Authors: Stina Leicht

And Blue Skies From Pain (30 page)

BOOK: And Blue Skies From Pain

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Bran hadn’t said a word against the derelict house that Liam had chosen. Instead, Bran had quietly set up camp on the second floor, leaving Liam to sleep on a bed of blankets and furs brought over from the Other Side. Liam would’ve done more to help but for the fact that the longer he’d remained still, the more agonizing movement had become. He was still wearing Conor’s leather jacket, half out of necessity and half because he dreaded the thought of removing it.

Liam asked, “Didn’t you tell me the Fianna had returned to aid Ireland in her hour of need?”

Bran nodded. He sat Indian-style on the floor near the fire. Liam didn’t have a chair to offer him. There was only the bare floor, the items Bran had thought to bring, and the contents of Liam’s laundry bag.

“The High King isn’t convinced there’s need,” Bran said. “It’s said that the Fallen have spies in Tara, the High King’s court. But there’s no proof, and we’ve not been able to get anyone near the place with the ability to detect them. Not yet.” There was a sly quality to Bran’s sidelong look that bothered Liam.

He wants something else from me,
Liam thought. “All right,” he said, in an attempt to steer the conversation away from whatever it was his father wanted. “So, clan Morna is the enemy?”

“Aye, among the rest,” Bran said, feeding more peat into the fire. “But they’re among High King Cairbre’s staunchest supporters. There has been much strife since Cairbre assumed the crown. He keeps the clans fearful and divided. He’s proud and tight-fisted. Sees no reason to pay tribute to the Fianna. He claims we are too proud and greedy. Yet, he demands more and more tribute and then leaves the people to suffer. Clan Baíscne feel it’s time for another to take the seat of the High King. For the good of the Fey. Uncle Fionn has challenged him, but Cairbre is a coward. He’s refused challenge and won’t step down as he should. He says the Fallen are too big a threat to risk changing leadership. Yet, he’ll do nothing.”

“Why does anyone listen to him?”

“The trouble is, there’s some truth in some of the things Cairbre says. The Fallen are powerful. And as I’ve said before, they are difficult to detect among our kind. There aren’t many who have the talent for it.”

There it was again. That look. “How is it that Fionn mac Cumhaill is still alive?” Liam asked, remembering the stories his aunt Sheila had told him as a boy. “Didn’t he die at the Ford of Brea? Or was it the Battle of Gabhra?”

“She has the gifts of a bard on her, that one,” Bran said, nodding. “The stories she told you are true.”

“Which one?”

“Both.”

“I don’t understand,” Liam said.

“Fionn didn’t die the final death in either battle. Took a bitty rest is all.”

“So, you’re telling me someone sounded the Dord Fiann? The hunting horn? To call Fionn mac Cumhaill and the Fianna? That’s real?”

“Not exactly,” Bran said, poking at the fire. “The horn is real. Only… no one sounded it. That’s part of the problem, you see. It’s gone missing. And without that we’re having trouble convincing anyone the problem with the Fallen among mortals is serious.”

Liam blinked.

“To make matters worse,” Bran said. “I’ve not seen or heard from Uncle Fionn in some time. I don’t know where he is.”

“And how does any of this effect… here?” Liam asked, trying not to shiver because of how much it hurt. Snow fell through the hole in the ceiling and was accumulating in a patch on the floor. For his part, Bran seemed unconcerned about the falling temperature.

“The Other Side is not only a place of transition for mortal dead, it is tied to mortal dreaming. It is where the old stories live. Imagination. Myth. Thought. Spirit. Creativity. All are tied to the twilight,” Bran said. He went to his pack and pulled out yet another blanket. Then he laid it around Liam’s shoulders. “Should the twilight falter… should it become the realm of the Fallen… Well, the mortal world will not stand long after.”

Liam felt warmer at once. “So, the two wars are connected.”

“Aye.”

“We’re fucked.”

Bran gave him a sad smile. “Aye.”

“You don’t have to agree.”

“You wanted to know the truth.” Bran returned to his pack and brought out cookware and the last of the blankets. Then he paused. “Where were you intending to get water?”

“Stand pipe two blocks south.”

Picking up a copper kettle, Bran turned. “All right. I won’t be long. Don’t fall asleep until I return.”

Liam nodded. “I won’t.”

“I’m serious.”

“I heard you.”

Bran left the room, his footfalls echoed up the stairwell and through the hallway. When they faded away into nothing Liam was left with the crackling fire for company. Bored to bits, he stared at the damaged plaster and listened to the jaded city of Belfast fitfully doze and twitch in nightmare sleep. Gunfire popped in the distance. An army helicopter chopped at the night sky. Through the broken window he could see its spotlight pinning down whatever poor soul had caught its interest. He had a fleeting urge to dig the book out of the laundry bag but any sort of movement would cost him too much to make it worthwhile. So, he stared into the flames and considered his situation. No matter which way he examined it, he was well and truly fucked.

At least Father Murray is alive.
Even Haddock’s ghost couldn’t ruin that.

Somewhere below and outside he heard someone approach the building.
Bran?
He didn’t think so. Something about the rhythm of the steps crunching in the snow and ice said otherwise.
Séamus and his boys, then?
Would Frankie have sold him out? Liam didn’t think so, not any more. Liam held his breath while the rush of adrenaline did its work, making his eyesight sharp, and his breathing short. His heart rioted under his sternum.

The light from the fire, that’s what has brought them.
He’d thought the room distant enough from the street to make the risk less dangerous. Not that he’d had much choice. It was either chance the fire or freeze to death. He checked his watch.
Four in the morning. Surely, too early for Séamus to come looking? Aye? If he shows, it’ll only be with the intent of talking me into joining up again. Right?

