Son of the Shadows (65 page)

"Blow to the head," muttered Gull. "Deep. Hard. Came close . . . finish him. What now?"

"We get out of here," I said firmly, while my tears banked up behind my eyes and my inner voice chanted over and over, Breathe, Liadan. Be strong. Be strong

. "Then we'll see." I turned to the guards. "Pick this man up and carry him. And don't hurt him.

You've done enough damage. Take us outside."

"Damage? No such thing as enough damage for the likes of him," growled the second guard, and they were less than careful as they hoisted Bran's helpless form from the ground and bore him away up the steps, leaving us to follow as best we could. I supported Gull and carried the lantern, and at length we emerged again into the underground way, where the torches burned bright, so bright they hurt my eyes, and Gull shielded his face with one damaged hand, while
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silent men stood watching our halting progress.

"Our orders are to take you down to the edge and leave you."

"You'd better do it then," I told them.

Bran's body was as limp as a sack of grain, suspended between the guard who held his shoulders and the one who supported his knees. His head lolled to one side. There were bruises on bruises; no part of him seemed undamaged. What was left of his clothing was stiff with blood and filth.

More entertained now there were lights and voices, Johnny babbled away cheerfully.

"Come on," I said to Gull. "Down here. You know where. Then we're on our own."

"Own," he echoed, and I wondered how much he had understood between the fever and the agony of his tortured hands. He had lost fingers from both, I could see that; how many were left, the bandages concealed. "Across," he said. "Other side."

As we stumbled down the underground way and out past the growling dogs and were led around the hill on a narrow track not far above the water's edge, I made myself consider the possibilities. If Bran came to himself and could walk ... if Gull could find the path, and the fever did not cloud his judgment ... if

Johnny kept still and quiet, and did not distract us ... if help came before dark, then maybe we would live and not be shot down like fugitives escaping justice. If... there were altogether too many ifs. It came to me as we halted on the northern side of the hill, with the sun already low in the sky and the daylight beginning to fade, that this was the reality of Bran's life and Gull's, that their whole existence was made up of moments like this, when the odds appeared impossible, and one must indeed be the best, must find solutions to the most difficult problems, and discover inside oneself a strength almost Otherworldly, in order merely to survive.

"Sure about this?" They had dropped Bran unceremoniously at my feet again, and now the big guard took a step back, speaking quietly. High above on the fortress wall, men were gathered, watching. "Not too late, even now. Leave these carrion and make your way home with your little lad."

"You'd better go." I knelt and took Bran's head on my lap. "Lord Eamonn will want to hear your report, no doubt."

"At least save the child. You can't survive such a crossing. That mongrel's near dead, and the other can't rightly walk a straight line. Try that path, and you're all gone. You could leave the boy behind. There are folks here would care for him and see him safe home."

Something flashed into my memory: my Uncle Finbar's voice, long ago, saying to me, The child is yours.

And you -want the man as well. . . has it occurred, to you that perhaps you cannot have both

?

"We walk this way together," I said, almost to myself, my hand moving gently over Bran's shaven skull, where the new growth of curling hair softened the fierce, ravenlike pattern. "All of us together."

The guard said no more; and soon Eamonn's men had withdrawn within the fortress walls, save for two guards with a dog, who patrolled nearby. We were left there by the edge of the dark, quaking bog: Bran sprawled helpless on the stones, I seated by him with the child still on my back, and Gull standing, staring out across the wide expanse of marshland to the distant hills in the north. He was swaying slightly.

"Snake," he muttered. "Otter. Others. Other side."

"You think they'll be there if we can get across?"

"Others. Get across." He staggered from one foot to the other and sat down suddenly. "Head.

Sorry.

Hands."

