Hidden Jewel (Heartfire Series) (5 page)

In spite of himself, Tiernan was proud of the little lass; her integrity was astounding, her grit more real that many men. It only made the news he'd learned all the harder to bear. Sensing his discontent, Ailill rolled over, her face just inches from his own. “What's amiss? And don't try to say nothing, for I can feel the unhappiness in yer touch.”

“
Don't
do
that! Don't feel my emotions, Abby. People dinna like to be read like a braille book.”

“
I canna help it... why do you think I tell ye not to touch me!” His hands clenched the cottony softness of her nightdress for the briefest instant before releasing her like a hot spark. Sitting up, he moved away, fluffing a pillow behind his back before settling against the foot of Ailill's large boat-shaped bed. When she lit a candle, he watched in silence as her elfin features came into stark relief before his eyes. Solemn sapphire met onyx across the length of the feather stuffed mattress. She'd already discovered the reason for her friend's riled emotions, but waited in silence for him to put it into words on his own terms. When nothing was forthcoming after a few minutes, she sighed in irritation, a scowl drawing her brows down into a fiery vee.

“
When will I go?”

At the blunt query, guilt slid a shadow over Tiernan's young face, pain dimming the light from his dark eyes. “Tomorrow or the next day. I'm sorry.” He meant it, she knew. “I asked to be allowed to go with you, but Duff wouldn't give me a straight answer, aye or nay.”

“
Tis only for a year, perhaps two. And when I return, I'll be as humbled as the Elders wish. There's that, at least,” she offered, attempting a smile.

“
Humbled? Mphmm. I'd rather ye stay here at Heartfire, continue trainin' with the warriors, Abby,” he said quietly, truthfully. “I don't see why ye need to be a
Druid
, aside from all that ye already are.”

“
Tis a part o' my
geise
, you know that. I've no choice.”

“
I
know
that... but that doesna mean I have to like it.” His mood was as low as she'd ever seen it, even her smile at the idea brewing in her mind did not move him as it usually did. “I don't want ye to go,
mo gealbhan
.”

“
Well, I have to,” she stated practically, swallowing down her own feelings on the matter. Shoving the upsetting dream to the back of her mind for now, Ailill poked him in the foot with one bare toe, and grinned. “Let's go fishin' one last time before I'm gone. It's after midnight... today
is
my eleventh birthday, after all. Wouldn't want to break with tradition, now would we?”

That brought a smile to his too handsome face, his eyes taking on a devilish gleam as he thought over her suggestion. “Aye, Abby darlin',” he agreed happily, standing up and taking her hand, yanking her from the bed with gentle exuberance. “Let's leave now, before anyone notices.”

“
I wouldn't have it any other way. Happy birthday to me.”

Texas, U.S.A.

“
What in hell did you say, boy?”

The glint in the man's golden eyes forewarned the danger of disobedience, no matter how just. His ire was already up, driven past normal anger by the scent wafting about the musty room. Not a simple drunk, Kiah Black was downright mean even without adding his own homemade brew.

“
I won't ask again!” Kiah roared, his gaze steely, cold enough to cause the young boys before him to tremble.

As he had so many times before, Jacob followed his twin's lead, bowing his dark head in submission at the familiar sight of those fists clenched in growing fury. Not enough time to catch his breath, knowing that the hyperventilating would soon set in and drown him, he took an involuntary step back even as he spoke, his voice a ragged whisper. “I said... I won't do it no more, Sir.” Cursing the tremor even he could hear in his voice, Jacob drew upon all his willpower just to meet those glittering orbs once more. “I won't go beggin' for you again... I'd rather starve to death.”

His comment was met with a dark chuckle, a sound so purely evil that Jacob felt his twin step back, as well, though the movement was barely a whisper, one filthy bare foot sliding into view where he was staring down at the muck-covered dirt floor, afraid to meet that hateful gold glare.

“
Starve to death, eh? If you only knew what you were saying with
that
idle threat. I always knew you were nothin' but a waste... from the moment I laid eyes on you. Born last, showed me just how weak ya were.” One hand lifted, a short bark of a laugh ringing in the tiny shelter at the boy's flinch. “Just goes to show, boy, how true the observation that brawn ain't everything.” A hard yank wrenched away the already tattered shirt Jacob had just sewn up yesterday, his chest well-muscled even at twelve years old. Beside him, Micah was silent, his eyes flicking up to his twin's face every few seconds, his own deep blue gaze unreadable. Knowing what was to come, he intentionally drew the drunken man's attention to himself; his head lifted, dark hair matted down on one side where an egg had hit, smashed to a slimy pulp by one poor farmer's palm. All the proof he'd needed that Kiah Black was known and  hated even ten miles away.

“
No one would share, or barter, or even sell us anything,” he said softly, forcing a tone of displeasure into his voice, as if they'd truly tried and were disgusted with their own failure. “The man down the road said he'd never give us anything, and when I tried to grab a few eggs anyway, he smashed them all.” What he didn't mention was that the farmer had called Kiah a freak and a bastard, and said his sons were no better.

“
Oh did he?” Kiah's eyes flashed with burning hatred, his hand going automatically to his belt, which was sorely lacking in whatever weapon he might have drawn. “Did ya kill him?” he asked, a tone of nonchalance drawing two stunned pair of eyes up to meet his own.

“
No sir, we had no weapon.”

No sooner had the words slipped past his lips did Micah feel the full scope of his father's fury. His head rocked to the right, his left eye feeling as if it would burst like an over-full balloon.

