son? I’ll warn you. I’m in no mood for patience. Not tonight.”
Liam paused.
For fuck’s sake, talk to the man.
He tried to think of anything to say that wouldn’t make him feel like a bog idiot. The fire crackled, filling in the silence.
Bran sighed in disgust. “If you’ve no use for questions, stop blaming me for not giving you the crossed answers. Mind, I’m not the one who’s endangering others by withholding information this time. I couldn’t speak to you because of your mother’s geas. What’s your excuse?”
He’s right. Can’t put it off anymore
, Liam thought. “I—I’m going mad. Am mad. It’s… I’m seeing things that can’t be. Ghosts. Fucking Haddock. Mary Kate. Oran. I—I don’t know what’s happening. Or why. There. It’s out. Are you happy?”
Finishing with Sceolán’s bandage, Bran stood up. His expression was careful and solemn when he turned to face Liam. “Among mortals the word ‘fey’ can also mean mad.”
“Do you think I don’t fucking know that?” Liam asked.
“There’s a reason, son.” Bran ran his fingers through his greying hair. “The fey-touched reside in two places at once. As such, they must learn to navigate both in ways that those wholly mortal or wholly fey do not.”
Liam narrowed watering eyes. “So, I’m destined to be off my nut. Is that it?”
“Not at all,” Bran said and moved closer. “Let’s see the ribs.”
Sitting was difficult, but Liam managed it without passing out. He didn’t want anyone touching him—not now, but he didn’t see any other way. If he protested his father would ask why.
“Life is more difficult for the fey-touched,” Bran said. He gently tugged at the bandages. “There’s nothing to be done about that. I’m sorry.”
Attempting not to twitch, Liam glanced down and saw the blood seeping through the cloth.
Bran said, “You need training. Someone to teach you how to manage what lives inside you. Without it, chances are you’ll not fare well. You’ll not know one world from the other. Everything will… bleed together. What I don’t understand is why it’s happening so fast. Why now?”
“Can—” Liam winced as the last of the bandages came away. “Can you teach me?”
“Unfortunately, no. Not everything. I’m not like you.”
“That’s fucking grand.” The shaking was starting to slow, but the dread remained.
“Being fey-touched has its advantages, you know,” Sceolán said, rolling onto his side.
“Oh? Aye?” Liam asked. “So far it’s been nothing short of fucking hell.”
“Calm down,” Bran said. “Listen.”
“I am listening.” Liam felt his stomach tighten, and the earth did a sickening lurch. He shut his eyes for a moment and tried to focus on the solidity of the soil beneath him.
Bran made a concerned noise. “Both ribs are broken now.”
The blond warrior named Domhnall returned.
Bran got up off his knees. “Don’t move, son.”
Liam listened as his father spoke to Domhnall. The conversation was deliberately quiet, but Liam was able to understand that Fearghal didn’t believe Connacht had sent the spirits to attack the camp. The source had to be something or someone from within the perimeter. A search was being conducted among the men, but everything seemed secure for now.
Sceolán got up awkwardly and then stopped at Liam’s side. “Thank you.”
“For what?” Liam asked in a whisper. His abused ribs were killing him.
Sceolán said, “For banishing the spirit.”
Liam wasn’t sure what to say. “The fuck was here for me. He would’ve killed me but for you.”
Sceolán let out a short laugh that was somewhere between a wheeze and a snort. “Then I suppose that makes us even. How did you do it?”
“I don’t know,” Liam said. “Maybe in this place I can hurt him as much as he can hurt me?”
Shaking his head, Sceolán picked up Conor’s jacket and then frowned. He held it up so that the words
The System Might Have Got You But It Won’t Get Me
were easy to read. “Interesting.”
“What is it?”
“Where did you get this coat?”
“A friend. Conor gave it to me. Was before I went out to meet the bully boys.”
Sceolán looked thoughtful. “Is this Conor a magician?”
Liam started to laugh, but the seriousness of his uncle’s expression and the memory of the silver sheen in Conor’s eyes combined with what Conor had called a blood sacrifice killed the mirth in Liam’s throat. “I don’t know what he is.”
“Interesting.”
“You said that already,” Liam said.
Finished giving Domhnall instructions, Bran returned and once again knelt down. He spent a few moments searching inside the cloth bag, and finally produced a small jar.

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