Reaper's Revenge (18 page)

“Come out of the water, Aingeal,” Otaktay ordered.

Pursing her lips at the command, Aingeal nevertheless did as the Jakotai bid. She waded through the cool waters and took a seat on a rock, drawing her knees up into the circumference of her arms. “What troubles you, Otaktay?” she asked. The brave came to hunker down beside her. Reaching out a hand, he stroked her hair. “I have much love for you, little one,” he said. “I fear the Reaper will take you from me.”

Steeling herself to lay her cheek in the red man’s palm, Aingeal gazed at him with eyes she forced to softness. “I will be with the one who truly holds my heart,” she said, and golden eyes drifted across her mind’s eye. “It is he who has my allegiance and he who will win the day.”

Smiling at his woman, Otaktay believed she was referring to him. He eased the pad of his thumb over her full bottom lip. “I will fight to the death to have you at my side, Aingeal,” he swore.

“I know you will,” Aingeal agreed.

97

Charlotte Boyett-Compo

Chapter Eleven

Cynyr was weak as he leaned against Owen Tohre. His fellow Reaper had an arm around Cynyr’s waist, taking much of Cree’s weight against him as they moved from the cell to the jail’s front door.

“It has been storming all night,” Owen commented. Unlike the other six Reapers, he hated lightning and thunder. It set his teeth on edge and he was uncomfortable until the last rumble sounded far off in the distance.

“Heaven’s tears,” Moira observed as she sat knitting away. “Clears the earth of pollution they say.”

Feeling as though his legs were made of rubber, Cynyr reached out for the doorknob, wanting, aching, to feel the wash of cool air and rain washing over him.

“Let me have him, Owen,” Iden Belial said, knowing how Owen felt about bad weather. He moved under Tohre’s arm and took Cynyr’s weight. Breathing a sigh of relief that he wouldn’t have to face the onslaught of the storm, Owen moved back into the room, putting distance between him and the door Cynyr was opening.

“How was it ye died, Owen?” Moira asked casually, glancing up at the handsome young man.

Owen ducked his head. “I was struck by lightning during the Battle of Omagh,” he said quietly.

Moira nodded. “Explains a lot, doesn’t it, lad?” the old woman asked in a gentle voice.

“Aye,” he said. “That it does, milady.”

Cynyr stood to the side as he opened the door. He was leaning against Iden but as soon as the fresh air and smell of rain touched him, he felt a bit stronger. He was grateful for Iden’s help as the Reaper wedged his burden sideways through the door and helped Cree out onto the porch.

“Myself,” Iden said, “I love storms.”

“As do I,” Cynyr said, “but my lady doesn’t.”

Iden grinned. “Well, now I know her weakness, eh?” he chuckled.

“That and sweet pickles,” Cynyr replied.

Walking slowly out to the edge of the porch so he could feel the kiss of the mist upon his upturned face, Cynyr closed his eyes and breathed in the moistness, the clean, fresh scent of the rain as it fell, the rather cloying scent of it as it struck the mud. He listened to the patter of the raindrops hitting the sidewalk, plinking into the ruts along 98

Reaper’s Revenge

the main street, striking against the tin roof overhead and roiling down the drain spout to flow into the barrel at the end of the building. He could imagine it falling into the fast-moving Misery River, swelling the muddy red shores.

“I love the rain,” Cynyr said, glorying in the feel of the wetness on his cheeks.

“Me too. I miss being able to swim,” Iden said with a sigh. Cynyr opened his eyes. “Have you tried of late, Belial?” he asked.

“You know I haven’t,” Iden said with a grunt. “Reapers can’t—”

“Cross running water,” Cynyr said, “yet Silus Gibbs did and survived.”

“Aye, well, that was Gibbs and most likely him surviving it a fluke.”

“I’m not so sure,” Cynyr said. He flinched as his parasite twisted viciously beneath his skin.

“I believe your hellion is,” Iden gently rebuked.

“If you had a choice of drowning or having my whip take your head, which would you choose?” Cynyr asked. He was striving to ignore the pain over his right kidney. Iden reached up to grip the roof support, curling his fingers over the beam. “That’s a decision I hope never to have to make, Reaper,” he replied.

“I’d have jumped,” Cynyr stated. “It was death either way but I’m no different than Gibbs was. I’d take the easier of the two ends in the hope I might actually survive the plunge into the water. Wouldn’t be a chance of that if my head got lopped off.”