“
How many times I gotta tell ya? A man's born with weapons, boy! Hands like these are made for killin', but no... you'd never even think of puttin' 'em to anything useful. Fuckin' pansy.” The man stepped closer, nostrils flared as if he'd sniff out the truth. Jacob's cheeks burned with shame when Kiah's hand shot out, grasped the boy's crotch, his wintry smile gleaming through the dim.

“
You always have a weapon to hand, and a way to buy whatever you need.” Thick fingers curled, squeezed and twisted, drawing a high pitched gasp from his victim. Kiah didn't release his hold until Jacob fell like dead weight to his knees, clutching himself, tears streaming pale tracks down his filthy cheeks; the urge to vomit was so strong, an odd clicking noise could be heard in his effort to swallow down the bile rising, burning at the back of his throat.

“
I warned ya, boy,” the man growled, one finger pressed painfully to the soft spot beneath Jacob's clefted chin. “Didn't I? Told ya that little bitch down the way ain't worth it. They never are!” Turning away, Kiah reached for the bottle on the table, spilling his precious brew down his naked chest in dribs and drabs as he took a long swig. Neither boy moved, hardly dared breathe, knowing he'd drunk far more than usual this night. Deep blue eyes met briefly, slipped away just as quickly. Sucking in a deep breath as quietly as he could, Jacob moved as if to haul himself to his feet, one wary eye on the man before him.

He didn't make it; the force of the blow rocked his head back, the corner of the table catching him behind the ear like the stab of a blade. Feeling the slick warmth of his own blood stream down his shoulder, Jacob fought the stars swimming before his eyes just long enough to let out a cry of warning when Micah's instinctive concern pushed him down to eye level with his twin...

Depths of despair can seem as cold and unfathomable as the deepest ocean.

Drifting on that sea of painful degradation, Micah Black trembled with the fever of countless untended wounds, lucidity floating through his ravaged body only as frequently as the tide. With each awakening, the pain grew in strength, weakening not just the broken form thrown so ruthlessly into the suffocating darkness of the pit, but the mirror image of himself lying nearby.

Striking his head on the table was the saving grace for Jacob, for in that moment when darkness overcame so swiftly, the man had forgotten him. He woke only when his own body hit the already prone form of his twin. The slamming of the heavy storm door overhead proof that his own father didn't care whether they lived or died. For hours now, Jacob had tried to rouse Micah, carefully stripping away the ruined clothes, tearing them to strips to bind the still seeping wounds scattered over his brother's body.

A difficult task under normal circumstances.

Impossible in the absolute blackness of the storm cellar.

Little more than a pit, really, the cellar had been dug by the two boys, a result of trickery by their  father. Although neither knew how vicious the man really was until the first time he'd beaten them and locked them down there in the darkness.

This time was by far the worst.

No matter how he pleaded, Micah wouldn't awake, not fully. Jacob felt the weakness seeping through his own blood. That strange quirk they'd noticed upon that first beating, how their bodies seemed to share even the pain of individual wounds. And yet, there was always some way they managed to stay alive, to heal. It was as if some outside force kept them from the blessed escape of death. Would this time be different? Unsure, Jacob ran shaking hands through his dark hair, heedless of the drops of fresh blood running down his shoulder from his own wound. There was no water down here even if he had cared to clean himself up. Kiah always made sure of that. No water... no food. No comfort whatsoever, nothing at all until Kiah decided they had been punished enough for their supposed crime. The unfailing crime of simply being alive.

And somehow, this time, the slamming of that thick door above seemed to have the ring of absolute finality to it.

On the currents of the cross-winds, she soared. High above the earth, iridescent eyes searching, always searching. The keening cry came again, far below, a land more desolate than any she'd seen on her dream walks. Black as pitch, arid. But they were there, somewhere. With naught more than a thought, an image called up from the cavernous depths of her memory, she was with them. Not in the physical sense, nay, but that didn't matter. She'd find their physical bodies eventually. What truly mattered now, what needed her immediate attention, was this first real connection. She'd done it before, long ago. In a timeless age. It would get easier with practice.

Or not.

The stench of sickness was nearly overwhelming. Two bodies lay upon a hard packed dirt floor stained dark with blood, both new and old. One lay as still as if death had already made a claim, the other curled around the first, as if the one lad might draw the pain from the other by will alone.

On silent feet, she moved closer, a frown marring the innocent perfection of her elfin features. Nay, this would not be easy. If she had any idea where she was, she'd call in reinforcements to rescue these two poor lads.

Och, no matter.
I
am
learning to be a healer after all. And their circumstances are dire enough as it is. 

Drawing in a deep breath, cringing at the foetid smell permeating the tiny room, she first muttered the words that would confine this horrid weakness to these two boys. The lightest touch of her tiny hands upon the weakest of the two had the surprising effect of waving ammonia below his nose, so quickly did he rouse. The eyes that snapped open were an odd, cloudy blue, the features drawn with pain as familiar as her own. Swallowing down the shock, she proceeded with settling her fingers upon the lad's head and groin, stared deeply into the haze of feverish blue eyes until the telltale heat of healing yanked Micah's gaze away with the force of a spring.

A muffled gasp, shared on a breath, as the surreal image of a small girl in a white cotton nightgown vanished, leaving the two boys to wonder, once again in the thick darkness of the pit, at the strangeness of fate, of their lives that continued no matter how neither had wished to heal, to keep living. Fate was a cruel lady, an improbable jokester who happened to reveal herself, on this day, as a small girl-child with fiery locks and elfin ears and the darkest, wisest, saddest set of eyes either would remember seeing for a long time to come.