At that moment, the back door creaked open.

Whoever it fucking is, they can’t be here for a nice wee visit.
Liam scanned the room for a weapon. Dragging himself to the corner where he’d collected wood scraps for the fire, he pulled a length of board from the pile. The motion disrupted other broken bits and made a loud clatter. He gritted his teeth and used the nail-studded board to stand up.

“Liam? Are you here?” It was a woman’s voice.

He swallowed. He wasn’t about to answer. He stared into the empty hallway and prayed she’d give up and go away.

“It’s Eirnín. You’re upstairs. I can hear you. May I come up?”

Shite.
“What the fuck do you want,
Eirnín Ní Conmaicne Mara
?” If she was Fey, the use of her full name would make her uncomfortable.

“I wanted to make sure you were safe, William Rónán mac Bran.”

So, that’s how it’s to be, is it? That was a nice try,
he thought.
But you’ve missed the mark as others have before you.
“Fair enough. You know I’m alive. Now fuck away off.”

“Well, that wasn’t the only reason I’ve come to see you.” He could hear her step closer to the stairway. “I wanted to talk. It’s important.”

“Go away, will you?”

“Come on, Liam,” she said. “Are you going to believe everything you hear about me?”

“Who says I’ve heard anything?”

“You’re going to tell me that your da didn’t warn you off?” She was at the bottom of the stairs.

“Aye, he did.”

“Well then,” she said, her voice acquiring a sultry quality. “Do you do everything your da tells you to do?”

“Actually, no,” Liam said. “But I think I’ll make an exception in this case.”

She moved closer. “Oh, I like you.”

“Oh, aye? And I think you should shove off.”

She was taking the stairs slow. One step at a time. He moved to one side of the doorway to both hide himself and get a more advantageous view. So he told himself as he slowly shifted his weight to lean against the door. His ribs were aching, and standing wasn’t helping.

“I don’t think you really want me to go away.”

“Oh, I think I do.” He could see the top of her head. A bright red hair clip nested in the waves of her black hair. It was shaped like a feather. “Stop right there.”

Freezing, she waited for a few heartbeats. “Do you know anything about merrows, Liam?”

“I know what my Aunt told me.”

“Then you know that I can be very friendly. I’m very good at being friendly. Very. Good.”

Liam couldn’t prevent a rather provocative image from surfacing in his mind.
It’s been so long.
“I understand your kind are very good at drowning people when it suits you too.”

“There’s no water here.”

Once again, Liam couldn’t help thinking the entire conversation was out of place in the middle of Clonard. “I don’t imagine that would give you much pause if you set your mind to it.”

She made a tsk tsk sound. “It’s true. Merrows are water people. But so are púcas. I don’t think you could drown if you wanted to.”

Really? I’ll have to ask father about that
, he thought.

“So, what would you have to fear from me?” She seemed to find the courage to look around, and got up on her toes to peer over the splintering floorboards. “I can’t see you. Where are you?”

“Doesn’t matter. I can see you.”

“How do I know you don’t have a gun pointed at me right now?”

“You don’t. But that’d be a safe assumption on your part.”
An incorrect one, but a safe one.
He could smell her perfume—something with lilies in it—mingling with the peat smoke. The bullet wound in his side was working up to a good sharp pain. Soon it’d be bad enough that he wouldn’t be able to stay on his feet.
Go the fuck away. Please. I don’t want to hurt you.
An image of Eirnín with the cricket bat in hand sprang to mind.
I’d rather you didn’t hurt me either, come to think of it.

“Ah, if that’s the case,” she said, turning to the sound of his voice, “then you are every bit the bad boy they said you were.”

“Who said?”

“You think you’re the only one who was given parental warnings?” She grasped the edge of the floor and peeked at the doorway where he was hiding. “Let’s stop playing games and talk like civilized people.”

“Are we?”

“Are we what?”

“Civilized people?” he asked, leaning against the door. Although he was cold, he was sweating now, and his ribs were practically screaming. He could feel the beginnings of a tremor in his legs.

She smiled. He could tell by the way her brown eyes sparkled. “I’d say we were very civilized.”

“And what makes you say that?”

“Well, for one thing, you haven’t shot me yet.” She’d spotted him. “Or is that only because you don’t have a gun?” Taking another step up, her whole head was clear of the stairway now.

“Love, I don’t think that’s a gamble you want to make.”

“Oh, you do like me, don’t you?”

“Wouldn’t go that far,” he said. He was enjoying himself in spite of the glass shards of pain. He couldn’t help it. Something about her made him feel much younger and free of his responsibilities.
It’s the injuries. Aye? I’m not myself.
It’d been so very long since he’d spoken to an attractive woman, let alone flirted with one.

Mary Kate needs you.
The thought ambushed him, and he slammed his eyelids shut for a moment. “All right. Say what it is you’re going to say.” His eyes stung as well as his conscience.

“Here?”

“Aye.”

“You’re not being very hospitable.”

“Look,” Liam said. “If you’ve come to tell me something, you’d best get around to it soon. We’re about to have company.”

“You’re expecting someone?”

“My father. He went for water.”

“Oh.” Her face grew serious.

“Well?” Liam asked.

“Maybe this isn’t the best time.”

Liam sighed. It hurt, but what else was new? The room began to tilt ever so slightly.

“All right, all right,” she said. “I wanted to talk to you about arranging a peaceful council between our clans. Or at least between my sept and yours. The Fallen and the Fomorians are both our enemies, after all.”

“Fomorians? You’re saying the Fomorians are in this too?”

She rolled her eyes. “And the whole of the Tuatha Dé Danann. Have they not told you anything, your father and your uncle?”

BOOK: And Blue Skies From Pain

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