“Put that way, I might have, as well,” Iden agreed.

“I don’t believe he thought he’d survive and I can damned well imagine his vicious glee when he did.”

“Just because Gibbs lived through it, doesn’t mean any of the rest of us would,”

Iden reminded him.

Cynyr turned his attention to his fellow Reaper. “Are you saying a
balgair
is made of sterner stuff than us?”

Beliar stiffened. “Hell no, I’m not saying that!”

“Then I think we owe it to ourselves to see if we can survive a trip over running water.” Despite the agony gnawing its way through his body, Cynyr held himself as rigid as his wobbly legs would allow. He stared across the rain-pocked street, watching the silvery strands spearing the ground, and tried to ignore the pain. “If we can cross running water and survive, wouldn’t that make our parasites even stronger?” he managed to ask. “Stronger than that of a rogue?”

Almost immediately the tearing misery in his back subsided. He could almost see the triangular head cocking to one side in query, the forked tongue stilled as the demoness absorbed his thoughts.

“Who was it that said we couldn’t cross running water?” Owen called out to them from inside the jail. “Does anyone know?”

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Charlotte Boyett-Compo

“Morrigunia,” Glyn Kullen replied from his place on the bunk where Arawn had lain to donate his revenant queen to Cynyr. He pushed himself up on one elbow. “She called it a gay.”

“No, lad. Not a gay. A Geas,” Moira corrected. “Such things are known in my homeland.”

Iden looked around. “What is it?”

“It’s a magical obligation cast on a body, lad. A Geas can be a curse or a prohibition or a ban of one kind or another. The Geas is fitting to each person. What bans one might not ban another.”

Cynyr and Iden exchanged glances. “Why would Morrigunia have cast such a curse?” Cynyr asked.

Moira laid her knitting down upon her lap and thought about his question for a moment, staring into space as she did. “Well,” she said. “One thing comes readily to mind if the Geas was cast to keep a Reaper from crossing running water.” She cocked a shoulder. “T’was meant to keep him in one spot, I’m reckoning. A prisoner, if ye will.”

As weak as he was, Cynyr felt like doing a jig. It had to have come from just such a situation. At one time there had to have been a Reaper the goddess meant to keep from running away from her. The ban had simply come down from Reaper to Reaper and wasn’t necessarily as prohibitive as it appeared.

“If this Gibbs could survive a dive into running water, it might simply mean he didn’t have that particular Geas placed upon him,” Moira reminded them.

“Or it could mean that Morrigunia cast it upon her first Reaper but didn’t think to do so for the rest of us.”

“There’s only one way to find out,” Glyn Kullen said, swinging his legs off the cot.

“I was a champion swimmer in Donetal. If I can make it across the Misery River, any of us can.”

“That’s a mighty wide river, lad,” Moira said with a chuckle. “Would take quite a man to do what ye intend.”

From where they stood on the jail’s porch, Cynyr and Iden watched Glyn walking toward them. He didn’t appear to be feeling any ill effects from his parasite and when he reached them, Iden asked if his hellion was stirring.

Kullen stopped, put a hand to his back. “No,” he said, his eyes wide. “I feel no pain at all.”

“I’m too weak to go with you, Kullen, but Iden and Owen need to—”

“Not me,” Owen replied, shaking his head. It was still thundering and the lightning was stitching down from the firmaments too often for his comfort. “Take Phelan or Bevyn with you. They’re over at the Guthrie House.”

“I’ll send Arawn over to watch over you too,” Iden said as he started to lead Cynyr back inside.

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“No, just leave me here,” Cynyr said. “Get me over to that chair and I’ll be fine ‘til you get back.”

Glyn fetched the rocker Moira sometimes used when she sat out on the porch and scooted it beneath Cynyr.

“What difference will it make if we can cross running water is what I want to know,” Owen said. From the look on his face, he was annoyed that Iden thought they needed Arawn to help him watch Cynyr.

“We need every strength we can get,” Glyn told him. “If the rogues can do something we can’t or are too afraid to try, that makes them stronger than us.”

“And don’t think for a moment those two remaining rogues won’t use what Gibbs did to their advantage,” Iden put in.

“You don’t have to worry about the brave and Jaborn,” Cynyr said as he eased himself down into the rocker, gripping the arms as though his life depended upon his ability to keep himself still. “I’ll take them out as soon as I’m able.”