"I would tend to them if I could. When we get there—when we reach a place of safety, I'll be
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able to relieve the pain quite well for you, and give you an infusion to bring down the fever I sent for help, but I

cannot be sure that help will come, Gull Do you understand'"

"Understand," he echoed faintly

"We have only until dusk to get away As soon as the sun sinks, Eamonn's archers will begin to shoot, and they will come down with torches We have only one pathway to follow If Bran—if the chief does not

come to himself in time, I don't know what we will do"

At that moment Johnny decided to make his presence known, and there was no choice but to unfasten his bindings and open mv dress to feed him It seemed Gull was not entirely dazed by his fever, for he moved quickly enough to support Bran's head and shoulders with his knees, while I busied myself with the child And finally, with Johnny at the breast, and the light fading to the delicate shade of fresh lavender blooms all around us, and no sound but the harsh cry of herons out on the boglands, with Bran lying still and distant as some carven warrior on a tomb, I found I could no longer hold back my tears What had I

done' Why had I thought I could ignore the warnings of the Fair Folk themselves' I had believed, somehow, that I could save these men, could make a future for them, and for myself Now it seemed we would all perish, and Johnny as well Him I might have pro tected, but for my wretched pride

"Dying," Gull observed bleakly "Blow to the head Won't wake He'd call for the knife, if he could"

"Well, he can't," I snapped, my tears forgotten "It's not his decision He cannot die I won't allow it"

The small shadow of a chuckle "Broke the code, the two of you Wait till I tell Snake " His words trailed off in a gasp of pain

"Gull, we're going to have to try this"

"Understand Walk Carry I'm strong enough"

"I don't doubt it And you know the way, for you led my sister across once But you are hurt and exhausted, and he will not be able to help you"

"Strong enough Carry"

"Then we must go now, as soon as the child is fed Dusk is approaching fast, and it seems no help can reach us in time"

Gull gave a sort of grunt and rolled Bran onto his side "Ready," he said "You'll need to help Hands, no good Not now" For it is indeed not possible to grasp a man's arm or a fold of his clothing and hoist him onto your back when your hands are as badly damaged as Gull's were The slightest touch made him wince with pain

Step by step That was the only way to do it Take it in very small stages, and try not to think too far ahead, for to do that would make the heart fail and the last vestiges of courage die Put Johnny in his binding and fasten him on my back, as tightly as I could He was quiet for now Then, bend to lift Bran's shoulders from the ground, try to help Gull to get his own shoulder underneath and lever the helpless man up Gull's hands were quite useless He could bend an arm around, and shove with his knees, but he could neither hold nor grip I bit back my words How can you carry him What if he slips

?

? Between us, we dropped him three times before, laboriously, Gull got to his knees, and then precariously to his feet, with his friend balanced across his shoulders, head on the left, legs on the right, arms dangling Gull held his own arms hooked up behind, the mangled hands pointing stiffly skyward in their bloody wrappings From the battlements above, there was a scatter of derisive applause

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"That's good," I said encouragingly "That's really good, Gull We need to go now"

Many birds were calling now, out over the wilderness, flocking to roost in whatever desolate corner of this inhospitable country they called their home The setting sun turned the pools of open water as red as blood

"Go now," said Gull, and we looked at each other and looked away I saw the truth in his fever-brightened eyes This way was death

"I think we might share a flask of very strong drink on the other side," I said My words were confident, it was the tremor in my voice that gave me away Then Gull stepped out onto the surface of the bog, very carefully, his bare feet moving from one clump of grass to the next, right, then right again, then left And I followed in his wake, my skirts tucked up into my belt, the child still mercifully silent I felt cold sweat break out all over my body, I heard the quick, uneven sound of my own breathing, sensed the thudding of my heart One step, another We moved forward slowlv, so slowly I did not dare to look behind to gauge the distance an archer might shoot with accuracy to find his target by torchlight And then we came to a place where the clumps of vegetation were farther apart, a stride for a man, or for a long-legged woman like my sister Niamh For me, a jump I hesitated, as Gull moved on ahead I could not say, Wait

, lest I startle him and he lose his footing.