“They are yours, Reaper,” Iden agreed.

* * * * *

Arawn looked up as Glyn Kullen came into the Guthrie House in a rush, swiping rain from his excited face. “What’s wrong?” Arawn asked, snatching up his napkin and wiping his mouth, standing in the process.

“We need you to go watch over Cree while Iden, Bevyn and I take a little trip to the river,” Glyn said.

Bevyn laid aside his fork. “What the hell are we going to the river for in this rain?”

“Just come on, Coure,” Glyn snapped. “For once don’t stop to question. Just do!”

He plucked at Bevyn’s shoulder. “Hurry it up, will ya?”

Arawn searched Kullen’s face for a hint at what was going on, and when he gleaned the knowledge of what the Reaper planned, he took a step back. “You can’t do that!” he said.

“I can try,” Glyn said.

Bevyn too had delved into Kullen’s mind and what he saw there made his face turn white, but he stood up so quickly his chair crashed over. “We’ll have to tie a damned long rope around you just in case you start to sink,” he said, caught up in the spirit of what was happening.

“You are as crazy as a loon,” Arawn said, but he could see the usefulness of what might be accomplished. He didn’t try to dissuade his Reapers, only cautioned them to take every safety measure they could to ensure Kullen lived through the experiment.

“If a rogue can do it, I can do it,” Glyn said, and turned on his heel, heading for the livery stable and his horse.

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* * * * *

“Do you think the lad will be all right?” Moira asked Cynyr as she came to stand behind him, laying her once arthritic hands on his shoulders. Cynyr reached up to cover the aged hands with his own. “Aye, milady. I believe he will. They’ll tie him off so if he goes under, they’ll be able to pull him out.”

“Once swam the entire width of Donegal Bay when I was a chit,” Moira admitted.

“Loved the feel of the saltwater, I did.”

“I bet you were something when you were a girl, Moira McDermott,” Cynyr said. Moira’s eyes blazed as a spear of lightning struck to the west of them, its fiery branches lighting the dull gray sky. “I could have given Aingeal a run for her money with ye, lad,” she told him. She gently massaged his shoulders. “Don’t you sit too long out here, now.” She patted him and went back inside to try to unruffle Owen’s feathers, for he was sitting on the edge of the sheriff’s desk with a pout the size of the Exasla Territory on his handsome face.

Cynyr watched his fellow Reapers running through the rain toward the stable. He caught sight of Arawn standing in the doorway of the Guthrie House, putting on his hat before venturing out into the deluge. They exchanged a nod, and as thunder rolled overhead, the Prime Reaper came running across the street, his boots squelching through the mud and water.

“Damned asinine day for experimenting, don’t you think, Cree?” Arawn asked as he stomped up on the porch.

“Your men were getting antsy, Gehdrin,”
was the chastisement from far, far away.
“We
are very curious to see if this works.”

“Did you hear Kheelan?” Arawn snapped.

“Aye,” Cynyr replied. It was hard not to hear the high lord of the Shadowlords when he used what Cynyr thought of as his master’s voice. He might be fifteen hundred miles or more away, but Lord Kheelan had no problem making his voice heard.

“How are you feeling?” Arawn asked.

Cynyr had come to accept the closeness he felt toward Arawn. They had the same colony of nestlings in their bodies. The revenant queen now inside Cynyr’s body had once ruled Arawn’s. The two men had developed a bond that could never be broken.

“I’m not as feeble as I was yesterday but I’m starting to lose steam,” Cynyr admitted.

“Rest is the only thing that is going to get you on your feet the quickest,” Arawn reminded him.

“I heard you and Bevyn took out the remaining rogues left in the Oklaka Territory yesternoon,” Cynyr remarked. “Did you have any problems?”

“None,” Arawn replied. “That leaves just the two who are your responsibility.”

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“Nag, nag, nag,” Cynyr quipped. He put a frail hand up to his forehead, angered at the trembling he could neither hide nor stop.

“You almost died, Cree,” Arawn said, looking away from the tremor to watch the rain. “A lesser man might have.”

“He has my woman,” Cynyr said. “There wasn’t any way in hell I was going to let him win.”

“You know Raphian and the Ceannus aren’t going to give up just because Morrigunia took out this latest bunch of demons,” Arawn said. “The next time around how ‘bout letting one of the other of us play hero and look good in the eyes of the Shadowlords?”