Quick, Liadan

, I

told myself, or he'll be out of sight and then

... I jumped, landing awkwardly, my boot sliding on the wet foliage. I put my arms out for balance and, teetering, regained my footing. Around me in the dark brown of the marsh mud, there were little sucking and plopping sounds, hungry sounds. Gull's progress was steady enough, though still very slow. A step; a pause; another step. He was bent well forward under Bran's dead weight; it must be difficult for him to see the way.

"Liadan?" His voice came back to me, strangely disembodied in the emptiness.

"I'm here."

"Nearly dark."

"I know." Later, if the clouds held back, there would be a little light. But this would be a waning moon, too faint, and too late. "We must go on as best we can."

He made no reply, but moved forward again, and I could see how his bare feet balanced on the unpredictable surface, the toes curling, the foot adjusting the set of the body's weight. I could see how, even with his hands mangled and helpless, he still kept a careful control of the burden he bore, bending to left or to right, forward or more upright, to maintain a secure stance. After dark, he would no longer be able to find the way. Then it would hardly matter what strength he had, or what skills he employed.

As the light faded, I began to feel short, sharp stabs on my hands, and on my ankles, and on my face and neck. There was a little high-pitched droning sound that came and went. Swarms of biting insects were arising from the swampy land, no doubt overjoyed to discover a large and juicy meal. Johnny began suddenly to cry, a sharp wailing of distress. There was nothing I could do to help him, and his small, panicky voice rang out unanswered over the marshes. And in the distance, I thought I heard another cry, hollow, unearthly, halfway between a scream and a song.

Perhaps this voice foretold another death, as a young man at arms had once said. I told myself not to be foolish. But the sound was still there, ringing in my head, vibrating in the sickly swamp air, howling in the purple light of the dusk all around me. The wail of the banshee. Johnny was screaming in protest now. It was the first time in his short life he had cried out, and nobody had come straight away to help him with whatever he needed: dry clothes, sheltering arms, kind words, a lotion of wormwood and chamomile to take away the small, buzzing creatures that
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were hurting him and hurting him and would not stop.

"It's all right, Johnny," I muttered as I wobbled for balance on a ridiculously small patch of dry ground.

Surely Gull didn't expect me to jump across to there'

? It was too far; it wasn't fair. I could not leap so far, not with the child on my back. If only Johnny would stop crying; if he would just stop ... I peered ahead in the half light. On the other side of the wide, unbroken expanse of black mud, Gull had stopped walking. He was standing very still, and I sensed that he had his eyes closed. He was saying something, but I could not hear the words. It was too far. I would land in the mud halfway across, and the swamp would swallow me and my child, and it would be over. My throat was dry, my body clammy with sweat.

My head throbbed.

I can't do it... I can't. .

. Then Gull spoke again, and I heard him. "Liadan? Still there?"

"I'm here. But I don't think I can . . ."

"Need help. Hands. Can't hold."

Dana give me strength. He must not let go; he must not. Surely we had not come so far for nothing.

"I'm coming," I called, and jumped, willing my body across the impossible space. I landed a little short of the larger islet of dry ground where Gull stood, my feet sinking down into soft mud, my body sprawling forward on the grassy ground. I gripped the foliage hard as I felt the voracious clutch of the bog around my legs, tugging me down. Johnny was sobbing in shuddering gasps, telling me his small tale of woe, that the world was suddenly different, and that he wanted me to make it better, right now please. My face screwed up with effort as my hands grasped and clawed on the wet leaves, and then, with a decidedly unpleasant sound, the clinging mud released me. I crawled away from the edge and got to my feet beside Gull. The light was almost gone; I could barely see his face before me.

"Put your hands up," he whispered, and his voice betrayed the pain I could no longer read on his features in the darkness. "Take the weight for me. Not long. Rest. Hands."

I stood behind him and reached up to put my own hands against Bran's limp form. Then Gull attempted to unhook his arms from where they were bent up to hold his friend secure on his shoulders, but the cramp was so bad, he was hard put to move them at all. Still stoical, he bit back a scream of pain as he brought his bandaged hands slowly down. Now that we were standing still, Johnny seemed to anticipate a swift response to his protest, and his voice grew louder and more insistent.